#i´m not gonna survive this season i swear

[madfoxx]

THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEE

[phantomoftheorpheum]

PLL: OS (Summer School) Finale Live Notes.

*Spoilers for the entirety of PLL Summer School

Okay friends, we've come to end of the season! I took notes throughout the episode, so here they are, plus some post-episode thoughts.

I knew Kelly wouldn't be dead! Faran had no reason to arrive so quickly if she wasn't going to be able to save her.

Okay, not important, but Kelly's hair always looks so good when they let it be wavy, I hope she'll get that style more in season 3 (assuming there is one), which would also set her apart from Karen.

Y'all, istg if the Ravenswood namedrop means they're taking an actual supernatural angle with this, I will be the one rioting.

"They just kinda showed up outta nowhere. I mean, doesn't that Christian guy make horror masks?" hkhjsdhfjk Heartbreaking: The Worst Person You Know Just Made A Great Point. Jk, jk, I promise I do not actually hate Jen or think she's the worst person in the show, I just really hate the love triangle trope and the way this storyline has been handled and this made me laugh, and while this feels like a big deflection, yet again (like... as did you?), she seriously does have a point, someone SHOULD be bringing up the masks.

I actually love the bickering when people start accusing each other’s SOs. I do like that the girls are supportive of each other, but they need conflict, too. Also interesting to see what comes out when people are getting defensive. 

Aaaaand there's another Scream reference. Tabby: Safety in numbers! but then Tabby, approximately 2 seconds later: Let's go individually investigate our suspicious love interests and then regroup! TABBY YOU ARE A HORROR NERD, YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER!

If Johnny is not involved, he really is the CHILLEST dude on the planet.

Confirmation that the Bloody Rose murders were filmed! That's so validating. At this point in the episode, I'm leaning towards Wes and not Christian in this aspect. They're (the girls) too worried about Johnny and Christian, which wouldn't make either of them a major twist, and they have been literally 0% worried about Wes (which I still maintain makes absolutely no sense, considering what Tabby and Christian found at his place. & the main reason he ever dropped ever so slightly on my suspect list [he was still very, very up there] was how ridiculously HUGE of a red flag that should have been that it felt like it could be a set up, but then Tabby didn't get suspicious [which was also my biggest red flag with Christian, but now she is suspicious of him] so...)

I thought it would be a stabbing and not her smashing him on the head (I also thought it might be a nightmare), but I WAS right about my “rule of threes” and my prediction that Johnny was going to fail to talk down Imogen, after successfully doing so twice before.

I'm not convinced he's actually an antagonist because if he were, why the fuck would he hide bodies at the place he works, like that is a ridiculously bad move, but also if this kills him & he’s not bad, that’s gonna be so fucked & also Imogen could definitely go to jail. So. Idk what to believe yet. 

Y’ALL, I swear to god these are my as I am watching notes & I absolutely did not realize how hilarious me calling Johnny “the CHILLEST dude on the planet,” was going to end up being. I know this scene is serious, but I just lost it, knowing how it related to my notes.

Okay, on a more serious note. Survivability is not looking great for Johnny. Also, Imogen, word of advice- when you find bodies in the freezer, LEAVE and call the police, don’t go confront the guy you believe murdered them!!! 

Okay, pause. Tabby just fell down the stairs at Christian’s (knew that was coming, obviously) after finding a Davie mask (not surprised), but since we have half an hour left in the episode, I’m guessing this means that the frame job I thought was happening IS happening and it’s happening to Christian (Wes hired Christian specifically to frame him?) and Johnny, meaning Wes is likely the mastermind. Also, this makes me VERY suspicious of Jen. She pushed the girls towards Johnny and Christian and now there’s the perfect evidence to turn Imogen and Tabby against them?

Right. So I did not have on my bingo card that Rose Waters would actually get her face carved off, that was honestly more brutal than I was expecting. 

The body on the altar is Pastor Malachi, which I’m a little disappointed about (in myself), but I did say he was the only one of the other victims that I could make any argument for being there, but I really thought it was going to be somebody important to Rose.

Okay, WELL, yes on Mrs. Langsberry and yes on Wes, but I did NOT expect him to take that mask off during the livestream. I really thought he was going to try to pin everything on someone else. I also don’t believe for a second he intends to let Tabby live, no matter what she says (though I do believe he would let her “seem” to live for the sake of the film, then kill her after). 

Did Christian not just say they should go to the screening room because there are no doors? But then immediately direct them out of some exit doors? I think this is just silly writing & not actually nefarious, but rofl.

“Mickey is a sick fuck who wants to get caught!" It really is Scream 2! It really is! Except Tabby didn't have a "wavering because I'm not sure if I can trust my boyfriend and maybe I shouldn't untie him," equivalent moment, really.

I know they all did self defense, but that last guy Tabby took out looked like a video game takedown, lol. I would have probably believed it more with Faran, but I get it.

Well, at least Faran got to punch Bloody Rose.

I AM SO MAD AT MYSELF. Tabby and Christian have that whole convo about their favorite horror movie deaths and she brings up the pitchfork, and at the time I even thought, “I wonder if someone is gonna get stabbed with a pitchfork,” and then I chose not to bother to type that up and I cannot believe I did not type that up! Of all the useless crap I typed up and that's the thing I didn't bother to ever post about? I'm disappointed in myself.

Y’all, maybe one of you should stay with Tabby, like maybe you don’t need 4 of you to go into the cabin to check the Wes situation. 

I do love the “they always come back” Scream reference with Wes’s death here.

Okay, but... why did he kidnap Dr. Sullivan? And why was Pastor Malachi on the altar? And we're not gonna talk about the tests? Like I get they were for the movie, but we're just not even gonna mention them? Because if Wes is using that footage for his film, then isn't it kind of a problem that they all survived because that very much does not make Tabby the typical sole final girl.

Uuuuummmm…. Like assuming we’ve had all the important reveals and not considering what they might write next season, Imogen really fucked up the Johnny situation, turns out that really was the chillest dude on the planet.

Whoa. Wait. After all that, we’re just getting it thrown at us that Dr. Sullivan is actually a total asshole?? It's wild that she was actually risking her license just to write a book and she hates all of them.

I mean, Archie not actually being dead is the least surprising thing ever. Obviously he was not actually dead.

So.... are the girls wearing the girls masks supposed to be the movie Tabby is imagining? Or are we actually supposed to be concerned about this?

Wow, okay, lots to digest.

Immediate Post-Finale Thoughts

I'm so tired and I stayed up super late to watch this, so I will probably do a "now I've had some time to think about it," post finale post later, but this will have to do for now.

Overall, I thought this was a fun finale! Personally I like this reveal much better than the Principal Clanton one.

However, there are so many loose threads, unresolved storylines, and randomly missing characters, so I'm gonna go over a few of those.

Ash just basically stopped existing. They say his name a couple of times, but him just not being in the finale at all felt weird.

Same goes for Greg, who I normally wouldn't miss, except they had all the Faran/Greg stuff last episode. I'm not sure why they cut most of that, but then left what they did in 2x07. It feels like maybe they felt they had to keep some of it because they wanted to show Faran missing Kelly's phone call, but they couldn't explain why Faran and Greg were out together if they didn't have their hookup earlier in the episode, but... I think it would have been cleaner to just cut all of that and just show Faran seeing the missed call without any explanation of why she missed it. I don't know. I think this was a pretty messy way to handle it.

-longest sigh in the world- you're telling me that the Shawn/Noa/Jen love triangle literally had absolutely nothing to do with anything and we spent that much time on it????? This kills me. I gave the writers too much of the benefit of the doubt on this one. I really, really thought they wouldn't do all of that and literally not have any of it matter. Is this really what they wrote? This isn't the edit? Blegh. This was such a waste of time of a plot point. Why did they bother to have Shawn in this plot line at all? You're telling me not only did I sit through 2 of my least favorite tropes (love triangle and infidelity) and you could have just written Shawn out between seasons and had the conflict be that Noa is enamored with Jen, but one (or more) of the girls don't trust her because she showed up out of nowhere (like she accuses Christian and Johnny of doing) and keeps lying about things? But instead they did this? And for what? So Noa can call someone to hot wire a car? Because we didn't even get any drama out of it (aside from Noa smashing Shawn's car and the little bit of bickering in this episode) because the girls were immediately supportive and Shawn's reaction was relegated to some angry weightlifting. What the fuck? This was a huge miss, imo.

So... It seems like a lot of Imogen's stuff was only there to set up her attacking Johnny. Like the whole babysitting Estelle sequence never comes back around (but this is the first time Johnny sees her panicking with a knife), and the stuff with her dad and Rebecca didn't matter, except for the fact that Johnny also talks her down when she has a knife. Hm.

So? How long were those bodies in the freezer and what was the point of putting them there if Wes wanted to get caught anyway? Because surely Johnny would notice if they'd been there a long time, but also they weren't trying to frame him (poor dude got hit on the head with a wrench by his girlfriend and then locked in a freezer with 3 dead bodies), so?

I wish we'd gotten a little more explanation of Wes's plan. I still don't really get why he kidnapped Dr. Sullivan and tied her up in the shack. Where was that going?

Am I just super sleep deprived, or did all this just not have any connection to the Waters family lore, aside from Wes killing Rose (I think she's dead) and appropriating the Waters family story for the film? Also, how does his reveal work, since he's just suddenly not in character? Like what the hell is Wes's film?

Who/what did the snake in Imogen's poster represent? WAS it Dr. Sullivan and Wes knew about the book? I can't think of why it would be there, otherwise. This stuff feels quite messy to me.

I have a hard time believing Mrs. Beasley is just not going to be an abusive piece of crap any longer, but it's nice to see Kelly with the other girls.

How did SpookySpaghetti get all the girl's new phone numbers? That was not made clear.

Do we think there was someone else we know who was involved (I mean that they've actually planned for, not that they will retcon in later) that didn't get caught?

So the three figures in the poster are Wes as Archie, Mrs. Langsberry as Rose, and Chip? as the skeleton? I assume?

I do feel pleased that I called the combo of "someone making a movie and a mother avenging her dead child," but I'm a little disappointed a love interest didn't get revealed as evil, and also I thought the "mother" would be a bit more unhinged than Mrs. Langsberry ended up being. Like obviously she is committing a bunch of murders at Wes' direction, so not a shining example of rational thinking, and she's in denial about Chip, but I thought the "mother" was going to be fully delusional, tbh.

Am I still a little sad that they didn't find a way to shoehorn in a musical moment for Antonio? Yeah, a little, but he's alive so there's always possibly next season. (To be clear, I do not want them to do a musical episode, like please no, I just was hoping they do karaoke at some point this season or something, though I had no expectation of that fitting into the finale).

Season 3 renewal announcement soon?

Okay, I'm sure there's more, but I'm super exhausted and I need time to mentally digest this.

As usual, if you have any thoughts/feelings you want to share, feel free to shoot me an ask!

[totaldramafan-lauri]

EPISODE 8 (FINALE)

HOLY CRAP I WAS RIGHT

I WAS FFFFFFFFLIPPING RIGHT

ADAM IS DEAD

I-I DIDN'T SEE PENTIOUS COMING, BUT

ADAM IS DEAD AND LUTE SURVIVED, HOLY FRICK

I AM SO EFFING RELIEVED IT WASN'T ANYONE ELSE

I-I-I SAW.....I SAW THAT....PART....

AND PART OF ME.....a small part, like.....a TINY TINY part....w-was scared....

M-most of me knew it wasn't gonna happen, don't get me wrong.....N-not him.....but....

A-as long as there was a TINY part of me that doubted, I.....

I-I was TERRIFIED......

I-I'm gonnaa need to reply that last song, cuz I swear, thoughout that whole thing periodically SHOUTING at my screen "WHERE IS HE!? WHERE IS HE!?!?" (True story.....I was doing that OUT LOUD) And "SHOW HIM"

Th-the flipping.....JUMPING JACKS MY HEART WAS DOING THE WHOLE TIME-

I-I can't even form thoughts correctly-

PENTIOUS, OH THAT POOR MAN- BUT HOW IS HE IN HEAVEN!? AND HOW IS LILITH IN HEAVEN!? WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON-

I-I mean, it makes sense for her to want Adam dead, but- Lemme get this straight, she- She made some kind of deal with his OWN TROOPS-? HOW? Th-that did NOT LOOK like sabotage to me! They were fighting hard! I-I don't- g-get it-

I-I....I can wait....I can wait, I can wait, cuz this ending was good! AND WE AVOIDED THE WORST-

AND ADAM IS DEAD, WH-

I-I guess that leaves the Vees as the main villains now!? Unless Lute comes back on her own now-

I-I'm looking forward to see more of Vox.....l-losing his mind, pffff....

AND LUCIFER HOLY CRAP, LUCIFER WAS SO EFFING COOL, JUST TAUNTING HIM, AND....

AND I WAS RIGHT ABOUT VAGGIE VS. LUTE, BUT NOT VAGGIE SPARING HER....I-I'M GLAD SHE DID THO, CUZ I DON'T HATE LUTE AS A VILLAIN

AND NIFFTY

THAT WAS SO BADASS, HOLY CRAP, HOW SHE JUST CAME FROM BEHIND AND WENT STABBY STABBY-

I-I was CHEERING

F-for a while, I was conflicted about how much I wanted more of Adam, cuz I loved his song in the first episode so flipping much, and I STILL DO love it, but....

A-after what he almost did-

Y-yeah, YEAH, STAY DEAD

NEVER COME BACK, you BASTARD

G-give me a heart attack, I swear...*grumble grumble*

.....H-how are they gonna learn about Pentious now, and how a sinner ACTUALLY made it to Heaven, if they have no more reason to GO to Heaven now? How- s-so many questions....

.......

.....Y-yeah, I think this might be the best episode of the season....o-or ONE OF them.....i-if that wasn't obvious......

S-sorry these thoughts are so much more....s-scattered than in my last posts, but GOD DANG-

........

.........

........

"B-break....constraints..."

"Back door...."

T-trying to remember what I heard, but I was f-flipping out so much....

"My deal must a have a.....back door...."

S-something like that....I-I need to watch it again....

S-some kind of deal......c-constraining him....h-he doesn't like it....he wants out....

L-looks like, maybe, I was right.....

Th-there's gotta be a way out.....H-he's not submissive to ANYONE.....H-he'll find a way out....

I-if helping the others, was against his will.....

L-let there be a way out....

I-I don't care if that means leaving them.....Freedom means more....

S-season 2, GIVE US THE ANSWERS......

[elizabeethan]

look in the mirror (and cry)

Part 4 / 5

Summary: Chrissy survives Vecna’s first attack, just barely.

Season 4 rewrite wherein Chrissy survives and Eddie is a soft worried angel

Rated M

Read on Ao3

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Tagging: @sotangledupinit​​ @klauscarolove​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

~~~~

If he had a tiny devil and a tiny angel on his shoulders, they would be fighting. 

 Not because he’s considering doing anything stupid or immoral, but because he can’t seem to make up his mind between having a wealth of self confidence and absolutely dragging himself down, and maybe they’re to blame. 

 The devil side, the one that doesn’t believe in him and never has, tells him that he’s being absolutely idiotic. Little Devil Eddie whispers in his ear that he’s making this all up and that she’s just being nice to him because she’s concussed and traumatized and just broke up with her boyfriend. 

 The angel side, the one that does believe in him and always has, talks to him in a gentle and encouraging voice and reminds him that he’s a total catch. Little Angel Eddie whispers in his ear that he’s kind and important, that he’s been nothing but caring and patient with Chrissy, that of course she would want to be with him and that her joke about liking Roger Taylor’s curls was a direct and deliberate flirt in his direction. 

 She’s probably trying to remind you that she’s into blonds, you stupid douche. 

 No, don’t listen to him, she’s trying to tell you that she likes your individuality and your willingness to express yourself. 

 They also try to tell him what he should do about his painfully obvious feelings for Chrissy. Little Devil Eddie says he should run away, abandon her again for her own good, leave and make sure she never has to see him again. Little Angel Eddie tells him he’s worth more than that, that he means something to her, that he should go for it. 

 Christ. Maybe he does have a concussion. 

Either way, though, he sits on the couch and does nothing. Somebody to Love still plays, the record spinning round and round in an endless loop, only they’ve also put on The Goonies. He hasn’t seen it, and when he admitted that, she almost dropped to the floor and insisted that he put the tape into Rick’s VCR. 

 Her head is on his shoulder. That must be the side the angel lives on. Or maybe it’s because it’s his left side, and that leaves her shattered left arm with plenty of space. 

 “Eddie,” she whispers. It’s been almost an hour, and honestly, he could have convinced himself that she was sleeping based on how still and quiet she’s been. 

 “Yeah, Sweetheart?” he asks, Little Devil Eddie kicking him when he uses the tender nickname, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so Little Angel Eddie gives him a pat on the back. 

 “You’re gonna get in trouble for this.” 

 He almost makes a joke, asks if she’s threatening him, but her voice is small and worried and shaky, like whatever she’s scared of has been on her mind long enough to start eating away at her, and he brushes the stupid nonexistent angels off his shoulders and sits up slowly, turning so he can face her. 

 “For what?” he asks when he meets her big, round eyes. 

 “For… harboring me,” she insists vehemently, like he should be as worried as she is. “I know I chose to come here, but you know no one is gonna see it like that. And when my mom finds out… I just realized, everyone is gonna assume you kidnapped me.” 

 Ah, he thinks to himself. She’s worried about him. 

 “That’s okay,” he starts with a small smile before he thinks better of it and asks, “that is, you are okay with being here, right? If you’re not, I’ll–”

 “Yes, of course I am, but you–” 

 He’s so unbelievably stupid that he stops her voice, her eyes widening when he puts his stupid finger on her lips. She blinks a few times, and just as he forces himself to look away from them, he swears he sees them turn up slightly. 

 “Don’t you dare start worrying about me, Chrissy Cunningham,” he insists firmly. And because he’s unbelievably stupid, he continues to spill his guts to her. “You’re my priority. I don’t care about anything as long as I know you’re safe.” 

 He watches her shoulders relax as much as they can around the cast and the splint, and he drops his hand, right on top of hers. And she grabs it, and she holds it in her lap, and his heart stops. “I'm allowed to worry about you if you’re worrying about me.” 

 He smiles softly. “That’s fine,” he agrees with a nod. “But it doesn’t change anything, okay? I’m not leaving you alone again, not after I promised you I wouldn’t. And if your mom has a problem with that, then she can kiss my shiny white–”

“Eddie!” 

 He clears his throat. “Car. I was gonna say car.” 

 “Your car is a van, and it’s really more of a cream color. And it’s not totally–”

 He shouldn’t do this. He really, really shouldn’t do this. 

 He does it. 

 He leans forward, closes the few inches between them, and he presses his lips to hers. 

 He kisses her. 

 The devil is laughing at his stupidity, until she sighs and starts to kiss him back. Then he remembers that there’s no devil and no angel, and that the curse doesn’t matter, and that Vecna will have to wait. Because Chrissy Cunningham, Queen of Hawkins High and Empress of Eddie Munson’s Dreams, is kissing him. 

 Her hand cups his cheek, her fingers tickling behind his ear as they play with his hair. Her lips part with his and she lets him slowly and gently draw a line along her bottom lip with his tongue before she becomes impatient and surges forward, deepening the kiss herself and consuming him and taking him for everything he’s worth. 

 She sighs again, audibly this time, the sound like a tiny whimper that makes him grip her hip and pull her as close to himself as he can without actually moving her. He doesn’t want to move her around for fear of jostling her arm and hurting her, but when he squeezes her hip it’s like she gets the message he’s inadvertently sending, and she lifts onto her knees and doesn’t break away from him as she climbs onto his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. He groans quietly, his hands everywhere as they dance along her back and up into her hair before moving to cup her face. 

 “Chrissy,” he breathes, and she gasps into his mouth, her hand tightening into a fist in his hair like she likes the way her name sounds against her mouth. He chases the sound of her gasp with his tongue, wanting nothing more than to feel it vibrating against him again, and he swears he isn’t making up the way her hips put just a little bit of pressure on his.

 But as much as he loves this, as much as he wants to be in this very position every moment of every day for the rest of his life, he did kiss her very unexpectedly, and he wants to make sure that this is what she wants, too.

 “Sweetheart, are you–”

She pulls away. Her eyes are big and wide again, frightened, and she’s panting before she bites her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she breathes.

 “You… you’re sorry?” 

 Still panting, she says, “If you… I shouldn't have… I know you probably don’t want to…”

 He smiles as he cups her cheek and places his thumb over her lips, desperate to try and stop whatever thoughts of painful self-doubt are boiling through her veins right now. He knows those all too well, and he’s not about to let Chrissy Cunningham experience them. He leans forward, moves his thumb over her soft pink lips and covers them with another kiss, softer this time. 

 “Were you about to say I don’t want to kiss you?” 

 She’s breathless, her lips almost touching his as she nods. 

 “Christine Georgina Cunningham,” he scolds playfully, and she laughs aloud and shakes her head. 

 “Elizabeth.” 

 “Christine Elizabeth Cunningham,” he says more tenderly, kissing her softly once more. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life kissing you.” 

 Still panting, she finally meets his eyes, and hers are filled with hopeful disbelief. “I mean… Me?” 

 “You. Always you.” 

 “Always?” she whispers. 

 “Since I saw you do that sick cheer routine in middle school.”

 She laughs. His heart soars. 

 “Even with this big clunky thing in the way?” she asks, gesturing to her heavy cast. 

 “Eh,” he shrugs. “It just gives us something to look forward to for when you get it off.” 

 With the way his brows waggle and he juts out his jaw, she laughs again, harder this time, and then leans forward to rest her forehead on his. “Eddie,” she sighs happily, not really intending to say anything as she simply leans against him. 

 “How could you believe that I wouldn’t want you?” he asks, brushing her hair tenderly from her face and pecking the tip of her nose. 

 “I mean… I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to know what people want when you’re… I guess what I mean is, a lot of people want the head cheerleader, right? I just… you’re kind of the first person who actually wants… me. It’s just hard to believe, I guess.” 

 “Well,” he says slowly. He kisses her softly once more, then a few more times chastely which earns him more of her adorably melodic giggles. “You better start believing it, baby. Everyone may think you’re a perfect jock cheerleader, but I know the truth.” 

 “What's the truth?” she asks with a grin. 

 “You, Chrissy Cunningham, are a certified freak.” 

 ~~~~

 Sleep has never come easily to her. She’s always been the kid who wakes up with nightmares in a cold sweat. Once, she went to wake her mom, scared out of her wits, and she told her to go back to bed and to make sure she washed the sweat out of her sheets the next morning. Since then, she’s used to waking up alone, scared, shivering and sweaty and silent. She suffers alone; she always has, and she used to think she always would. 

 Vecna was after her again, claws in her eyes as her mother watched without feeling, and this time, Eddie wasn’t there to save her. No one saved her, and she felt his too-long fingers digging into her skin until it broke.  

 She wakes up from her nightmare, shaking and sweating and panting, almost screaming but stopping herself, knowing that if she makes a sound her mother will make things worse. But then she starts to feel odd. She’s confused as she glances around the dark room, the moonlight streaming in through the window isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be to the right of her bed but it’s over her left shoulder, and when she turns, she notes the strange, definitely not pink curtains. 

 It floods back to her easily, the memory of where she is, who she’s with, what bed she’s sleeping in, and she tries to steady her breathing as she reminds herself that she’s safe. She’s at Eddie’s friend’s house, tucked away in the far side of the lake, hidden from the world and Hawkins and her mother and, maybe, Vecna. She drops her forehead down to her knees and wraps her usable arm around her shins and she tries to just breathe. 

 But then the door creaks, opening slowly, and she looks up so fast that it hurts her head, her heart racing again as she assumes the worst, but then she sees the long, springy curls piled up on top of Eddie’s head and she feels safe again. 

 “Hey,” he murmurs into the small bedroom, pushing the door open slightly when he sees that she’s awake but staying just outside the room. “You okay?”

 Guilt floods her, churning her stomach as she asks, “Did I wake you?” 

 “Nah,” he brushes her off, shaking his head and giving her a soft smile. “I don’t really sleep that much these days.” 

 She lets her knees fall a bit, her feet sliding back beneath the blankets that he gave her, and she smiles softly at him. “Me either,” she whispers. “Sorry.”

 “Chrissy,” he says, and something in his voice is different, like it hurts. He looks pensive before stepping into the room, leaving the door open and padding bare feet across the floor until he can sit on the very edge of her bed. “You had a nightmare. Don’t say you're sorry; if anyone should be having nightmares, it's you.” 

 “I just,” she shrugs, meeting his sad eyes with hers. “I hate to think that I disturbed you or something.” 

 “You didn’t,” he says tenderly. “I promise. You could never disturb me, unless you tell me you like disco music.” 

 She laughs and shakes her head, in disbelief that she’s laughing after such a horrible dream but somehow not surprised at all that he should be the one making her smile. She moves her leg and kicks him softly from beneath the blankets, and he’s quick and playful as he grabs her foot. 

 “Maybe I do,” she taunts, sticking her tongue out and then shrieking when he peels back the blankets and starts to tickle the sensitive skin on the sole of her foot. “Stop!”

 “Fine,” he laughs, smile beaming down at her as he releases her. “If you want to like disco music, I guess I can live with that, but only on one condition.”

 “What?” she chuckles. 

 “Try to get some sleep.”

 She rolls her eyes at him, deadpanning in his direction, and he gives her a look like he’s trying to scold her but failing miserably. “I can’t just fall asleep, Eddie. Every time I do–” 

 He leans towards her, his hand pressing into the small mattress and supporting his weight as he tilts forward. She’s never really thought about the way that Eddie Munson would sleep. Part of her probably would have assumed that he’d pass out easily, maybe still in his jeans and his leather coat, but the reality, at least tonight, is that he carefully ties his long hair into a high ponytail and wears just a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. And something about having that information feels… strange. Good, even. 

 “Do you see him again?” he asks gently. He’s close to her, kind of, close enough to whisper to her and his voice still be audible over the low drone of the Queen song, but he’s still seated on the foot of the bed and she suddenly wants to drag him closer to her. Maybe it’s the mention of Vecna, but she finds herself longing to grab the collar of his shirt and tug until he’s beside her. 

 “Yeah,” she whispers back, mouth dry at the memory, hand shaking at the need to be held. As she thinks of Vecna, she thinks of Eddie and the way he held her together and kept her from breaking. 

 “What do you need, Sweetheart?” he asks her. It’s a question she isn’t used to hearing, and one that often makes her uncomfortable, so frequently asked of her with an undertone of agitation at the thought of her needing anything. But he asks her and she just knows that he really wants to know, and that whatever her answer is, he’ll give her. “What will… what will help you?”

 “Can you–” She stops herself, her heart hammering out of her chest and her stomach queasy as she fleetingly considers taking some control and purging those damn Spaghettios. But he scoots closer, and he takes her hand and squeezes it, and it’s like an anchor that keeps her grounded long enough for her to collect herself. “Can you just hold me?” she whispers, her voice broken and her tears burning in her eyes, and she wants so badly to let out the sob she’s holding in her chest as she considers how pathetic and broken she must look to him.

 But he just shifts his weight and stands, hurrying towards her and crawling beneath the covers with her, much to her surprise. His hands gently encourage her to lie back, careful and gentle around her cast as he rolls both of them onto their sides. He lies on her right side and she faces him as he pulls her into his arms, face in his chest and breath starting to even out the moment the familiar scent of him hits her nose.

 “You’re okay,” he whispers to her again, holding her close to him and running his hands up and down along her spine, fingers tender along the dips between her vertebrae. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Chrissy, I promise.”

 Her panic subsides from the moment she feels the weight of his arms around her, and it keeps settling as the minutes tick on. She believes him more than she’s ever believed anything or anyone. She knows it because he’s already saved her once. She knows that whenever she’s with him, she’s safer than she’s ever been. And even though his friends are trying to destroy the monster that lives beneath Hawkins, even though that terrifies her, she knows they’ll all be alright.

 ~~~~

 He lies beside her all night long, finally getting some sleep herself. She wakes up one other time during the night, whimpering and shaking before she falls against his chest, and he can feel the way her breathing evens out as it washes over his shirt. And he whispers things to her that he probably shouldn’t, reminders that she’s safe and that he won’t let anything happen to her, as if he has the power to promise such a thing. 

 But it soothes her either way, and the next night, after dinner and after they put on another movie to make out during, she squeezes his hand and looks down at it while she asks him to come to bed with her again. Never before did he think he would be sharing a bed with Chrissy Cunningham, and he definitely didn’t think it would be like this. But holding her as she sleeps, feeling the way she relaxes against him, knowing that it’s because she trusts him, it makes this all worth it. 

 It doesn’t matter to him that he’s on the run, that he’s hiding her here, that he’s going to probably be accused of kidnapping her even though she’s 18 and can go where she wants. It doesn't matter that there’s a demon living in a fucked up version of Hawkins right below their feet trying to kill people. With her in his arms, he can still breathe at the thought of his friends trying to come up with a plan for defeating this monster and clearing his name, even with how psychotic that sounds. He lies here with her, and he knows that they’ll make it through whatever screwed up shit the world wants to throw at them.

~~~~

~~~~

[gunmetal-ring]

I'm actually looking forward to next week's episode tbh like I know so many of us are dreading it and are having a lot of anxiety but I have a rly hard time believing that Leah will be introduced independent of the reapers, meaning that she'll likely rip off her mask and dramatically be like "daryl... the group that just killed some of your group... They're My Family"

meaning that Daryl will internally be like, in order

A) omg wait Leah is alive?!

B) wtf?!

C) wait why is she with the bad guys?!

D) wait she called them her family?!

E) she's voluntarily with them?!

F) why?!

G) hang on she's been hunting maggie?!

H) oh shit she's probably still pissed that I bounced

I) she's probably double pissed that I chose Carol- uh, um, I mean Rick/and now Maggie over her, even tho it was only temporarily, but she doesn't know that bc she bounced before I came back

J) oo and she's probably triple pissed that I didn't bother looking for her the way I looked for Rick #BromanceOverRomance (and only decided to stop looking for Rick when Carol asked me to, whoops i mean -)

K) hmm alright how am I gonna survive this one

Then, knowing twd, the end credits will roll, and then the next time we resume that storyline it'll be

L) alright well maybe I'll ask how the hell she's still alive where has she been what happened etc you know, all the awkward run-in-with-the-ex catching up they have to do

M) probably gonna get some snarky remark because hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and then he's gonna be like well you know what I gotta stay alive for this bc how else will I ride off into the sunset with Carol?

N) so he'll say "hey psst secret is that I hate Maggie too, i was trying to kill her too I super swear, let's join together and do it also I love you 5ever Im totally telling the truth I super duper swear for real pinky promise"

O) and internally he'll be like not only will this keep me alive so I can ride off into the subset with Carol but it will also help me to accept the fact that my value as a person does not rest on whether or not I can save people

P) bc as we know, the girl was cuckoo for cocoa puffs back when they met, and has probably only turned cuckoo-ier since she bounced, seeing as how she's on a murderous rampage with a bunch of dudes in creepy Halloween masks

Q) and then he'll realize that She Can't Be Saved And TBH Wasn't All That Great To Begin With, And It Probably Wasn't A Great Idea To Date Her In The First Place Anyway, Especially Since I Was Actually In Love With Someone Else The Whole Time whoops I mean -

R) and then she'll die or fuck off forever somehow and Carol will be like omg Daryl I'm so sorry that your creepy woodswoman long lost love is gone for good, it's probably my fault to some degree, just like your its-not-like-that long lost love is gone for good also because of me

S) and he'll be like um jsyk when I say "It's not like that" I mean "it's not like that" so no I don't love Connie it just sucks that she went AWOL for all the normal reasons, and also have you considered the fact that the thing I loved about leah was that she had Dog and gave me a sense of purpose while I was failing to find rick bc if I can't find him at least maybe I can save her from herself

T) and Carol will be like OK well and Daryl will be like no okay well just LISTEN to me the main reason I didn't love either of them is because I love YOU always have always will

U) then Carol will start crying and he'll gently wipe away her tears and be like BTW I know you love me but I get it if you can't be w me bc of all your trauma and whatnot

V) and Carol will be like yes I love you I've been repressing it for the last six or seven seasons bc i thought you didn't love me but you know what I'm working thru my trauma as best I can

W) and he'll be like oh great so.... this means I can kiss you right

X) and she'll be like um duh lay one on me

Y) they kiss

Z) they ride off into the sunset and star in a spinoff all about middle aged dating in the zombie apocalypse when it's just the two of you out on the road all alone for the rest of your lives the end

[ao3feed-ladynoir]

My Dearest Buttercup

My Dearest Buttercup by caterinawrites

After trusting the wrong boy led to the rise of Monarch, Marinette is ready to swear off love, that is, until Adrien starts paying special attention to her. Alya convinces Marinette that the only way to prevent herself from being tricked in the future is to get closer to Adrien... and come up with a secret codeword of course, but when the two begin spending more time together, Lila and Chloe decide it's time to intervene. Will Marinette and Adrien's love survive their scheming, or will their feelings get crushed for good?

Words: 1512, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Additional Tags: Adrinette, adrienette, Season 5 Spoilers, Multiplication Spoilers, adrien catches feelings, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Lila and Chloe team up, Lila downfall, no Chloe redemption, the power of love so strong, these kids are gonna be the death of me eventually, I am not ready for s5, Felix might pop up eventually idk, still figuring this one out

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39969348

[journen]

I sort of have to ask "Obi Wan" as a character

(for science)

Oh yes, of course, for science.

(Strap in for what I’m sure are going to be several very long answers lol.)

First impression

Okay, I first watched SW in a very strange order… so I think my first impression of him was Old Ben! And I remember being confused when he died lol. But the most distinctive first impression I remember was as we were watching the Clone Wars(this was before I watched the prequels) we were a few episodes in, so I was still learning who everyone and anything were because my SW knowledge was 0, but I remember saying to my roommate during that snowy episode in season 1, “I think I like Obi-Wan Kenobi. I like how he talks!” LOL!

Then the moment that solidified him as my favourite character was from Attack of the Clones when he goes to visit Dex, and was fiddling with the little Kamino dart looking super awkward, I thought that was so funny. And I never recovered I guess lol.

Impression now

He is literally my favourite character of all time. And his story is so sad.

Favourite moment

Oh my.. there are too many. I honestly love every scene he's in… anything between him and Qui Gon, Maul, and Satine I really enjoy. I love his “Good job!” moment in AOTC, I love when he rides Boga in ROTS, and all of his fight scenes, vs Maul(and Savage too) Anakin.. all are so damn cool!

Oh, but some of my other favourite moments of his are from the books. In M&A where Obi-Wan learns about Qui Gon's invitation to the council and the argument they have afterwards is up there, as well as pretty much EVERY scene he's in in the Kenobi book, including his meditations. They are all so emotional. But I’m just gonna leave it as that because if I write more this answer is gonna be double the length lol.

Idea for a story

I also have so many! I keep a google doc where I write out all my story ideas(needless to say, it is very long) and I’ll pick a few I’m not too shy to share lol.

-A story about young Anakin(in the v early ages of his Jedi training) and Obi getting stranded on a planet with no ships or communication devices. They go through many struggles to get back to safety, but ultimately learn more about each other how to work together.

-On Tatooine, there is an event where kid Luke gets stranded alone in danger, and Obi-Wan comes to the rescue, and it’s the first time he’s really seen Luke up close in a long time bc Owen doesn’t let him near, and poor Luke was so scared he runs and gives Obi-Wan a big hug and is crying :(

I also have many AU ideas I’m working through, like what if Satine(and Korkie) survived and joined Obi-Wan on Tatooine, what if Anakin told Obi-Wan about his feelings towards Padmé and if that would have changed anything… As well as many ideas for what could have happened during Qui Gon, Satine and Obi's year on Mandalore.

Unpopular opinion

I don’t know if I have a real unpopular one! Maybe, and I don’t think this is really that controversial, is that to me he has one of if not the saddest story of all the Star Wars characters. He goes through so much tragedy and pain, but maybe the saddest part is that he always remains good throughout all of it.

Favourite relationship

Obi-Wan and Satine! Nothing even comes close. I’m usually not big on romances(normally because I think they aren’t done well) but this one is everything I could have wanted. I just wish in a way it didn’t end so tragically, but if it did then we wouldn’t have the story we do in the movies would we. Lol.

Favourite headcanon

Omg, again, there are so many. I’ve seen some people write Obi-Wan getting really painful periodic migraines and I kinda liked that idea, as well as that he barely gets any sleep because he’s always working so hard(but I think the fandom has pretty much made that one canon lol).

One head-canon idea I had is that he was bullied a lot when he was young. He was kind of small, and so some of the meaner kids underestimated/targeted him. :( This led him to develop some of his aggressive tendencies, which he eventually grew out of of course under Qui-Gon’s tutelage, but I liked the idea that maybe Anakin, once he was a knight, somehow found out from one of Obi's old friends that he used to be bullied a lot(because Obi Wan often keeps his past a secret) and was like… “What…Obi-Wan?? How? That doesn’t make any sense??” Lol.

Wow, I swear I tried to keep this shorter LOL! RIP me. 😭 Thank you though for the ask, my friend!!

Character ask post is here 😊

[ins0mnia-an0nym0us-au]

i binged season 2 of the mandalorian

i missed my father + son duo

these directors + writers saying fuck you to disney & just putting in star wars: legends content to make it canon again is EVERYTHING

did i scream when 3 mandalorians just popped out of the sky? no. did i want to? yes!!! - i also wanted to say fuck, ass & shit a lot while watching this but i was watching with my parents

katee sackhoff as bo katan killing stormtroopers is a big chunk of sexuality...

i nearly fucking threw my wireless mouse when she said ahsoka tano

okay. okay. okay. okay. LISTEN

so the dr. guy who drew blood from bby yoda was a clone expert & at the imperial facility they found failed clone experiments that had to do with bby yoda’s blood. which has a really high M count or medichlorian count. which means they needed someone with a lot force power. hear me out folks - COULD THESE CLONES BE FOR THE EMPEROR? cuz in the sequel trilogy palpatine survived using clones. which... i didn’t like a lot that happened in the sequel trilogy but them trying to make it make sense in this show is iNTERESTING

the way ahsoka just started the episode off with her stealth killing. this girl. i swear. dramatic ass, fuckin, obi-wan & anakin are so proud of her. especially the cape drop she did before the duel. obi-wan was watching going “that’s my girl”

THE WAY SHE JUST CASUALLY MENTIONS ANAKIN??? I WAS HURT BY THIS??? YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT AHSOKA??? IT WAS RUDE & I DIDN’T LIKE IT

it’s super obvious mando was raised in some cult now that it’s been mentioned. the never taking off your helmet thing. not knowing wtf a jedi is. not knowing what the force is. or a lightsaber. when he’s on tython & is like “does this look jedi?” & tries finding a power switch - i legit lol’d

MING NA-WEN CAN THROAT PUNCH ME ANY DAY OF THE WEEK & I’D SAY THANK YOU - it shows how much of a lesbian i am that i was more excited for her to show up than boba fett but guys... it’s ming na-wen...

robot dark troopers... i hate it here

OKAY BO KATAN SERVING THOSE INSULTS TO BOBA LIKE DAMN. FIRE. which listen. she has every right to feel the way she does. there were millions of clones that looked & sounded just like boba who committed genocide against the jedi & then went on to help the emperor rule with an iron fist. did they have a chip in their head at the time (the clone wars cartoon lore) maybe & that makes laying the blame on them tricky but not everyone knew that. soooooooooo - if i were bo i’d probably feel a bit of rage at boba too. not to mention he was given as a gift to jango for donating his DNA to make the clones. it’s all complicated but y’all gotta admit those insults were FIRE

this all women badass team didn’t even need to be acknowledged as all female or anything. it was just badass & all women. like. how awesome is that. you don’t need to force that shit - when it happens it happens. 

when mando walked in with the dark saber i knew. i KNEW it was gonna be a problem

LUKE FUCKING SKYWALKER. disney has started to peak past the uncanny valley & it’s kind of scary. i don’t like it. if someone dies while under contract are they just gonna CGI them in now? it’s cool but it’s also not cool...

for S3 can we focus on mandalore? i want that

[flyboy-and-fight-me]

So like...we're gonna get more Cobb, right? Like they went to the trouble of doing a whole ass promo image for him and the only people who have had promo images done of them have been the major characters, so that has to indicate that he's gonna show up again/have a semi prominent role in future episodes. If so, I am actually going to lose my entire mind if I get to see him and Din interacting again this season. :D

my dude if we get more Cobb and Din interaction and maybe even Cobb taking care of the child i swear to you i will need to be resuscitated periodically because every time i think about the Gifs that all the wonderful creators have already done and the fact that we might be getting MORE will kill me

i really really REALLY hope we get more Cobb 1) because he and Din got along REALLY well and their interactions have so. much. potential.

2) Din on the Cobb is slowly overtaking my life and there needs to be more fic material for me to survive

3) Timothy Olyphant with THAT hair is

[violetwolfraven]

A sudden revelation came to me : the big twin besties!!! Davey Sarah Mike Ike would be chaos if they’re together but that is okay bcs we love them. That is all thank you💕

They would!! I’m gonna do them in modern AU, so I hope that’s okay, Rai!!

This is going to be pure chaos. Nothing else. Literally no part of this is serious. It’s just pure dumbassery among friends.

Also Les definitely does dance competitions. He goes to the same studio as Race. He competes in a mini division and he does tap and hip hop and his group wins. Fight me.

Tw: swearing.

...

“Davey, pop the popcorn faster!” Sarah hollered from the living room.

“Sarah, shut the fuck up!” Davey hollered back. He loved his sister, but she annoyed the hell out of him.

Well, Les did, too. He guessed it was a sibling thing in general, but there was something about knowing someone since before birth that gave you a special ability to get on their nerves.

Plus, it wasn’t like he could make the microwave work any faster.

“What are we watching tonight?” he called while he waited.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sarah shouted indignantly.

At the same time, Mike yelled, “We’re binge-watchin’ Liv and Maddie!”

“Oh, of course! That’s so fuckin’ obvious!” Davey shook his head, wishing he could stop himself from smiling as he muttered to himself, “We’re such huge fucking dorks.”

They were, of course, watching Liv and Maddie because they were two sets of twins left alone in a house for the night, and that tv show was about a pair of twins. The Jacobs parents were taking Les to a dance competition and the Guzman parents were going to a wedding.

Honestly, Davey was pretty sure they’d left them all together because out of the four of them, Sarah was the only good cook, Mike was the only good driver, Ike was the one who knew how to operate a can opener, and Davey was the one with common sense. Together, they formed a fully-functional teenager.

Also, they all already had partners, so the parents trusted them to be left alone all night together, unlike when Sarah and Ike asked if they could have Jojo, Hotshot, Katherine, and Jack over, too.

Davey heard the TV start up and silently willed the microwave to work faster.

“Ya can’t start without Davey, Sar—“

“Ike, I don’t know how to break this to ya, but I don’t give a shit.”

Honestly, Davey had expected that, “Thanks for tryin’, Ike!”

“No problem, Dave!”

The popcorn finally finished popping, and Davey grabbed the huge bag of M&Ms on the way out of the kitchen with it before going to join his sister and friends in watching Liv and Maddie’s shenanigans.

Ah yes. The ultimate twin night. Admittedly, the feral energy of all four of them was better than it would’ve been if it was just him and Sarah.

And Ike was smirking at his phone, which of course meant Davey had to tease him.

“Textin’ Hotshot, huh?” he asked, poking him in the shoulder.

Ike batted his hand away, “Shut up.”

Mike laughed, “Ooh, that means there’s somethin’ to hide.”

Sarah slung an arm around his shoulders, “Are you gonna fight? Cause I honestly can’t decide who’d win.”

“Nope,” Davey said automatically, “Can’t do that. We can’t have any death matches destroying the living room or our folks will never let us do this again.”

“I guess the blood would ruin your carpet.”

“Well, Mikey, it’s not like I don’t know how to get blood out of things.”

“Why—oh. Okay.”

Sarah laughed maniacally at the look on his face. It wasn’t that he looked grossed out or anything, just kind of surprised to be thinking about it.

Davey was pretty familiar with having to grab spare pads from the hall closet if the bathroom ran out and tagging along on milkshake runs during Sarah’s time of month, but he guessed a boy without sisters wouldn’t have to think about that kind of thing.

“So, how are things with Hotshot?” he asked, changing the subject.

Ike shrugged, “Good. How’s Jack?”

“He’s over here like, all the time,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes, “Or Davey’s over there. It’s cute in a gross way.”

“Fight me, Sarah. You’re the same way with Katherine.”

“Bitch—“

“Stuff with Jojo is good, by the way,” Mike chimed in, “God, I love him.”

“We get it, you’re cute, now shut up.”

Sarah swatted him, “That’s not very nice, Isaac.”

“Yeah, those are bold words from someone who’s baby pictures I have access to,” Mike agreed.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, bitch.”

“Again, we can’t have a death match without destroying stuff,” Davey reminded them, “So can we just kick back and watch our show?”

Ike butted his head against Davey’s shoulder like a cat affectionately, “We should skip forward a couple seasons so we can watch Liv and Holden break up and cry.”

“No,” Sarah said immediately, “My eyeliner looks really good today.”

“You’re at a sleepover,” Davey pointed out, “Why did you even do your eyeliner?”

“David, I swear to God.”

“You swear to God what?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Mike said, reaching over to hug her, “You look fuckin’ amazing and you and Kathy usually make the rest of us look like slobs.”

“Aw, thanks Michael.”

“Don’t call me Michael.”

They actually managed to watch about half the episode without talking, before Ike shattered the silence.

“Okay, but do we think Joey’s gay?”

“I think Willow’s obsession with him is creepy and it’s super questionable how the writers played it off for laughs,” Mike admitted, “I think Joey does like girls, though. He has chemistry with a few different girls for like one episode each.”

“But he definitely has a thing for Josh in the later seasons,” Sarah pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. Good point. Maybe he’s bi or pan.”

Davey had never thought he’d have a conversation like this, but he had to admit they had a point.

“Maddie and Willow would’ve made a cute couple,” he said, “Maddie can’t drive. That alone is proof she’s not straight. And Liv had chemistry with Holden, but she would’ve been cute with Andie, too.”

“Oh, preach, bro,” Ike agreed, “And I think one of my first crushes when I was in middle school was actually on Parker from Liv and Maddie, so...”

“Parker’s bi and ace,” Mike said immediately, “I’m callin’ it. I don’t even need any evidence; just by vibes. He’s just this bi-ace mad scientist.”

“But seriously,” Sarah insisted, “Joey had a thing for Josh and I think it was requited.”

Davey rolled his eyes, “Duh. Was that ever up for debate after that one episode where the only thing that made Josh feel better about his breakup with Maddie was Joey?”

“So in short, none of the Rooney siblings are straight,” Mike concluded.

“Yup.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes.”

Davey smirked, “Kinda like how none of the siblings in this room are straight.”

“Aw,” Mike grinned, “Are you sayin’ you sees Ike and I as siblings?”

“More like we’re all in a cult and we call each other siblings, Brother Mike.”

“Oh yes of course, Brother Davey.”

“You’re both ridiculous.”

“Are you actin’ like you have custody of the brain cell, Sister Sarah?”

“No, of course not, Brother Ike. Brother Davey has it. He just never uses it.”

“I use the brain cell frequently, thank you very much,” Davey said indignantly, “Just not in conversations with people who don’t even have one.”

“Oh, burn!” Ike shouted, and Davey accepted a high five.

It looked like Sarah didn’t have anything to say to that. Probably because she didn’t have the brain cell.

Whatever. If the Rooney siblings could survive with only one brain cell, which the youngest sibling always had, Davey was pretty sure the four of them could, too.

...

This probably makes no sense if you’ve never seen Liv and Maddie. I’m sorry.

[hobeymakar]

Disco Love | M. Rantanen

Words: 2,129

This is dedicated to my girl @grenawitka​

A/N: I randomly had a dream about a future significant other taking me out to a 80s-style roller disco as a date because I’m a freak who loves 80s disco a little too much. Since I’m single af and my attraction to the male species mostly revolves around hockey players, I figured I would make it about a player. Mikko was suggested by my girl @grenawitka​ and thus, this was born. In this, COVID-19 never happened and the season and offseason take place at their normal scheduled times

Warnings: excessive amounts of disco, swearing, references to sex, and light sexual content

-

You’re in your room curling your hair to try and make it look as 80s as possible. There’s a new roller disco that just opened up in Denver and you haven’t shut up about it since they announced they were opening it. It literally got to the point where you were talking Mikko’s ear off about it and since he’s a great boyfriend, he agreed to take you there on a date.

You finish curling your hair before throwing a headband over it to keep it in place and putting it into a high ponytail with a colorful scrunchie. You also put on very colorful makeup. You have a rainbow-colored leotard on with a pink skirt over it. You have leg warmers and armbands on and look like you belong in an 80s music video. You put on hoop earrings just to add to the look and take a picture to send to the WAGs group chat. The older girls definitely appreciate the look more than the younger ones who think you look lowkey ridiculous.

Before you can defend your look to the younger girls, Mikko comes out of the bathroom dressed in a dark t-shirt and shorts.

“Really babe, that’s what you’re wearing?” you scoff, not believing he didn’t even put an ounce of effort into it.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” he whines.

“It’s basic and not 80s enough!” you huff in frustration.

You drag him into his side of your walk-in closet and you give him a whole wardrobe change. After a while, you’re satisfied with his new look, which consists of a bright muscle tank, dark 80s style joggers, and sneakers.

“Alright now go look at your look,” you inform him, gesturing to the mirror.

He takes a look at himself and grimaces. This is definitely something he would never wear on his own accord.

“You look great, baby and it’s one night to make me happy,” you assure him.

“I just hope no one recognizes me,” he grimaces thinking about being caught dead by the media wearing what he has on.

You roll your eyes at how dramatic he is and get ready to leave. After a few minutes, you leave the condo and make your way to the car. Mikko insists on driving, which is better for you because you get to control the music and like the pest you are, you play nonstop disco in the car. The entire ride you subject Mikko to the likes of Evelyn Champagne King, Donna Summers, The BeeGees, Gloria Gaynor, Chic, KC and the Sunshine Band, Fire, Diana Ross, Earth, Wind, and Fire, and more. 

After what must feel like an excruciating long time for Mikko, you finally arrive at the roller disco. The parking is shit, as it usually is in the city, so you have to park a few blocks away in a parking garage. You make the walk to the roller disco, braving the chilly air of the early September night in the city. You make your way inside the building and Mikko pays the fee for two. You then head over to the rentals to rent out old-fashioned roller skates. Mikko had wanted to bring his rollerblades, but you told him that it defeats the purpose of going to a roller disco, since it’s with old-fashioned roller skates.

“What are your sizes?” the guy working the rental booth asks, before recognizing Mikko and his face drops.

Mikko talks to the guy and lets him know their sizes. The guy wishes he could get an autograph but settles for a picture with him instead. After the exchange is done, you put on your skates with Mikko tying the laces up for you. You both then head to the hardwood rink holding hands. Since your skating isn’t the best, Mikko leads you at a much slower pace than he would go normally.

The song Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees starts playing and you feel like you’re being taken back in time to 1979 or something. You start singing along to the song as you skate alongside groups of friends and other couples.

“Aren’t you glad we’re back in Denver?” you ask him.

“Yeah, being back in Denver means a new season is starting and another shot at the cup,” he replies.

“I really believe you guys can win it this year, babe,” you assure him.

“That’s what everyone said last season and look what happened,” he replies bitterly, referring to their latest 2nd round exit. 

“Yeah well that was last season and this season is different! You guys are a year older and wiser and you’re going to make it out of the West this year!” you assure him again.

“I sure hope we do,” he smiles weakly.

“Anyway, we need to start planning our halloween outfit for this year!” you suggest, already coming up with cute couple ideas.

“Babe, it’s September,” he replies, throwing you a look.

“Yeah, I know, but we need to be the best dressed couple at the party,” you reply.

“Why don’t we just dress like we’re dressed now? I think being a 80s roller disco couple will make us best dressed at the party!” he teases.

“As long as I get to see you in tight pants,” you giggle.

“I’m not wearing tight pants, babe,” he replies.

“You’re going to wear tight pants,” you add.

The song Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough by Michael Jackson comes on and you start singing and swaying to the beat. As you get more comfortable with your skating, you start picking up your speed. Mikko starts showing off by moon-walking on his skates and doing fancy moves.

“You’re such a show off!” you whine.

“You act like you don’t love it!” he adds.

“Whatever, I’m hungry,” you reply, dragging him out of the hardwood rink and towards the concessions area. 

You both look at the menu and decide to split nachos, as well as ordering two slices of brooklyn style pizza and drinks. You wait for your food while I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor plays, with you managing to sing all the lyrics into Mikko’s ear. Your food is ready and you sit down to eat it in old-school booths that remind you of old pizzerias.

“Have you been having fun?” you ask him, afraid that he’s only pretending for your sake.

“Surprisingly it’s been fun. I’m not really into disco like you, but it’s been really fun. The old-school vibe is nice. I feel like it’s 1989 or something,” he admits with a small smile.

“Not gonna lie, I was scared you were only pretending to like it because I do. I always wanted to go to a roller disco and get that old school nostalgic experience,” you inform him.

“Well I’m glad I brought you here tonight. Does that mean I get the boyfriend of the year award?” he asks hopefully.

“You still need to stop leaving your clothes thrown all over the floor, leaving the toilet seat up every time you use it, and put in a new toilet paper roll instead of just leaving it on top of the holder for me to give you the award,” you explain, shooting him a look.

“I’m sorry,” he replies sheepishly, kissing your cheek. “I’ll be better about those things.”

He’s lucky he’s hot because you honestly would’ve killed him already from how much you have to baby him, like as if you’re his second mom. 

“Thanks I know I’m hot, but it’s great to hear you say it,” he winks, before taking a bite of his pizza.

Clearly, you said the “you’re lucky you’re hot” part out loud and you curse yourself for inflating his already huge ego.

You two finish your food before throwing out your food and heading over to the old-school arcade area. There’s a couple skeeball machines, pac-man, super mario, and a few other old-school games.

“Babe, I hope you know I’m gonna kick your ass in these games right?” you ask, as you make your way to the ticket machine.

“I don’t think so, my love. I hope you know I’m not gonna go easy on you,” he retorts, buying the tickets from the machine.

“We’ll see about that Rantanen,” you smirk, confident in your ability.

“You’re on, Y/L/N,” he adds, not backing down.

You head over to the skeeball machine and manage to kick his ass in that game.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna go easy on me, babe,” you smirk, knowing how much he hates to lose in anything.

“I was, but I won’t be this time around,” he lies, trying to play it off.

“We’ll see about that,” you scoff.

You head over to the pac-man machine and battle against each other and Mikko manages to beat you in a very close match.

“I thought you were gonna kick my ass,” he teases, making fun of you.

You just shoot him a look and take him over to the Super Mario machine to redeem yourself. After a very close match, you manage to beat him. You two go back and forth and after playing a few more games, you record more wins and therefore are crowned the ultimate champ.

“I’d like to thank God first and foremost,” you say, giving a fake award acceptance speech.

He just shakes his head in amusement and hip checks you lightly.

“I don’t think that’s how you treat a champ, babe,” you tease, still rubbing the victory in his face.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m still the better skater,” he retorts, causing you to laugh in response.

You both head back over to the hardwood rink as the song Love Come Down by Evelyn Champagne King comes on and you literally start singing your heart out to the song, as you skate along with him. That song can definitely express your feelings for Mikko perfectly.

“Babe, did you know?” you ask, stifling a giggle.

“Know what?” he asks in confusion.

“That you make my love come down,” you add, before laughing.

“That was corny, babe,” he chuckles, kissing you.

“It’s true! I just can’t help the way that I feel!” you add, referencing the song again.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he groans.

“I love you more,” you smile, kissing him.

You skate for a little while longer listening to all the jams and even watch as some guys start having a battle right in the middle of the rink. After a while, you decide to head home and you return your skates back. 

You leave the roller disco and walk down the streets of Denver, getting the occasional weird looks by people for your 80s style attire. You eventually make your way back to the car. You take the aux once again and play Dancing Queen by ABBA causing Mikko to groan.

“Really ABBA? I hear enough of them from Gabe,” he groans.

“You’re acting like this isn’t a great song!” you retort, as you start heading back home.

You torture Mikko with more disco music durignt he whole drive back home. Eventually, you arrive back at the condo and go straight to the bathroom. You remove your makeup and tie your hair up before changing into one of Mikko’s old team Finland shirts with nothing underneath and heading into the room to see Mikko in bed and scrolling on his phone. He looks up and smiles when he sees you wearing his shirt. You join him in bed and straddle his waist, his hands going automatically to your hips.

“Have I told you before that I love when you wear my clothes?” he asks, his fingers running under the seam of the shirt.

“You may have mentioned it before,” you tease, running your fingers through his curls.

His hands go to your butt and he grabs both cheeks in his hands.

“Someone’s being handsy,” you tease, before rolling over onto his side.

“Such a tease,” he groans in disappointment.

“Quit whining you baby! We’re watching a movie tonight and I’m picking,” you inform him.

He hands you the remote and you choose Saturday Night Fever, the iconic 1977 disco movie.

“Really?” he groans, shooting you a look.

“Just shut up and turn off the lights, Mikko,” you order him.

He gets up begrudgingly and turns off the lights before climbing back into bed. You start the movie and Mikko gets over the movie choice after a while. You two don’t even watch the entire movie, abandoning it halfway because he got too handsy, which was part of his agenda from the second he saw you wearing his shirt. The soreness that you feel the next morning was worth it when he wakes you up with breakfast in bed.

[greyspilot]

so i think, if steve and billy get into a fight steve’s gonna want billy to fight with him cuz yeah, and billy obviously wants to hit back cuz he’s billy. but he can’t. he can’t bring himself to hurt steve cuz he likes steve. your take?

i think it’d depend on their relationship at the time, but i think billy would fight back. even if they’re in an established relationship, especially if it’s early on. maybe just post season 3 billy survives au?

.

billy loves steve, but he also has a short fuse. steve knows what billy’s life has been like, his mind in constant fight or flight, always looking like out for the hint of a threat. he’s always chosen to fight, trying to run would only ever do more harm than good, so if steve provokes him? if steve is standing in front of him, pissed off for a reason that he sure hasn’t told billy, and screaming at him to just fucking hit me, i know you want to! just do it!

yeah. he’s always gonna choose fight.

and it‘s not as bad as that fight, but they definitely bang each other up a bit. get out all their frustrations until they’re bloody and out of breath and that’s when they take a moment to look at each other. billy sees steve’s split lip and comes back down to earth, reaches out to touch him all gentle, like he might break.

“shit steve,” he’d say, moving in a bit closer, still testing the waters, “‘m sorry.”

“you’re sorry? i almost broke your damn nose. fuck, that looks bad, let me get some ice.”

but billy doesn’t let him leave. grabs his wrist and tugs steve into his lap, runs a hand through sweat and blood matted hair.

“hey,” he’d say quietly, nosing tenderly at the line of steve’s jaw, “what was that about?”

and steve would fidget and sigh and not wanna talk, but billy’s arms are strong enough to hold him in place. the kisses billy peppers along the side of his neck enough to tease out the words.

“i just keep thinking you’re gonna leave,” he admits, too soft, like he doesn’t want billy to hear it. “i keep thinking i’m just gonna end up alone anyway, what’s the point dragging this thing out?”

“this thing?” and billy sounds a little hurt, but he just holds steve tighter, as if to prove him wrong. “you mean our relationship? stevie, baby, i’m not goin’ anywhere. okay? i know that’s hard for you to believe sometimes, i get it. but when shit like that happens, when you’re feelin’ like that, i need you to talk to me.”

because billy’s never gonna run, but he doesn’t wanna keep fighting, either.

steve ducks his head a little more. “it’s hard sometimes. to talk about it, i mean.”

“then we don’t have to talk about it,” billy tells him, tilting steve’s chin to meet his eyes. “but don’t- don’t make me hit you again.”

“deal,” steve nods, and he feels a little small but he knows billy is feeling it too and it’s easier, then. “now can i go get that ice? because i wanna kiss you but i can’t do that if our faces are swollen.”

and as billy lets him go, he swears to himself that he’ll be better next time.

[whirlybirbs]

--- tenderly feral. 

summary: you’re used to being alone. daryl, somehow, changes that. rating: t for violence, references to murder/assault/loss, s5 spoilers, if that matters. word count: 3.7k a/n: this is set mid-season 5. right before alexandria. listen, i know, i’m catching up, okay???? anyways, i wrote for daryl when i was literally in high-school and i think this is very fitting. it all comes full circle. this will, no doubt, be a series.                                             ✘      next chapter.      ✘

You’re quiet. Mean lookin’ and awfully quiet.

Daryl Dixon reasons you’re a little bit like a feral cat - used to bein’ outdoors and used to bein’ mean, mean as can be. You’re not used to havin’ others around. It shows.

You don’t trust easy.

And that’s fine, because neither does he.

You’re with the group a little over a week when you finally speak more than a word -- it’s to Rick, saying you saw some formula and diapers and baby blankets in one of the neighborhoods South of Atlanta. It’s a metaphorical olive branch; offered in favor for the next-to-nothing meals and for the church roof over your head...

For saving your skin.

Your voice is a rasp, sounds like you haven’t used it in months. The words fall past your lips slow and sluggish.

(Daryl wonders if it’s from the bruises around your neck, from the hands that had been strangling you into the pavement with no remorse when he found you.)

You’re trying to say thank you. The words don’t want come out just yet. Daryl knows how that feels. So you offer a supply run instead. Risk your neck. Show your thanks.

You figure you won’t be around for long. Might as well make it worth it.

The archer squints into the evening sky as a sunset flare draws a halo around your head.

“Didn’t think t’ grab it, then,” you mutter, lips ghosting over the words as your worried eyes bounce to the cooing infant in the officer’s arms. You toe the dirt, “But, I could grab it now. She’s gotta eat.”

Rick doesn’t trust easy anymore -- not to say he ever really did before.

His eyes narrow, a blink of a microexpression that’s laced with skepticism and curiosity and a vague sense of doubt. Despite it, you stand unwavered as Daryl watches through the mousy strands of his hair from the front steps of the church. After a moment, Rick nods.

His eyes dart across the wooded horizon.

“Tomorrow,” Rick says finally, “Sun’s gonna set soon.”

Daryl watches as you nod, shuffle past, and retreat to the church. His stare follows the steps of your well-worn boots, blue eyes watching as you weave through the open doors to the Lord’s home silently.

You’re a feral cat tryna be an indoor cat.

But you’re tryin’.

Daryl guesses that’s all that matters.

✘ 

You prefer being alone.

It’s just... better that way.

You leave before sun-up and come back that afternoon with a carload of supplies -- Daryl isn’t sure how you managed to swing it, heading out to the ‘burbs with the van alone like that, but you do and there’s grub in everyone’s belly at the end of the night because of it.

It’s either sheer stupidity or pure survival and Daryl isn’t sure which one.

That night, he watches from a few pews back as you fork a can of brown bread into your mouth while you shake a bottle of formula.

In the lights of the candles, you seem softer -- maybe not so mean.

You present the bottle to Carl, lips quirked up into a ghost of a smile as the boy thanks you and bounces his sister on his hip.

(The boy reminds you of someone you knew once, then, and the formula hangs between your hand and his as a memory punches you in the gut -- you remember Boston, and Pennsylvania, and every loss along the way and Carl sees it before you can wipe it away. You try your best to distract from your gaping wound with a tight-lipped smile, but the burn of tears unfallen paint the boy’s face all sorts of guilty.)

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing the bottle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, ducking to the ground, “M’ fine.”

You ain’t. Daryl sees that.

The pew creaks as Rick settles beside the archer.

Silence runs like a river between the two men as you cross the church and settle back against the wall by the altar. They’re both watching, like wolves protecting their pack, and you avoid the weight of their gazes in favor of your canned bread and the small comfort of your corner.

You swipe angrily at the tears streaking your cheeks.

Daryl sees it. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he sees it.

This is why it’s better to be alone.

“If we’re gonna move soon, after we get Beth,” says Rick after a few beats of breath, “We need more supplies. Somethin’ t’ last us more than a few days.”

Daryl blinks into his can of beans, knee bouncing.

“Yeah.”

“She offered to show us the spot. Go with her tomorrow.”

Daryl nods, tipping back the can into his mouth as Rick pats his knee.

✘

“I’m comin’ with you.”

You go rigid, stiff as a board, when Daryl’s voice passes behind you. Swallowing, you bend at the knee and move to finish shoving a few balled up bags and some water into your camping pack -- when you stay silent, his boots carry him closer, and you’re left to eye the lopsided laces staring back at you.

“Y’ alright with that?”

“Don’t matter,” you say, words biting a bit more than you mean for them to; you’re quick to stand, hauling your pack onto your back, “... Does it?”

Suddenly, the world swings on a hinge and like a screen door slamming open, you’re locked in the orbit of Daryl Dixon. The shiner around his eye makes him look meaner than he is. Blue eyes are soft, betraying him even more. You stand straight, unwavering, as the archer wets his lips and breaks away. He toes the ground and swings his crossbow over his left shoulder as he squints along the tree line.

Mean, mean, mean. Ain’t you?

“No,” he breathes, “It don’t.”

✘

The ride to the South End ‘burbs is quiet.

You forfeited the keys without a fight, swinging yourself into the passagender side of the van -- your fingers had clawed at grime and scum lining the windshield only to yield nothing but smears. So, as the van rolls on, you opt to look out the window.

The view, however desolate and broken, is nice.

After a long stretch of road and a longer stretch of silence, Daryl finally speaks. Blue eyes dart to the curve of your face. They linger, following the column of your throat.

“... Those bruises are healin’ up good.”

He eyes the road with a noted sense of worry.

Again, you seem to stiffen and turn inward. Your hands fly to your neck, pushing the collar of your worn flannel up. The brush of your fingers spurs a wince that flashes into a snarl. Daryl sees it.

Mean.

You plant a boot on the dashboard and cross your arms.

And that’s that.

✘

You manage to stock up three bags of cans, water, and medical supplies.

It’s not much but it’s something, and as you drag yourself up into the van, you catch Daryl’s figure in the rearview. There’s a cigarette hanging between his lips, fingers prying at a bag in the trunk -- the smell of nicotine is better than that of the upholstery which has seemingly soaked up all the residue from it’s previous owner.

The stain in the carpet is big.

Your eyes fleet up from aforementioned stain, connecting with Daryl’s like keys fitting a lock.

He’s always watching.

You reason Daryl Dixon is a bit like a fighting dog -- nasty when he needs to be and fiercely protective. It shows.

He doesn’t trust easy.

And that’s fine, because neither do you.

(Even when if he is the man who’d saved your fucking life. Even if Daryl Dixon is the man who’d pried another living being off you -- even if he’d tackled that fuck to the ground while you gasped for air and stars swam in your eyes. Bloodied fingers clawed at the hot pavement and the world swayed, but you could breathe and you were alive, even if the sound of a tinkering belt and violent threats still sat in your ears.)

Trustin’ ain’t easy now-a-days.

✘

The dance of candlelight carves his face into something softer -- you swear you can see the play of a smile there when Carol talks; as the grey-haired women waves her spoon and shrugs, you find yourself missing conversation for the first time in a long time.

Maybe you have been alone for too long. It shows in moments like these.

You tuck your knees closer and fork the peaches in the tin can with an edge of frustration. In your corner, you sit, far from the lull of the group’s conversation.

But, it’s Tyreese who drags you up from the bottom of that pit of loneliness -- the deep baritone of his voice rouses your attention.

“... Where are you from, newbie?” he asks, words weighted with sincerity, “Where’s home?”

(You’re not a newbie. Maybe that lanky boy Noah is, but you’re not -- this is just something temporary between the running. This group... well, nothing is ever permanent anymore. Especially with the current state of things.)

The conversation holds itself still the lungs of those around you, stuck in their throats as Tyreese drives apart the sea and welcomes you in with a kindness unfounded.

Your eyes hit the bottom of your can. The sugar sweet peaches glisten like tears.

“Boston,” you muster finally, exhaling.

“Christ.”

A sea of murmurs. You can feel the distrust of Rick and Michonne in the tempered reactions -- as Rick bounces a cooing Judith, you’re suddenly feeling like the flame the moths flock to. You feel obligated to share this part of your story, after all isn’t that what people do?

You’re not sure. When you’re alone, you avoid the living like the plague.

But, despite your hang-up’s and hesitation, you nod again, move forward and sit up. You swallow and wet your lips.

“Been on the road for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Since it started.”

Daryl’s face flinches. You see it. He knows.

“Why?” asks Michonne with a pointed edge, “Why not... settle?”

“I did,” you say, “Tried to, at least. Then people died, shit fell apart, and... I kept moving. I had to.”

“Alone?” asks Rick, eyes narrowed.

You nod. Shame weighs your shoulders.

“Seemed like I was bad luck,” you chirp, “Real bad.”

“Well, you’re here now,” says Tyreese, “And we’re glad.”

You wonder if that’s a good thing, after all.

✘

“Here.”

You narrow your eyes.

In his hands hangs a tube. The label is faded.

You squint up at Daryl Dixon from your spot on the church’s steps as a mid-day sunray curls right around his head like a halo. His face is set in something awfully serious. Fiercely protective. Like a damn fightin’ dog. 

(You wonder who holds the choke chain, who yanks the leash.

Is it Rick?)

You take it, confusion flying across your face.

“It’s some cream,” he says, “Carol found it. Said it’s good for bruises.”

You see the way his eyes fall on your throat.

“M’ fine,” you croak, “It... It don’t even hurt.”

“Bullshit.”

“How would you know, huh?” you bite, lips snarling, “I’m fine.”

“‘Cuz I been choked out before,” Daryl snaps back, looming closer, “Take th’ damn cream.”

You do, only with a lasting look of irritation. The moment the tube leaves his hands, he relaxes.

Like that, the air dissipates into stillness.

Daryl’s eyes roam the steeple. When you speak, it catches him by surprise.

“... Thanks.”

You’re still feral. But you’re tryin’.

✘

You stay back -- you don’t know much about this mission to save one of their own, but you know you want nothin’ to do with the pigs in that hospital. You’ve met them before, out on the streets of Atlanta, and you have no intention of meeting them again.

The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

And when there’s trouble with the walkers that crawl to the church, following the hysterical father, you barricade them in alongside Michonne without second thought -- but this turn of fate dredges up this gut-churning feeling of bad luck.

Bad, bad luck.

And then, a fire truck full of friendly faces plow into your concept of bad luck and compounds it with a lie about a cure for all this and a busted trip to Washington.

And then, when you all drag yourselves to Grady Memorial and Daryl Dixon hauls a dead Beth Hershel out those back doors in his arms? When Maggie, the kind woman with the kind drawl crumples at the sight? When Daryl wails and Carol tries -- god she tries --  to calm them both down?

You’re left to wonder if you’re better off alone.

If you and your bad luck is better off in the streets.

Mean and awfully quiet.

✘

The group finds two cars.

They park in the woods and bury Beth at sun-down under a sky of red.

You pass dirt along the grave and remember a prayer from long ago. It’s a croak on your lips but it means something to Maggie, who reaches for your hand and thanks you after it’s all said and done.

Grief sits heavy in Daryl’s gut.

He’s at the edge of the makeshift camp, nothing but a shadow. But, you find him.

In your hands is a can of beans.

You settle next to him on the log. The wood groans but Daryl doesn’t flinch -- his eyes art trained on the low fire that glows before his boots. The embers crackle. He inhales, sharp and fast, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s been crying.

So, you pull your knife from your boot and crack the top of the can open. You gesture it towards him.

“Eat.”

“I ain’t hungry.”

Your jaw tightens.

Silence draws itself up between you and Daryl and dances in the flames of the campfire. You bounce your knee and clutch the can. That suffocating silence swells there, finally bursting when you turn to eye him with a careful amount of worry.

“... Who was she?”

You see his mouth move. His brows knot, then his face falls.

“A friend,” he whispers, “Family.”

You wonder what that’s like -- to have both of those with the current state of things.

(You had it once -- before things fell apart and you started moving on your own. You had a sister and friends and people who had killed for you by your side. You’d killed for them, too. You would, again. Maybe you’d kill for Daryl, too. A part of you already feels like you owe him.)

“I know it’s not my place,” you say slowly, “But she’d want you t’ eat.”

Daryl’s eyes rocket upwards, catching your expression.

He knows your right.

He takes the can and your fingers brush.

“... Thanks.”

And that’s that.

✘

Tyreese.

You liked him.

You forgot how this felt. Loss. Grief. Death.

You stand shoulder to shoulder beside Daryl over a shallow grave.

And you cry.

✘

It’s bad.

You’re bad -- you’re nothing but bad luck and all this? This is how it’s gonna end.

A thousand miles, and for what? To starve on a Georgia highway?

Behind you, like a ball and chain, is a horde of walkers that snarl and gasp and trudge along, waiting for one of you to drop. You wonder if you’ll go first -- if your last meal will really be peaches. Canned fuckin’ peaches.

You swallow, swipe at your clammy skin, and keep moving.

For the first time in a long time, you’re tired of moving. Tired of running. Of being alone.

For the first time in a long time, you glad you’re not alone.

Daryl is lingering behind you. His steps are sluggish and his crossbow is slung across his waist, posed and ready. The vest around his shoulders is soaked, tattered shirt darkened with sweat. You’re no better. The hair along your neck clings with reckless abandon. You spare him a glance, then slow up to match his pace.

You’re quiet for a while, steps falling in with his.

And then you speak.

“I never said thanks.”

Daryl’s face gives nothing away. HIs eyes, though, dart to you for a moment. When you speak, your eyes are off on the horizon.

“That guy was gonna kill me over a can of soup,” you speak slowly, ignoring the garrish flashes of the scene that unfolds behind your eyes every-night, “And you stopped him.”

“... Had to.”

“No,” you shake your head, finally breaking to look at him, “You didn’t.”

He’s quiet for a few feet, then he sighs. “Jus’ ‘cause things have got t’ shit don’t mean people don’t matter.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I’m bad luck.”

“You’re not.”

“Ever since I joined up,” you drawl, movements sluggish as the horizon glimmers, “I... People have --”

“It ain’t your fault.”

His words are firm, backed by a rush of anger that knocks you for a loop. Daryl staggers along, face set in some unreadable way that leaves you wondering what he really thinks -- he’s like Rick and Michonne. Pointed and distrusting, but there’s something else there.

“Tell the others I’m goin’ t’ look for water.”

He dips into the woods and disappears.

Mean and awfully quiet.

✘

He doesn’t find water.

But when the skies split open and pour rivers of rain down on you all, you find yourself not caring. You lay in the street beside Tara and Rosita and you laugh -- peels of joyous sounds that mesh as the group scrambles to grab bags and bottles.

And when the sky roars, you and the group hole up in that barn down off the beaten path.

You curl up in a corner, far from the fire, as the come-down of the day seeps into your bones with the rain.

It’s Daryl who approaches, rousing you from a half-sleep.

He plops down against the hay bail, prompting you to stir.

You inhale and shift, rubbing your eyes. You blink at him, caught in the tired look on his face and the cut of his cheeks. He looks rough -- you haven’t known him long but you know this isn’t him. He’s a ghost of himself. Between grief and starvation, Daryl Dixon looks nothing like the man you’d watched nights ago back in the church, glowing in the light of prayer candles and good grub.

“You okay?” you ask softly, voice nothing more than a mere wisp.

“I wasn’t gonna save you at first,” he blurts, “Wasn’t gonna fight that guy, wasn’t gonna... stop him. Things have been bad and... I don’t --...”

His words die. Your chin drops.

“All this?” he gestures suddenly, “All this is just remindin’ me I’m alive, y’know?”

You turn to eye him, then nod. “Yeah.”

His fiddles with his fingers. Silence creeps between you two and your chest aches with some sort of feeling you’re not too sure of. Maybe it’s dread? Maybe it’s regret or... distrust. You don’t know. But it’s not nice.

“I’d do it again,” he leans, “If I had to.”

“Do what?”

“Kill someone,” Daryl mumbles, “If it meant savin’ you. I don’t regret that.”

You think of the sound the crossbow bolt made when it passed through that man’s skull. You think of Daryl, scrambling to help you up as a group of walkers creep in -- you think of him and Carol, prying you out of the thick of it and saving your fucking life.

“You don’t know me,” you say slowly, “What if I’m not who you think I am?”

“I’d know,” he watches you and you feel like you’re stuck in cement, “Everyone would know. But you ain’t bad. You know that.”

Maybe you do.

Again, the quiet rolls in like mist in the morning. You’ve started to realize it’s a part of Daryl -- he isn’t a talker, not like Glenn or Eugene. He’s quiet and reserved and he picks his words; there’s nothing that doesn’t matter in the way he speaks. It’s all him.

He spins a piece of grain between his fingers.

Your head rolls. You trace his profile with your eyes.

“M’ sorry about Beth.”

“Yeah,” he breathes as he drops his head back, “Me too.”

“... Think we’ll survive this?”

“We always do.”

✘

His name is Aaron.

And you don’t trust him.

You wonder if it’s because you’ve met men like him before -- promising a safe place to rest your head. Promising safety and a future. Those men have all been liars, thieves, murderers.

(You wonder if this is how Rick felt about you. If welcoming you in with Daryl’s blessing was met with the same hesitation? Were you once nothing more than another Aaron?)

But... he’s not lying.

Rick notes your discomfort. He needs that. He needs the good and the bad and the ugly, the trusting and the distrusting. He’s a good leader -- you’re seeing that now in the ex-cop. 

That’s how you get shouldered in between Aaron and Michonne in the backseat of that shit-box Lincoln. That’s how you plow through the dead at 45 MPH, heart dropping into the pit of your gut as you haul ass out of the car and plunge your hunting knife into as many heads as you can. Your survival instinct is feverish and terrified and full of desperation; as you roar, Rick watches.

In a flash, something settles between you both.

You book it through the woods and hit Route 16 with no RV in sight.

No Carl, no Judith... No Daryl.

The moon casts inky shadows in your wake.

No time to stop. You all keep moving.

✘

Rick whistles. He gives a call.

There’s a response.

You carry yourself into a collision of an embrace -- Daryl curses, quietly, as he sways on his feet and grips your shoulders tightly. In the light of the alleyway, it’s just the two of you; the moment passes like a ship in the night and peel yourself away with a broken laugh.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back and gauging you. The touch makes his skin hot.

“Fine,” you croak, “You?”

“Never better.”

✘

Alexandria is what they call it.

In the cramped back of the RV, you spare Daryl a look as the vehicle rolls to a stop and Abrahram announces the arrival with a measured level of reservation.

You can’t remember the last time you stopped running.

No better time than the present.

After all, you’re just a feral cat, tryin’ its best to be indoors.

[elizabeethan]

look in the mirror (and cry)

Part 1 / 5

Chrissy survives Vecna’s first attack, just barely.

Season 4 rewrite wherein Chrissy survives and Eddie is a soft worried angel

hopefully updating daily until it’s done!!

Rated M

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Things

Get added to my Hellcheer fic tag list

Tagging: @sotangledupinit @klauscarolove @itsfabianadocarmo

A/N: Hi there, I’ve lost it again! Where did this come from? I have no idea. It was gonna be a quick little one shot and now I have a 12000 word draft. I’m fairly certain this will have 5 parts but we’ll see!! I chose an M rating for violence (nothing worse than in the show though) and language. But I don’t anticipate any explicit smut.

~~~~

He hasn’t screamed like that in a really long time. Sure, he’s loud and obnoxious and sometimes he shouts and screams, usually at innocent passersby in the lunchroom or the members of the basketball team, but that’s different. This is different. This is… this is fucking different. 

 It’s wrong. It’s deranged. It’s terrifying. 

 What the fuck is she doing on his ceiling?

 His ceiling?!

 He watches her bones as they snap and he swears her almost blacks out then and there. It’s unnatural, the way her arm quickly cracks to the side. He watched her forearm quiver slightly before the bone broke, as if it was being forced by something he couldn’t see, and then he watches the same thing start to happen to her leg. 

 He fell backwards when her arm broke, right into the stereo behind him, knocking the damn thing into the on position and jumping when it tunes in to a local station. Somebody To Love is blaring painfully into his ears, the volume turned up way too high as the crisp notes shoot through his screams of her name and right into his brain. Freddie goddamn Mercury belts with the voice of an angel (even Eddie has to admit that, despite his argument that the song isn’t very metal), the notes deep and clear and solid as they ricochet through his chest, and it’s like a spell is broken, Chrissy collapsing to the floor and the lights going back to normal. 

 And then she screams. 

It takes her a second, like she has to get her bearings before she can absolutely lose her shit. She lies on the floor almost lifelessly for almost a full minute before her hand rises up to her face and she stares at her palm. He watches it all fall apart for her, her eyes growing wide, her face turning panicked, realization striking her much too hard as she sorts out the fact that she can only move one. Her hand shakes so violently as she holds it in her view, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. She stares at it in horror, she brings it up to her head and pokes around at her face and to the back of her head, eyes still saucers. And then she glances down at the other, and she starts to whimper, and her breathing gets really fast, and she chokes out a sob. He doesn’t think, doesn’t turn down the music, doesn’t let himself be scared anymore as he rushes towards her, avoiding her very broken arm and scooping her into chest as she starts to shriek. 

 It hurts his ears. It hurts his heart. It’s terrifying, reflective of the pain she’s in and of something deeper. He can’t do a damn thing but hold her as tightly as he can as she flails in pain, screaming and sobbing and clinging to him like her life depends on it. 

 Then, when she starts to speak, starts to ramble, his heart hurts some more. “Are you real?” she asks him desperately, shaking as she tightly grips the collar of his shirt. Her eyes are finally open again and she stares at him with such terror swimming through them that he feels it, too.

 “I’m real,” he assures her, without even thinking about how odd the question is. He unhooks her fingers from his shirt and presses her hand to his own face, desperate to prove to her that he’s telling the truth. “I’m real, sweetheart; I'm right here.”

 It’s like her question opens the floodgates for him, the words tumbling from his lips like an avalanche as he promises her that he’s here, that he’s real, that she’s safe. He knows it doesn’t make it any better, because at the end of the day, her arm is in pieces. But still, he can’t stop. “I’m right here, angel. I’m not going anywhere. You’re here, I’m real, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” 

 He doesn’t know if he’s lying to her. 

 ~~~~

 The lights of the ambulance blind him, disorient him, because he’s not really sure that he’s totally conscious when it arrives. He didn’t call them, that’s for sure, but he realizes that Chrissy Cunningham’s arm broke in half on the ceiling of his trailer, and the sounds she was making probably alerted his neighbors that something was very wrong. 

 The paramedics easily burst through the rickety old door, immediately taking her from him, her body weak and shaky as it leaves his arms, and he hears her protest. He hears her sobbing out his name, arm reaching for him as she’s hoisted onto the gurnee. He meets her there, taking hold of her hand and pressing his forehead to hers without thinking, but her hand clasps tightly around his and he knows that she needs this, too. 

 One of his hands cups her neck, thumb running along her jaw, and he keeps up his whispers to her, a promise that she’ll be taken care of, that she’ll be with her family soon, that she’ll be getting help. The pain will end. If he was in his right mind, he’d make a joke about her getting the good stuff. 

 The pain will end. As for the terror… he isn’t so sure. 

 “Stay w-with me,” she pleads through another sob as he wipes away some of her running mascara. “D-don’t leave m-me.”

 “I won’t, Chrissy,” he vows. “I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time; I won’t leave you.” 

 Her jaw is chattering as they wrap a shiny blanket over her, her lips pale and her eyes almost hollow. If he was in his right mind, he would know that her quieting sobs, the lessening of her screams, means that she’s in shock. But for now, as he seems to be in a similar state, he lets himself believe that she’s feeling better. So when they move to wheel her towards the ambulance, he doesn’t fight hard enough to stay by her side. 

 He watches her eyes fall shut as the pain and the horror finally overtake her. Her hand slips from his when she loses consciousness, and he turns to a paramedic in a panic. “What happened?” he begs, but they keep moving and he’s forced still against a solid hand to his chest. “What–”

 “She’s going to the hospital,” someone says. “You need to stay here and answer a few questions.” 

 “No!” he argues, fighting to surge forward as the ambulance doors close. 

 “Here or the station, you pick.” 

 It dawns on him that whoever is keeping him from her means the police station and he freezes. Fight or flight has always resonated with him, and he usually finds himself leaning more in the direction of flight. When he’s threatened, he runs. He hides. He retreats. He sits back and he lets whatever’s going on around him settle down until it’s safe to come out again. 

 And then he realizes that his neighbors, all of them, are outside, their faces illuminated by the bright red and blue lights as the ambulance peels away from Eddie Munson’s trailer with Chrissy Cunningham in the back, screaming and crying and begging him to stay with her. He realizes someone wants to talk to him at the station. He realizes that he just watched the Queen of Hawkins High levitate against his ceiling and have her arm snapped into several pieces by absolutely nothing. 

 So he goes back into his trailer. And he goes to his room. And he climbs out the window. And he flees. 

 ~~~~

 Max doesn’t jump at the sight of the lights flickering. She doesn’t just get scared every time there's static on the TV. She’s not scared like that, not really, not usually. 

 But this was different. This wasn’t just a little flicker or a little static. This was… it was familiar. 

 The air was cold and thick and damp, and the closer she got to the sound of the screams, the colder she became. It felt sticky, muggy, but still freezing somehow, like she was transported to some kind of… 

 No. Not that. Not again. 

 But then, why did she come to Henderson’s place? There's always commotion coming from the Munson trailer, or, at least, there’s always noise. Eddie’s always practicing his guitar or blasting his shit music. The power goes off at her place all the time. There’s always static on the TV. 

 That doesn’t change Dustin’s mind, though. It doesn’t change hers, either. So they bike to the video store and they start searching. 

 And they hear about another kid who goes to Hawkins High. The news reports that Fred Benson is found in the middle of the street by Lovers Lake, legs and arms snapped, skull crushed, eyes practically popped, and Max thinks about what she saw last night. How she watched Eddie holding Chrissy Cunningham’s face, how the angle of her arm beneath the blanket was so disgustingly off that she felt nauseous. 

 And when the news reports that police are looking for a one Eddie Munson, present at the scene of Chrissy’s attack, missing during Fred’s murder, they freak. And Robin finds out where Reefer Rick lives, and it’s the only lead they have. For a second she wonders why she even cares, but she reminds herself of that feeling and the fear she saw on Eddie’s face, and she just knows. Eddie Munson didn’t do this, but something did.

  They have a head start and they take it. 

 ~~~~

 He’s shaking so violently that his teeth hurt. He reminds himself of Chrissy, of the way she was shaking, and he almost throws up again. He hasn’t really stopped crying since he got here. 

 She begged him to stay and he ran. Like a coward, he fled. He knows he didn’t hurt her, but it’s not like he has a good explanation that the police would believe. He already hears it in the news, suspicions of satanic rituals and murder and cults and–

 The other kid is dead. Chrissy… her condition is unknown. 

 And he left her.

 ~~~~

 Maybe he doesn’t have to hold a broken bottle to Steve Harrington’s neck. It could be an overreaction, one born from fear and adrenaline that hasn’t stopped coursing through his veins since the night before. But the sounds of them rustling through the boat house, whispering about needing to find him and discovering clues and everyone in this room nearly dying about a hundred times and– 

 It’s panic again. It’s fight or flight, and this time, he chooses fight. And then, when Henderson finally talks him off the ledge, he collapses in on himself and wonders why the hell he couldn’t fight for Chrissy. 

 “I tried to wake her, man,” he says desperately, remembering the way her eyes clouded over, flicking and blinking and blind, and the way her body went limp and rigid all at once as she levitated above him. He remembers the way he shook her shoulders, clapped in her face, tapped her cheeks, called out for her so desperately and was still left with nothing. “It was like she was under some kind of spell.” 

 “What got her out of it?” 

 He shrugs, trying to cover up the way that Dustin’s question makes him jump. He didn’t think of it like that. He doesn’t really remember much beyond the way that he crashed to the floor, and the way she did. She landed hard, her body colliding with the floor, broken and crumpled. And then he remembers the way that her eyes fluttered shut, the blue lids falling and her pained face finally relaxing, and he wonders. Did she hit her head? Was that a head injury?

 Is she dead?

 “Eddie,” Dustin says again. “What got her out of the curse? Do you remember?” 

 “Curse?” he asks weakly, and the pathetic whimper that is his voice fits well. He’s weak, isn’t he? He ran; he left her. And now… 

 “Vecna’s curse,” Dustin clarifies. “Remember? I know you’re not totally… Do you guys think he could have a concussion or something?” 

 “Maybe that would explain the look in his eyes,” Robin offers softly, and he looks at her in confusion. 

 “Robin,” he hears, Mike Wheeler’s older sister Nancy standing before him now, crouching down and looking him right in his eyes, her hand on his knee. “Eddie, we want to help you. Max saw you, with Chrissy.” He meets her eyes with the mention of her name, desperation back again. “We know you didn’t do this. There’s something bigger at play, here.” 

 “Is she okay?” he finally asks, throat dry and voice croaking. All this time, he’s almost been too scared to know, but he can’t take it anymore. 

 “She’s still unconscious. I’ve heard around that the doctors don’t expect her to wake up for a while; they had to operate on her arm.” 

 “But she’s–” She’s alive?

 “She’s alive. But we don’t know if Venca will try to get her again. We need to know what happened so that we can protect her. If we know what brought her out of the curse the first time, maybe we can prevent another attack. 

 He stares off for a moment, eyes probably as glazed as Robin claimed, and remembers. He recalls the way she shot up forcefully against the ceiling, the way her bones struggled and fought before they were snapped, and he tries to look through the window of his memories at what else happened. He fell, he crashed into the stereo, the music started. 

 He lifts his hand to the back of his head, realizing the dull throbbing has been bothering him since last night, and pulls it away to find his fingers red with crusted specks of dried blood. Concussion, then, he thinks to himself, nodding. 

 “Yeah,” he says finally. He looks up, feeling as though the realization that his head hurts makes it hurt more. He racks his memory, trying to get past the screaming and the noise of the lights and the too-loud melody slamming against his consciousness. He pushes past the overwhelming sensations, past the fear, past the sound of her bones cracking, past the way the whole trailer shook with how forcefully she landed back on the floor, and he remembers. The crooning melody plays in his mind once more and he looks to Dustin with a small smile. “Queen.” 

~~~~

~~~~

[yshai-tia]

. layercake

.LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

name: y’shai tia

“at yer service, mate. aye, though ye might wanna ask again inna moon ‘er so-- lil’ more papers ‘ta push through an’ the last bit’ll change there. still can’t gods damned believe it if y’ask me.”

eye color: blue (left), green (right)

“pree’ common combo fer seekers, y’know? green from me ma, can only guess the blue from dear ol’ pops. is tha’ how it works? i ain’ a genetics sorta guy.”

hair style/color: black, lackadaisical

“oi now, leas’ it ain’ a qiqirn’s nest. take care ov’ me braids though, if yer lucky jus’ might tell ye what they mean some day.”

height: 5 fulms, 9 ilms

“look, ‘m tall fer a miqo’te, thas’ gotta count fer somethin’. ain’ about the height, mate, s’all ‘bout how ye use what yer slapped with.”

clothing style: predominately black with abhorrent amounts of leather

“what, like either ov’ those things ‘er ev’r gonna go outta style? lookin’ good an’ bein’ durable, ye can’t really go wrong there. an’ it ain’t like ‘m allergic ‘ta change, startin’ ‘ta get used ‘ta this whole buttoned ‘ta the throat business. sorta.”

best physical feature: absolutely everything, take your personal pick

“c’mon now, lookit yers truly, notta shortage ov’ ‘bests’ in sight, choosin’ jus’ one would jus’ be cruel. thick thighs, thick arse-- lil’ thick in th’ head sometimes but, aye, leas’ yer lookin’ at somethin’ nice.”

.LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

your fears: physical restrictions, i.e. being bound, failing to protect those he loves and/or hurting them himself, powerlessness and ineptitude, particularly large coeurls

“cor, jus’ had ‘ta go from a fun question straight ‘ta this. lighten up, mate.”

your guilty pleasure: who’s guilty?

“ain’ nothin’ guilty ‘bout indulgence-- an’ i sure as shit don’ think ‘bout-- ... ah, fuck. guess there was one time... but that was long ‘go now, ain’ no point bringin’ it up.”

your biggest pet peeve: don’t get him started

“the fact that ul’dah exists, does that fuckin’ count? aye, yer right, ‘ta big ‘ta be a peeve. cor, i dunno, what ye cryin’ over spilt yak’s milk fer. i guess... aye, well, this is a personal one-like, but whiddle this fer a second; self-proclaimed sorts ov’ engineers who go off wif’out a single thought fer consequences. ... aye, aye, i hear ye, real fuckin’ bold fer someone like me ‘ta bitch ‘bout that, but, listen, a guy can change. it’s one thing ‘ta fuck ‘round with things ye don’ understand fer the sake of curiousity but ye also don’ see me gettin’ ass deep in allagan bullshit jus’ cause there might be a fancy toy there that tickles me boredom away fer a spell. shit’s got its conveniences, aye, not like i dunno the uses ova’ tomephone-- but most ov’ it is also fuckin’ dangerous, not sayin’ that it shouldn’ be explored proper, but not by some renegade blighter who fancies himself some magitek wiz so far up his own arse it makes yer local garlean look like a dozen o’ roses.

swear, ye got folks out here thinkin’ jus’ cause they can take apart a chronometer ‘er do some basic maintenance on a firearm that they’re ready fer solo-scavenging-- next ye know they’re wadin’ in aetherochemical spills an’ huffin’ ceruleum.

so that’s one fer the road there, ask me again sometime an’ i’ll enlighten ye ‘bout all the fuckin’ joys ov’ seeker racism ‘ve ‘ad the pleasure of gettin’ ‘ta know.”

your ambition for the future: much and more

“one day ‘atta time has always been me go of things, aye, gander though i ain’t without dreams, ‘specially now with tha’ stability in me life-- let me think ‘bout things that i nev’r really thought mattered ‘ta much ‘ta me ‘fore, the future an’ like.

firs’ thing that comes ‘ta mind would be me projects, bein’ able ‘ta have me own workshop has been both a blessin’ an’ a curse; blessin’ fer obvious reasons, curse cause ‘m startin’ ‘ta have one ‘ta many irons in the fire, if ye whiddle me meanin’. the biggest one though... even i gotta admit tha’ this is a generational project at bes’ outlook, but. workin’ ta’wards bein’ able ‘ta purify an’ clean the land ov’ the remnants of war-- speakin’ ov’ ceruleum spills an’ the like. with hope me husband says that we could maybe one day bring th’ elementals’ blessin’ back ‘ta tainted lands, thas’ his field of expertise at work there... jus’ bein’ able ‘ta rid the land ov’ imperial consequence is a worthwhile goal ‘ta me, i reckon.

oth’r than that.. there’s some silly things, aye, winna big marksman competition ov’ sorts, fish up a catch that no one’s ev’r seen ‘fore, get stronger... thas’ one thas’ nev’r changed, fer differ’nt reasons now mind.”

.LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

your first thoughts waking up: depends on the morning

“considerin’ the curr’nt season an’ all, most of me mornins’ start with me husband latchin’ on ‘ta me an’ not lettin’ me leave the bed at leas’ an extra bell fer the sake of warmth.

which is ‘ta say me first thoughts when wakin’ are pree’ fuckin good ones.”

what you think about the most: his husband, work, personal projects, underlying worries and responsibilities he’s not prone to publicly airing

“i ain’ exactly the ‘fee-low-sof-ick-al’ type, mate. keep it simple-like, thinkin’ ‘bout what’s in front ov’ me, the next step aft’r that.”

what you think about before bed: depends on the night

“‘pends on if ‘m too fucked out ‘ta even think ‘fore sleep takes me ‘er not. still, thoughts still mostly the same ‘gardless-- usually somethin’ long the lines of jus’ how godsdamned lucky i really am.”

you think your best quality is: once again.... take your personal pick

“well, ‘lready mentioned me ass, me thighs... if ye fancy scars me chest an’ back are pree’ damn nice too, me arms got some neat lookin’ ones lemme-- oh, y’don’t mean physical this time. cor, why didn’ ye say so.

shit, uhh... well, i ain’ the type ‘ta give up, come hell ‘er high water. shit tha’ might be a flaw but fuck it, it gets results, at leas’.”

.LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

single or group dates: single

“the hell issa group date? like a bunch’a folk all mated goin’ out? separate mated pairs? yer missin’ me here. only got eyes fer one, so the point is prolly moot.”

to be loved or respected: respected

“this issa easy one. trus’ me, know what is like bein’ ‘loved’ without respect, shit’s fun fer a spell, strokes the ego ‘til yer cummin’ yer own pride an’ fumes, but is all the same as a grog binge down at the Wench-- ev’ry single time ye’ll wake up feelin’ like shite an’ prayin fer death. ye can get mighty high on’a pain an’ pleasure cycle like that, aye, but ‘ventually the pain wins out.”

beauty or brains: they correlate

“me baby’s got both, so it ain’t like i gotta choose. ‘m a spoiled bastard, i know.”

dogs or cats: both

“cute buggers aren’t they, the both ov’ em. been at the mercy ov’ the teeth ov’ ‘em both too-- from coeurls ‘ta imperial trained bloodhounds. still, can’t rightly hate the animal fer instincts an’ trainin’, all jus’ tryin ‘ta survive.”

.LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

lie: naturally. but also poorly

“ain’ ‘xactly me strongest suit, fair, but ‘ll bullshit me way ‘round somethin’ if i gotta.”

believe in yourself: of course-- sincerity is a non-factor

“fake it ‘til ye make it, mate. call it cheesy writin’ on the wall ‘er what’ver ye like, shit does the job. no one gives a shit how ye feel ‘bout yerself-- jus’ fuckin’ tell yerself that ye got this an’ go. don’ look back.”

believe in love: he’s in it

“kinda hard ‘ta refute somethin’ ‘m experiencin’, y’know.”

want someone: every second of every day

“jus’ ‘cause ye already have it don’ mean that ye stop wantin it. aye, if anythin’ jus’ want ‘em even moreso. constantly, shit never stops. it’s fuckin’ heaven, lemme tell ye.”

.LAYER SIX: EVER?

been on stage: not professionally

“nothin’ like singin’ er dancin’, less ye count bar tables as impromptu stages.”

done drugs: not always consensually. but a moko edible every now and again isn’t such a crime.

“relax, ain’ like i make a habit ov’ it. special occasion, really. don’ fancy bein’ out ov’ it ‘ta of’en.”

changed who you were to fit in: naturally

“ye gotta if ye wanna survive beyond yer own comforts, mate-- that is if yer lucky ‘ta be born inta’ such ‘ta begin with. look, is called adaptin’, an’ if ye haven’ noticed we miqo’te are pree’ fuckin’ good at it. not even mentionin’ tryna fit in at home-- when i left it was change ‘er die; changed when i started learnin’ the common eorzean tongue, changed when i started dressin’ different, when i started learnin’ how ‘ta act, walk an’ talk so as ‘ta survive, hold me own. y’see it all the godsdamn time-- lookit every miqo’te who changed their name once they started livin’ in one ov’ the big cities, aye, not all ov’ ‘em do, but ‘nuff do ‘fer us ‘ta notice.

it’s adaption. it’s survival. hide parts ov’ yerself ‘ta preserve the greater whole. ain’t sayin’ it’s a nice thing tha’ we gotta do it-- but, aye, survival rarely is ev’r nice.

... if yer lucky though, if ye live long ‘nuff, ye can start reclaimin’ them hidden parts ov’ yerself back, aye, s’process.”

.LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

favorite color: black

“were ye expectin’ anythin’ else? ain’t gonna say no ‘ta gold either-- ‘specially of the rosey sort. they jus’ go ta’gether so well, y’know.”

favorite animal: jaguars, of course

“biased? me? ‘course not.”

favorite food: seafood in general, rustic homecooked meals, spicy food, way too sweet cream-filled coffee, nostalgic preference for almonds, coconuts, and fruit based desserts

“ye ev’r have those lil’ balls of cod deep fried in batter? could get meself sick on those buggers. too damn good. ‘specially if ye add a generous ‘mount ov’ dragon pepper ‘ta the fish ‘fore hand. ‘course if it’s good, fresh catch then ye can’t go wrong with simplicity neither, crab meat straight from the leg with no bells an’ whistles issa snack fit fer the finest.”

favorite game: card games, puzzles, anything that can spur fun competition, whether it be from hunting, to racing, to a snowball fight, isn’t adverse to the cheap thrill of betting on a race chocobo every now and again

“anythin’ can be good, fun competition if yer willin’ an’ rarin’, nothin’ like a lil’ friendly fire under yer arse ‘ta get the legs movin’ an’ cogs whirrin’.”

.LAYER EIGHT: AGE

day your next birthday will be: 28th day of the first umbral moon

“would be pree’ wild if me nameday wasn’ on.... me nameday.”

how old will you be: 29

“ugh, c’mon, i’m tryin’ not ‘ta think ‘bout it. knock it off.”

age you lost your virginity: between the ages of 19 and 21, he does not specify

“whas’ it matter? past is the past. leave it alone.”

does age matter: to an extent

“i ain’ no damn preacher, but it’s pree’ godsdamned obvious when someone is exertin’ power ov’r another. s’reason there be words like kid an’ adult. don’ fuckin’ be that person.”

.LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

best personality: bullheaded, smart, witty, compassionate, strong-hearted and strong-willed, brave, stubborn, impatient, and rather tactless

“maybe toss in a damn fine arse an’ voice like’a songbird-- wait, those ain’t personality traits?”

best eye color: rose gold

“bonus points if they gotta nice, natural glow ‘ta’em.”

best hair color: a warm rose peach with a streak of pale blonde

“what? ‘m a guy who jus’ knows what he likes. an’ i like what i like, cuff me if issa crime.”

best thing to do with a partner: exist with them in the entirety of life’s capacity

“call me fuckin’ sentimental, but learnin’ ‘ta fuckin’ live, really godsdamn live, with ‘em rath’r than jus’ survive... can’t fuckin’ be beat, jus’ can’t. shit’s golden, can’t wait ‘ta do it ev’ry single day on this star ‘til me times’ up.”

.LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

i love: “me husband.”

i feel: “pree’ chuffed, might go fer a nap.”

i hide: “poorly. mean have ye seen me, mate? ain’t easy hidin’ when yer this big. less’ maybe was in a house built with roes in mind.”

i miss: “me ma. aye, still lot’sa things that make me miss home, wouldn’ change where i am now fer the world, mind.”

i wish: “... fish. er, sorry, mind blanked there. they rhyme. been at sea fer the past few days now.”

tagged by: @ffxiv-sunderedsouls​ tagging: this is a stupidly late response so not sure how alive this particular meme is still but, here’s the deal; you wanna do this? do it and tag me THAT WAY i’ll know in the future to tag you in other things, good deal, right? right?!

[profoundnet]

PROFOUND MEMBER MASTERPOST FOR SEPTEMBER 2020!

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FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

The Heroes’ Journey (E, 36k)

When you perform a spell to defeat God himself, there’s bound to be side effects — such as every version of Team Free Will getting zapped to an alternate universe. The former residents of the Endverse find themselves in an underground bunker full of the kinds of food they haven’t seen in years and clothes that magically fit them. As Dean adjusts to life in a world where Croatoan never got out of control, he faces some tough questions: Can he forgive Sam for saying yes to Lucifer? And is his relationship with Cas really beyond saving? The residents of the bunker, meanwhile, wake up as employees of HunterCorp, whose CEO is one John Winchester. Being around people Dean lost years ago is no picnic, and it’s changing the dynamic of his relationship with Cas in ways he never expected. But is the change meant to last, or will they fall back into old patterns when they return to their own universe?

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Recovery From Drug Addiction

Home (G, 2.2k)

This is the story of a car, and the boy who loves it so fiercely, it becomes a home. As the boy grows into a man, his car is the one constant in his life. Until, one day, he meets an angel, and "home" takes on a new meaning.

Tags: Canon Compliant, POV Impala, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff, Kid Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Are Great Dads

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nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime (E, 5.7k)

Two men. Two Identical injuries. For Dean and Cas, is that where the similarities start or end?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Smut and Humor, No Angst, Minor Injuries, Stitches, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort

Text Me in the Morning (T, 2.7k)

"Just blowing off steam?" Sam glared at Dean. "So, you haven't been honest with him, or you haven't been honest with yourself?" "Excuse me?" Dean set his mug on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Sam. "It means that you're in love with Cas, and won't admit it. Figures my brother is a coward."

Tags: Canon Compliant, Established Castiel/Dean, Secret Relationship, Long-Suffering Sam, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Misunderstandings, Texting, Castiel and Dean Need to Use Their Words

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castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

After the End (E, 27k)

In 2014, Dean Winchester led a raid on the asylum in Detroit where a Sam-wearing-Lucifer was waiting for him. Everyone knows what happened next: the Chitaquan soldiers who accompanied Dean died horribly at the hands of Lucifer’s minions while Lucifer murdered Dean in the garden below and warned the Dean from days past that no matter what he tried, he would always end up there. There were no survivors. Or were there? This story picks up where “The End” leaves off, from Castiel’s perspective from inside the asylum, a twist of fate, and conditional divine intervention no one saw coming. It details what happens after Lucifer dies, Dean lives, and the world doesn’t actually stop turning. A canon-compliant “fix-it” fic for the Endverse and a Dean and Cas who deserved better. Or: "The End" was not the End. This is the story of what came after.

Tags: Endverse fix-it, Happy endverse, temp MCD (dean's canon death in the rose garden), low-angst, canon-compliant (I swear, this is a happy fix-it), explicit sex, s15 tie-ins.

Wait For It (E, 44k)

With Chuck out of the picture and Jack stepping up as the New God, Team Free Will suddenly has to face the most difficult mission they've ever tackled: moving on. Change is tough, that's a given. What's not new? Dean's coping mechanisms being the absolute worst. Problem is, this time, his stubborn refusal to leave the past where it belongs lands him in hot water that's so deep, even Castiel may not be able to pull him out in time. An epic post-canon love story about a hunter who can't seem to look forward and an ex-angel who is done looking back.

Tags: Post-canon, Alternate ending to Season 15, illustrated, getting together, love confessions, hurt/comfort, kidnapped Dean, BAMF Castiel, explicit sex, very happy ending. Accompanied by art by @ladyrandombox.

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lovemuppet - @haybibiboi - lovemuppet

“How Do You Like Them Apples?”: A Co-Pearenting Fic. (T, 1.4k)

based on a prompt by Cryptomoon: "Neighboring long time orchard owners, Dean of Winchester Family Apples and Cas of Eden Farms have been bitter rivals their whole lives. Eden Farms grows pears and Dean thinks that's absolutely stupid because it's Eden, they should grow apples. But that's beside the point. They've hated each other since they could walk. Now they each have taken over their family's farms and do their best to civilly ignore one another. Until! Some trees on the edge of their properties spontaneously cross breed and they are forced to figure out what to do with these co-parented Pearapples. Applepears?"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, au where pears and apples are the same genus, affronts to god and science, jokes? about homicide.

“The Only Rest You’ll See For Hours” (G, 441 words)

Prompt by saltnhalo: 30 minute speed writing based on knightiesart sky doodles. (I used the two desert looking ones)

Tags: post series band aid, no one dies, everything's fine

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youfoundmykeys - reafre

grip (SFW)

“You’re the one who gripped me tight, and brought me back to light...” art by reafre date: 18-23 September, 2020 tools: pencil, watercolour, pearl watercolour on paper.  

Tags: video, hands, soft, anniversary

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goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Ridin’ the Quarantine Out (E, 8.5k)

“Like I said,” Dean says, chuckling, “no one’s ever died from blue balls. So you can't go out there and break quarantine to bang some rando.” Cas doesn’t find this funny in the slightest. “No human has died,” he clarifies. “What the hell are you talking about?” Dean narrows his eyes. “If you think some weird fact about guinea pigs is gonna sway-” “I’m an incubus,” Cas interrupts. “I will literally die if I don’t feed.”

Tags: They were quarantined, incubus!cas, virgin!cas, first time, top!cas, bottom!dean, dom sub undertones, mentions of COVID-19, mutual pining

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aishitara - @aishitara - aishitara

K-I-S-S-I-N-G (M, 3.9k)

Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast. Avoids Cas like his life depends on it. Dean huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him on /that/ part, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel was dead was anything to go by, he was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from him and Cas. He wasn’t… he wasn’t hiding, okay? He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not on purpose. Just. Because. Of reasons.

Tags: Fluff, a wee touch of the angst, Sam Ships It, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sort Of, Feelings, Dean just doesn't want to talk about it ok

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vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin

a world well done (M, 54k)

After five years of being overlooked for the job title of his dreams, Dean has grown accustomed to his fair share of disappointment. But the guy who got the position, a nepotistic hire named Castiel Novak, is really pushing the boundaries of his patience. Too bad the guy’s a dud, but the legacy project has survived worse. Castiel can be as antisocial as he wants and hide out in his office all he likes; Dean will just batten down the hatches and ensure his team weathers the storm coming their way.

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings & Miscommunications, Slow Build

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one_more_offbeat_anthem - @one-more-offbeat-anthem - one_more_offbeat_anthem

Roll With It, Baby (T, 13k)

August 1987. Indianapolis, Indiana. The Pan-American Games are back again, and professional roller skaters Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester are supposed to be teammates--and friends. Over their six years on the US team, they’ve done their best to get along, but with Cas as a roller figure skater and Dean as a roller hockey player, they sometimes miss the mark. But something’s different this year, at their second Pan-American Games. Maybe it’s the sultry end-of-summer heat over the main stadium at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Maybe it’s the competition. Maybe it’s Rick Astley's recent hit single "Never Gonna Give You Up." Whatever it is, the next two weeks are going to change things…potentially forever.

Tags: 1980s, the mixtape, professional roller skating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, first kiss, mild homophobia

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shealynn88 - @shealynn88 - shealynn88

The Light Will Guide You Home (E, 4.6k)

Dean is visiting his long-distance friend for the first time. He knows what he wants, but does Cas feel the same? Dean laughs. “Cas, is that you? Can I…?” He reaches out for a hug, then draws back in embarrassment. The human-like form throws him off, but he knows it’s impolite to initiate physical contact with a Luminate, he’s studied the culture for over a decade.

Tags: consentacles, sci-fi AU, alien!Cas, human!Dean

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Feathers7501 - Feathers7501

Dreams of Blue (G, 1.1k)

Dean is leading his best life... or is he?

Tags: memory wipe

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sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

Along My Restless Palms (NSFW)

Comission done for Kat, the first of my bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was to illustrate this specifc scene (where Dean dreams about Castiel in the Highlands - YES, they are wearing kilts) in the Fic Along My Restless Palms!

Tags: highlands, kilts

Caring for the wings (SFW)

Comission for Jennifer, one of winner bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was the fluffiest thing ever: Chibi versions of Dean and Castiel, and Dean taking care of Cas´s wings, with the feathers all fluffy, like those little dogs after a bath and air drier on the Pet Shop.

Tags: chibi art, wings

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mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Happy Resurrection Day (T, 3.7k)

The world didn't end, and Dean and Cas finally get to choose each other. It only took twelve years and a little road trip back to where it all started.

Tags: post canon, road trips, getting together, first kiss, anniversary

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andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

A Gentleman’s Inheritance (M, 11k)

For the Supernatural Regency Bang. Castiel Shurley has always done his duty by his family. When his father dies, Castiel inherits not only the title of Viscount, but also deep debts. At his aristocratic mother's behest, he agrees to court Miss Celeste "Charlie" Middleton—a wealthy heiress, but the daughter of cits. Though they are not in love—and though he secretly has feelings for her cousin, the charming Dean Winchester—Castiel and Charlie soon agree to wed. But Castiel's life is upended by the arrival of his scandalous Aunt Amara, who reveals that he is not the son of Charles and Naomi, but illegitimate, taken from his unwed mother to serve as Charles’s heir. When she carries out her threat to reveal the truth to the world, Castiel loses his title, his home, and his place in the world. Feeling honour-bound to break off his engagement, he finds himself invited to stay instead, as a member of Dean and Charlie's unconventional household, and learns the meaning of freedom.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Disinherited Castiel, Forced Adoption

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sapphirecobalt - sapphirecobalt

The Bee Knocker Story (M, 7.2k)

Dean recalls the infamous bee knocker that started it all. Or, the one where Cas is upset and Dean goes to great lengths to cheer him up.

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic fluff, emotional hurt comfort, Artist Dean, gardens and gardening

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shadowkat83 - Shadowkat83

Sober (G, 605 words)

Dean leans against a tree trying to come to terms with what he is seeing and feeling. How did everything end up like this? Lyrics Sober by Bad Wolves

Tags: Endverse, Songfic, angst, implied relationships

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Maleyah (Katherine_Kat) - @maleyah-givemetomorrow - Maleyah

Hot Wings Cas (SFW)

Yoga teacher Castiel for my fic Hot Wings and Magic Hands

Tags: yoga teacher cas, idiots in love, wing tattoos

Take A Breath (SFW)

Time for a breath and a break. The ending they deserve with Sam, Gabe, Charlie and Jody in the background (if you squint)

Tags: the end of the road, married, breathe boys, cuddles

Aceriee-art’s DTIYS (SFW)

Art for Aceriee-art's DTIYS challenge

Tags: dtiys, aceriee-art, sassy Dean, blatant use of emojis

Thank You Cas Kisses (SFW)

Cas blowing kisses at the viewer, cause thank you

Tags: thank you, cas blows a kiss, tiny bee

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Endellion - Endellion

You Make Me Want to Stay (G, 1.5k)

A teenage Dean meets a boy named Castiel at one of the many high schools he goes to and this time when his dad says it's time to move on, he doesn't want to. 

Tags: implied/referenced homophobia, AU no hunting, AU highschool

Brutus (G, 216 words)

Sam and Cas and a dog. Dean can't resist Cas' puppy dog eyes.

Tags: fluffy, cute

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ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

The Right Kind of Motivation (E, 2k)

Alone in the house for the first time in months, Dean is having trouble finding the motivation to clean. Castiel decides it’s time to bring out the big guns, and Dean is more than willing to play along. Can be read as a standalone.

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic, Alternate Universe, Dick Pics, Masturbation

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allmystars - @allmystars-i - allmystars

Brownies and Blowjobs (E, 2.3k)

"It’s fucking 2020, I should be able to watch Netflix nude while making brownies without you getting preachy about it." Dean wants Castiel's attention, but he doesn't know how to ask for it, so he bakes brownies... completely naked.

Tags: Blowjobs, Handjobs, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Naked Baking, Porn Without Plot

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darcydelaney - @darcydelaney - DarcyDelaney

Bookworm (T, 2.1k)

Cas asks Dean to spend the day reading with him at a brewery. It's not Dean's ideal date at first, but it doesn't stop him from falling in love with Cas all over again.

Tags: Brewery, Date Night, Fluff