#it’s his coping mechanism for being unable to speak about him to anyone

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[ezdotjpg]

Hi!!! Sorry if you've been asked this before but is it possible for you to summarize the Bonus Links' personalities? Just asking because I'd like to get a general idea, apologies if this is too much of a pain to answer 😭🫶🏻

hey! luckily I already wrote up character intros a while back that I never posted to tumblr lol, so I'll go ahead and post them now! under the cut since this is mega long lol

Loft

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Skyward Sword

Age: 22

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: World’s Nicest Man Pushed To His Limit. It’s his nature to be light-hearted and easy-going, but ever since the events of Skyward Sword he’s been unable to let the implications of Demise’s curse and Zelda’s connection to Hylia go. He’s usually mild, but he’s got a lot of suppressed anger in him that comes out at inopportune times. He tends towards being optimistic, but has lately been caught in a depressive spiral. As a result of all these conflicting emotions, he hasn’t felt like himself in a while. Before everything, he could have been described as a little bit lazy, but these days a better word would be lethargic. He’s got a mischievous and thrill-seeking streak that often surprises people. He knows he’s powerful, but he’s lost some confidence in the years since his quest. He’s wracked with guilt about the way everything ended.

Slate

Pronouns: tends to use he/him, but really any

Game: Breath of the Wild (ignoring TotK for now)

Age: 21

Height: 5’0”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally

Personality: The Reviews Are In: Friendly Guy, Vaguely Off-Putting. He knows he’s not pre-calamity Link, but he’s not exactly sure what he is instead. He’s accepted this about himself, and it grinds his gears that other people refuse to. He’s not sure what to do with all these memories inside him that aren’t his, and that he feels nothing for. He’s become more expressive, but when he’s upset his face goes entirely blank. He has a tendency to be distracted, blunt, intense, impulsive, somewhat abrasive. But he’s not unkind, and can even be outright friendly. He’d offer his help to anyone who asks, and he makes it a point to know everyone in Hyrule. He’s happiest out in nature, and doesn’t mind the solitude. He only ever lies by omission, and otherwise says exactly what he means. There’s something a little otherworldly about him.

Mask

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Age: 15

Height: 5’2½”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Teen Needs Hug So Bad, Will Bite If You Try. He’s prickly, hot-tempered, moody. He’ll pick verbal battles he probably shouldn’t. Everything is a touchy subject. But he’s developed this behavior as a coping mechanism. He’s kind by nature, and it takes effort to lash out. The person he is with Malon- gentle, more soft-spoken, with a good sense of humor and a love for harmless mischief- is a lot closer to the person he’s comfortable being. He’s a scared kid. He feels out of place, both mature and immature, of this world and not. Sometimes, he gets scrambled between Termina, the Hyrule he’s in now, the Hyrule he left behind, and the Hyrule of the war. He has a lot of resentment for both the gods and the royal family, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Wolf

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Twilight Princess

Age: 23

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Thank God I’m A Country Boy. He’s a gentle soul, probably the gentlest out of all of them. He likes to be useful, and he has made being the problem solver of Ordon Village part of his identity. He’s a bit of a mother hen and likes to take care of people. Midna was good at bringing out a little bit of attitude and snark in him. He’s got a bad case of Resting Bitch Face, but he’s not an angry person. However, he’s had a hard time adjusting to life back in Ordon. He’s usually even-tempered, but lately he’s been irritable and easier to anger. He feels isolated by his experiences, and has been avoiding most of the villagers, including his loved ones, even though it makes him lonely. Mostly he just doesn’t want to take it out on them, but it’s also about his pride. He enjoys the company of animals far more these days. He wants a quiet life, and has been avoiding Zelda's attempts to make "Hero" a political role for him to fill.

War

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Age: 25

Height: 5’7”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally, had Proxi speak for him at one point during the war

Personality: Link “This Is My Jaeger, I Make The Tactical Decisions” Faron. He comes across as a very charming young man, witty, helpful, pleasant in conversation, well-adjusted. In reality, he is constantly doing complicated political 4D chess in his mind at all times, even when it’s not necessary. Many years of being subject to the whims of the Royal Court and pressure to be a perfect symbol have poisoned him: he’s become calculating, manipulative, superficially polite, two-faced. He has to be the one holding all the cards, considering all the variables, fixing all of the problems, because he can’t trust anyone else. If you were to strip him of all pretense, he'd actually be a dry, resigned person, perpetually annoyed with everyone around him. He values status and reputation, and he wants more power than he has. His appearance is important to him because he knows his pretty face is an asset. He holds deep respect for the gods and the mantle of the hero. He has a strong sense of duty, but one that often leads him to justify terrible actions. The ends justify the means.

Mirror

Pronouns: he/they

Game: A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes

Age: 22

Height: 5’1”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Link Doing Pretty Well Actually, All Things Considered. He’s just living his life, having a mostly pleasant time. He used to be quiet and reserved when he was younger, but has come out of his shell in a big way. He’s a bit vain, and fond of doing things with a dramatic flair. They like to have an audience, they like to make people laugh, they like to have your attention. Rather than being poisoned by court politics, he thrives in them. He doesn’t pretend to be charming, he just is. They can be on the arrogant side. He’s interested in fashion and art more than fighting these days, but still keeps his skills up to date. He pretends the scar on his face doesn’t bother him, but it does. He’s particularly obsessed with the legend of the hero before him.

Mage

Pronouns: he/him

Game: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Ages, Oracle of Seasons

Age: 32

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Weird Uncle You Just Stopped Hearing From One Day. He’s a difficult guy to get a read on. He comes off as deeply serious, imposing, no-nonsense. He is actually full of nonsense. The fact that no one can tell what is and isn’t part of the bit is part of the bit. He mostly ignores his own problems by dedicating his life to solving other people’s problems. He wanders from place to place, helping people and becoming a bit of a larger than life folk legend in his own right in the process. He’s leaned into learning magic more than the sword, and has built up quite the arsenal of spells. He doesn’t speak often, and is content to let other Links lead despite being the oldest and the most experienced. He’s difficult to rile and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of.

Spirit

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Spirit Tracks

Age: 16

Height: 4’11”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally. He has a stutter when he speaks.

Personality: Wants To Be Anywhere But Here, Preferably On A Train. He’s fully given up swordfighting, and basically just wants to go back to being a Royal Engineer like nothing happened. He has no interest in gaining any kind of attention, authority, or power from the mantle of the hero, and would actually prefer that everyone stop looking at him. He’s quiet, sweet-natured and generally non-confrontational, but he’s not afraid to stand up for himself when pushed. It’s just that it’s easier to let Zelda stand up for him instead. He’s pretty mature and in-tune with his emotions for a 16 year old. Seeing spirits everywhere, he has a lot of private thoughts about grief and death that he doesn’t share with anyone. The gears in his brain are constantly turning, and once he’s stuck on an idea, it’s all he can focus on. He often doesn’t give himself enough credit for how capable he is. Please let him tell you about trains.

Mini

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Minish Cap

Age: 14

Height: 4’3”

Communication: Only signs, mute.

Personality: He’s Just A Little Guy, Only 2 Pixels Tall. Mini doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s not very expressive in the face, and it can be hard to tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Mostly, he’s a little rascal. He likes to root around in the garbage and build strange little machines from what he finds. He spends a lot of time hanging out with the Minish, moreso than humans. It’s a little bit of an escapism thing. He hasn’t really processed what it meant to become the hero so young, and is actively trying to avoid doing so. He’s very independent, and simply doesn’t compute attempts to coddle him.

Wake

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom hourglass

Age: 20

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Everyone’s Favorite Cousin At The Family Function. He’s a fun person to be around. Friendly, energetic, laid back, good-natured, outgoing. He is always up for a good shenanigan. But he can get serious when he needs to, and often plays the important role of mediator in group dynamics. He’s the glue that holds the team together! He seems to take everything in stride, and presents himself as unbothered by the things that have happened to him. Whether that’s actually true, or he’s just compartmentalized everything too well remains to be seen. He has a strange way of being very open, and yet a closed book at the same time. He’s sentimental, and family is important to him

[byemambo]

Monster Next Door EP. 1-3: Being Loved is Being Seen

I'm getting a feeling that if people didn't like We Are...they'll def say the same thing about Monster Next Door in terms of "oh there's no plot." That's literally the point of fluff series 😩

For me, We Are easily became one of my favorite series as the weeks went on because it wasn't hard to to digest but there was definitely a plot with relatable themes that made each Wednesday enjoyable. People on MDL claiming the same things (which duh everyone's entitled to their own opinion) about MND, but a story that isn't complex or introduces heavy themes doesn't make a series that's simple and light better in comparison: it's simply different.For me, We Are easily became one of my favorite series as the weeks went on because it wasn't hard to to digest but there was definitely a plot with relatable themes that made each Wednesday enjoyable. People on MDL claiming the same things (which duh everyone's entitled to their own opinion) about MND, but a story that isn't complex or introduces heavy themes doesn't make a series that's simple and light better in comparison: it's simply different.

Getting to Know Diew: The World in the Eyes of an Introvert

Maybe I'm someone who enjoys the best of both worlds with consuming theory ridden series along with the fluff and simple: MND and specifically the character Diew resonates with me as a fellow introvert (I'd say I'm with Beer as more of an ambivert) but as someone who's also neurodivergent and shares the same tendencies Diew has, his character reminds me of how Fang was first received by some of the We Are viewers, where these more mellow and quieter characters tend to be misunderstood as "boring" or "flat." Society's false perception of quiet individuals being more of a waste of space and unable to speak up for themselves, but the strength of Diew's character is his ability to exist on his own, within his own world and not feel much of a void or deem his solitude as lonely like his extroverted counterparts experience. Rather, his own solitude is familiar, safe, comforting, and he has no reason to not be content with his own company. For many introverts: we learn how to become more confident in how we navigate the world, not letting our experiences be deemed as unexciting or misunderstood.

Integrity: The Development of Trust Issues

Learning the truth about Pee, Diew's ex boyfriend.

We're shown a snippet of Diew's past with his ex boyfriend Pee after meeting his friends for the first time: resulting in his friends making fun of Diew and his antics. Rather than defending him, Pee remains silent and allows the bullying to continue on, causing a rift in their relationship and I'm sure, becomes the main reason for their relationship to end. As someone who's been considered "quirky" or weird in the eyes of others (which became an insecurity for a long time until I brought it up in therapy and found my appropriate coping mechanisms to overcome these feelings of embarrassment or alientation), these moments may seem silly and not a big deal: it's never about the actual circumstances of the situation, but the principle of what occurred in the situation. It's not a matter of Diew being made fun of for his relationship with his pet turtle: it's a matter of entrusting that his boyfriend at the time to defend him in his honor and put his friends in their place. However, that didn't happen, which Diew tends to overthink and spiral into a mess of irrational thinking, causing himself to become even more disoriented.

The moment may pass, but the feelings usually don't unless proper intervention happens. This becomes a significant shift when Diew feels comfortable enough to tell God that he wasn't talking on the phone with anyone, which his response was inviting and validated Diew's relationship with his pet turtle, something that was deemed silly and weird from people of his past. Lots of people are told that they want to be known by others, but not everyone can actually back up that statement with solid evidence of actions and words. God becomes this safe space that Diew is slowly warming up to, as his words and actions continue to match and build a case for itself. God even takes it upon himself to tap into Diew's interests, associating him with his turtle and allowing his hyperfixation to exist.

Communication: Learning the Language

This is one of my favorite shots: it's simply beautiful, attractive, comforting, inviting, just overall peaceful and calm.

Diew's hyperfixation is about turtles and reading, which God's character picks up once they've consistently began communicating with one another through the Post-It notes and becomes the preferred method of communication for Diew. Sure, for lots of people who watch these episodes that aren't resonating with the severity of Diew's anxiety when it comes to expressing himself and being perceived in public and with those outside of his comfort zone, you actually contribute to the problem that people like Diew (who are very real and very present in every day life) deal with! The theme of the series is about being seen not for being weird or different (derogatory), but for being unique and special no matter who you are and how you live life as your authentic self. That instead of belittling you for your differences, you're recognized and accommodated appropriately. Being loved is being seen.

The reason why this pairing works well is the same for why Tan and Fang's relationship went well: the more extroverted and "obvious" character doesn't expect the more introverted and "subtle" character to change for their own comfort or palate. That more introverted characters can be just as interesting and plot driven as their extroverted counterparts. That introverted characters' problems are just as real and relatable as their extroverted counterparts. Maybe it's because people can't resonate with characters like Diew or Fang and have the bandwidth to be opinionated about how they feel, but as a fellow quiet, introverted, has more mental chatter than vocal chatter (but get my started on one of my favorite things and we're zooming), tends to keep to themselves but isn't necessarily shy, etc: not everything has to be explicit to be valid or understood. That instead of expecting the obvious to land on our laps, we also have the responsibility of reading between the lines and making inferences through the implicit, that introverts, too, have their own language.

Eating chocolate once he was told the dopamine would make him smile (Diew telling God that he learned this from a study, which God doesn't make Diew feel othered or weird for sharing information in that way).

Diew having a rough day and God finds ways to make him feel better without revealing his identity (until the party mom said something LOL)

Both of them going to each other's favorite places, even if that means not going together to experience it.

Becoming aware of a need and fulfilling the need in his own little way.

We see this the best in how God doesn't press or become impatient with Diew's preferences or boundaries: instead, he learns to find workarounds to maintain a connection between the two without risk of overwhelming Diew in the process. Rather than continuing on and becoming set in his ways, God's able to step down and find ways to resonate with his new friend, stepping into his world and finding himself getting lost in it all on his own. Diew also returns this level of interest and builds the confidence in making his actions speak for himself, which isn't just limited to the grand gestures and clear signs of love: but down to the smallest forms of expression.

Honorable Mention: Friendship

I adore the way friendship is portrayed in this series so far (the bottom image being so funny seeing the difference between the two parties LOL): some might find their actions to be cringe or offputting but speaking from experience with my own friends and groups, that's what makes all these memories so fun and enjoyable. Being around people who allow you to exist as yourself and as Diew mentioned earlier, not to act in ways that people expect you to be. By being around people who enable you to come as your authentic self is so important, especially in a world where it seemed to be more difficult for people to have confidence to be themselves with no shame. That's why I really enjoy watching university series: the friendships experienced during youth are unmatched and will really show you who your real friends are for the long haul. I'm excited for the upcoming episodes, especially the ones where communication between the two differing personalities will be put to the test.

[artdcnaldson]

whatever i'll rewrite!!!! tumblr you will not win over me buddy. also if anyone thinks i'm day drinking or something, it is 11 pm here, i am within my right to be tipsy 🙏 idk if i'm able to cook up anything toooooo elaborate atm, but pervy art 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 loved loved loved that thing you just wrote RRRAAAAAHHHH WOOOF. need him to take advantage of me fr y'all, like over the line shit. i'm so sorry y'all this is probs a coping mechanism. but need him to live the rest of his life in guilt over what he did to me, meanwhile i'm fully unaware and unaffected. but like need him to spike my drink or something, maybe he really likes me and doesn't think he has a chance with me. so he convinces himself the only way to be with me is to "coerce" me aka against my will. need him to offer me a drink at a party, and obviously i think he's hot and sexy he doesn't even need to do anything, but he's so in his head. he tells my friends he's just gonna carry me back to my room when i get woozy, he's heading home anyway and it's on the way. but he takes me to his dorm room, i'm not even totally gone or passed out, just out of my body. vaguely aware of my surroundings but in no way capable of properly consenting (regardless of the fact that i would have if i had been sober!!!!) need him to touch me all over and need him to be unable to help himself as he slips inside me. had i been sober i would've been fucked stupid, would've been babbling about his huge cock and how sexy he is, would have been begging him to cum inside. but i'm not. but he does it anyway..... brings me back to my room after cleaning me up. maybe he never speaks to me again, maybe he befriends me and pretends we've never met before

idk y'all honestly i'm sorry 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 no worries if this is too much 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 gonna book a sesh with my therapist LOL clearly we've not worked through all the stuff

love you cat!!!!!

-🐞

LOVE U LADYBUG ANON <3

TW NONCON beneath the cut

auauauuurrghhhh something about him feeling sooo guilty and you just not knowing anything happened 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

He doesn’t think he can have you he just needs one night and it’ll be out of his system, right? And you won’t remember, so it will be like it never happened. And you take him so willingly, limp and you smell so good beneath him when he buries his head in your shoulder and fucks into your pliant, willing cunt. You’re just so relaxed for him, he didn’t know it would work *this* well. Mouths at your neck as he buries himself balls deep inside and just humps ingo your pussy :((( he cums so fast, pets your hair, makes sure you’re still okay. Cleans you up so carefully, kisses your sweet, still lips, then carries you back to your dorm.

And the next day you “run into him” and thank him for being your hero and taking you back to your dorm, that you must’ve been really out of it bc last night was a blur. Tell him he’s really sweet, and it means a lot.

He thought he’d feel better that he got away with it, but he just feels a little (a lot) sick.

[storkmuffin]

I wanted to share a little of my perspective on John Silver. I am by no means a Silver stan and honestly, I didn’t really care for him either way (hate him or love him) in my first watch. Through my second (I’m now on both a third and fourth watch simultaneously, it’s complicated) watch, my feelings towards him changed somewhat. He’s still not one of my favourite characters, and by no means does he even compare to Flint in my mind, but I really think painting him as entirely bad is an oversimplification of his character.

Black Sails is, at its core, a show about incredibly complicated characters, all of whom have been through hell, and who are coping with their trauma in different ways. We never get Silver’s backstory which, to be fair, I was also mad about, but we do get hints at it. We know that he started off as a member of a merchant crew, and not a high ranking one which, at the very least, implies that he was not from a privileged background and likely never had any stable employment or family support (those who did were rarely enlisted into these merchant crews). The interpretation of the few bits of insight we do get into his childhood that I favour the most are the ones that suggest that him stating that all his backstory taught him was that the world was a place of unspeakable horrors (or something similar, I can’t remember or find the exact quote) is true—that so much of what we see him do is an effort to distance himself as much as possible from some trauma that he cannot bring himself to think about or disclose to anyone, first by doing everything he can to remain as independent as possible, then by making himself as necessary as possible. He cannot reveal what has happened for fear that speaking of it will make it more real, and possibly even bring its effects back into his life. It sure as hell isn’t a healthy coping mechanism and it definitely hurts those around him, but the same is true for so many of the other characters. Flint, in season one, kills Gates to continue his war against civilisation, one that hasn’t even started, because Gates calls him out on his recklessness (and was right, the battle that Flint killed Gates in the hopes of continuing ended with the Walrus wrecked and the crew decimated and stranded), but, in that moment, the audience feels for Flint, even though we don’t yet know why he’s so dedicated to doing what he’s doing, because, even as he’s killing possibly one of the most “good” characters, we feel sorry for him.

Silver’s backstory is one rooted in loneliness and pain. He starts with being unable to trust anyone then, as he starts to bond with the crew, they start to die off alarmingly quickly. Even in season two, he becomes important to the crew and vice versa, and this process is accelerated by the loss of his leg. I think this acceleration is also worth noting, as it puts him in a place of dependence before he would have been comfortable to do so, before he has learned that he can be vulnerable with someone and they won’t necessarily immediately hurt him. His refusal to allow his leg to heal properly and to let people help him stems from this wariness of vulnerability. Sure, it’s not a healthy attitude, and it does hurt other people, but, especially given the general attitudes towards disability at the time, I can at least understand it. In the eyes of his society, and, therefore, in the eyes of John Silver, disability = vulnerability = weakness = letting others hurt you, so he becomes consumed by the goal of making sure he seems as strong as possible. There’s also a heavy dose of toxic masculinity mixed in here, but, again, as I see it, it’s an understandable (if not excusable) result of what he’s experienced so far. The only physically disabled character we see before Silver is Randall, who is nearly kicked off the crew and then killed (without being able to raise any kind of alarm or defend himself), which certainly isn’t a comfortable frame of reference for someone who has also now lost their leg.

Moving on to Silver’s position in the revolution, I think a lot of my interpretation of his role comes from knowing that Madi & Flint’s mission cannot succeed. Black Sails is, in many ways, quite intricately and accurately tied into the historical context of the time and, the fact is, that the golden age of piracy ended, slavery continued, the empire won out (at least for the next few centuries), and the prejudices that they were trying to fight continued.  By the historical context that is set in stone, Flint and Madi’s revolution could not have succeeded and, honestly, Black Sails shows this. Their ideas were good, as were their tactics, but they had no widespread support. Any support for Nassau had to come at the cost of the end of the revolution, and they had none of the numbers, weapons, money, ships, land, public support, or really anything that would have let them succeed. It’s a good fight, and that’s what hurts the most, because we as the audience want them to succeed but know that, historically, and even within the context of the show, they cannot. Silver sees this, and it definitely isn’t a good look being the only major character in that trio resisting this revolution, but he knows, as we must also know, that it is doomed to fail. He is not stopping it because he doesn’t care for the cause, he is stopping it because he knows that the sooner he stops it, the less likely it is that he will lose someone he cares about, has he has already done with countless members of the crew. He knows in stopping it that he will probably lose Madi, but he does it anyway, because he sees that, whether she lives, dies for nothing, or dies and becomes a martyr, the revolution will fail, and all that will be different is that she and countless others will have died. Again, this level of pragmatism does not look good on him, but between the dreams of Flint and Madi and the sacrifices they will make to try to attain the unattainable, it is incredibly necessary.

Honestly, I can’t fully argue this case without your knowledge of the last part of 4.10. It isn’t a tragedy; it isn’t just filled with a sense that it was all for nothing. At the bare minimum, there are some very cool Max moments. Please, even if you have to skip through all the Silver scenes, watch to the end.

Sorry for the essay :)

posting bc I'm very honored that you chose to write this in response to my unhinged ranting!

I don't have the spoons for a proper response and this deserves one so I will hopefully be able to write something coherent in response sometime soon. I didn't want to just leave this hanging!

[orangeocelotmartyn]

This post has been a long time coming because I have been rotating Datastream!Doc in my head for a bit

He is--if not evil--then outright abusive to c!Martyn

Here's the facts--the datastream is a bare bones setup--he isn't falling Constantly though it, because sometimes he has to 'game' from the stream, rather than going into the game, but he's said "a sofa would be a luxury!" on that piece of artwork, which tells me that he's being treated as...a drone? or like, a tool, rather than, y'know, a human being who is Trapped, thanks to Doc's negligence. He can't even enjoy creature comforts anymore, because they aren't necessary

another point in the 'Doc sees c!Martyn as a tool' category is that he isn't even allowed to know the language Doc uses.

“I don’t want you getting embroiled any deeper than is absolutely necessary. You have what you need to carry out your searches. Just leave the rest to me..”

That? That's fucked up. He isn't allowed to know "more than necessary" which means that he is--if not being outright lied to--he's at the very least not allowed to know Key Information. He doesn't know why he's fighting, just gets pointed at what Doc wants him to do.

"Mission logs aren’t stored on the device, they go directly to Doc’s drives and are archived. If Martyn needs to cross reference a piece of information, he has to call Doc."

He has to ask for information that He created. It's a power move to ensure he knows his place, which is under Doc's thumb, being a good little solider.

He can't talk to anyone but Doc, because Doc has drilled it into his head that everyone else is just an NPC.

"Doc is the only ‘real’ contact he has. Somebody outside the datastream who he’s actually met before and can trust. The only other humans he encounters are all faceless C.H.E.S.T agents in game, but being on opposing sides of this battle means there’s no tea and cake to enjoy together."

In fact, its Literally a coping mechanism for him. Doc has successfully isolated him in a way that means he can't ask anyone for help. He is stuck doing what Doc wants, when he wants it (ignoring the fact that he has gotten attached to some of the reoccurring NPCs in his life (specifically Ren) Doc has made him afraid to tell the truth, that he's not even 25 (maybe as young as 18!) and stuck, embroiled in this conflict that he doesn't actually know is real or not.

Now let's talk about how Martyn talks about Doc. The words he uses to describe how Doc speaks to him...it's Bad, y'all.

Even when talking about a 'humorous' situation, he still uses words like this: "LOLOL stealing from one DOC to appease another." Appease is an...interesting word choice. It makes it seem as though Martyn is trying to keep Doc happy, trying to keep from getting on his bad side--likely because, again, Doc is his only point of contact. If Doc gives him the silent treatment, then he's got No One.

There's also this, "They made an agreement (more a demand on Doc’s part)". Like. "Demand." Doc feels comfortable demanding Martyn do what he wants, because he knows he's shoved Martyn into a corner, made it so he's Martyn's only hope, his only point of contact, and he likes it that way.

There's also the fact that he just so happened to have something set up that would suck some random person into the Datastream just by playing a video game, and then had a less than 25 year old show up to get a game fixed. Like why the fuck would you just have that laying out? Why would it be That Easy to get sucked in, if it weren't a trap?

The dude is--if not negligent, stupid as all hell for just having a random unlabeled button that shoves someone into a Datastream and unable to get out. That, on top of the being abusive thing, lol.

@galaxyofender

[tadpolesonalgae]

“maybe it’ll turn out to be a wonderful meal they all bond over 🥳”

now tabby, you know damn well…

anyways, thinking about the next chapter, and there’s something i’d like to chime in on. when i was 14, i attempted suicide, and for me, being around family make me super uncomfortable, to the point where when i was around them and they were asking me questions i’d just go non-verbal. like full on armadillo into myself, under a table, refusing to say or do anything. i feel like reader and i are SUPER alike (or at least i used to be super like her) so i think it’d be interesting to see what here reaction will be when she’s surrounded by everyone at a family dinner, essentially forced to socialize. i’d also like to say that in the immediate few weeks after i was let out of the hospital, i was sort of hot and cold with how i was feeling. like one day i’d wake up feeling like death itself was sitting on my chest, but then the next, i’d be awake at 6am, hop out of bed, and immediately start doing things to better myself. and on some of those days, i’d do and say reckless things (i’m like 95% sure i was basically just manic). one time, relatively soon after the incident, i was being lectured by my dad about schoolwork and i snapped and called him an asshole straight to his face; something i NEVER would have done before, and everyone in the family was just in shock because everyone, including myself, had never expected me to act in such a way. immediately after i said it though, i reverted back to my usual self and ran away and hid under a table locked in my room and didn’t speak to anything for a while after that. i guess the point i’m trying to make here is; suicide attempts can do weird things to people’s emotions, everything has essentially come bubbling to the surface, so i’d sort of like to see reader acting in a few unexpected ways. i don’t want a 180 degree spin on her character, i just want some of those unexpected snaps to come out. like i could totally see mor saying something vaguely bitchy-ish and reader saying “oh fuck you” on instinct or something, completely blindsiding everyone at the table, even herself, and essentially breaking down and reverting back to her timid manner immediately after like “oh my gosh i’m so sorry i don’t know where that came from”

anyways, yah, i love the story, you’re doing such a great job expressing everyone’s emotions, like the whole situation is just super nuanced and you’re doing a great job at showing it, i truly just love your writing <3

-🌁

‘now tabby, you know damn well…’

🫣😭😭😭

I have no idea why anyone would be concerned about what could unfold over a family dinner with Mor and reader sat so close to one another

‘to the point where when i was around them and they were asking me questions i’d just go non-verbal.’

Okay, first of all, I am so sorry you ever had to experience a low like that and you have all my respect and any warmth I can offer for managing to make it through to where you are now, I can’t begin to imagine how difficult it was to get past that and live, but I’m happy you’ve made it to now and will continue onwards 🧡💛

Second of all though, I wanted to mention that I haven’t heard anyone else experience the silence like that? I think fourteen is also hands down the worst age to be for a lot of people for some reason, and while mine was from anxiety and not depression, similar moments happened? Just kind of shutting down in social situations specifically around family and being unable to respond? I do wonder if it’s some kind of coping mechanism, or a form a dissociation to distance oneself from the present to feel safer?

‘i’d also like to say that in the immediate few weeks after i was let out of the hospital, i was sort of hot and cold with how i was feeling.’

Even in day-to-day life, I have to admit I find it strange how swiftly emotions can change? Or even just waking up in a bad mood that you can’t shake no matter how many hot meals you have, or how clean your room is, or how many showers you take? And it just kind of clings to you, waiting for something bad to happen? It’s so unhelpful and difficult to cope with so I’m sorry you had to go through those likely turbulent emotions :/

‘(i’m like 95% sure i was basically just manic)’

So was it similar to rapidly swinging between depressive and manic episodes? I mean, to an extent I could see why after having been through such intense emotions that it would take a while to begin feeling semi-like yourself again?

‘i guess the point i’m trying to make here is; suicide attempts can do weird things to people’s emotions, everything has essentially come bubbling to the surface, so i’d sort of like to see reader acting in a few unexpected ways.’

I agree with emotions becoming pretty volatile and unpredictable after a suicide attempt from a logical standpoint, however I would like to say(?) theorise(?) I feel like those ‘snappy’ moments weirdly tend to come out around people you’re close with, so I couldn’t see it happening with Mor? That being said, I do have some ideas in mind for some stuff that relates to these slightly out-of-the-blue behaviours

‘anyways, yah, i love the story, you’re doing such a great job expressing everyone’s emotions, like the whole situation is just super nuanced and you’re doing a great job at showing it, i truly just love your writing <3’

I really appreciate your reassurance, but I do hope it isn’t bringing up any bad memories for you :/

Obviously there are heavy spots in the story, and inevitably I think because emotions can manifest in different ways in different people, there might be some parts that resonate with you, while others that seem strange or out of character, but I hope that for the most part the story is fairly fluid and maybe (I’m hoping) for some people it may turn out to something to find some semblance of comfort in? Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself though 🧡💛

[fruitytrollroll]

Hello! I’ve been advised to ask you about how you would plan to write the sequel “yet i do fear thy nature.” How would you say you would go about it? - void

omg hiii hello :) @mouseyblue-ao3 and i looove collaborating on writing (see our robo scarab collection including our latest scorbo rp, our spades slick/bec noir fic, etc)! i've had the privilege of beta-ing for them several times, and they've been kind enough to make several unofficial sequels listed as "inspired by" some of my work... but I think this is the first time I'm writing a proper sequel for something of theirs?? so i'm SUPER EXCITED!!! 🤩✨

SO!!

My initial thought, when yet i do fear thy nature was still in the planning stages, was that I could have Orbo let Scarab stay at his home as a kind of witness protection situation, with Orbo somehow getting permission from the Boss to have his home taken "off-the-grid", so to speak--that way it would be unable to be monitored from the Time Room, and Scarab didn't have to worry about Prismo spying on him all the time after escaping his clutches. 🥺

Then, Orbo could give Scarab his own room, while telling Scarab he could "do whatever he wanted" to Orbo as revenge... resulting in some pretty spicy reclamation of agency on Scarab's part with Orbo as his willing victim~ 😊💞

But in that situation, I had imagined Orbo only as Scarab's rescuer with a long-time crush on him... So when mousey finally wrote it out, and they made Orbo not only haplessly complicit in Scarab's rape, but a fellow perpetrator, that added some interesting complications...! Most crucially, it hadn't occurred to me that Orbo might have a mancrush on Prismo--but not only did mousey make a compelling argument for that being the underpinning motivation behind Orbo saying "Prismo? Nah, that guy's cool. He wouldn't do that! <:)" they went and made it a PIVOTAL ELEMENT OF ORBO'S SUSCEPTIBILITY TO PEER PRESSURE IN THE ORIGINAL WORK!

so I'm just sitting here thinking, like... okay... I can't NOT address the Prismo thing, right...?!??!

So maybe Orbo has always been crushing on Scarab AND Prismo (this heightens the tragedy of Orbo believing he was getting everything he wanted from Prismo's deceit in yet i do fear thy nature 🥲)... Let's say his crush on Prismo was absolutely obsessive. I'm talking fanboy levels of maladaptive, parasocial admiration. MAYBE Orbo asked for his home to be taken off the grid a long time ago, citing reasons of "privacy"... I mean, it's one thing for Prismo to be a cosmic voyeur of all mortalkind in every dimension, but it's another thing to have to go to work with a guy who might have been watching you sleep or shower or masturbate while calling his name, right? Nothing unusual with Orbo wanting to keep his work and home lives separate!

But maybe with the added security of knowing his home is truly beyond Prismo's sight, he was able to feel more comfortable indulging that crush with somethingl ike, a room full of custom Prismo merchandise... painted the same sunshine yellow as the Time Room, Prismo area rug, Prismo body pillow, Prismo-themed bedspread. Obviously after rescuing Scarab he has to toss it all... But maybe Scarab catches him in the act and demands to know what he's doing with all this garbage. Orbo is mortified, bites his lip and scuffs his heel on the carpet, but he swears he's trashing it... Never meet your heroes, haha...! But y'know. Maybe Scarab snatches the gigantic Prismo plush/body pillow and takes it back to his room and locks the door... Orbo feels a little culpable for handing over such a patently maladaptive coping mechanism, but well... if anyone needs a safe stand-in for Prismo to cope with his unwilling desire and lingering trauma, it's Scarab, right? 🥺

So basically it's Orbo and Scarab living in the most fraught domestic bliss known to man (I love crippling Orbo with guilt 😇), while Orbo tries to respect Scarab's boundaries (and fails half the time bc he wants him so bad), while Scarab copes with his NEWLY ACTIVATED LIBIDO and having PRECIOUS FEW OUTLETS (he doesn't even know how to masturbate 😭) (but then, Orbo is right there...)

so like the highlight of all this and the part that's living in my brain rent free rn is the thought of Orbo knocking on Scarab's door and telling him to come down for dinner or sth, and when Scarab doesn't answer he opens the door and sees him riding the giant Prismo plush... 😵‍💫 but Scarab is so frustrated... poor thing doesn't know what he's DOING... Scarab gasps in scandalized humiliation and Orbo flushes and hastily apologizes and slams the door shut. and then thinks. well. Scrabby didn't lock the door, did he...?

so Orbo comes BACK INSIDE and gets astride that giant prismo plush behind Scarab and gently guides his hips to show him how it's done 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 hi im unwell!!!

anyway that's the plan--a few more awkward scenes like that as they orbit around each other, grow closer, orbo taking such good care of scarab... 🥺 then wrap it all up with the most disgustingly sweet domestic bliss you've ever seen in your LIFE after they get over all their hang-ups, live happily ever after, the end!! :)

[jikookhet]

d-day, a conversation of yoongi's artistry ❦

listen, listen, listen.

i know collectively as a fandom we speak about yoongi's artistry, however, i don't think we speak about it enough. or, at least, in a lengthened & deepened conversation. his artistry is something that consistently captivates me time and time again. everything from the concepts he portrays, the lyrics he pulls out, the cinematography he executes, & the stories he embodies to put out for us. everything from point a to b is purely & utterly insane. here, i want to focus on d-day, but first; we need to take it back. way back.

as we know, yoongi has three personas. from 2013 to 2016, it was the two personas of min yoongi, as a person, & suga, as an artist. the 'agust d' persona was officially introduced to us as of august, 2016. this persona held up quite a reputation for being 'savage', 'relentless', & 'outspoken' — & wrongfully so. to simply assume that he is savage or disrespectful for letting out all of his rightfully pent-up emotions as a result of a barrage of hate, is horrible.

"in 2016, we really described us was that we are from living hell because we were attacked by so many different areas and we didn't even know why. 'why do they hate us so much?' that was the thing we focused on. and i was full of anger." — yoongi, road to d-day.

agust d was the persona that yoongi used as a coping mechanism— for many things, really. all the hate, all the internal suffering, all the trauma. agust d was born out of nothing but pure anger & frustration, which we can see through many tracks— agust d, tony montana, daechwita, & what do you think. however, this anger & frustration weren't only directed at external figures, but also directed internally, at yoongi himself. though, it manifested as seeping pain and sadness, instead.

in many ways, agust d was an outlet for all his pent-up emotions & thoughts, yet in many ways, it was holding him back from the things he needed the most. healing & forgiveness. not from others, of course not, but rather— himself.

truthfully, the way he portrayed this was so gut-wrenching & heartbreaking. he perceives his traumas as being caused by himself— hence the self-inflicted scar on his face. his father's liver cancer, which he learnt whilst on a schedule. his mom's heart surgery; from an incredibly young age (three to four years old), yoongi blamed himself for his mother's illness as she developed it after giving birth to him. yoongi's specific memory at this age was of him in his mom's embrace & since felt guilty over him causing it, wondering— "is it right for me to be born?" (beyond the story, 2023.) the shoulder accident he had which he couldn't tell anyone, including his bandmates, at that time in fear of being let go. a torn shoulder that he dealt with for over seven years whilst working full-time, touring often, & regularly doing intense choreography.

throughout yoongi's music videos, there's a repeated motif of killing this scarred version of himself— a key symbol for his attempts to leave the past behind & live in the present. however, undertaking these attempts to do so while not healing or forgiving yourself is a dangerous path to go down. because you'd end up stuck in this endless & vicious cycle of self-torture. in this way, it's like you're continuously indulging in your pain through being unable to forgive yourself & wishing you could undo what happened, though it's out of your control.

something incredibly meaningful to me was how yoongi said d-day was the closing chapter to the agust d trilogy. that it might be hard to see him again, that as he continues to grow older & older, he gets less angry at the world & at himself. the trilogy lasting ten years with a man who's changed for those ten years right alongside it, has come to its blossoming end. a closed chapter to the pain & trauma that held him down all these years.

to those who might not know to yoongi is, or may not understand, i hope you come to the realization as to why people call min yoongi's works a piece of art. because, in his words, there is strength & pain. the kind that gut-wrenchingly bruises & burns without hesitation but offers a lifelong worth of embracement whole in return. the kind that sends crashing ripples & rumbles reverberating through one's chest but offers a delicate hand in return.

min yoongi is truly one of a kind.

[grimsneverendingfuneral]

Okay now I NEED your opinion (or headcanons in general) on Rosekiller 🎤

looorrdddd alright im grabbing the microphone and tapping it gently. a loud screech of feedback rips through and everyone stops talking

umm so first there are many variations of rosekiller, more than any other ship imo so im just gonna talk about mine??? my rosekiller are like complete opposites but then you look closer and they're still complete opposites but in the other direction like.....they're what the other thinks they are. as in evan thinks he's not like barty but he's more like barty than barty is and barty thinks he's not evan but he's more evan than evan is. they're obsessed with each other. like unhealthily so. its a sickness, almost. they keep it under wraps, but there's this pull between them, a string of energy that connects them with the blaze of a thousand suns. its electrical, leaves them feeling insane rolling around in bed unable to sleep. imma put a keep reading cause this shit got long

barty is an intellectual. he's an alcoholic. he LOVES poppers (the drug lol), keeps a Rush labeled bottle with him at all times, sniffs it whenever, wherever. like he'll be sitting in the subway and just bring it up to his nose. he likes sweet things. eats sour keys like there's no tomorrow. he's really into music like its his whole personality. everything he wears and does is consciously curated even if to other people he looks like a dirtbag. he makes people think he sleeps around but really its just a carefully constructed image so he can be left alone to be a rotting decrepit being. god complex but is unaware of it. he thinks he's soooo sexy but its a coping mechanism for the inescapable self-hatred he feels for himself. he's flirty but kinda awkward with it like its almost forced because he thinks of everything he wants to say before saying it so he never comes off as uncool or bothered. he doesn't really exist to himself. when he looks in the mirror for too long, he dissociates. he doesn't think of his body as a body its just a vessel he can shove things into and see what happens. he's a science experiment to himself, which is why when he meets evan he becomes irrevocably hooked, cause finally someone else sees him as that too!!!! yay!!!!

speaking of evan. my evan is tricky cause im still getting to know him. i know he has a giant fish tank with only one beta fish in it. he gives it the best life. he sees people in colors, he hates impurities, dirt, dust, anything like that. he doesnt like the texture of dirty (except barty hheeehhoooo). he keeps handcream on him at all times and various medicinal packets like aspirin, cough drops, acetaminophen tablets, etc. he's always got an earphone in, for sure. listens to gay shit like depeche mode and pet shop boys with a deadpan expression. his eyes are often expressionless but he feels everything so much it makes him gag. sensitive to the bone. can read anyones energy within two seconds. he's very decisive. like he'll look at someone for five seconds and be like yeah ok i like you. loves nobody but his sister and his fish. evan is also bent on domination. he likes to control situations and he's not afraid of doing so. not in any manipulative way no he'll just be like "you're gonna do this and this will be the result."

there's so much more i wanna say but fuck yall are just gonna see it in the fic anyways so

thank you for your question!!!!! kisses

[p-ssypink]

So, first, I wanted to say I'm sorry for the exorbitant amount of hate from these shitty ass blogs you're always given. You don't deserve it Cosmie.

However, you hit on the main thing I wanted to comment on, but I want to expand on it: that being the difference between stoicism and reservedness. "Stoic: a person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining" vs "Reserved: slow to reveal emotions or opinions." That entire back and forth would have been so much less inane and mind-numbing if they had any categorical understanding of the language they were using. Stoic and reserved are two different words for a reason. You said nothing about reservedness being a trauma response/coping mechanism— reservedness can present as a symptom of one, sure, but that has no bearings on the argument YOU made.

Levi is unendingly stoic— we don't see him break down during the series once until the end of the final battle and he knew that everyone who died didn't die in vain, and even still he had the most controlled, reserved breakdown out of any character. Every other character in the series we've seen be outwardly emotional in some capacity, regardless of how reserved they were. We saw Miche and Nanaba, who were similarly reserved, have a full blown meltdown faced with their deaths; Erwin, unable to contain his excitement on the wall, start cheering with the crowd; Kenny, even, was incredibly stoic and reserved and yet we saw far more outward emotion from him than Levi. The extent of Levi's stoicism— the extent to which he monitors and compartmentalizes his emotions so that he can carry the burden of making something of everyone's sacrifices— is militant. That is not healthy. That is a trauma response. Him only ever smiling once in the series, and it being a calculated action to be both an apology and show there were no hard feelings between him and Historia/the 104th at that, is neither healthy nor normal. That's it.

But the fact that 7m7n7 accused you of woobifying him and then immediately fell down a rabbit hole of pedantic, aggressive diatribe after you clarified and reiterated what you meant by your original post and how you didn't appreciate how they were speaking to/mocking you off rip just because they didn't understand the difference between reservedness and stoicism was gobsmacking.

Also, can we take a moment to really appreciate their dedication to this tribalistic, us vs. them mentality? It takes an Olympic level of mental fortitude to jump through hoops like those and come out personally unscathed. Cognitive dissonance is afraid of 7m7n7. "I consider anyone who criticizes Eruri fandom/fanon an ally" so you see fandom as an inherently divisive battleground through which you have to find similarly minded people to defend the aspect of fandom you participate in from the "undesirables," (Eruri's) yet don't see how that militant approach to a group of people who like/believe in/engage with media different than you doesn't come off as a critique; or even a valid, hinged, argument; but, rather as a personal attack. And, conversely, accuse you of being unable to handle people disagreeing with you as a result. I've literally seen @nuri148 and @geektasticjustine disagree with you countless times on your posts and you've always had a civil discourse with them. 7m7n7 came at you disrespectfully in the midst of Levi-centered blogs receiving an uptick in hate because of 'Bad Boy.' Of course you're going to be stern and unamused with their behavior. They were acting incredibly disrespectful and immature with no prior negative interaction between the two of you.

And don't get me started on them acting like an authority over his character just because they're "in love with him," as if "Attack on Titan" isn't literally a show that discusses how love without criticism corrodes the character of every party involved. And, because of their supposed authority over the character of the man they've fallen in love with, call you names and twist your words to fit their victim complex narrative of "every Eruri is out to get self-shippers because they're ego-maniacal lunatics who can't separate fanon from canon and only see Levi as this smol bean omega bottom to be protected," yet can't see how their fanon portrayal of Levi holds up the same patriarchal standards in the opposite way. It's the axis of forced feminization vs forced masculinization, but they only have a problem with one of them. No need for me to speculate why when plenty of people already have and, well, when you already mentioned it in y'all's back and forth (it's the homophobia).

Their whole presentation, from their typing style to the words they used to their argument, was incredibly unhinged and disrespectful, but I got a good laugh at their expense, so that's something. Good god

Edit: also can we just acknowledge the callous disregard for trauma in general and them asking if you even know what trauma is whilst implying Levi is too strong for trauma to have ever/still affect him? like this nigga don't know what ptsd is. it not a disorder you heal from— trauma rewires the brain and nervous system you can't just wire that shit back— it's something you learn to grow from/cope with. i.e. stoicism. christ

Okay, this person @7m7n7, whom I've now blocked, decided to start some major shit with me on one of my own posts https://www.tumblr.com/cosmicjoke/752860317563895808/for-a-character-like-that-supposed-to-be-stoic-and?source=share answering an anon ask. I no longer want to engage with this person, so I've blocked them. But I still want everyone to see their bullshit, and so no one can accuse me of being afraid of others seeing their replies, like they tried to do. I'm posting the whole conversation here.

They accuse me of taking issue with them because they "disagreed" with me, but another poster disagreed with me on the same post and I took no issue with them whatsoever. My issue wasn't the disagreement. I never have an issue with anyone who disagrees with me. I have multiple mutuals who disagree with me all the time, and we're still friends. It's the WAY people disagree that bothers me. If they're going to be insulting about it, then I'm going to have a problem.

Their accusation against me that I was "woobifying" Levi and saying his stoicism is "fake" by saying that it's a coping mechanism to deal with his grief and trauma, that it isn't at all indicative of his true feelings, something about Levi that is commonly understood among the AoT fanbase in general, is what pissed me off.

I was simply saying that Levi has developed an in the moment, emotional distance between himself and the events of his life as a way of dealing with the pain those events cause him, and that that emotional distance, that "stoicism" isn't any kind of indicator of him lacking emotion or of him being unaffected by said events. And for that, I'm apparently "woobifying" Levi and saying his stoicism is "fake".

The language they use here is the same type of language that so many of those anon haters were sending to Levi blogs in the wake of "Bad Boy", accusing anyone who wanted to discuss Levi's trauma and the trauma of him being exposed to or even possibly experiencing sexual assault of "femininizing" him or trying to make him seem weak. It's the same sort of homophobic, sexist attitude, and is plainly indicative of this person's biased, even vitriolic disdain of any man who's impacted by their trauma. This kneejerk hostility toward anyone daring to acknowledge that Levi is an emotional man who indeed IS impacted by the events of his life. It says everything about what kind of person they are, and nothing about Levi himself. They just hate men who possess any qualities that could be seen as feminine in any way, including having actual feelings, apparently.

[wallflowerimagines]

Hello! Um... I don’t really know how to start this but say I love your hc! I think you do a fantastic job on them, there all very sweet but being the s.o.b I am I’m here to ask for some angst. How would you think the lords act if their S/O died?

...I'm feeling mean. 😈

Warnings: Angst, Death, Horror Game villains making bad decisions/not coping with tragedy, suicide.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Denial, Denial, Denial

You can't be dead. There has to be something, anything that she can do to save you. Alcina scrambles for a solution, attacking the problem from all sides, despite the reality of the situation staring her in the face.

Immediately injects your body with Cadou in a desperate hope to save you. Any possible chance that he has to save you she's going to take it.

It's not likely that your corpse reanimates, but it does mutate. At the end of the process, what's left of your body hardly even looks like you anymore, and she can't bring herself to look at it.

She builds a gilded crypt for your body-- it's stunning. It's inspired by you, all your favorite colors, styles and hobbies are incorporate to make the room feel full of your spirit. Alcina is an artistic woman, and she throws herself into the project like she's possessed.

It might take years, even decades to complete. It has to be perfect. When it's done she feels accomplished, but twice as empty. It might be one of the most beautiful dedications she's ever made, but it can't replace you. She has the room sealed off with no way to get to it, so she can't be tempted to visit. She just needs a piece of of you still in her home, or she can't get through the day.

...If your corpse does reanimate, it's actually worse for Alcina. Whatever she brought back was a shambling, horrifying mess of mold wearing your face. It couldn't think for itself, or even follow commands--it just wanders in circles and attacks anything that gets too close.

She keeps your reanimated corpse in a cell, unable to bring herself to destroy it completely. Sometimes, she'll go down to the basement and talk to the thing like it is you, telling it about her day, having one-sided conversations and thinking of all the wonderful memories the two of you shared.

When its dead eyes meet hers, her lungs seize in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. Alcina doesn't cry often, but when your corpse meets her gaze she starts to sob. Those eyes used to look at her with life and love and now...

Still, she can't stop herself from visiting it. It's a compulsion she can't stop, and it tears open the wound every time, but some irrational part of her deep, deep down thinks that one day, she'll descend those steps and you'll be there to greet her with a warm smile.

In either scenario, she will never have another partner. You're impossible to replace, and she feels truly, genuinely empty without you. Rest well, Darling. You'll never be forgotten.

Donna Beneviento

There is such a thing as a last straw, and this is it for Donna.

Please remember: this is a woman who has lost everything. Mother Miranda might have given her a new "family", but Donna is not nearly as attached to these new members as she is to her original family. And the loss of her original family has shaped her in such a way that if you died? She would be absolutely devastated.

It's not fair to put this kind of pressure on you, but in a very real way you were her last hope for normalcy. She had all these plans to fix her family with you. You were so instrumental to her hopes for the future that now that you're gone, it feels like she has no hope at all. You were her missing link, her one true love, and now that you're dead...

Donna screams until her throat is raw when she finds out you're gone. Angie can't help her, nothing can. She just can't cope with reality anymore.

She'll build a life sized Doll of you to try to help herself cope, but the minute she tries to implant of piece of her Cadou in it, she is filled with such a vehement hatred of the thing that she starts scream-crying before she takes an axe to it's face and hacks it to pieces. How dare it pretend to be you?!! It's not even close to the real thing, she shouldn't even have tried--

She might try to induce a hallucination of you to help her get through the day to day, but it's not the same. She can't perfectly mimic your laugh, or your smile, or the way you tuck her hair away from her face. It's so obviously not you, and Donna is... alone.

I do hate to say it, but she will absolutely try to kill herself if you died. You were the one person who understood her, empathized with her, and you were her best friend. You were her support system, the one person who could carry her through the worst times in her life, but you're gone. Donna can't believe that anyone else could be there for her like you were.

Salvatore Moreau

Absolutely, irreparably broken.

When the two of you were in a relationship, you busied yourself not only with smothering Salvatore in all of the love and affection that you could, but you also did a lot to help his self-esteem and mental health.

You made sure he knew that he was loved, that you could never hate him, and even on your death bed you make him promise never to forget how wonderful he is.

Once you're gone, though, Salvatore cracks.

He clings to every bit of you felt behind. All of your jewelry, clothing, pictures and sentimental items are preserved to the best of his ability. Your living space is transformed into a shrine dedicated to you.

It's not healthy, but he also deifies you in his memory. Mother Miranda is no longer the only person that he worships-- the memory of you is now sacred to him. You become something holy and perfect in his mind's eye. It doesn't matter how many flaws you had in reality, your death has turned even your worst flaws into traits to be admired and praised. His perception of you is totally twisted.

Speaking of Mother Miranda, he regresses a lot. His adoration of Mother Miranda was something you were helping him work through, but now he's right back at square one, and even worse off than before.

Moreau can't make a decision on his own anymore--from what to say, to what to do, and sometimes even what to eat. After all, it's his fault that you died, isn't it? You were his partner and he used to be is a doctor. How could he possibly trust himself with anything when he couldn't manage to save the most important thing in his life?

To the rest of his family, he's more pathetic than before. His obsession with his Mother was usually limited to when she was in the room, but now it's constant.

If he ever hears the quote "It's better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all," he gets supremely, violently angry. No. No, that's not true, it's bullshit, how dare you even say that to his face.

If he hadn't loved you, you would be alive. He would be alone, but you would be safe. You would be happy.

Now he's alone, and all you are is dead. He can't ever come back from it.

Karl Heisenberg

Rage. Unending, earth shattering Rage.

Whatever killed you better start to fucking pray, because Karl Heisenberg will not quit until it's suffering.

He doesn't kill who or whatever it was. He let's it sit there, mangled beyond belief, and uses his knowledge of mechanics and biology to keep it alive in constant, unending pain.

It's cathartic for him, but not in a healthy way. The more he hurts it, the better he feels, but at the end of the day, you're still gone, and he's still alone.

He's... lost.

Heisenberg should be angry, fuck he wants to be angry more than anything, but the longer he keeps the thing alive... emotions seem like they're too far away anymore. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants... you.

He keeps something of yours in his pocket at all times, just to run his fingers over it and remember you. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile... It's almost like a stress ball, and these days sticking his hand into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the thing is the only way he can calm down.

Sometimes he turns to ask your opinion on something, or tell you a joke with a big smile on his face because this one is going to make you laugh for sure-- and then he freezes when the reality sets in once again. You're not here.

Remember, Heisenberg has idealized the two of you as this perfect partnership. You were the first person who looked at him and loved everything that you saw. You weren't just his first real relationship, the first person that he implicitly trusted, but you were also his very first real friend.

He wasn't the most friendly person to begin with, but he did get better because of you. He was still spoiled, a little socially awkward, and maybe his dark sense of humor would slip and get a little too much, but he grew as a person.

Now that you're gone, he can't even remember what it's like not being a cruel, empty shell of rage. All he has left is his hatred of Mother Miranda.

After a while, it doesn't matter if he's ready to take her on or not. He's going to face that bitch head on and kill her, or die trying.

If he wins, he's finally free. If he doesn't... that's not so bad either. Karl doesn't really believe in an afterlife, but there's something appealing about joining you wherever you might be.

[seita]

— reacting to your death. 

atsumu, osamu, kita, aran, aone, + futakuchi.

+ this is childhood friend!reader.

tw: major character death, grieving

note: i made your cause of death more ambiguous this time around...hope u like it!!!

part one | part two | part three (coming soon)

— miya atsumu.

atsumu doesn’t handle trauma well

he doesn’t have good coping mechanisms

he acts like everything is fine, lets all the hurt and anger build up inside him.

he turns volatile, insufferable to everyone around him because he refuses to acknowledge what’s happening, what’s hurting him.

+

osamu had noticed the alarming silence and misery in his twin’s eyes. everyone in their family and their friends all knew about your death by now, but atsumu refused to speak about it. he refused to tell anyone details or acknowledge the fact you were gone.

“how’d she die?” osamu finally asked one night. he had stood in the doorway, watching his usually lively brother cry into his hands -- completely unaware he was being watched.

atsumu didn’t answer and osamu sighed, “how did she die, atsumu?”

“shut your mouth, samu,” atsumu spits, glaring at his brother with red-rimmed eyes. the look held none of the fire it usually would. instead he just looked so heartbroken that osamu felt tears of his own pricking at his eyes.

he called you friend too but it was different with you and atsumu. you were best friends. and osamu knew his twin loved you more than anything, maybe even more than volleyball itself.

“just tell me...” osamu sighs, “you need to talk about it. so you can start feeling better.”

“i...” atsumu’s voice broke as he sobbed, “i don’t think i’ll ever feel better...not without her.”

— miya osamu.

he’s much more levelheaded than his twin but he still doesn’t know how to cope with things like this

he doesn’t have a particularly good support system around him

it’s not like his brother is someone he can have heart to heart talks to

nor does he have anyone else he can consider someone he can lean on

no one but you

so, like his brother, he lets it build up

but he doesn’t make it anyone else’s problem

+

he stood in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. his head was empty, all thoughts turned off to avoid thinking about you. because he knew that the second you came to mind, he would be in tears again. and his head hurt from crying all day yesterday.

it still didn’t feel real to him and he couldn’t bring himself to confront it. because he didn’t know who to turn to. you were the only one he wanted to talk to.

but you were gone.

and now he had no one.

his twin watched helplessly, completely unequipped to help as his brother fell apart at the seams.

“samu...” atsumu sighed, “you’re making one for her again.”

osamu froze, looking at the half-filled pink-themed bento he kept at his house so he could bring you lunch. he deflated and slowly put his hands down.

“right...” he whispered, “well...you can h-have this one then, yeah?”

atsumu nodded, choosing to ignore the way his otherwise stoic brother cried as he finished putting the bento together.

atsumu knew the food would taste bitter with the thought that it was meant for you and you would never be able to eat the food osamu so lovingly made you again.

— kita shinsuke.

contrary to what people may think, he’s not a robot

he tries very hard not to break in public

he doesn’t want his friends to see him vulnerable and broken

only two people have ever seen him like that; his grandmother and you

without you, he really doesn’t know what to do

he feels numb

+

he mindlessly stares down at his hands, calluses suddenly seeming interesting. he didn’t notice the eyes of his friends on him, exchanging weary looks to one another.

“kita...” aran begins but the captain doesn’t show any signs of having heard him, “i know you’re having a hard time, man but...”

kita looks up, blank eyes meeting his expectantly. aran finds himself unable to think of anything. kita was hard to read usually but even aran could see the heartbreak the captain was going through.

after his friends extended silence, kita looked back down and sighed. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t think of anything to say.

briefly, he thought about how he never had to struggle to tell you things. a lifetime spent by his side allowed you to easily read him.

when he looked up at his team, he was met with uneasy, curious gazes. no one would ever be able to understand him and know him like you did.

and now he had to figure out how to cope with that loss.

— ojiro aran.

he probably handles it the best

but inside, he’s falling apart

he just wants you there with him but he knows you wouldn’t want him to wallow in his misery and lonliness

but how is he supposed to do that when he just misses you so much?

he tries his hardest to work through it

but it’s just so hard

+

he didn’t even remember playing the game. it all moved in a blacked out blur. all he knew was that when the crowd cheered and his teammates clapped him on the back with wide grins, he couldn’t even muster a fake smile.

his eyes moved to the stands, hopelessly looking through the unknown faces in the crowd. every time he played, he allowed himself to feel a little shrivel of hope that you would be there.

he didn’t know why he let himself hope. he knew you were gone, dead.

his throat felt tight and he looked back at his teammates as they celebrated. he muttered about going to the locker room to clean up, completely ignoring the sympathetic looks in his friends eyes.

he knew that his wins would never feel the same again. not after years of celebrating each one with you since he was a child.

winning was only bittersweet without you there.

— aone takanobu.

heartbroken doesn’t even touch how he feels

hes not someone who has ever dealt with loss before. sure, his grandfather died when he was a kid but that was different. he was a kid.

you’re someone he’s had since he was a child, you went to elementary, middle, and high school with him

you were the only person he would ever openly call his friend -- his best friend.

death is unfamiliar to him and without you there to guide him through it, he’s lost

+

he sat on the train, seats on either side of him empty. usually you would be perched there, talking his ear off about some nonsense. he never minded, he had long since grown used to you filling the silence with your voice.

but now, he realized, that even though he never said anything, he never got used to the quiet. anxiety swirled up inside him and he hung his head, judgemental eyes of other patrons felt like lead weights on his shoulders.

usually you would glare at anyone who looked at him like that, making the gazes fall from him and freeing him. but you weren’t there now.

and he realized he had no idea how to function without you.

it wasn’t that he was dependant on you to live his day to day life.

you just made him happy.

and made it easier for him to breathe when you were there.

tears pricked his eyes as the words passed through his head.

‘i miss you.’

— futakuchi kenji.

he’s actually kind of a popular guy but there’s no one that compares to you

no one has seen him turn from an awkward adolescent into a confident man

he’s lost and sadder than he had ever been before

he really doesn’t want to believe it but there’s no way your parents would lie to him

but secretly he hopes it’s all just a big ruse

and if it were, he wouldn’t even mad -- as long as it meant you weren’t really dead

+

he opened his phone, a reflex. it was always on silent, which meant he always missed your texts and whatnot.

he went to your text thread and sighed as he suddenly remembered. your last text was from a week ago and he felt empty as he read it for the millionth time. he couldn’t bring himself to delete any of your messages yet, terrified that he would forget the funny things you’ve said, the sweet words of encouragement, or even a dumb meme you sent on a night you couldn’t sleep.

half of your friendship was memorialized in your texts.

and he can’t risk forgetting everything that he had left of you.

© all content belongs to seita 2021. do not modify or repost.

[thekisforkeats]

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

--------------------------------------------

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

--------------------------------------------

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

[teecupangel]

Perhaps Elijah doesn’t even know what that goal is as well. To him, it is to be better than he is now. To no longer be weak. Maybe he's just saying that because it frustrates him not to be able to explain it correctly.

(This is both a coping mechanism but also a way for him to ‘atone’ for what he believed (but not true at all) of being unable to save his father)

I think Elijah would start his revenge after he has enough Assassin skills thanks to the Animus.

Which brings us to…

From @artduringclasstime

By the time Elijah's like... 12? 13? In 2018, the Assassins have their hands on the tech that lets you delve into memories from DNA, completely unrelated to the user. We could have Elijah secretly using the animus at night to delve into Desmond's own memories, from the last few years of his life, just for another few hours with him.

Oh god. Yeeess. This. Just this.

Although, just imagine how screwed up it would be for Elijah to relive Desmond’s life on the Farm as a way to ease himself into the physical aspect of being an Assassin.

He can feel his dad’s pain and fear and it hurts, it hurts more than the pain the Animus recreates for him but he’s not going to stop.

He can’t stop.

His hatred for what happened to his dad, those involved, and even to himself for being weak keeps him focused.

And his hatred for William Miles start to grow as well.

Speaking of William Miles, it could work since Bill actually retired after Desmond’s death and only returned as the mentor in 2015 (give or take) so we have 3 years of him not knowing of Elijah. Also, Elijah’s canon abduction is in 2015 so…

How about…

Rebecca and Shaun starts this lie of them having married and had a kid and they’re using that as a camouflage to be able to visit or just communicate with Elijah and his mom regularly.

For the safety of their child and the ‘nanny’, they don’t tell anyone of their location and all their calls and visits are all hush-hush.

And, for added protection, they also call Elijah by the nickname Desmond calls him ‘Elli’.

So Bill assumes they have a daughter instead. (They keep Elijah’s real age a secret and talk to Elijah’s mom like he’s a baby to give the illusion they had the child after Desmond’s death).

Have you ever thought about Desmond meeting Elijah? Not like a yew-branch Au, but a face-to-face au? A scenario like "Am I a father? Oh my gosh, I'm a father!" with Desmond knowing that he has a son before the solar flare, perhaps meeting each other and, although Elijah doesn't remember much about Des, he knew that his father loved him and wanted to be there more than he did, but never could. (and since we don't have enough material between these two, maybe this interaction could be a bit weird, because we never saw any interaction in canon) And I can imagine the little angst that Elijah is the Aita sage, who probably knew about the impending solar flare.

I had a fic idea where Elijah screwed Juno over and transferred Desmond’s Sample 17 data into the body the Instrument of the First Bitch had made for her and that would have had the additional angst of Desmond only learning of Elijah after his resurrection and having to deal with the fact that Elijah’s a Sage (and what that means) together with the problems he’d have trying to get used to having an Isu body.

An idea where Desmond learned about Elijah before he died would be interesting though.

Maybe Elijah’s mother needed help with the bills so she contacted Desmond and, in exchange for child support, he can see Elijah once a month. (We’re going for a month so Elijah wouldn’t have too many memories of Desmond).

Maybe in this scenario, Elijah would start having nightmares after meeting Desmond with Desmond triggering Aita’s awakening.

So this would be a scenario where Elijah knows more than he should but he can’t really make sense of it yet. Maybe Aita’s memories are still foggy at this point.

All he knows is that Desmond (his dad) will need to do something and Elijah will never see him again.

His parents would think the boy is thinking Desmond would abandon him. It’s not that much of a stretch considering Desmond wasn’t there for him in the beginning so Desmond tries his damn hardest to make Elijah feel that he won’t be abandoned. That Desmond is in it for the long haul.

And Elijah starts to believe it. Ignoring the frightening whispers of Aita became easier because he’ll always look forward to Desmond’s visits. He even starts calling every few days just to check up on Elijah. And, yeah, his parents will never get back together but they were starting to become friends.

Desmond still takes too many shifts at the bar so he could keep sending child support for Elijah but he also promised Elijah that they’d go somewhere nice on his next visit.

His mom has been hinting that Desmond had been saving up for it and she even has a small backpack ready that looked like it had enough clothes for the entire weekend.

And then…

September came around.

And Desmond Miles went missing.

On the morning of December 21st, 2012…

Elijah woke up with tears in his eyes.

Because he knew…

His dad was gone.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : don’t leave me lonely

— word count : 3 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : when the protective instinct that runs deep within daryl you can’t take how much of a child he treats you, only when words spoken in anger do you both see the truth.

— warnings : swearing, one instance of blood description, vague mentions of daryl’s past and just some general angst

I've heard you're taking requests, soo, Could you please write something with Daryl and 20+62 from prompt list?

Thank you in advance and have a nice day ❤️

        ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested   ? yes !     /   requests are open   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

 prompt list : 20. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” &&             “ After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Pale grey pavement is being painted with the blood of the walkers you had to slaughter in order to survive, to make it back to your family. You dare not speak a word, already predicting a storm awaiting to drench you in its anger that currently forms within the man you slowly began to love. You can’t pinpoint exactly where you began to have these thoughts, experience these feelings, as it hasn’t been an easy road. Loving him is not uncomplicated, the image he shows the world is harsh, though his actions speak louder than his words.

You’re stuck following him and Aaron, the man sparing apologetic glances back every few metres. He has nothing to apologise for, he was simply a bystander to a very awkward encounter between the two.

“ the hell y’doing out here? “

For a moment, your world stops. You hadn’t expected to see anyone out in the secluded area of the greenery that surrounds Alexandria, the whole idea of going from fighting for your life every day to pretending the world isn’t dead is not a pill that is easy to swallow. A potentially horrid coping mechanism, but you have to remember what it’s like out there, to not be protected by steel walls. To pretend you still have to sleep with one eye open, if anything was to ever happen to anyone you love because you allowed your guard to be demolished by a faux safety you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

A timid smile arises on your expression, almost apologetic. You shrug in response to Daryl’s question.

“ y’got no brain now? “ stomping towards you, his eyes burning with outrage and alarm, he doesn’t trust this new situation with you in it.

“ not here, Daryl. “

Trouble has a way of finding you, the unfamiliarity of everything touching the fear that he prays to stay dormant within the walls of Alexandria. At least with you confined to the area he can see clearly, he doesn’t have to imagine the worst possible outcomes to prepare himself for the inescapable of what always happens.

He can’t lose you, he can’t tell you either.

Eyebrows raise in shock over the suddenness of his heated words, never once had he spoken to you in such a way. Even on the rare occasion he was genuinely annoyed with something you had done. You force your features to stay neutral, not wanting a war in front of Aaron, considering you haven’t known him for long.

A mirror image is the displeasure that has stewed within you, the very same of the Dixon man you had shared the road with. Who does he think he is? You ask yourself, that outburst was for no reason and you know it. It’s times like these that confuse you and your feelings for him.

Though you hear no footsteps behind you, you can feel Daryl’s presence stalking you closely, but you pay no mind. Not in any mood to talk, afraid for what you will say in anger.

A temper is something you control, though there are moments it wants to smash down your walls.

With a heavy breath set free into the air, you turn the handle of your home open, leaving it open for Daryl as you know it’s going to be a conversation he will wish to continue. For a rather quiet man, when he wants to, he can say a lot.

Turning to face him, you wet your lips to say something, hoping to calm him before the situation gets out of hand. Hoping to get an idea of why he is so irate, though your expression hardens ever so softly as you realise that he’s most likely going to continue on the tirade he began outside of the walls. Your heart thumps against your ribcage, almost rattling your entire being with anticipation. Being able to hold your own in conflict is something you are able to do, but it doesn’t mean it leaves no scars to litter your soul.

“ okay, so what was that out there, Daryl? “ your words are soft, almost to the tune of a whisper as you question him. Hoping to understand his point of view.

“ y’really gotta ask that? “

Your lips purse, you merely blink in his direction as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Your heart is full of hurt as he treats you as nothing more than a stranger with the heat that coats his furious words that he hauls in your direction.

It confuses you incredibly how the day has gone to hell so swiftly, but you warn yourself about that. Assuming once dawn breaks that the day will bring something good for once, and not news of another tragedy. Even protected by the stereotypical image of a cookie cut American household can’t hold off death. No matter what, it gets its day.

“ yes, I do! “ you raise your voice, fighting the urge to close the distance. Knowing that he’d mistake it as you being on the offensive. “ I wasn’t doing anything except walking! “

“ yeh, an’ that’s what concerns me. “

A pause.

Nothing but the noises from the residents of this small town can be heard, the silence so deafening it almost obliterates your confusion. The room is so quiet that you even doubt that the two of you are even occupying it, the house feeling more and more cold with the seconds that slug by, it feeling that there’s no life to breathe a new warmth into it. Never has it felt so bare to be in that in that very moment than with the two of you ready to cut deep.

This is what he's pissed about? Before you even realise, you snort from disbelief. It’s something so small, so insignificant you can’t even believe it. Their new found safety has affected the group in many ways, but this has to be one of the strangest as you openly stare at his tense form.

“ seriously? “ you ask, refusing to believe he’s pushing this so intensely for that very reason.

“ y’finding that funny? “

“ yeah, because you’re acting like you’re my damned father. “ pointing a finger in his direction, you pace for a few fleeting seconds.

A closeness between you both has long since been acknowledged, but you’ve never divulged to him the true extent of your emotions. Sometimes you think he’s aware of what you feel, though late at night when you’re alone you realise that it may be better if he doesn’t. You wish you have the confidence to even share it with him, although the thought that blares in your ears warns you otherwise. Your heart couldn’t take another heartbreak, opting for his friendship rather than a cold shoulder born out of awkwardness.

Sometimes you’re sure he’s staring at you with a longing glint in his eye when you’re not paying attention, however you often chalk it up to hope. Never are you one to follow the signs, not wanting to be wrong. Your imagination cannot be crushed if it doesn’t have confirmation.

Hope can be cruel as it can be kind.

“ someone’s gotta, I can’t remember all the times I’ve had t’drag your ass outta trouble! “ his crossbow thuds as it’s dropped without a care, his face reddens as it twists and contorts. You haven’t seen him show this much rage since the Greene’s farm.

The day you first met him is permanently burnt into your brain, being half starved and dehydrated you thought you were hallucinating him. Unable to walk, your limbs weighed a ton under the exhaustion you felt under the punishing Georgian sun but there he was. Surrounded by the rays as if he was your very own guardian angel, but that idea had been put straight to bed as soon as you saw the outbursts from him to the other members of the group.

With the months that passed, you had trouble saying that was the same man you knew today. Less prone to rage, clearer about doing anything in his power to aid his family, though you can’t help but wonder if the old Daryl wants to break through the progress he has made so far.

“ and I never asked for that, Daryl. Why are you acting as if you’re my keeper? “

“ fine! it ain’t my problem if y’wanna be a selfish bitch. “

Causing hurt to the people he loves comes easy to Daryl. To wound deep when he’s scared is all he has ever learnt, to show love and affection was never afforded to him as a child, not even when he silently begged for it. Now, he was physically and mentally scarred, even these days were they still plaguing him like a never relenting ghost. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he hates seeing pain in your eyes, but he can’t convey his worry without fury over the idea of losing you.

He can’t imagine having to live a life where you’re not cracking a joke at the worst possible moment, or your selflessness that will surely one day cause you more harm than good. His breathing increases at the thought, his fists clenching, willing him to stay in place and not barge through the door without a second thought.

“ se - selfish? Daryl, you’re making sense! “

“ y’don’t care about anyone but y’self. Doin’ shit like that by y’self is only gonna get y’killed. All y’think about is you, not anyone left behind. “

“ after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? “ the fire you had once now leaves nothing but dying embers, defeat coating your words as tears shimmer in your eyes

Daryl doesn’t know how to react at your proclamation, the inner battle to stay in the lounge now lost. His mind is unable to warp the idea of you even entertaining the thought of becoming more than friends, never did he dream that the shield he’d built around himself could injure him more than the outside elements could.

Before he even realised it, he’s leaning down to pick up his crossbow and heading straight for the door. Paying no mind to you taking his departure as rejection and not self preservation.

“ if you think I’m gonna come back, I’ll make you wait a long time! “ you call out before slamming the door.

Hands are brought to your stomach, as if to stem the bleeding from a wound made deep into your torso, though it can’t curb the internal trauma you feel from Daryl ripping himself from your presence. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him your feelings, yet you could hardly stop yourself in the war of words between the two of you. Nothing is a big enough wish than to stop the pain that ignites your entire self, threatening to consume you entirely. Only now do you understand the true extent of your love for him, previously thinking it was little more than a crush, though this feels more. Especially mourning what could have been.

You retreat to your room, not even leaving to share dinner with your family. Afraid not if Daryl would show, but rather your ability to hold your composure when you feel as if you’re glass who’s moments are counting down by the second to shatter into nothing more than sharp fragments that will only slice others to ensure they bleed, to ensure they feel as bad as you do.

“ come on, you’ve got to get some air. “

A series of knocks interrupt your sleep, followed by the voice of who you recognise as belonging to Carol. You ignore her, not wanting to face anyone just yet. The trauma on your heart is still too fresh. However it matters not to Carol, for she simply does not take your silence as an answer, but rather as an invitation as she opens your door.

“ just leave me alone, please. “

“ the others are worried about you, so am I. “ she speaks, concern written all over her face as she steps forward closer to your bed, her frown becoming more and more prevalent.

“ let them be, I just want to sleep. “

“ you don’t have to talk to anyone, come down after breakfast. Just get some fresh air. “ Carol gently requests with a half smile blooming onto her features. If anything is certain, she wants to see you and Daryl work through the fog that currently locks you both away.

Leaving the bed, you groan to yourself. You’re not sure how much time has passed since Carol departed, but it has been long enough for your family to have also left the house to either explore more or two engage in their jobs. It’s something you send a silent thanks to the sky for, all you desire is solitude, with the sun etching its warmth onto your face. Opening the door, you see people going about their business with little regard for you, though you’re sure some of them must have heard the commotion the previous day.

You pay little mind to them though, more concerned on piecing together the broken pieces of your heart than anything else.

Sleep never once visited Daryl, never did it carry him off into a peaceful slumber. Though he can’t help but feel as if he deserves it, as payment for having to be the cause of the damage to you, being the reason you sobbed harder than he’d ever heard you. He’d waited outside that door, pushing himself to make things right, but never did the courage arise. Leaving him lonely once again.

Fuck this he curses himself mentally, this is going to be the one time an opportunity for happiness does not pass him by. Not once more, that was the last time he’d be nothing more than a witness.

Astonishment transforms his hardened expression as he comes to a stop, realising you’re already sitting on the porch next door with a blissfully peaceful air surrounding you. You don’t realise he’s there just yet, your eyes closed as you take in the sounds and smell of Alexandria, a distraction to what you feel. Daryl briefly wonders how he should go about patching things between the two of you, the situation an alien one to him. Fingers reach towards the cigarette packet concealed in his trouser pocket, with the barest of shaking from nerves.

Bringing it to his lips, the smoke is what alerts you to his being closing the distance. You can’t prevent the draining of colour from your face, not prepared from yet another interaction with the Dixon man so early in the morning.

“ I - uh, wanna say sorry. ‘Bout yesterday. “ Daryl apologises, with a regretful tone colouring his words with the most vibrancy he can muster.

Your gaze slips to the floor, watching the grass move ever so slightly with the breeze that wanders through. To forgive is in your nature and you sorely want to extend that forgiveness to him, but to do so after that exchange is a difficult thing.

“ thank you, I suppose. “ you shrug, your hands tying together as you try to make up for a lack of words.

“ I ain’t expectin’ y’to forgive me or nothin’, I just want y’to know. “

You sigh to yourself, you know in your heart he means what he says, you hate that you’ve been this mad at him.. at each other this much, even for a few hours. People and bonds are a rare blessing in this world, and you know it’s better to keep them close than to allow them to burn in the fire of hatred and impulse, to leave them nothing more than ashes ⎯ remnants to revere of an age that has since past.

“ Daryl, I do forgive you. I’m just trying to figure out how we move past this. “ you reply with sorrow, your eyes closing, a crease intensifying between your brows. It hurts to even speak into existence.

“ those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? “

Bewilderment forces your eyes open, your head snapping to meet his figure that still stands. Here you are preparing yourself to move past Daryl, no matter how hard that would be, and he’s asking you questions about what you said.

“ you’ll have to be specific, I said a lot. “

“ it needs sayin’? “

Daryl can’t help but feel put on the spot as your sight bores into him with a forceful amount of strength, scrutinising him with the need to find an answer he’s not yet sure of.

“ yes, it does. “

“ was y’serious about.. bein’ in love.. ? “ with me is the silent end to the sentence that lays peacefully on his tongue as he leaves it out, the invisible presence of it painfully clear to the both of you, knowing that while it wasn’t included, it was there regardless.

“ when it comes to things like this, I don’t lie. “ you rest your head on your chin, a small yet anxious smile fighting to break free onto your features.

Why do I have to be a nervous smiler?

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead he moves to sit beside you on the porch. Closer than ever before, it’s not something that goes unnoticed by either of you, and like that hope is once again reignited within your core. Even small steps like this are significant, physical affection with other people is still something that has not changed all that much with him.. Though, you’ve seen moments on rare occasions, witnessing it before he can even stop himself.

“ so, we boyfriend and girlfriend now? “ you joke, laughter allowing the grief to peel away from your heart, allowing it to flutter in the air at the thought of the potential between you.

“ shut up. “ mumbles Daryl, although there’s a small grin that is peaking through his expression as he allows it to be set free, even though the full picture is still hidden under the grime and the hair that has long since overgrown.

But, you find you wouldn’t change a thing about that. It being part of his charm. You can’t help but find yourself full to the brim of excitement of what can grow between you, with the possibilities endless.. no matter how hard things can and will get, you will have each other in a new way that you’ve never before and that? It’s a heavenly picture you want to cut and pocket away in the confines of your heart.