#did I almost cry like 10 times writing this? perhaps

[the-acid-pear]

I never tried the option myself bc it'd probably mean skipping the Reason You Suck speech at the end (fire for speedrunners though) but I Love that you can frame your Phoneys in 3, especially so if you've already killed the previous two. Like yeah couldn't send you off to die so i'll let the goverment do it for me 🧸 like its just Peak evil imo.

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion. 

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode. 

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone. 

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway? 

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him. 

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…” 

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer. 

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him. 

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel. 

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.” 

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom! 

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized. 

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure. 

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep. 

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors. 

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep. 

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them. 

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night. 

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home. 

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards. 

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal. 

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end. 

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side. 

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own. 

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes. 

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned. 

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying. 

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception. 

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him. 

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.”

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution. 

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors. 

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose. 

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back. 

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope. 

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light. 

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true. 

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass. 

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life. 

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort. 

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought. 

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout. 

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you. 

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed. 

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged. 

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface. 

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair. 

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs. 

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls. 

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips. 

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes. 

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love. 

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more. 

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again. 

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand. 

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. “Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point. 

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger. 

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed. 

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade. 

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace. 

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword. 

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over. 

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two. 

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body. 

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you. 

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love. 

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing. 

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.” 

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest. 

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step. 

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him. 

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him. 

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you. 

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight. 

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan. 

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs. 

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.” 

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations. 

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them. 

“You’ll die first,” he said. 

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame. 

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch. 

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again.  “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him. 

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench. 

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead. 

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free. 

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck. 

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands. 

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye. 

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again. 

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards. 

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate. 

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground. 

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare. 

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare. 

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did. 

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight. 

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage. 

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way. 

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen. 

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder. 

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade. 

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh. 

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach. 

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps. 

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand. 

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had. 

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too. 

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear. 

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles. 

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do? 

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart. 

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all. 

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger. 

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword. 

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air. 

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away. 

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Fifteen) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: drama, crying, blood, injury, death mention, dueling mention, gun violence mention, mentioned infidelity, and angst.

[[A/N: Yes, I did do another chapter of this one, I am sorry. I am mad stressed out bc of school and writing this one makes me feel better. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

You couldn't sleep, it was the end of a rather noisy night in your head and all you could think about was the events of the day: Mr. Grimes. And the day after was perhaps even worse. A part you ticked with every moment that passed, and when you lay in your bed, the mundane activities of the day weren't as distracting.

You didn't have your book to read, or the cabinets to clean, or your sisters to speak to. It was just you and the guise of blackness slinking over the room, thoughts flashing behind your eyes every time you shut them. A sort of barrier between you and the peaceful sleep you yearned for; blue eyes and fear- You felt suddenly you couldn't sleep. At least not this night.

With the softest of movements, you pushed back the blankets covering yourself and roamed out of your bedroom -slow, soft steps to avoid any sort of noise. Just because your mind was restless didn't mean you wanted anyone else not to rest. What you hadn't expected was the dim candlelight brushing across the floors -swallowing the furniture in a warm, orange haze. It flickered across the wood, in almost a sort of welcoming gesture and you found yourself following such an enticing motion without much hesitation.

It was from Father's office, you realized. What was he up so late doing?

Your steps were slow, and hesitant, fingertips gliding across the wooden door -only to perhaps peek at him. You weren't quite sure if you wished to be seen then, so you remained rather quiet.

He was hunched over his desk, shoulders moving slightly -you assumed he was writing. The tiniest scratch of quill against paper only confirmed such thoughts -and something in you bet he was up late working on a case.

You never knew he was up so late for such things.

"Would you like to come sit?"

You startled slightly by the door, jumping in place at the sudden acknowledgement. It made perfect sense from your Father though, he always seemed to know just what was going on in your head -often before you yourself had realized it.

"Why are you up so late?" you questioned, not moving from your spot -the swish of your nightgown was tickling along your ankles.

He stood from his chair -gently placing the quill back in its place and turning towards you, "I could ask you much the same."

You paused, swaying slightly -vulnerable, "You know why I am awake, you must."

He hummed, questioning with a sort of tired laugh -a little sad, "Would you believe me if I said I was up for the same reason?"

"For..." you started, "...For Mr. Grimes...?"

"I know you care for him so," he echoed, a small sort of smile brushed along his beard, "-is it not a father's duty to fear for his daughter's heartbreak?"

"Father..."

"I knew him when he was young," he spoke, something heavy in his tone, "-knew his father, he was a quite hard worker then, and even now. He's built everything he has. I... know such things are societal, especially on marital matters but I... worry for him as well."

"I just," you echoed a little shaky and teary -voice breaking slightly, "-I love him, Father. I don't... I don't want him to die."

"Oh, my darling daughter," he spoke, stepping forward and wiping at your tears with his thumbs, "-a man with love on his side is a man who will certainly fight his hardest."

You sniffled slightly, "Do you truly believe so?"

"He's got something rather lovely waitin' on him, does he not? Why would he not try his hardest?"

He smiled at you, blue eyes shiny in that sort of teary way, but suddenly as you looked at the man, you realized something. It was there in the slightest pull of his lips, the tinge of a furrow of his brow, worry.

But not just such worry you discussed, this was bigger -larger. You were surprised that he wasn't pacing the room, back and forth, wearing a hole in the rug upon the floor. And it hit you then, there's something else.

"Father," you stepped back a few cautious steps, "-you're hiding something, aren't you?"

"Y/N, dear-"

"No," your tone turned more direct -barely raising the volume to keep the house quiet, "-you... you- What's going on? What do you know?"

Your father stood rather still for a moment, foot tapping against the wooden boards in a rather rushed rhythm -nerves, nervous... worried. His eyes didn't speak as much as Mr. Grimes's did. It was more in his face, the twitch of his nose, the flex of his fingers. You supposed because he worked with his hands, they were a focus for him -something so integral to his being, and yet they fidgetted along his coat.

"After your return, upon visiting his estate," he started -careful and slow, "-I took it upon myself to understand just what had upset you and why he was doing it. He... He told me such things. And more."

"More?"

"Mr. Grimes told me that the date of the rumors was wrong, purposefully," he continued, sighing deeply, "-to veer any public attention to such an event."

"It's not," you started, slowly, "-It's not tomorrow evening?"

"It was tonight," he answered, and you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach -you froze, "-and upon the act that he was to get injured... He wanted me to tend to it. Clean him up, keep him alive."

"You... You can't be serious..."

"Y/N," he spoke, trying to calm you but there was his own shake in his voice "-listen to me, you must breathe-"

"No, no," you stepped back -hands shaking as you gathered them against your chest, "-he could... He could be dead-"

"Stop, stop," Father spoke, stepping forward, "-you mustn't think that way-"

"How am I not to, Father? There's no... It's him or the Mr. Walsh."

"It only harms you to assume the worst," he spoke, rather leveled -speaking as if he had lived such thoughts, "-Hope is a wonderful thing. Don't displace it, my daughter."

You quietened, suddenly, knowing the look he held in his eyes. It was one you found so familiar -your mother, he was thinking about your mother. It was usually something sparkly -joy, but this was something rather bittersweet, you supposed it was reminding him of when she was sickly. Bedridden, but still alive.

"Mother?" you questioned -despite the fact that you already knew.

He opened his mouth, always eager to talk about her, and you found it might be comforting. It reminded you of sitting with your sister, young, and listening to stories you could just barely remember. Blurry pictures of a mother you knew, but didn't truly know.

And you supposed you wouldn't know.

Such an idea was interrupted by some shuffling by the door, the scrape of a shoe -just slight, but the night was so eerily quiet such a sound was obvious. Your Father looked at you for a moment, something registering in his eyes upon you, smoothing along his brow: worry, or more accurately perhaps, pity.

There was something muffled -barely reaching your ears, but you knew the tone. Knew his tone-

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you weren't thinking -your body moving on almost instinctively. Grabbing at the candlelight to see your way, you heard your Father calling to you but it was so distant, so far.

Something in you had begun running, drawing your mind into something blank -only one thing pushing through. Despite the beat of your heart thumping in your ears, when you swung open the door -the world was much quieter. It was as if it had all slowed in expectation, for what you would see. What you were seeing.

The darkness of the night wasn't helpful, not really, but you could see the echoes of his frame -flickering from the flame.

Orange hues lit him up for spare moments, you could nearly see the glints of his eyes -blue, blue eyes.

Hair matted down his forehead, you assumed from sweat, and flickers of a rather casual shirt -that you couldn't see for more than a mere second. If you blinked, you were sure to miss it. But, you hadn't and you saw it.

Stains along his shirt, crimson patches -you could tell, you could see. And a cut that ran along his cheekbone, the only tell the touch of a drip down the side of his face. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest, as your eyes roamed lower to his chest -something odd there.

You could only see it in the hint of the flame, quick little moments just along his chest -suddenly, you stilled.

Because -if you were to believe your eyes- Mr. Grimes held to his chest a deadly still, what you assumed to be, Mr. Walsh.

[m00nsbaby]

Hello :3

I hope I'm not bothering you and I hope this is okay to request, I don't want to push boundaries and make you uncomfortable because I know that I'm asking for a lot right now, but I was listening to Spotify and the song "We'll Never Have Sex" by Lieth Ross came on (it's a very good song and it really gets me in my feels, I really recommend listening to it) and my first thought was the Moon boys with reader who struggles with past SA and thinks of themselves a ruthless monster since the reader is an active mercenary (I don't know if you write for male readers or not but I'm politely asking if you can make the reader male please and thank you 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 it's okay if not)

Sorry for rambling so much and asking for a lot of things from you, please don't feel rushed to make this and be sure to take care of yourself

The Nerve.

Moon system x M! Reader.

Tags & warnings. Mentions of death, hints of SA, violence, blood, abuse, inaccurate representation of DID.

Sorry for the amount of text on this writers note, lol: Hi!!! So, this is my first request!! :) And I have a lot to say lol.

To whoever sent me this request I want to thank them for trusting in me and my writing to make something that feels somehow personal and for being the nicest ever! <3 Don't say sorry for asking for certain stuff, I really from the bottom of my heart hope that this fulfills what you wanted to read <3

Word count. 2.9k

Summary.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, Not to take me home. It was simple, it was sweetness, It was good to know.

It had been a long time since the idea of death had ceased to matter to you.

When Bushman took everything from you and slowly immersed you in a world you never wanted to be a part of in the first place, you began to understand that perhaps whoever ended your life would be doing you a favor.

So when your mission turned into breaking into one of the neighborhoods protected by the vigilante in white to 'dispose of' some random person, you accepted without protest.

And that was basically the context of how you ended up like this, underneath him with his hands on your neck. You had put up a good fight; in fact, you could see how his chest rose and fell heavily with fatigue. In the end, your training was nothing compared to whatever was protecting him.

The air escaped from your lungs, your vision was blurry, and you heard him growl beneath the mask, your body was about to give in.

You were almost happy to know that this was finally the day. You stopped fighting, and in less than 10 seconds, the ceremonial white suit turned into an ordinary white and cream-toned tuxedo. The mask disappeared as well, and his startled expression filled your entire field of vision.

"Marc?" you whispered with a hoarse voice, and his orbs widened even more in surprise.

"Do you know him?" the vigilante murmured to himself, his hands trembling as he moved them away from your neck.

As much as you tried to hold on, your body gave in just a little while later, from exhaustion, shock, or perhaps the lack of oxygen in general.

The punishment for failing had been worse than you remembered.

It had been a long time since you had failed a mission.

Still, as you tended to your wounds, there wasn't much on your mind other than the encounter with Marc. Your Marc.

For several months now, you had come to accept the idea that he was dead, even if 'accept' for you meant crying in his name during the nights or using all your strength to pound your fists as a way to vent your anger for losing him.

Was it really him, or had your mind gone to him immediately when it thought you were about to die?

And if that was Marc, had he recognized you, or had the mask done its job well?

It was foolish of him to assume that you hadn't felt his footsteps behind you. He had been following you from at least four blocks away, and even though you knew it was him, you had no desire to confront him.

You were angry, of course, the rage at the thought of him trying to excuse his disappearance flooded you every time you stopped to think, but probably the word that would work best right now would be 'tired.' It was your day off, probably the only one in the week when you didn't stain yourself with blood and didn't have to deal with work.

And there he was, reminding you of every horrible detail of your life with his mere presence.

When your body pushed his against a wall in the nearest alley, both of you remembered that although he might be stronger, he would never be smarter.

He raised his hands in a sign of innocence, and you took the liberty to study his face in detail after so long. The same mischievous curl of hair always ran across his forehead, and his brow was furrowed, not out of annoyance or surprise, that had always been Marc's lifelong expression.

"What are you doing here?" You spat out the words with more bitterness than you would have liked.

He didn't respond. Apparently, he was still the same as always. When you let go of him, his body seemed even more tense.

"Oh, you're not going to answer, I get it," you nodded to yourself. You could swear you were going crazy. "If your plans don't involve killing me or attempting it like the other night, or maybe speaking and using your damn mouth for once, I want you to stay away from me."

He was not able to say anything or to follow you.

Unfortunately, what Marc didn't anticipate was that your encounters wouldn't be solely with him, as there were two other individuals in his head waiting to come out at the slightest provocation.

The second time around, Jake was in charge, and somehow, he had even less control over his punches.

"Who are you, niño bonito?" (Pretty boy.) You groaned in pain as his foot on your chest forced you to stay on the ground, catching your breath. "Why is Marc so interested in you, huh?"

You didn't respond; in fact, you didn't even believe you had processed his questions. Instead, you pulled on his foot, the same one that was on top of you, and brought him down in a thud. You felt the hint of a smile on your face.

"Mierda." he muttered under his breath, and without giving him a chance, you escaped from him.

You had a million theories in your mind. With all your time in that world, you knew inside and out every kind of torture imaginable, and the idea that Marc's memory was failing didn't seem so far-fetched.

That, or he simply wanted to pretend he didn't know you, although that made much less sense. Either way, he was an idiot for injuring your shoulder tonight.

Then you had an encounter with Steven, and it was much more enlightening than the previous three. You almost killed him when you saw him in front of your apartment, with those puppy-dog eyes and soothing himself with a hand game. You noticed that his sleeves were longer than his arms.

Hah.

"What do you want, Marc?"

"I don't…" A funny accent. You caught it in the first few seconds. "I'm not Marc."

That led to a conversation that the mentioned one probably wouldn't have enjoyed because Steven took it upon himself to tell you in detail everything that had happened in the months when you hadn't been in contact with your ex-best friend and former mission partner.

You knew about his mother, you knew Marc's tumultuous past and how all of that had led him to belong to one of the largest and most terrible groups of mercenaries and thieves on the continent, but it turns out the idiot never told you another result of the trauma.

Dissociative Identity Disorder.

You had a faint understanding of how it worked, and Steven seemed so nervous that you were afraid to ask for a deeper explanation. The whole situation gave you an exceptional headache, but the real story was nowhere near as crazy as half of the theories you had in mind for days.

Oh, and you also understood that he didn't seek you out by his own choice.

"I can understand why he can't stop thinking about you," Steven said as gently as he could after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

It was surprising how he managed to make his voice not sound like he was flirting with you, just a sweet confession, accompanied by a nervous smile.

"He wants to talk to you but doesn't know how." It was the next thing he said, understanding that it was time to leave and leave you alone; you had a lot to think about.

Your feet dangled at the edge of a building's ledge as you sipped your beer as if you'd been thirsty for days, Marc was doing the same beside you. Both of you laughed at nonsense, so close that your shoulders brushed against each other. "We're heading back home," you murmured with your eyes closed as you enjoyed the cold breeze hitting your body. Marc was looking at you, he always did. Over time, you understood that returning from your missions was never really coming home; Marc was your home. "If you let yourself get shot again, I'm going to kill you myself." You laughed with your eyes closed; your leg still hurt. After long minutes of silence, the other's hand found its way to your chin. And you opened your eyes, looking at him with confusion. His fingers gently pressed against your skin, and you obediently leaned in. He was so close. You could smell mint and beer on his breath, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than the stars that night. The daydream lasted briefly, before you could react, your entire body was pulling back, rejecting him in the full meaning of the word. Marc didn't insist after that day; he understood well what your expression of fear meant.

You woke up drenched in sweat, your breath ragged as if you had run a marathon. You no longer had to bear the idea that Marc had left without knowing that you felt the same way he did, but things had changed so much that you weren't even sure if he had come back.

Marc began to let Jake take charge when you played this little game of the cat and the mouse.

You weren't going to yield, and it wasn't out of a passion for the job; you knew what failing meant to Bushman. You had experienced it more times than you would have liked since Marc had disappeared that night in Cairo.

Jake was more… aggressive than usual; you could feel it in the force with which he struck.

In a moment of distraction, you stopped his fist with your hand, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew you had taken him by surprise.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" He growled. His accent allowed you to recognize him, just like with Steven, who had told you all about the two of them.

"Until you give up," you squeezed his fist between your fingers, "or kill me."

You felt him suddenly stop pressing when you said that. The mask disappeared in front of your eyes, and he tilted his head slightly to the side as he examined you with his eyes.

You rewarded him by removing your mask, letting him see your face. You heard him gulp.

"¿Quién eres?" (Who are you?) He whispered, and both of you let your guard down in seconds.

You didn't answer, just as Marc would've done, and the truth was, you didn't even know who you were. His now-enemy? An old friend of Marc? Now a stranger?

It turns out that one of the many nights you crossed paths, Jake and you were able to talk. In some other circumstance, you would have joked about how you liked him better than Marc.

He was more friendly when he wasn't trying to break your ribs.

"What happened?" You feared the question, but maybe it would be fair to let it out for once in your life.

"He was…" You cleared your throat, searching for what to say. "He was very special to me." You didn't have the strength to say he was your everything. "My best friend."

Both of you had met while working for Bushman, and the connection was undeniable for both.

And although you adored him, you thought you were crazy when you felt him brush his hand against yours, or when he hugged you as if he wanted to squeeze the oxygen out of your lungs when he found you alive at the end of a mission.

Jake understood why he felt so drawn to you, where that strange feeling of nostalgia came from when he saw you.

"Do you miss him?" The question hurt more than the blows, and you realized that you had never talked about this with anyone, as if Marc were only a product of your solitary imagination.

Of the three, Jake was the one who had lived through and seen the worst things as Marc and Steven's protector, so it wasn't hard for him to understand what you had faced throughout your life.

And the truth was, he was afraid to ask. He was afraid to go too far because his mind sent him to something as personal as it was terrifying.

He realized it in probably the least reasonable way for both when your late-night conversations gave him the idea that maybe you felt the same way he did, even though he wasn't Marc. He leaned forward, and his lips collided with yours. It felt right, a strange feeling of 'finally.' You reciprocated, your lips gently brushing against his in a gesture as intimate as it was delicate.

The problem came when he rested a hand on your thigh for stability as he leaned forward. Your heart stopped.

The fear was almost paralyzing, almost. Not enough for you not to push him away, and Jake obeyed without exerting force, although he did look at you confused, worried.

You had to blink many times to try to clear your vision. momentarily, it was as if Jake's face merged with someone else's. Your eyes filled with tears, your body suddenly rejecting his before running away.

You didn't see them for the next two weeks, and you continued to move in the shadows, this time without interruption. At least they wouldn't get you into trouble.

Although the rule didn't apply to Steven Grant, who was trying to get your attention with his ridiculous white tuxedo while you cleaned a wound on your cheek.

"What's up, Steven?" Your voice was so soft that even he was surprised. To Jake's panic, he could swear you were disgustingly upset with them.

"Jake feels sorry." That was the first thing he said.

And you laughed.

"Why?"

"For not asking for your permission." Well, that was new.

Did anyone ask for it?

You took longer than you would have liked to confront Marc, he was probably as reluctant to these encounters as you were. He visited your apartment and didn't even greet you.

But you understood. You understood as you had been understanding for a long time, and you let it pass.

You spent the evening with your head in his lap, and he touched your hair delicately as if he were going to hurt you. Quite ironic after the number of blows you had received from him.

Or from his body, rather.

You had never been with him… like this. The closest had been that night on the rooftop.

Marc ran his hands through your hair as much as he wanted to, but he never went beyond your neck; he could feel your body tense when his fingers grazed your skin. He understood it, and from the darkness, Jake did too.

The issue wasn't him, and it wasn't you either.

Do you ever think about them?" Jake looked at you, curious.

"Them?"

"The ones affected."

Ah, them. He pressed his lips together as he thought about what to say; if Marc was bad with words, he somehow was even worse.

"I try not to."

You nodded slowly, satisfied with the answer. He had stopped chasing you a while ago; he had other methods to distract you from your missions, although you never told him what that resulted in. Maybe he already imagined it, or he was so focused on you that he never noticed.

He placed his hand over yours and looked at you intently for a brief moment, as if confirming that you were okay with it. You moved your hand to entwine your fingers together.

He gave you a squeeze, catching your attention.

When you looked at him, he gave you a smile.

"I'm here." Just what you wanted to hear.

Your invitation surprised Steven, who, although he understood that there was something between you, didn't know to what extent because of how volatile you were.

Thankfully, Steven was the most careful and innocent person you could know, so your invitation to sleep together was taken just as that, with no jokes involved.

You spent the early hours talking about everything, and somehow, although the four of you spent more time talking than you thought, the conversation never seemed to end. And as expected, you got to that topic.

You were crying, as you had started doing for some time now.

"I don't deserve you."

"What are you talking about, love?" He laughed in genuine confusion. One of his arms was around you, and you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"I'm not… I…" You mumbled, taking a breath. "I'm a bad person."

You felt him tense behind you; suddenly, he was holding you tighter against his chest, and you didn't feel fear. In fact, you could swear you felt a deep need for more contact from him.

"M-Marc, he's…" Another sob from you, why was it physically painful to express your feelings? "He's fixing the things he's done, you know?" You had to take a breath to continue. "The people I've hurt, the things I've done…"

Steven moved his hand up your body, and his hand pressed against your chest as if he needed to feel the beats of your heart for comfort. He didn't know what to say.

"You're not a bad person." He made you cry even more, if that was possible.

"I, I don't…"

"Shhh." He exerted more pressure on your chest to make you feel your own ragged breathing. "You're not a monster."

Steven had thought something similar about himself; he knew well what you were feeling.

And Marc, and Jake.

That's all you needed to hear to know that you were in good hands, even in this moment when you felt nothing but the urge to cry.

He got you.

The number of scars on your body already exceeded the space you had in your memory to remember all the horrible stories they told. And yet, Steven kissed them all.

Hii, i'm not doing tag list on this one because of the themes I talked about :)

[cosmerelists]

Five Things I Learned Playing Shardle (And One Thing I Didn't)

"Shardle" is like Wordle, only for terms that exist as the title of a Coppermind article. I've been playing Shardle for like a week now, so I am ready to share my experiences.

1. There are too many stormin' characters!

So far, I've played 10 days in a row, and I've only once had a character whose name I even vaguely recognized (Klade, who's at least been in several scenes I can, like, picture). Otherwise, the description post-answer will be like, "You know, that one skaa who works at the sawmill in Luthadel who appeared in like one scene in one book" and I'll be like "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, SHARDLE?!"

2. Main characters tend to have longer names

The thing is, I feel like I know quite a few character names. I write this blog, and it uses a lot of characters. But they all have such long names! Like, at least six letters (looking at you, Jasnah and Navani). Or, if they're short, they're like short (looking at you, Vin and Hoid). So my excellent knowledge of main characters is doing me absolutely no good at all, and playing this makes me feel as though I know nothing.

3. Which is probably why they let you use some regular English words too.

While playing by my usual strategy (typing in phonemes that could potentially make up a fantasy name while crying), I was delighted to find that there was apparently somebody named "Mouse" because "mouse" worked as a guess! This was huge because it let me test out three whole vowels, and at LEAST you know there are vowels in Sanderson character names.

...Only later did I actually read the directions to find that they actually let you use some regular English words to, like, show some small amount of mercy, and there is no Sanderson character named Mouse. It's just the English word "mouse" but I'm gonna use it anyway, damn it.

4. Sanderson LOVES the letter "L"

My starting word is "Rlain," and this has worked out pretty well because there is almost always an "L" in whatever the answer is. Now, I was worried that this might be mere confirmation bias (and also I've only played 10 times at the point of writing this list), so I want to Coppermind for help (https://coppermind.net/wiki/Category:Characters). A very scientific test (using "ctl f" with each letter of the alphabet) revealed that "L" actually is the most common consonant used on this page! Take that, confirmation bias!

5. My starting word is actually genius (accidentally)

By the way, according to my "ctl f on every letter in the alphabet while on the Coppermind list of characters page" test, my starting word of "Rlain" is accidentally brilliant. The three most common consonants are "R," "N," and "L" in that order! And "A" is the most common vowel! Thank you, Rlain, for this help even though I actually chose your name because you were literally the only character I could think of whose name was five letters without repeating letters.

And the one thing I don't know...

6. What quote is used for getting it in 1 guess. Or 2. Or 3 dammit.

Shardle displays a quote once you get the answer, based on how quickly you got it. I know the quote used for, well, not getting the answer. Or for getting it in 6. In 5. Or in 4. But what it says if you guess in 3 or fewer remains a mystery...perhaps forever.

...Do I even like playing?

[drarryweasley]

HP Rec Fest - Part 1 (Days 1-16)

Boy, has it been a moment since I've gone through my fanfic bookmarks. Thankful that @hprecfest has given me a reason to do so and rediscover some old gems!

Anyways making this list made me realize that I'm a connoisseur of explicit content so most of these are smutty and I'll leave that up to you to decide whether that's good or bad

(These are almost exclusively post-war fics where everyone is an adult, unless otherwise stated!)

1. A favorite fic under 5k: If We Lie Like This by everythingokay

(Harry x Charlie Weasley, rated E, 4.1k)

Harry/Charlie is one of my absolute favorite ships of all time, and this is one of the sweetest pwps I've ever read of them, so you know this had to be my first rec.

2. A comfort fic: Lumos by birdsofshore

(Drarry, rated E, 41.5k)

This is one of my oldest bookmarks, and still one of the best. I love, love, love eighth year fics, in no small part because of this one. The summary really says it all:

"Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking."

3. A podfic

I've truly never listened to a podfic in my life, I just prefer reading I'm sorry

4. A fic with art: What Have You Been Hiding Under Those Robes, Professor Malfoy? by Booktopus

(Drarry, Rated E, 15k - art is NSFW!)

Finding art in my fics is such a rare, exciting surprise, especially because I rarely go looking for them. Now, a GIF? And a smutty gif at that? Of tattooed professor Draco? What. A. Find.

5. A non-AO3 fic: The Lust of Gryffindors by Fearful Porpentine

(Harmione + so many pairings/groupings, rated M, 381.5k, aged-up during canon)

Yeah, I'm pretty much exclusively an AO3 girlie, so I don't have many options for this one. Still, this is a standout as one of my favorite smutty extravaganzas.

6. An unreliable narrator fic: Touch by bixgirl1

(Drarry, Rated E, 45k)

I had this fic on my TBR for so long before I actually read it, and when I finally did, I was KICKING myself for waiting so long! I love touch-starved characters finally getting what they need (is it self-fulfilling? perhaps), and I never thought a sleep-deprived Harry could be so funny.

(I'm aware this is an unreliable narrator in the loosest sense of the word but I'm sticking with it because it NEEDS to be recced)

7. A canon-compliant fic: With the Edges Worn Down by MayatheBee

(Harry x Ron x Hermione, rated E, 13k)

By "canon-compliant," we mean "takes place so far in the future that canon can't disprove it," right?

If so, then here's my pick. After Ginny's death, Ron and Hermione decide to finally act on feelings that have been ignored for their entire friendship. It is so, so sweet and so, so hot.

8. A canon-divergence fic: Safe Word is Devil's Snare by ShayaLonnie

(Neville x Hermione, rated E, 97k)

Hot Neville Agenda? Hot Neville Agenda.

Neville is fast becoming one of my favorite characters in fic (both in reading and writing). I'm a sucker for him growing into his self-confidence after the war while still being the same loveable plant guy we know. And a forced marriage with hyper-competent Hermione? Get ready for the spice, y'all.

9. A rare pair fic: 93 Diagon Alley by Schmem_14

(Harry x George, rated M, 30k)

I'm quickly realizing that most of the fic I consume (outside of drarry) is rare pairs, but this is one of the best. Harry and George leaning on each other through their grief, and realizing what they need to get through said grief is, in fact, each other? Sign me up. I usually avoid stories that feature Fred's death as a significant plot point, but this is too well done to ignore.

10. A fest fic: Beware: Naked People Ahead by SonnenFlower

(Lots of pairings, rated M, 6.6k)

I’m recommending this fic not only because of the absolute hilarity of the premise, but because it is a part of one of the best fests I’ve ever come across — the Hermione’s Nook Naked Weasley Fest! This fic had me laughing the whole way through (and crying when I wasn’t.)

11. A dark fic: Whore by orphan_account

(Harry x Fred x George + noncon, etc, rated E, 141.6k, takes place during canon)

Listen, I don't read dark fics very often. They tend to crush my soul and spin me out. This is my "I want to hurt" fic — SO MIND THE TAGS.

12. A WIP you're following: New Blood by artemisgirl

(Pairings still evolving, rated M, currently 1.3 million words, takes place during canon)

As a general rule, I don't read many in-progress fics (this is a personal fault because I get too impatient and invested). But when I started this fic, it had over 1 million words and didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, so I took the plunge. It features a Slytherin, overpowered, badass Hermione, deep fae/wix lore, and a unique twist on all our favorite characters!

13. A fic with over 100k words: Finding Sophrosyne by mlfoyskhione

(Drarry, rated T, 136.5k)

An eighth year fic where everyone in Hogwarts falls into an unwakeable sleep...except Draco and Harry. Absolutely delectable.

14. A favorite series: Harry Potter & Seven Years of Chaos by Severitus812

(Harry x Fred + Severitus, unrated, 1+ million words; takes place during canon)

When I started this fic, the first six parts were published and part of the seventh. I DEVOURED them in a week, and I still haven't gotten around to finishing it because I'm positive it's going to break my heart. Still, an absolute beast of a story that is so, so fun to experience!

15. The most recent fic you bookmarked: The Best Laid Plans by Drarrymadhatter

(Drarry, Draco x George, Harry x Fred, rated E, 6.6k)

Okay, I’ve bookmarked entirely too many fics since the start of this fest, so to avoid repeats, I’m recommending the last fic I bookmarked BEFORE then. Based on my url, it couldn’t be more perfect — Draco, George, Harry, AND Fred? Absolute perfection. Sexy, sexy perfection.

16. A fic that made you laugh: I WANNA SEE SOME ARSE by thefrancakes

(NottPott, rated E, 10.5k)

From the title of this fic through the end of it, I was laughing. And where I wasn’t, I was fanning myself because. Hot. Damn. I’d never shipped Harry and Theo Nott until reading this.

So many excellent fics here...and yet I'm even MORE excited about the next set of prompts! Until then!

[exoticalmonde]

Arknights Chapter XIII - The Whirlpool That Is Passion (Part I)

GOOD MORNING EVERYBODY AND I WISH ALL THOSE WHO WISH TO BE HOEDERER/VENDELA/VERDANT OWNERS TO BE HAVERS BECAUSE IT'S A WONDERFUL DAY AND I AM SO OVERDUE WITH WRITING THIS ACTUALLY!!!!

WARNING: This post is going to contain a lot of yapping from me about Hoederer and how much I love him and would also have a LOT of spoilers.

I am also a great yume-shipper, so my Dr. and Hoederer are married, that information should help with the weird comments sometimes.

Might make it different parts because all those SS will never fit even up to the part I am right now.

Perhaps first of all I need to mention how the pulling went? Apart from my day being catastrophically long and arduous, I managed to sneak some snacking in-between the one additional hour I had left after returning home.

I was actually shaking. Jittering out of my bones, near-heart attack type of activity was happening on my side of the screen while everybody else watched. I was supposed to take SS of every 10-pull but... I got ahead of myself. I think I had around 130 pulls, excluding the ones that I could buy from the ticket shop and the Originium that I blew for a skin.

I even kind of... Skipped my first Hoederer. The one below is the second one, that I ended my funds for, until I could buy the level 60 pack from the shop.

But we caught the third one.

And as it happens I was underprepared with money and XP cards, though I had all the materials for his skills. Bless the green tickets for allowing me to bulk-buy some of them actually since... My god farming for the RMA70-12 is tedious, fruitless and sad.

If I could get a penny for every single time this loser was being problematic I would have enough to buy them and never have problems again.

In any case, he could be immediately E1 lvl80d, and I have been grinding enough to get him to E2 on the same day. He's currently lvl60, cooking his M3 on S1 with Wishlash giving him a thumbs up every time he pulls out a whole boiled chicken to eat.

Starved Sarkaz, am I right?

Even his little token that you get when he joins you another time... I am actually crying, I love him so much and I am so happy he became playable.

Speaking of, did anybody know that the furniture set is separated into a couple other, smaller sets, or was I supposed to learn this from googling it myself?

Apparently, the whole set is called Mercenaries' Hideout, but the smaller sections of it are:

Writing Is Meaningless

Don't Ever Truly Rest

Secondhand Goods

Maintain Your Health

And I am sitting here, tears in my eyes reading their descriptions... When I first remembered that Chapter 13 was coming with a new set I almost screamed. Dr. Pinkie was making fun of me for calling this jail cell basically the same epithets you would use for a five-star hotel, but it really was close to my heart the way it mixed compact with DIY/'Hey, you'll never guess what I found on the street' kind of interior.

And because it is based around Hoederer, we are going to look through it first and read the descriptions before I actually descend into the story.

Description of the full set reads:

A recreation of a hideout in Kazdel, based on Hoederer's description and a number of additional details provided by Ines. As for anything not recreated from their recollections, it's best not to touch—Anything added by W might just blow up.

I love to imagine that these three have to share a dorm and the Doctor just goes up to Ines and Hoederer and asks if there is anything they can do to make it cosy or somehow homey. Also to think that both of them would have recollections of these 'hideouts' in Kazdel... Meanwhile, W seems like she's never been in those? My memory is kind of fuzzy about just how old the three are in comparison to each other.

Before/After Kazdel is pretty much like Before/After Eve was on the internet.

Basement Flooring:

Flooring that recreates the vibes of the basement where the mercenaries lived back in Kazdel. Ines sometimes muses that the place would be more suitable as a small shop. The two both ignored W's suggestion to sell potatoes there.

Basement Wallpaper:

Wallpaper that recreates the look of the basement where the mercenaries lived back in Kazdel. The gray walls look almost exactly the same as before. This time, when they look out the window, it is not the dust-covered Kazdel that they see.

'Our Current State'

A light tube is attached to a frame haphazardly welded together from multiple iron plates, letting out a warm glow despite its appearance. No matter how unstable it may seem, its light can carry the mercenaries through the dark night.

Somehow this little light contraption is 10000x better than any glaring white LED lightbulb that you could ever introduce to me these days.

Rust-colored Rug

A rug showing signs of age that look almost like rust. For some reason, this makes it blend in with the room's style. Is there a color that better reflects life in Kazdel? At least it's not blood-colored.

WHAT IF I JUST EXPLODE IN TEARS???!!!!????!!!!!

Writing Work Desk

A desk piled with books and documents. There are clear traces of manual craftsmanship. Few of the Sarkaz publications sitting on the desk are actually written in the Sarkaz language.

Hoederer's writing desk, I love him so much. The place he might be writing down the different things he wants to be telling to his class, because you KNOW I will absolutely be filing for sponsorship to get him those books and songs he might want to use. Pull in other Sarkaz on the ship to help. Not sure who I have who could be specifically from Kazdel times, but we will find them for you sweetie.

Intel Organizer

A must-have document pegboard for mercenaries, usually used to confirm target information and locations prior to missions. The photographs are always taken down whenever their owner returns. Yet sometimes, their owner never returns.

... I think I am actually going to die from sadness and we have not even started the chapter yet.

Storage Steel Pipe

A rack welded together from steel pipes and plates, normally used to hang clothes and hats. "How many times do I have to say this? Do not hang your work aprons here!"

I don't know who is speaking but the 'work apron' looks like it's Hoederer's and if I have to assume it's probably Ines who is scolding him about it. Little rebel, does it anyways.

Mercenaries' Bed

A flatbed trolley turned sofa bed. The fabric has frayed, but it is indeed soft and roomy. The broken wheel hubs ensure that it stays in place. For a very long time, this was the only place where the nights were not plagued by nightmares.

Imagine being on your trolley sofa-bed and suddenly RI begins moving because there is an emergency and your silly wheels go squeak-squeak towards the other end of the room at the same speed at which you were sitting still because everything else is moving but the bed is trying to stay at the same spot---

Me: "Do we know how fast RI moves?" Pinkie: "As fast as Czernobog can move towards Lungmen. It has to be fast enough to outrun a tornado." Me: "OH. Alright. Yeah, that makes sense."

"No Overloading"

Originally an exquisite wooden hanging lamp that lets out a warm glow. There are always knickknacks piled on top. It has a warning placed above: "No stacking!" Hoederer asked Ines, "Is this really something we can use?" Ines answered, "Yes."

IS THAT A PHOTO???? IS THAT??? WHAT ARE THEY???? Books???

Simple Study Ceiling Light

A part that the mercenaries removed from who-knows-what and hung from the ceiling. It started glowing, and not only is it very bright, it's also very hot. Ines asked Hoederer, "Is this really something we can use?" Hoederer answered, "Yes."

Hoederer, sweetie, I think if Ines gets to ask 'Can we use this safely?' then perhaps we might not have to use a random fire stick someone found somewhere.

Portable Stove

A stove that's portable, easy to assemble. What's on it likely belongs to a certain dangerous individual. Do not touch. "Oh, the paper in the stove? I ran out of fuel. By the way, Hoederer, you hungry? I cooked some potatoes over there."

YEAH? WITH HIS BOOKS, DIDNT YOU W???

"Versatility"

A bookshelf put together from multiple recycled materials. The lamp at the top was brought back by Ines. She said it was to make it easier to see shadows. The box at the foot of the shelf is full of historical studies.

Yeah, I too need a dowry chest full of books to feel satisfied.

Secondhand File Cabinet

A heavy steel file cabinet containing the historical data of each Sarkaz clan. Today, even the names of many of the clans documented within are indecipherable.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[riddle-me-ri]

Since you want Smut what about Arkham Mad Hatter fem!S/O riding him while saying “You look so good beneath me.” 

A/N: whelp, looks like i’m gonna go cry…asdffgh I haven’t even gotten the opportunity to write Jervis like…well not normal..but non-smutty rip. Well, nothing like going off into the deep end of the pool (I’ve actually done that at the wee age I don’t recommend it but I miss that fearlessness tho) shout out to @mischievous-marchie whose loving, adoring ramblings of him has helped immensely with this.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI explicit sexual content (cowgirl position, unprotected sex, biting), and strong language

Word Count: 1.9 k

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter x F!Reader - A Midnight Surprise 

It truly was a miracle. 

Your sweet, loving, devoting Jervis was back home. 

After being under Strange’s selfish, cruel, and calculated thumb for a few years. Jervis was a free man like his other fellow rogues after the Protocol 10 ruling. Albeit stripped of his equipment, his work, and the time away from you. Strange had spun a convoluted tale of your demise to Jervis, beginning his quest for Alice anew. 

You were always there though, always alive. Jervis didn’t even believe it was you, he was so twisted and confused from Strange’s shrilling cacophony of lies. 

It’s been slow going, but your Jervis was finally coming back around. His eyes lit up whenever they met yours, his neutral smile ultimately widening like the Cheshire Cat’s in delight at the sight of you. Fractured as his mind was, he was able to piece back the memories of you. 

However some habits don’t change, no matter how much trauma one goes through. 

“Jervis…darling, it’s time to go to bed.” You called from behind the door to his work room. 

“In just a moment, my dear. I’ll come join you in a minute, did you hear?”

You groaned. Pulling this man away from whatever project plagued his mind was almost as difficult as defeating the Jabberwock. 

You had a card up your sleeve however, one that would benefit both you and Jervis. 

You cleared your mind from the lewd tactic you had planned…in exchange for coming up with a decent rhyme. You have been with Jervis long enough to detect when he was experiencing an overwhelming amount of emotion…he tended to rhyme. Not to mention whenever you rhymed back, you could almost see his pupils turn heart shaped.

“Oh, Jervis, please would you join me in bed and stay until morn? Especially if there is a reward..in return?” Okay, that sounded more clever and flirtatious in your head.

Whatever effect you were hoping for, it worked. Jervis spun around from his desk on his beat-up swivel chair and almost rabbit-like bounced up from the seat. 

“A surprise? Ooh what a delight! Perhaps I can turn in with you proper, if just for tonight.”

Okay, it’s kind of stupidly unfair how good he is at that. 

Nevertheless you grab his wrists and gently drag him to your shared bedroom down the hall. Everything was going exactly according to plan…well, except for however the hell you were going to rhyme what you needed him to do. 

“Errm..uhh…Jervis…it’s imperative for the surprise to be underway, that before you lay down, your clothes must go…away.” 

You got an adorable chortle in response, unsure if it was from him understanding the implications of your surprise or the fact you were struggling to rhyme. 

“I am under you control, for you I’ll do as I’m told.”

Unceremoniously, Jervis began stripping off his dress shirt, pants, and different colored socks. His signature hat, long hung up in his workshop. 

“I admire your efforts, they don’t go unheeded. But if it’s troubling, you don’t have to rhyme, it’s not needed.”

You took a relieving gasp as if you were drowning and finally came back up for air. “Okay thank you, but I was doing all right, huh?”

Jervis chuckled in glee. “Indeed.” He made himself comfortable on top of the mattress, nude as the day he was born. 

You could hear him softly whimpering behind you as he watched you strip off your nightgown. The only clothing you wore were your lacey sky blue panties. His favorites. 

Stealing a glance over your shoulder, he looked absolutely delectable. Stretched out in the middle of the bed, about to be completely at your mercy. 

You turned around and got on all fours on the bed. Slowly inching closer and closer to Jervis. His breathless pants becoming more erratic and loud as you got closer to him. You were hovering over him, slowly lowering yourself on top of him. 

You felt the slightest pressure to your lace cladded core. Despite his rather short and lanky stature…he was decently thick and had a slightly above average length. That length was surely getting hard and was already trying to make headway to it’s final destination. 

Chuckling, you rested your forehead along his. “Seems someone’s excited for their surprise.” 

Jervis nodded, barely affirming with a whisper, “y-yes..”

You smiled sweetly at him, before cupping the sides of his face in both your hands. “My handsome hatter.” You purr before softly locking your lips with his. 

As you two locked lips, you started to softly grind on Jervis’ member. You giggled as Jervis’ gentle moans tickled your lips, but you kept steady with your movements. Your hands raked down from his face towards his chest. You could feel his warm hands encompassing around your arms. His fingers traced your collarbone down to your chest. 

It was your turn to moan into his lips, as he began kneading your chest. You had to break the kiss when he teasingly pinched one of your nipples. 

“T-Two can tease, my sweet.” He breathed, somewhat pleased with himself. He pushed you back, to where he was sitting up against the headboard and you were straddling him.

You let out a small huff…so much for being in control, but this was his surprise. You figured you’d get what you wanted out of him, just as long as you were on top. 

“I couldn’t have asked for a better teaser.” You whispered, before directing his lips by his chin back onto yours. 

After more kissing and groping, you decided to give attention to the aching member just below you. You reached your hand down, and started to softly tighten your grip, with every tightened grip you languidly stroked him. 

Words couldn’t describe what the piercing whimper he let out did to you. It made you dampen your underwear more than you cared to admit, but damn the sounds…his sounds were addicting. 

You leaned in to the side of his face, you began kissing and softly suckling on his soft skin. Breaking his breathing between pants and soft moans. You swear you could almost cum then and there from his noises alone. 

Abruptly, you broke your kiss from Jervis as you laid back on your haunches. You slowly began sliding your soaked garment off of you through one leg at a time, before tossing it to the side. You returned to your straddling position over Jervis’ lap. 

You kept slowly pumping his cock, spreading the pre-cum from the head down to the base. After a few more pumps, you lowered yourself onto him, finally becoming one. Jervis let out a sharp hiss as your walls already began clamping around him. His fingers clutching your love handles for dear life. 

After a moment to get used to the new pleasurable pressure. You grabbed his shoulders and slowly began going up and down, up and down, occasionally tightening your walls every time you went up. 

Jervis was an absolute mess. Whimpers, stifled breaths, moans, and groans. He was like a naughty music box, and you were adamant to keep him wounded up, to keep him playing. His unruly hair, somehow became more so, caked to his forehead in sweat. His lips raw from kissing yours and biting his lower lip. 

You began picking up your pace for a little bit and then slow down to a medium speed. Just when you were sure he’d reach his high, you slowed down. 

“Aaahh…mmm…Ali-Y/N…please…stop…mmm…d-don’t tease..” He whined. 

You couldn’t help the satisfied grin on your face, one that’d rival the Cheshire’s and even Jervis’.  

“I can’t help it, darling.” You leaned your head to the side of his. Lips just centimeters from his ears. “It’s just…You look so good underneath me…” You kissed the skin just below his ear, before softly nibbling at it, causing Jervis to moan more. 

Jervis’ nails pricked and poked your skin, you wouldn’t be surprised if it broke your skin. You knew he’d leave bruises no doubt. You wrapped your arms around his neck and bring him in for another passionate kiss. 

Never once did you stop grinding on his cock, keeping a steady pattern, only speeding up occasionally. You had no doubt though that both of your peaks were near. Your walls anchored down as you began bouncing faster than before, and much longer too. All the way down to the base, and up, where just the tip of his head barely stayed in between your lower lips. 

“J-Jervis…mm..fuck.” It was your turn to be a moaning mess. 

In Jervis’ eyes, you were like the sirens or nymphs at sea, constantly luring him into a state of euphoria. When he was with you, the prospect of Wonderland wasn’t such a delusion, if not the evidence that it exists wherever you are. You are Alice, after all. 

You didn’t recognize the piercing wail you let out, as you felt Jervis begin thrusting into you. Perfectly thrusting into you the exact moment you bounced down on him. 

“Y-Y-Yes…shit…J-Jervis…please, please, please…”

Your hands reached down to the middle of his back, gripping onto him and whatever skin you could sink your nails into. Red irritated lines went up Jervis’ back, as you dragged them up and back to his shoulders. 

The two of you kept a fast sloppy pace. Just trying to chase that inevitable sweet release that’s been building up slowly but surely. You could feel your gut tighten, and tighten with every collision of both your hips. 

“Jerv..Jervis…s-s-so close.” You whined in his ear. You whine reached to a higher pitch when you felt him sink his teeth into the middle of your shoulder. Jervis stilled, you felt this cock throb and shake between your lips. Your walls in turn began convulsing around him, choking him like a vice. He brought his hand lower and began rubbing your clit with his thumb, giving you that final push over the edge. 

“Jervis…” You squeaked, as your fingernails painted his skin in red again at the shoulders. Your nerves were shocked with vibrations and warmth all over. Your legs shook rapidly, Jervis placed his hands on your thighs to calm the muscles. 

The two of you stayed still as an undisturbed pond on a golden afternoon. Trying to catch your breaths and revel in the delicious afterglow. Once you started gaining feeling in your legs, you began pulling off of Jervis, the emptiness causing you to let out a pathetic whimper. You collapsed on the other side of the bed beside Jervis. 

You could feel the mixture of both your climaxes begin seeping out between your folds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You felt Jervis flip over onto his side and you could feel his eyes on you. Stretching your legs, to keep the nerves from rapidly going back to sleep to recover, you flipped over on your side to look at him. 

You brought your hand up to his face, softly caressing the prominent cheek there with your thumb. 

“Did you like your surprise?” You whispered sweetly, as if you snuck him a cookie he wasn’t supposed to have this late as opposed to riding him to infinity. 

“Oh, very much so yes, loved it even, dearest.” He took your hand that was on his cheek, and brought your palm to his lips, kissing it. 

“I surmises…on future nights there will be more surprises…” He leaned his head against your shoulder. 

“We’ll see, my handsome hatter. We’ll see.” 

You both drifted off to a peaceful slumber, knowing as well as the sun would rise tomorrow. 

There would be more surprises to come.

[a-bucket-full-of-feels]

Some thoughts on Girls Band Cry

Storyline/characters

To be honest, seeing how GBC was hyped up online, I had high expectations for this anime. However, I didn't really find myself being blown away by the storyline and character writing. To be fair, I did enjoy the story as a whole and it is not bad. However, I could not find myself being fully immersed in the drama unlike, for example, It's MyGo, where the lead up to the climax in ep 10 (i.e. Soyo's outburst) and the resolution thereafter just felt so visceral and emotionally raw, or in Hibike, where most episodes literally leave my palms sweating. Perhaps the plot wasn't particularly innovative and novel, or maybe the delivery of the story wasn't mind-blowing. Similar to MyGo, I liked how the characters are inherently flawed and the band doesn't get along most of the time, but the portrayal of that relationship and emotional tension leaves much to be desired, though I just can't put my finger on why it didn't hit the right notes for me personally.

Music

On the other hand, I'm completely floored by the music in this series. All of the songs in the anime were consistently bangers and their music style completely fits the aesthetic of the series i.e. youthful angst and rebellion. I've been listening to Togenashi Togeari's music on Spotify for the past few days and they're truly a gem - it's rare for me to find a band or artiste where I like almost all of the music they've put out so far. A shoutout to Nina's VA for her amazing singing voice - I feel like she managed to encapsulate the rawness of Nina's teenage angst and trauma through her performance. Ugh it's so good

Animation/visuals

I also really enjoyed the 3D animation of this series - it was really smooth and aesthetically pleasing. Of all the 3D animated performance scenes in the band/idol anime I've watched (which I realised is more than I'd like to admit, I clearly have a genre preference lol), GBC's animation is the most impressive by far. It really does seem like you're watching a real band play their instruments and perform on stage, and the little nuances in their movements and expressions feel so natural.

Overall thoughts

Overall, I quite enjoyed GBC as a piece of media. While I'm not blown away by the story, the characters are generally likeable (Nina's a little insufferable but that's the whole point lol) and I really like TogeToge's music too. Also, I'm kinda down bad for Momoka lmao

[amistytown]

Here are my thoughts on Nightbringer. Spoilers for lessons 1-10; I haven’t unlocked everything because my strength took a nosedive around lesson 5, but I’m working on levelling up my team so I can. I also want to make sure I’m not struggling when they release the next lesson 🥲

Anyway . . .

I’m enjoying the story so far! It’s interesting to see what the brothers acted like before they integrated into Devildom society and the impact the Great Celestial War had on them. They’re still the same characters we know and love, but at a much different time in their lives. Their wounds are still fresh, they’re trying to navigate their new lives as well as the trauma of losing their sister and the fall. They’re going through so many changes, and I want to be there for them 🥺

The story doesn’t go as in depth as I’d like, but that’s to be expected since the original game lacked that detail too; that’s what fanfiction is for! However, I’m finding it more enjoyable and better written than seasons 3 and 4 of Obey Me. Of course, they had their moments, but they didn’t feel the same as the first two seasons to me, and Nightbringer does a better job of that in my opinion. It brought back memories of the first time I downloaded and played Obey Me and how excited I was to continue the story. I definitely had a difficult time putting my phone down lol.

I hope they have a solid outline for the story and its progression. I don’t want what happened to Obey Me to happen to Nightbringer. I’ll be curious to see if they tie everything together in the end and if we’ll get to see how the brothers in the present timeline feel about MC’s diasppearance. The Nightbringer aspect is interesting, and I’m assuming Barbatos is Nightbringer. I wonder what his reasons are for sending MC to the past, and if it was present Barbatos or perhaps Barbatos from the future or another timeline?

I do dislike how, even though the story takes place in the past, the timeline doesn’t add up. Obey Me has always done this (example being Levi reading manga and watching anime when it shouldn’t exist yet) so I tend to ignore it for my own sake. I’ll write these inconsistencies out of my own headcanon.

I feel so sad for the brothers and all they went through and are still going through. I know my MC would do their best to be a positive influence in their lives, supporting and comforting them through these difficult times. I also see my MC being uncertain and scared being stuck in the past and not knowing how they ended up there or if they’ll be able to return to the present, wishing they could turn to the brothers and not being able to. The demons they came to know and love don’t know or love them, and that would be hard to deal with; home but not quite. Then having to keep themselves together and pretend everything is okay, lying to those they love because they can’t risk the impact it would have on the future 😭

I like that Solomon plays a bigger role in Nightbringer. I’ve grown fonder of his character. My MC would appreciate his company and consider him their rock: I see my MC and Solomon having a sibling-esque relationship. If it weren’t for Solomon they would feel much worse and not know what to do. I love his relaxed nature and sense of humor too. It’s comforting.

And of course I have to talk about Levi!!! MY SWEETIE PIE 🥹🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 Honestly, I was afraid of how they’d depict him in Nightbringer. I’m still a bit nervous since they haven’t mentioned him being a general in the Celestial Realm or Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy; I’ll be curious to see if they do at some point. Obey Me also showed he was not always an otaku shut-in and implied that happened after the fall, but I’m almost under the impression that’s not the case in Nightbringer? I’m not certain though. They did state in Obey Me that Levi had control over Lotan in the Celestial Realm, but in Nightbrinfer it shows that summoning and having control over Lotan is one of his newfound abilities ehhh.

Crying 🥹💕

I love his interactions with Snake/Henry 1.0 😭 They’re so sweet!!! I hope we get to see Levi becoming an avid TSL fan; it’s funny that MC introduced him to both TSL and Ruri-chan hehehe. And since Snake will become Henry 1.0 I’m really looking forward to more TSL content. PLEASE 🥺✨ I was so happy with Levi’s storyline and how they incorporated TSL. 

I never thought I could love Levi even more than I do, but in this moment I fell in love with him all over again 🥰 He’s SO adorkable!!! I want to hug and kiss him and smother him with LOVE. And getting to waltz with Levi flkdsjflkds Such a sweet moment. The progression of his and MC’s relationship is much different than in Obey Me, and it’s interesting to see how a freshly fallen Levi interacts with MC compared to the Levi who’s been a demon living in the Devildom for centuries (you could say this for any/all of the characters.) I initially didn’t like his character in Obey Me because he was mean, rude, and demanding until I found out he’s actually a total cutie 😊 

Ahhh and the scene where we run into Levi in the bathroom!!! I love how at first he doesn’t believe MC wants to spend time with him of their own accord, but then says how, in the shower, he thought it over and maybe MC means what they said. MY HEART 😭 When he opened up to MC I wanted to cry and wished I could hug the poor demon. Talking about how even in the Celestial Realm he was depressed, not feeling like he belonged, and thought maybe that would change in the Devildom. And in that moment I thought, “no wonder he’s my comfort character.” Poor Levi has been dealing with so much, even in the Celestial Realm, and I want to see him happy. He deserves all the anime, manga, and games in the three realms!!! Oh, and when it was obvious he was interested in cosplay but too self-conscious to give it a try. Ahhh, I relate to him too much. It all hit me hard, and I wanted to cry the entire time. 

He ends up coming such a long way 😢 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

All the characters are dear to me, but another one I wanted to talk about is Satan!!! I’ve always enjoyed his character, and he was actually a favorite of mine before I become a hardcore Leviastan. Nightbringer made me appreciate his character again, and he pushed his way into my top 3. I feel like I can relate to him. Not being able to control your emotions, having a hard time understanding yourself and those around you, wanting to fit in and not knowing how, being unable to express yourself and lashing out when you don’t mean to. I’ve felt similar throughout my life (still do in ways) but have learned to hide my “true” self behind a mask when in public and have had to figure out how to navigate and express myself in healtheir and “acceptable” ways. If that makes sense lol. I kept relating to him and feeling so sorry for him. Yes, he’s scary when his anger gets the best of him, but I still felt sympathetic, found him relatable, and wanted to comfort him. EDIT to add he also seems to get overwhelmed and overstimulated easily, which I, again, relate to; like when Belphie was upset, and Satan had to leave because he couldn’t deal with the commotion. 

And I know Obey Me overused his love for cats, but the scene where he sees a cat for the first time 🥺 Cats seem to be a comfort for him, and I can understand that too. Animals are a huge comfort for me, especially bunnies, and are some of the best friends I’ve had. When no one understood me, they did, and I felt like I could be myself and they would accept me for who I am; they don’t judge and love you uncondtionally. Sorry, I’m getting personal, but I wonder if it’s the same for Satan. I want to give him a big hug.

Omg, I’ve talked long enough, but now I want to talk about game mechanics! I actually enjoy playing Ruri Tunes. The dance battles in Obey Me always bored me. I hated not being able to skip them before VIP. I didn’t mind them in the beginning, but the more I played the more they annoyed me. Ruri Tunes is entertaining and engaging! I’ve never played a rythm game before, but I’m learning and am better than when I first started a couple days ago. I love listening to the songs and hope they drop the remixes eventually. I find myself wanting to get better at Ruri Tunes so I can clear them all and get full combos; I love when Levi says FULL COMBO lol.

As for Wanderers’ Whereabouts and Fab Snap, I feel indifferent to them at the moment. They don’t add anything to the story for me, and I’m not a fan of the 3D models. I haven’t messed around with them too much, so maybe they’ll grow on me, but as of now they don’t interest me.

I think the app itself runs a lot smoother and doesn’t lag like Obey Me did. The graphics are nice, though I miss aspects of the original Obey Me app like the transition between scenes and lessons and the look and feel of Nightmare; I think they could have updated them without losing the ambience of the originals’. Does that make sense? Otherwise, I love how they updated the game!!!

I can’t wait to see how the story progresses and Nightbringer grows over time. I was afraid when I heard they wouldn’t be updating the original app because Obey Me brings me so much comfort and joy, but a lot of my doubts have subsided since playing. I’M SO HAPPY AND IT REALLY CHEERED ME UP 😭✨

Ahhh if anyone has read this far I thank you fldjfldfdksjflsd So much nonsense 💀 Though now I really want to write more. I feel like I have that inspiration and motivation I had when I wrote my first headcanon set 🥺 And I’m interested to know what everyone else thinks of Nightbringer 😊

[cedarmochi]

Separated by dimensional barriers.

Let's just imagine if Miles manages to escape the warehouse where he's being held by Miles 42 and Aaron 42. A bit angsty.

The sky cried for Miles. And the sky mourned for Miles. A false sense of home and a false sense of security lured him into a home that wasn't his but almost his from another world, a darker world devoid of the colours and happiness along with pride that Miles had.

Miles was in pain. He may have outsmarted Miguel, but Miguel was in blind rage and Miles exploited this to his advangtage. But the chase tore at him slowly. Both physically and mentally. "YOU'RE THE ORIGINAL ANOMALY!" singed Miles' mind, the scream of a wrath Miles had never seen was being threatened to awaken from its slumber, all because of someone else that wasn't even related to Miles. And Gwen. He missed Gwen. Miles missed Gwen. But he also was hurt by Gwen. His sunshine in life may have gave him warmth, but it also accidently burnt him. Now he was swinging through a city that was apparently, "home", with his muscles aching, his injuries screaming and wincing in pain as they tried to close themselves and prevent the blood from spewing out like the tears that were on the verge of causing an tsunami on Miles' face.

All he wanted was to see Gwen again.

He did see Gwen. Albeit at the cost of pain. Anguish. Anger. Disappointment. And a false sense of home.

Miles kept putting his arms forwards, swinging around the city through the dark of night with the sky's rain, supposedly rejuvenation, reminding Miles of how lonely he was. He wasn't even supposed to be here. Instead he was cold, hungry, tired, in pain both physically and mentally, scared, and still he forced himself to go onwards.

For what?

For his parents? For Gwen? What was he going forwards for? Was there really something worth fighting for? Miguel could reappear any moment. And it would be extremely easy after Miguel figured out a way to not be affected by Miles' bio-electricity and then it would all be over; would he ever see his dad again? Would he ever see his mother again?

And would he ever see Gwen's smile, hear her voice, feel her warmth and lose himself in her ocean blue eyes?

And then suddenly, his webshooters ran out.

Shit.

Miles frantically clawed around for anything for his hands to land on, only to slip down into the depths of the city, and feel himself falling on various objects. He landed on his back. His face stared up.

The heaven's looked back. Were the heaven's laughing? Smiling? Crying?

He would never know. The tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes that were aching to see home again finally were freed. And with unison, the rain came back.

"Gwen..." he would whisper weakly, as his eyes slowly gazed up at the heaven's above him.

"I wish you were here..."

And then suddenly, his spider sense tingled faintly. Again.

It happened again. This time, more stronger...slightly stronger.

Perhaps it wasn't over. Gwen was coming. She was coming for Miles.

And Miles felt the rain slowly calm down, as if the heaven's noticed this too.

So maybe he'd see her smile again. Cry into her shoulders and embrace her again, and make amends. And most important, go home. On his own accord.

But Miles and Gwen? They were seperated by dimensional barriers. But if they truly loved eachother, they'd ignore it and simply just look for eachother.

All Miles needed to do was to hang on for a bit more. Not let his fingers slip off the rope that was suspended above him, where he could imagine Gwen smiling at him and reaching out for him.

Writers note:

613 words. In about, 10 minutes or so? I enjoy writing, so please, I'd appreciate some feedback and of course, I'd like it if you could reblog this so that others can read this. Thank you!

[rosenallies]

Can we perhaps get some good old rosenali hurt/comfort or angst? Any au pls🥺👉🏻👈🏻

I forgot I wanted to write something and then my dad gave me an edible so if this stops making sense halfway thru I’m very sorry </3 here’s a lil alt breakup au bc I love writing for this au when I need to project all my bad feelings

——

Denali’s fingers flexed against the cold metal railing, hair whipping around his face as the wind blew around him, chilling him even through his heavy sweatshirt. He’d finished the joint he brought out to the fire escape a while ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to step inside, going inside would mean he would have to face Rosé and his tired, concerned eyes, his softly spoken words and the tears he shed in private that he thought Denali didn’t know about.

Goosebumps ran up his arms and the wind whistled as he watched the city below him. Despite the late hour, people still mingled about, talking and laughing and Denali found himself hoping they never felt pain and hurt that only seemed to worsen as time went on, like he did.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the exit to the fire escape slide open, immediately he felt eyes land on him.

“I came to check on you,” Rosé said softly, his voice tired and shaky.

Denali really should have known Rosé wouldn’t leave him alone for too long, he never did nowadays. Days and weeks apart soon turned into hourly check ins and the two of them hardly leaving their New York City apartment.

“I’m fine,” he replied, though he convinced neither of them.

Rosé stepped outside all the way, placing a tender hand on Denali’s shoulder. “Do you think you could come inside, please? It’s cold and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Denali nodded, not wanting to stress his partner further even though the last thing he wanted to do was go back inside, at least out here it didn’t feel as suffocating, like the four walls were closing in around him. He followed him inside, close at his heels as he was led to their bedroom where Rosé had gathered everything from his ‘help Denali feel better kit’. It was a box Rosé kept underneath the bed overflowing with things to help Denali feel better when he needed it, though lately a few things that usually stayed in the box remained permanently on the bed because he needed them more often than not. On the bed, Rosé had made a cozy blanket cocoon out of the softest blankets they had, soft pillows strewn about along with his heated stuffed animal, the heady lavender scent in the room meaning it had already been warmed up. The sight nearly made him cry; though he couldn’t tell whether the tears were from guilt or being overwhelmed with gratitude for his partner, definitely both were present in him.

“I-I thought you’d might like to-“

“Thank you,” Denali interrupted him, tugging him along to lay with him.

Tangled in one another, Denali tried to let the rise and fall of Rosé’s chest comfort him, but it only made him cry harder, desperately gripping onto Rosé’s sweater as he was soothed gently.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” he whispered repeatedly like a mantra.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Denali cried, apologizing the only thing he could think to do when it was a Saturday night and both of them were in bed before 10, Rosé’s arms around Denali and holding him together.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, you don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.”

Denali sniffed and wiped his red rimmed and swollen eyes. “ ‘S not your fault.”

Pressing his lips to Denali’s forehead, Rosé spoke quietly. “I know but I’m still so fucking sorry.”

“I just want it to stop. I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby, I know. Let’s just sleep, can you try and sleep?”

Denali winced at how almost frantic Rosé’s voice sounded; although soft and gentle, Denali could still sense the desperation, the desperation to finally rest after being on edge all day.

“Yeah, let’s sleep,” Denali sighed, tucking himself small against Rosé.

Silence fell over them, only the sound of their breathing in the room, until Denali spoke up.

“I think it would all be okay if we could stay here like this forever.”

Swallowing down his own emotions, Rosé smiled softly. “I’d stay here with you forever if you needed me to.”

[ship-ambrosia]

Thanks for the tag, @selkiewife!

I’m going to post lines from the WIPs that I’ve been working on most recently, but if anyone is interested in the fics I’ve already published, you can find links to them on this post.

10 most recent first lines in order from first to last:

1. She was queen, and yet she could not have him.

- Strings of Pearls (Theon/Sansa March YOTP; fresh starts, mutual pining, acceptance) Should hopefully be finished and published this week.

2. Yara Greyjoy did not cry.

- Untitled (Theon/Sansa, Theon becomes the Champion of the Drowned God)

3. A lion in the snow was an odd sight indeed.

- Untitled (Jaime goes to Winterfell as a different man)

4. Theon, or maybe Davos - perhaps even Daenerys or one of her allies, Missandei or Tyrion seemed likely, hoping to draw a wedge between him and his sister - had told Sansa about what he’d done on the beach of Dragonstone.

- Untitled (Jon POV of Theon/Sansa after the Long Night, Theon lives AU)

5. His dreams are full of fire and blood, snow and death all around him.

- What is Dead May Never Die (Time Traveler Theon, Theon/Sansa, monster of a fic im working on for some reason)

6. No one in their right mind passing by would suspect the petite, fair-haired maiden currently gliding through the halls of the Twins of treason.

- A Council of Roses (Roslin Frey saves Robb Stark, and changes the course of the war)

7. Sansa sighed, leaning back to examine her work, lines of text on her computer that when she really thought about, were just words and had no business coming together in such a way to feel sexy.

- Untitled (Modern AU Theon/Sansa where Sansa writes bodice ripper romance novels)

8. Margaery knocked on Sansa Stark’s apartment door at promptly 10 o’clock on Saturday morning as she did almost every week, carrying a carton of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of rosé in the other.

- Untitled (Modern AU Theon/Sansa, Margaery catches Theon at Sansa’s place and thinks they’re sleeping together)

9. By the Old Gods in Winterfell and the Seven in the south, and probably by the Drowned God that the islands he once called home believed in too, Theon Greyjoy was royally fucked.

- Untitled (April YOTP, (seemingly) unrequited love, “no, I’m not dating your brother”; Modern AU Theon/Sansa)

10. The first gift had been a small bouquet of daffodils.

- Untitled (May YOTP Theon/Sansa, flower language, pet/child acquisition, sunshine)

~*~

Please feel free to tell me which of these ideas are your favorite! Most of them are untitled because that’s usually the last thing I do lol

Tagging my Theonsa bestie, @grey-joys!

[diamondheart22]

‘Who by Fire, Who by Water’

Bella Hadid, Gal Gadot, Monica Bellucci, and Me (?).

🇺🇸💸

Dear readers,

How are you feeling today? How is your heart today? Let us be light of heart together today. Let’s talk about the little things we do everyday. Let’s talk about my little things. Perhaps you will get ideas for little things to try yourself!

I am living in Sarasota, FL for the indefinite future. I also hope to buy the car I want.

I had a great day yesterday. I ate scallop sashimi and yellowtail sushi for dinner. The sushi was loaded with masago. Very tasty. I have had major hankerings for raw fish recently. I eat lox bagels Almost every day… am I going to get some sort of disease from this?

How to make Ultimate Good Lox Bagel:

1. Double toast egg bagel

2. Apply thick schmear of plain

3. Lay down a few leaves of spinach

4. Layer on thinly sliced tomato.. preferably a locally grown heirloom

5. Now add a wee bit of diced onion

6. The best part: layer on lox … amount is your preference

7. Ok .. caper time

8. Lil bit sprouts of your choice

9. To finish; drizzle with good EVOO and sprinkle with Himalayan salt .. or French grey salt.. and pepper

10. Cry while you eat because it’s so good omg

At dinner my family discussed our morning eggs. Are eggs hen periods? How are they fertilized? Why did no one in my family know the answers to these questions? Can you fertilize an egg with a light? Could I live under this light? I remain unsure.

After dinner my family went to see a movie I did not want to see so I stayed back at the restaurant. I am reading about Leonard Cohen in ‘73. I am reading about war. The bartender made me a passion fruit mock-tail with almond syrup? I complimented her face. She did not charge me for the drink. I have been getting a lot of things for free. The restaurant is at a big shopping center and they host outdoor karaoke shows on the weekend. I decided to sing. Unfortunately the man singing before me, Mike M, was a dazzling talent in a Hawaiian shirt. I sang an extremely melancholic version of “bang bang” (Nancy) and not a soul clapped. The Hawaiian shirt guy had a posse. They complimented me as I left.. ‘Pipes, girl! It’s ok to be sad!’

Speaking of mornings, back to mornings. I keep dreaming about the morning star and neon yellow rope. Apparently the rope is yellow; I’d prefer pink. I have odd dreams. What is there to be done about the dark stars? I reckon they cry too. It is all ancient stuff. There is nothing to be discovered. I have discovered Nothing so I drink a lot of water now.

The stars make me think of the war. I am trying hard to not think of the war. I hope to get a job as a ‘stylist’ (salesperson) at Free People. I am trying to think about clothes. I am trying to be light-hearted like a good American girl. I am trying to not-think. By the Grace of God, there goes I.

Also on soft-top:

- How to write square not circle

-Can the pendulum ever stop swinging

-Will the quantum computer exist in my lifetime

-Is someone going to want to marry me ever

Thank you for coming. I have included a cute phone background as a reward for your labor today. Eat a bagel.

I love you,

Jillian

[baekhvuns]

OK FIRST OFF

thank you 🫶🏻 life is definitely humbling me since i started my last year and again, almost failed one of my exams bc i thought i was good at geography but turns out i wasn’t and butchered my way through it.. im surprised i still somehow passed it with a 7.5/10 🤡 but i got a 10/10 on history which is supposedly the second hardest exam after math so i won something iguess 😹

the first year will definitely be hard as im moving in a different city and when i went to enroll i alr got lost in the campus ☠️☠️ it will definitely be interesting… it is!! i actually found out more abt the courses from actual students there and it seems nice, a futuristic job thats paid well too so 🤞🏻 but i will definitely keep u updated on how i shall fail my uni exams too😭 it is somewhat worse than it was before due to family issuess but what can we do, right?😭 it actually did,, im into this group zb1 (zerobaseone) which u must have heard of, or perhaps the survival show boys planet😭 so ill be enjoying the next 2 years with them until they disband 😹

AND THE WAY THIS MADE ME LAUGH BUT CRY BADLY AT THE SAME TIME “i gery much hope u get a lot of happiness bc whenever unsend an ask it’s usually really sad “ like do i actually sound so sad and depressed in each ask i send… even my messages are as depressed as me wow 🤡

…wdym writing the same fic…… GIVE UP OR HUST END IT ON A CLIFFHANGER 😭 and no omg:( i pray for a speedy recovery for you!! 🥹🫶🏻 its summer,, i hope u will feel better soon and enjoy the summer <3

damn… missed my 18th & 19th bday with no yeosang fic AT LEAST FOR MY 20TH SOMETHING ???? LIKE AN IMAGINE THERE SMTH 🥲 🌃

OKAY DBWNBDKW

u know what, what matters is that we passed 🤚🏻 for uni just rmr as long as ur above 50% WE WINNING????) PARTY???? anon YOU ARE SMART DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE YOURSELF LIKE THAT

a job that pays well 🤲🏻😭😭 it’s all we want,, oo i hope u found friends from those ppl u talked too!! OH UR A ZBO TOO???? BIAS DROP RN 🔫

YOU DO AND IM ALWAYS RESPONDING W WORRY BC WHY IS UR LIFE SO SAD LIKE THAT??? WHAT HAPPENED TO RAINBOW AND DAISES???

do not remind me anyway will drop teaser tmr (i think) FHWKHDWK YEOSANG IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE TANK RN FBDDB

[rustedhearts]

send her my love (boxer!steve x fem!librarian!reader)

summary: a series of letters written after your recent breakup with steve, recounting your time apart.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡ main masterlist

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mushy-gushy-lovey-dovey love letters.

a/n: pretty self explanatory, but libby’s letters are in pink, steve’s are in black ♡

“…how it hurt so bad to see her cry. i didn’t want to say goodbye. send her my love, memories remain. send her my love, roses never fade.”

—send her my love, journey

december 1992—march 1993

♡ ♡

12/05/92

Dear Libby,

Dear god I hope you open this. My hands are shaking so bad around the pen that I’m sure it’ll be all scratchy and shit, but I hope you know that I’m trying. I know how much you love letters, and after you stopped picking up my calls a few weeks ago…I figured this was the best way to reach you.

It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other. I hate thinking about that day. I hate thinking about you crying, and crying because of me. Because of something I did. I want you to know that I take full accountability for what I did, my love. That’s a word they said I should use more often. Accountability. “They” would be Big and Mikey. When they heard about what happened…I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them so mad. I think, for a moment, Big thought about coming out of retirement just to kick my ass into next year.

I patched up the wall myself. It was my mess to clean. The house seems so big and empty without you. I never realized it echoed before.

I don’t blame you for going home, baby. I know you’ve been wanting to go for a while. I know I drove you away. Pushed you away. I was so terrible to you and I see that now. I’m so sorry it took something so awful for me to see it. But you were right. I’m just like my father. And I needed someone to tell me that so I could realize how fucking stupid and awful I’ve been.

I hope you don’t mind that I used some of your stationary to write this to you. You left it on the desk downstairs. The shelves came in for your books and I put them up. Maybe when you come home, we can fill them up. I’ll buy you all the books in the world, my girl.

I’m sorry. Please know that.

Love,

Steve.

♡ ♡

12/10/92

Steve,

I was surprised to receive your letter. When I stopped answering and your calls stopped coming, I assumed we were done for good. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Despite my every want to feel the opposite, I’m still so terribly in love with you that my head hurts every waking moment of the day. I ache with it. Now that we’re apart, it bleeds. It has nowhere to go. I have nowhere to put it. But this was your doing, Steven. I don’t want you to forget that.

We both said terrible things that day, but what you did was unforgivable. You promised from the start to never raise a hand against me in anger. You promised to never become the thing you hated. I took your word as bond, and perhaps that was my mistake. Perhaps that’s my grievance to regret.

I miss you terribly, but this time apart will be good for us. It’s what we need. I’ve been away from home since I was 19. My brother stands taller than me. His voice is so much deeper than when I left. They’re getting computers at the library soon. Everything is so different, yet it all still seems the same. But even these tiny differences make me realize how long I’ve been away.

It’s snowing here in Hawkins and I helped mom put up the Christmas lights. Nick and I had a snowball fight. I felt ten years old again. Mom made hot chocolate and we watched Charlie Brown. I know how much you love Charlie Brown’s Christmas. But in that moment, I felt wonderfully calm. I felt okay. I felt happy.

And it made me wonder…were we happy, Steve? Or have we been pretending for too long?

I’m glad my shelves came. Use them for your trophies.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

12/14/92

Libby,

I can’t tell you how happy I was to get your letter in the mail. I’ve been scared to open it for the past two days. But the thought of going a moment more without knowing what you said would kill me. I can hear your voice so clearly when I read your words.

I’ll never forget what I did that day, Libby. It will always be a reminder of how awful I’ve become. And it will always be a reminder of who I don’t want to be ever again.

I know it doesn’t mean much now since I’m a few months too late, but I’m talking to someone. A shrink or whatever. Big recommended him. Apparently he specializes in “anger issues.” You know how I feel about sitting down and whining about my problems, but…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help. If it turns me back into the man you loved then I’ll sit on that couch and talk for days.

You asked if we were pretending, and for me at least, I never pretended for a moment. There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t love you with every ounce of my being. I’m sorry if you felt you had to pretend. I’m sorry that you weren’t happy, and if you give me the chance, I’ll do my best to make you happy this time around.

No amount of trophies or champion belts in the world could make up for the loss of you, my angel. Please know that and believe it.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

12/22/92

Steve,

I hate the way your words make my heart pound. All that love is still so strong, and it’s all still festering in me. But the heartache is just as powerful. The heartache is just as real.

I cannot give you a second chance just yet. I don’t think we’ve quite earned it. I don’t think we’ve yet reached a point where we’re both okay—on our own. I want to be okay even without you. I fear I’ve become so reliant on you to tell me where life will go, because my life has revolved around your own. I’ve never found my own path to wander. I want that opportunity now.

I went to the Hideout tonight. A Christmas party with some friends. I haven’t felt that young in years, Steve. I’m only 22.

Merry Christmas, Steve. And happy New Year.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

1/3/93

Libby,

Christmas was lonely without you. Mikey invited me to his "bachelor pad" in L.A for a "booze fest" (all his words). Gargling gravel sounded like a better time. For a minute, I thought maybe it might be good to get out. To be my own person, like you said. But everything just feels so dull now.

I thought about mailing your present, but I figured you'd just get upset. I want to respect your space and our time apart. My shrink says I have to find more time for other people's wants and needs instead of just prioritizing my own. Is that what I've been doing, Libby? Is that what I've always done?

I guess I kinda did. Took you away from the library and your home. I just wanted you with me all the time. I couldn’t imagine getting through that first string of fights without you. I don’t think I’d be the fighter I am today if I didn’t have you there.

I guess I’m talking about “me” a lot again. I’m sorry I do that.

I hope your Christmas was nice. Hope it snowed the way you like.

Love,

Steve

♡ ♡

1/28/93

Libby,

I haven’t heard from you all month. I thought I’d reach out again. For a few days, I had myself convinced my letter got lost in the mail. I waited for a “return to sender” to come. I think I would’ve preferred the honest rejection to your silence. It’s been so quiet here, my girl. I miss the sound of your voice in our home.

The fights mean nothing anymore. I won the Russell fight last week and felt nothing. Ever since you left, victory tastes stale. The referees declare the winner and I just hear static. Jesus, I miss you so much I started reading some of your sappy literature last week. It’s clearly having an affect.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re good. I miss you more and more with every passing day. I miss you more than I thought was ever humanly possible for one person to miss another. I never thought this deep of a feeling could exist. This “break” has taught me a lot.

Been talking to the shrink more too. He says I have an issue with authority and always need to feel in control because of how my dad was. Big fucking brain on this guy, huh? Must’ve went to school in Dumb Fuckville.

Sorry. I’m trying to be kinder. Not swear so much. Wish they made patches for anger like they do for nicotine. Something to ease the ache. But it’s hard to quit something you were born into. The Harrington rage doesn’t just disappear over night. But I swear I’m trying. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, baby. I’m doing my best to be better.

I hope I hear from you. I hope you’re alright.

I love you.

— Steve

♡ ♡

2/3/93

Steve,

I meant to write. I’ve been so busy now that I’m at the library full time again. I forgot how taxing it can truly be, but it’s like riding a bike. The smell of the books, the feel of the paper, the conversations you have with readers who don’t know where to look, or the ones who do and are searching for more. I forgot how important I feel between those stacks of books.

My girlfriends and I have been going out. They never got to celebrate my twenty-first with me, so we had a belated celebration a few weeks ago. We went to a bar in Indianapolis, took a bus the whole way there. The bar was loud and hot and sticky, and someone spilled beer all over my purse. I know you would’ve hated it, but part of me wished you were there. Bodies were pressing against each other on the dance floor, touching and smearing sweat—but all I wanted to feel was yours. Your familiar frame, right next to me. Only with you have I ever felt so secure.

Anyway, I got my first hangover, and that wasn’t fun. Especially because I’m still staying with my parents and they still think I’m seventeen. Nick tried to get me to buy him beer for his friends. I wish I could be this ‘cool’ older sister for him, but right now he doesn’t like me very much.

I watched your fight last week. There’s something so different in the way you move now. Your punches seem heavier, harder. You take more hits before you hit back. I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know I always worry, Steve. I worry about what might happen if you take too many hits. All those concussions can’t be good. I’m no doctor, but I figure eventually, they’ll catch up to you. I don’t want to see that happen. I can’t fathom the idea of losing you like that. No matter what happens between us, I always want to know you’re well. Selfishly, I always want to know you're out there if I need to call.

I’m glad to know you’re trying, and that you’re still going to therapy. I think it’s very healthy, Steve, and I appreciate and value your honesty. And….I miss you too.

Yours,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/12/93

Libby,

There hasn't been a moment that's gone by since you left that I haven't wished I was with you. In whatever way that might be, all I've wanted is to feel your body next to mine. I miss your touch, your smell, your smile. I never want to know another kiss but yours. I never want to hold another body in my arms that isn't yours. I don't think I could stomach the thought of never having that again.

The longer the time between us lasts and the further the distance grows, the worse I ache for you. God I sound like a fucking dope. It's all those novels you left me, I swear I'm not this sappy. But I guess with you I am.

Please forgive me. Please come home. All I can do now is beg, and show you how hard I'm trying.

I love you, angel. There's nobody and nothing but you.

Love,

Steve

P.S. You're the best big sister. Nick will see that one day when his brain isn't full of beer and Playboy.

P.P.S. Happy early Valentine's Day, baby. I hope the flowers are okay.

♡ ♡

2/17/93

Dear Steve,

I loved the flowers, and I loved the sap. Reading your last letter brought tears to my eyes, and for the first time in a while, they were blissful. I cannot begin to describe the size of the welt in my chest. It feels bruised by your absence and my longing.

Despite every bone in my body yearning for you, I cannot come home. Not yet. I'm not ready. I don't think you are, either. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while it pains both of us to endure it, I think they're right. Whoever "they" are.

In the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit: Tom Marrow asked me out for Valentine's Day. And god damn you, Steve, I said no. I said no because I'm wilting without your sun shining on me, and I'm lost without you by my side. I said no because I'll never be able to look into the face of another man without wishing it was yours.

I said no because I know, one day (maybe soon, maybe not), I'll come home to you. Don't let that get to your head.

Love,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/22/93

Libby,

My heart has never suffered as many palpitations in all my high-risk athletic career as it did reading your letter. I hate the way the paper crumpled in my fist when I read about fucking Tom. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to abandon the jealousy that fills me when I think of you with another man. But I can admit, it reached a point even I don't like to think of. I was letting it control me. I'm trying not to do that anymore.

The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink. That's what you've reduced me to, my love. An animal searching for you in the earth.

Please come home. Please come back to me.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

3/2/93

My darling Steve,

I'm coming home to you. Please unlock the door.

Yours always,

Libby

♡ ♡