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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 months ago

Text

Onstage

What - it's nothing to panic about, Lori's secret pregnancy, Shane's changes for the worse, Sophia gone for over a week, and now a barn full of walkers. It's fine. No big deal, nothing is wrong, so you're gonna step onstage and act like it. On the bright side, Daryl isn't stuck in a bed anymore!

When - the morning after Keep this dog asleep. (the night where Glenn discovers the barn in Season 2)

Who - this is part of the Slowpoke Series, which is a canon compliant slow burn Reader x Daryl. You're also Shane's younger sibling

Pronouns - she/her

TWs - a few cusses, panic, bad screenshots

References - lots, y'all, want the Masterlist?

Length - longer bc I've been awol, I've been dreading posting again, friends, so thank you much for reading. Kind feedback is always welcome :)

“Goodness. You two slept together.”

“Wha—Carol!” you squeak, accidentally splashing some coffee on your hands while you’re at it, to which Carol apologizes, “Oops!”

Glenn and you fell asleep beside each other, by the fire pit. You two must have conked out while staring at the barn.

Brr, the sun hasn’t warmed the day yet, you’re like an ice-pop.

“Wh’appened?” Glenn mumbles, still half-asleep in Dale’s camp chair.

Carl, freshly freed from the house and now officially back to the tents, also wanted to know, “What was the joke?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Carol whispers in your ear and wipes the coffee off your hand with a tissue she had in her pocket.

That ship has sailed, Carol!

Lori smiles and shakes her head, and hands Glenn a coffee cup. “Carol was teasing them about having spent the night out here. Must’ve stayed up far too late having fun.”

“‘Fun,’” Glenn groans to himself, blindly nursing his coffee. You notice he winces and reaches for the back of his neck when he tries to bend it forward. Must’ve slept on it wrong.

“How late did you guys stay up?”

“I don’t even know, little man,” you answer Carl while reaching out for a hug. “But ‘far too late’ sure is correct.”

He returns your reach and hugs you back, tucking his head down across your neck like he used to when he was little. You press a kiss to his temple and hold him awhile longer, not wanting to let go first.

It’s good to have started the day on an up-note. You’re already on guard this morning. Less so about the genuine, bona-fide barn full of walkers on the property and moreso that Glenn won’t keep the secret long enough.

Which is backwards, but…the worry is that Shane will, um, and, and— oh God, and Carl can’t go near it! What are you gon—

“—Here, Maggie left these for you two.” Lori has returned and plunks down what resembles an Easter basket filled with peaches.

“Wait, should you be lifting heav—” Glenn cuts himself off, apparently having woken up a brain cell and remembering the pregnancy is still a secret.

You run onstage and speak up for Lori. “That’s how her arms stay so toned. Can you believe she hand-whipped the cream for the ambrosia?” Solid improv.

Lori seems to tamp down on whatever frustration she’s feeling. “It’s not heavy, Glenn.”

“Mom can lift so much, that puny basket of peaches is nothing,” Carl tells him, apparently thinking Glenn was being dumb.

Rattled, it takes a moment before Lori recalls what she was talking about. “Maggie also gave us a bucket filled with tomatoes along with another big bowl of eggs. We have to find a way to thank them. They’ve done so much.” She sighs. “Even last night, we cooked the meal, but they provided the food. Meat, even. All we contributed food-wise was the field green salad and the two cans of creamed corn.”

You’ve got to keep it to yourself that by not revealing the Greene’s massive secret about a barn full of walkers, you’re certainly giving them some kind of fucked up recompense.

And like you said last night, there are worse things to be bribed with than food. In fact, you have no immediate plans to do anything other than sit here, miserably tired, in T-Dog’s camp chair and stress-eat peaches — and stick close to Glenn lest he get the urge to open Pandora’s box about that barn.

“Carl, Miss Patricia hopefully mentioned how the barn is unstable? They won’t even go near it, and we are forbidden.” You swipe a peach and have at it. The juice dribbles down your hand and chin. Carl smirks. You snort; at least he’s seen you look grosser. So, in a very ladylike fashion, you shove the rest of it in your mouth in one bite and immediately swipe another. “There’s some kind of vermin problem, too, and you don’t want none of them diseases rats and the like carry. Keep away.”

Mid-chew, you realize that you just lied flawlessly by slipping in truth. You’re not big on lying. In fact, you hate it. You don’t do it, or, at least you think you don’t? Do you?

This and the weight of last night’s inward decision that you made sits heavy in your stomach, making the peach sink like a rock.

You’re going to leave, with your brother. Shane can’t stay here, not when the news of the baby and now the barn gets out. You’ll even go to Fort Benning despite all your misgivings. Anything to keep things from imploding here when those secrets get out. Not, um, not that you’ll stay away forever from the group, just until, um…

Well, if looks are any indication, Glenn’s also busy being miserably tired and stressed. He was the one to discover the barn’s secret, first off. And he’s not good with secrets, and now has three to contend with. The pregnancy, Shane losing his temper and physically hurting you. And now, the stupid, stupid, awful barn.

“Did your head flop down when you fell asleep, Glenn?”

“It must’ve, it’s so stiff!” he mutters. “I can’t have a stiff neck when the…”

Smart, he knows not to finish the sentence and instead resumes warily eyeing the barn. You’re grateful your neck is fine and dandy, you’re in no fit state to mess up your neck or shoulder again. For real, by the grace of God, you’d fallen asleep nestled in T-Dog’s camp chair and your neck stayed blessedly straight and untwisted.

“We search for Sophia in groups, it’s all good,” you cover for him. Carl is still next to you, so the fewer questions, the better.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but you’re restless. Seeking something to busy your hands with, you think to yourself you know what? Your friend could use a massage. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, considering you slept together (lol).

Shoving the rest of the second peach in your mouth, you consider that slurping the juice off your hand may be a mite untoward, so instead you…wipe it on the clothes you wore all day yesterday and fell asleep in…such a feminine, classy woman. Didn’t even brush your teeth last night.

Whatever, a neck and shoulder rub is the least you can do for a friend you may not see again. “Glenn, I can do you a massage,” you offer.

“Wait. Really?”

“’Course.” Let’s face it, you may not see him again after you leave. Maybe no one here, just look at the track record of losing peop — oh my gosh, crybaby much? Get your butt back onstage and act fine.

“Can you, with your arm still wrapped like that?” he checks regarding your modified sling.

“Sure can.”

“Dude, that would be, like,” Glenn sighs, then you hear Lori call for Carl, who gets up and goes to his mother. “Thank you, that would be awesome, it hurts really bad,” your friend accepts.

“Eh, it’s the least I could do, considering last night we did,” pause for dramatic effect, “sleep together.”

“What the h—”

“—Bro, I know," you drone. "That’s what Carol joked about a few minutes ago. Didn’t expect that joke outta her, right?”

“Slept together, now I get it,” he cracks up halfheartedly. But in an instant, his gaze gets drawn right back toward the barn and resettles into uneasy, blatant stare.

That rattles you. Suddenly, you become convinced he’s gonna spill the beans before the one week (at least one week!) trial. For a few moments, you feel breathless, as in you can’t inhale enough. That happened last night, too, you figured it was because of the cold air.

You cough, inhale extra deep. The sensation goes away. But now you’re starting to get mad. As you rise from the chair, you’re more than conscious of your inner kettle beginning to simmer. Not gonna lie, you sound snotty when you comment, “Glad to see they didn’t learn how to jump as high as a hayloft and find their way out yet.”

“Y/N.”

In lieu of any new comeback, you start on his neck. Immediately and likely without meaning to, he lets out a thankful groan. That warms you, and you remind yourself he’s worried for a good reason and that you love your friend.

And, strangely, then you think back to how you did this for Daryl, gave him a massage. How pleasant the closeness felt, how strange it made your stomach feel. How he’d silently cried but was vulnerable enough to ask you not to stop…

And with the jokes about you and Glenn, you’re feeling some unpleasantly conflicting emotions. Full disclosure, you’d had some hidden and very unwelcome hurt feelings when you found out about him and Maggie. Residual, you reckon, from when you’d two had a little fondness (lol Dale) for each other.

Really, you know it’s just that you’re lonely and things are stressful. More than stressful.

“Wanna kick the ball around later with the others, see if the girls can’t beat y’all this time?” Together, Jimmy and he have been an unbeatable team so far, and you three girls want to change that.

“Anything to make the pharmacy trip suck less.”

Man, you’d forgotten all about that. It’s supposed to feature none other than Glenn, Maggie, yourself, and maybe T-Dog. “That’s still on?”

Glenn shrugs. “I don’t remember. And I don’t want to go today, let’s do it tomorrow or Monday.”

“Fine by me. Naught dire we need yet.”

He unexpectedly exhales in pleasure when you must’ve hit a spot he needs worked out.“I haven’t gotten a massage since, like,” your friend sighs again, and he sounds weighed down when he continues. “Varsity baseball in high school. Appa was really good at shoulder rubs.”

“Oh.” A memory about his dad might will probably spark a whole lot of memories, and he’s still iffy about crying in front of people. “Want me to stop?”

“Heck no.”

“Are you cool with crying? Massages sometimes do that,” you hesitate.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant the act itself can make folk cry sometimes.” Especially if memories get brought up.

“Make ‘folk’ cry?” he teases. "You already used the word 'naught,' too, bumpkin."

You pause the massage to give him a very light shove. “Shut up, buttface.”

Breakfast is eggs again, you can smell them cooking. The Greenes have been very generous with eggs. And, of course, now extra-generous with the peaches and some tomatoes, apparently. Maybe the thrill of yellow squash or string beans is in the future, too.

Ooh, or dairy. Oh my gosh, or red meat! Jimmy mentioned they’ve made a ton of jerky what with their cattle.

“G’morning,” you hear Shane behind you.

“Heya.”

“Morning, Shane.”

The razzing is clear in his tone of voice, but try telling that to Glenn as your brother says, “Lookin’ cute, you two. Didn’t know this was a thing now, I thought that ship had sailed.”

Yeahhhhh, Glenn wriggles away from your hands quicker than you can whine, “Shaney!” who simply cracks up, “Just teasing.”

“I’ll tease your face,” you wish you weren’t snickering back. “And you know my heart belongs to darling Theodore,” you add in an exaggerated accent.

T-Dog, unfortunately, hears, and utters a soft “Da hell?” aaand you cackle even harder. Surely he knows the not-so-secret secret that you think he’s a catch? Too old for you, but, like. What a gem.

“Glenn, my apologies.” Shane winks. “It’s too easy to rile this one up. And Dog, don’t worry.”

“It’s cool,” Glenn answers so awkwardly.

You scrunch your lips at your brother in an effort not to smile. He’s acting like himself again, the real Shane. You don’t feel as if you’re looking at a stranger, you don’t feel the urge to stay on-guard or stay onstage. “Proud of yourself?”

He shrugs with a lazy grin. “It is real easy to rile you up.”

“Mmhm, well I’m fixing to escape to Fort Benning right now, lemme just wash up first.” You insert this little seed in hope it takes root. He was planning to go there before things changed.

He was planning to go without your input or foreknowledge, too, but he was doing what he thought was best for the group. For Lori and Rick.

Until he didn’t anymore, according to what he said to Lori.

That night, the same day Daryl had almost died, was something else.

The things he said to Lori echo in your head, the confident flirting while she was visibly unreceptive and shaken.

Then you recall the way he’s been “pragmatic” and almost irritated about the continuing search for Sophia.

Then the way he blew up at you, hurt you.

And finally, how your first reaction to finding out there was a barn filled with walkers a mere one minute trek from where your people are sleeping in tents was to insist that the secret must be kept from Shane at all costs. That the secret had to stay that way because of what would happen if Shane found out.

Maybe it’s from sleeping too close to the campfire or because it was so chilly last night, but the breathing trouble is back. It's fine, this happened last night, it ended up being fine.

You cough a few times to try and inhale more deeply and ease the tightness in your chest, but you feel strange and a little nauseous. Maybe you're coming down with something.

“Lemme take over here — aw, Glenn, hey, sit back on down,” Shane insists to your friend who just tried to escape. “Heard you slept on your neck wrong. That shit stinks, man. But,” he holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers. “I got so much practice with massages from this one’s migraines, I might should switch careers. C’mon then,” he says lightheartedly.

The unease you just wrestled with lessens. This is the real Shane, the confident, even cocky, but goodhearted one.

Huh, cool, your breathing feels a little better, too.

He looks at you and points with his thumb toward the house. “The uh, the little one, what’s the blonde girl’s name again?”

“Soph—oh! Um, sorry, y-you mean ‘Beth,’” you stammer, all the mirth from a moment ago zapped.

The look in your brother’s eyes changes from easygoing to dampened to cold.

He tries to sound nonchalant behind a thin veil of both defense and offense. “Yeah, the, uh, the teenager. She asked for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” You’d be off like a shot if there wasn’t another potential time bomb to worry about.

Glenn.

To your friend, you assure in truth, “He does give a mighty solid massage.” But when you lean over enough for him to see your face, you can feel your eyes darken when you hold the finger to your lips and set your jaw.

And as you make toward the house with your coffee and another two peaches, you’re grappling with the fact that, in an effort to keep Glenn quiet so everything won’t blow to pieces, you’re behaving not unlike the very person that you’re trying to prevent from igniting the explosion in the first place.

Another worry is the way you so easily slipped in and out of being onstage.

You’ve always been one to insist on truth and honesty. It’s a badge of honor you wear with pride, and even Daryl, prickly grump Daryl, has mentioned it and appreciates that about you.

And yet, look at your conduct over the past week or so. You can certainly lie, and be believable at it. You don’t like that.

Ew, gross, you’re getting nauseous again.

As you near the porch, Beth’s soft, clear voice calls your name, and she exits the house to meet you. “I got somethin’ for you. Can you come upstairs?”

“Sure. Your dress is cute!” comes out automatically. You’re still dazed and stressed. Her sundress really is pretty, though. Briefly, you consider how it would be nice to feel feminine again.

She leads you up the stairs, and it strikes you how odd it is that you have to go upstairs for whatever she’s going to give you, right? Then, you worry that it’s to do with the barn.

And you’re right.

Or, at least, you think you are. Maggie is upstairs when Beth brings you there.

The tightness comes back, so you focus on your breathing and will your stomach to chill out. You're onstage, you need to perform.

“Y/N, hi!” Margaret says this a little overly chipper, even though her appearance suggests that she’s had about as much shut-eye as you, if not less. “Sleep okay?”

“A-About as well as you, I reckon,” you answer with a hint of humor and only a trace of a stress stutter. Buying time with a few more coughs, before you get too defensive, you play it off as if Beth does not know that you and Glenn know. “We stayed up far too late and ate way too many peaches,” you say the girl. Which is the truth, you aren’t lying! You aren't lyi — nope, don't you cry! Stay onstage, stay onstage, stay onstage—

—As it so happens, now is when you recall how you are currently carrying two peaches in your hand, so your cheeks heat. The urge to cry goes away, so, small win. “I ate way too many, at least.”

Beth giggles. “I love peaches, too. I had peach cobbler as my birthday cake two years ago. The ones we grow are so good!”

“Thank you for the basket of food, by the way, it was very kind.” Very kind bribery, please keep it up, we haven’t had this much available food in months, in fact, we’ll probably do anything you ask us if you let us stay here!

“There’s plenty more where the peaches came from. The season’s almost over, but we still have bushels left to pick, the hens haven’t slowed production yet, and we’re almost out of canning supplies we’ve done so many,” Maggie responds.

Beth is opening a big trash bag on her bed that looks like it’s filled with blankets, so Maggie takes the opportunity to lock eyes with you again. She mouths, “Thank you.”

For not saying anything? “She doesn’t know we know?” you mouth back.

She shakes her head.

You relax muscles you didn’t know you were tensing.

“Yay, I got it open without rippin' it!” Beth exclaims. “Y/N, Maggie and I had gathered up a bunch of clothes for charity, but that’s when things got, w-well,” she halts, unsure of how to describe the outbreaks. “The bad things happened, but, um, we, well, we still had all the donations bagged. Daddy and Shawn also…” She quiets at mentioning her deceased older brother and turns weepy.

Her big sister finishes for her. “Shawn donated clothes, too. And Mom.” She swallows. “There’s plenty to share with your group, is what she means.” Maggie nods her head at the bag on the bed, then to two others on the floor.

They're sharing...all of those?

You don’t get a chance to ask it because Beth is already answering. “When I saw how y’all looked, it was scary. The,” she starts, then stops. “Not that you were scary, I meant y’all must’ve been out there a long time. It’s scary to think about.”

“In your defense, I did look scary the first time you saw me.” Wild hair, sweat-drenched, sobbing, and covered in Carl’s and your own blood. Rough day.

But having been ‘out there,�� as Beth worded it, it’s not so scary when you’re with a group you trust. It even feels comforting to have them all. Which is when you consider how Shane and you will be back out there in a couple weeks, alone.

“Here.” Beth shyly points to the bag. “I wanted to offer for you to look through the bags first. If, if you want.”

The offer is (more) bribery to keep you quiet, which cools the warmth of the charity, but doesn't lessen the grateful tears you spill. Plus, yes, you all could use some fresh clothes, there’s only so much mending that can be done. And to be offered first dibs, even if it’s just to butter you up, is still being offered first dibs. “I’d love to take a look, thank you,” you say in earnest.

Beth combs through the bag and chats in her shy manner, handing you a barely-worn, calf-length dress that had been gift for Maggie, then a (pure wool?!) cardigan their mother had been giving away.

You find it hard to believe that she’s doing this as bribery, Beth doesn’t seem the sort to easily conceal things. She’s got an innocence that hits as genuine.

But, then again, you who hate dishonesty are apparently great at it. Who’s to say she’s not, too?

The breathlessness briefly comes back. You clear your throat and cough once.

Beth next, to your apprehension and then delight, has you try on the dress and cardigan (which shockingly fit). While retying the modified sling around your upper arm, Maggie keeps trying to catch your eye again in order to, you don’t know, communicate something via meaningful glance? But you don’t have the bandwidth for it, so return her look with a polite smile and shrug.

Her little sister then proceeds to gussy you up in a way reminiscent of how Amy did once at the quarry camp to see how Glenn would react. Gosh, was that only two-ish months ago, wasn’t it? Or has it been longer? It feels like longer.

Beth has manages a quick, respectable braided style for your hair, touches up your eyebrows for you, and even adds blush. She then claims that your hiking boots “look okay” with the ensemble and has you use the full length mirror in her closet to inspect the full results.

The dress is lovely, you have to admit. The neckline doesn’t dip too low bonus that it doesn’t show your bruise, the waist is defined, and it’s long enough past your knees to be comfortable. The length also helps lessen the lingering apprehension you have about showing natural (*cough cough unshaven*) legs.

You actually feel…pretty. Been a while.

It’s as if she knew you were yearning to feel girly again. If this is bribery, you welcome it. Worse ways of being bribed than with fresh food and a makeover from a genuinely sweet kid. And hey, since you have to be onstage so much, might as well dress nicely for the audience.

When you’re walking downstairs to bring your people the donations, Maggie murmurs in your ear, “Y/N, I didn’t put her up to any of this, it was all her.”

When you pull away from her, she's insistent. “It wasn’t her bein’ nice to keep you quiet. Remember, she doesn’t kn—”

“—Good mornin’, girls. What’s in the bags?” Patricia’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairwell.

“We had some clothes to donate since before Easter,” Beth answers. “I figured they could use ’em.”

“They certainly could. I’m glad I have plenty I brought from my house when we moved in.” You can see Miss Patricia in the hallway by the stairs, clearly wearing one of her late husband’s shirts over her dress. Her brows lift. “Seems you dolled your friend up some. You clean up nice, sweetpea!”

“Thank you, ma’am. I-I do feel like a lady again,” you allow, your cheeks again warming.

“Never stopped being one, as far as I’m concerned. Always kept your Ps and Qs,” she’s kind enough to maintain. “Oh, speaking of ladies, I don’t know how y’all are doing on girls’ supplies, but we should have enough to share while you’re still with us.”

“Margaret and I were gonna look for some more on the next drug store run tomorrow or Monday to make sure you’re well stocked.” Along with everything else on the list(s) that was forgotten when those two…got distracted.

Ugh, how different things would be if you’d gone along for that trip! None of this barn bullshit!

Again, you feel the need to cough to help you breathe better, so you cough twice and try clearing your throat.

“Uh-oh, sounds like cold and flu season is well on it’s way,” she muses. “Don’t let me keep you holding them bags all day, girls. It’ll be funny watchin’ your daddy react if one of them ends up dressed in his giveaways,” the woman comments wryly. “Now, I did intend to check on those stitches today, Y/N, so come see me later. Hersh is just finishing up with Daryl’s, in fact, then he’ll be all set to go, if you were wantin’ to see him out.”

Oh, right! Today is finally the day he’s leaving that room!

Carl, too, but he’s already out and has been wandering around outside as much as his energy and mom will allow (which isn’t very much yet).

Daryl, on the other hand, has been too dizzy and too ashamed to do much more than a trip around the perimeter of the house.

Carol and you cleaned his tent yesterday as a surprise. It was her idea, of course. She enlisted your help specifically because you twice mentioned not thinking his sweat smelled bad, which is weird, but, for real, it doesn’t smell bad to you. The cigarettes, on the other hand, ew.

“Are we not going today?” Maggie asks quietly about the postponed pharmacy trip.

With tact, you suggest, “We could all use some rest after stayin’ up so late.”

She peers into your eyes, then nods and adjusts her hold on the two bags in her hands.“That’s a good idea. I’m not up to it, either.”

Upon stepping back outside onto the front porch, Jimmy and Glenn are kicking the soccer ball around already. Glenn is keeping his neck taut as he and Jimmy go back and forth, but the pain must have lessened.

The irresistible urge you have to make light of everything seizes you, and you leap into matchmaker mode because, why not? You won’t be here much longer, and maybe Maggie and Glenn linking up will lead to the rest being permitted to stay. That’s what matters.

Oh, and, uh, because you love Glenn, and Maggie is kind…oh fuck, are you just a calculating, cold strategist?

The feeling that you’re running out of air and going to vomit returns, but you push yourself onstage and commit to the role. You have to keep your shit together.

“Ain’t he handsome when he plays? Good sportsmanship and confidence rolled into one.” You playfully hold a smile back when you glance at Maggie and giggle to hide your heavy breathing. “Also the shiny hair.”

“He does have great hair,” she softly agrees.

“Y/N, do you and Glenn like each other? I-I thought…” Beth’s face has paled.

Maybe that’s why you over-act when you exclaim, “Of course I like him, that’s why I’m such a great wingwoman for him.”

Margaret blushes. “Let’s get these bags to their camp.”

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

Him

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

“I can’t hunt?”

“You can do as you please,” the old man remarks. What, is he making fun of him? “But doing so while recovering from a concussion would be foolish, as would be heavy lifting or other strenuous activity, and that’s not considering your collarbone and ribs. I’m curious as to how you’d wield your weapon or bring back what you hunted, for one, if you would even make it off the property without keeling over.”

Daryl bites his tongue and keeps his words to himself. Well, fine! I can still bring that little girl back. She’s got legs, she’ll be able to walk on her own.

Hershel cleans up his stuff and stands. “Now, then, I’m sure you’re ready to finally see yourself out.”

“Damn straight,” is probably not the smartest response in front of the old man, what with the cuss word, but damn straight he is ready to get the hell out of there. Still, he remembers his manners. “Thanks for everythin’.” He even holds out his hand for a shake. Which is dumb because the guy’s hands are full.

Daryl…puts his hand back down and grabs the few things he had in there with him. Y/N once described the Dr. Farmer as ‘unreadable.’ Definitely is that.

Unreadable, Hershel drawls, “It’s good you’re on the mend,” and inclines his head toward the door. “After you.”

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

You

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

Dude, you had a panic attack.

It wasn’t too too bad, all things considered. Initially, you’d thought it was a mild asthma attack, but in hindsight, wow you were oblivious to all of the signs.

It started to happen when some of the group was going through the clothes, right after Maggie and you dropped them off and she left to do choring.

Lori was beside you, low-key beside herself trying to figure out how your people could “ever repay the family now?”

Next, T-Dog joked about the sizes being too small for him. “Ain’t sure what here I could fit that won’t result in a show for y’all.”

This is when Andrea murmured to Carol, “Reminds me how it’s been awhile.” The way Carol reacted clued you in that it might have been a sex joke. Especially given the way Andy next gave your brother a once-over as if you weren’t right there. You vividly recall licking your teeth and rolling your eyes.

Then Shane — and he did this without having seen Andrea do the once-over — nudged T-Dog in the ribs and began to unbutton his own top. “Worse things than a show these days, friend. And that there clean shirt is calling my name.” Naturally, he proceeded to swap garments right where he stood.

Per usual, Lori was more graceful than you. She ignored it as if he were her own brother acting like a frat boy, and merely continued to sift through one of the bags. She smiled upon finding something, tapped Carol on the shoulder, and handed it to her.

It’s been a week now since Shane's betrayal of her and Rick. Even you are still figuring out how to see him. The hopeful part is that he’s been leaving Lori alone. If his sights have indeed turned to Andrea, all the better.

Back to the moment, you next worried that what if he and Andrea got a little too close, did something foolish, and she ended up pregnant, too.

Not that Lori’s baby is Shane’s, the baby is Rick’s regardless, but...

The tight feeling returned in your chest.

It was in the midst of this that Dale complimented you. “Kiddo, you’re all gussied up! Any occasion?”

“Mmhm, all dressed up for the ‘show.’” The nausea was back, plus a fun new notion of being observed, as if everyone and anyone, seen or unseen, was staring you down.

Dale just nodded with raised brows, and you and he shared a look. Instead of tempering your fears, it piqued them. It wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Horvath’s expression started to mirror the way he stared into your eyes after catching Shane lose his temper and leave you with a bruise on your sternum.

The fears within you, the stress, the dread, all started roiling stronger and stronger. You cleared your throat, then coughed, but it didn’t help. You felt so restless and, oddly, cornered.

And so, not knowing where to look therefore looking in all directions, you happened to spy Glenn staring at the barn. Again.

The air felt too…thin? And then you noticed Lori examining the torso of one of the shirts in the bag as if testing it for stretchiness or room. You could see the shadows clouding her face right before she abruptly put the shirt down.

Then, there was Carol, holding up something that had clearly must have been Beth’s a few years ago, and it looked as if it would fit Sophia perfectly now.

It was just about then that your lungs simply couldn’t keep up.

“Kiddo?” sounded in your ear.

You may have panted something to do with “puffer,” referring to your largely unused inhaler. At any rate, instead of next going to the logical location of the RV to find the med bag, you made for the treeline. You didn’t want anyone near you, didn’t want anybody to see you, didn’t want a fuss, didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want anyone to even think about you, so you had to hide.

Panting, a numbness started to affect your fingers and spread to your torso and toes. You repeatedly coughed in an effort to break up whatever was making it hard to breathe.

Once you started coughing, it dominoed. Your stitches were tugging at the forceful coughs, and soon, you were hacking. The hacking led to retching, one, two, three times. Tears started to fall.

“Baby, here,” came from your right and a warm, delicate hand touched the small of your back. Lori. She pressed the inhaler into your hand. “I shook it up, it’s all ready.”

Bending forward slightly to open your airways, you tried to exhale enough so you could take the dose properly as you clasped the trigger.

One puff. Hold breath in.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

Another puff. Hold breath in.

The relief that usually comes with the medication wasn’t as apparent as it normally would be. It helped somewhat, but.

You tried another dose.

More tears of frustration. You panted to her that you thought your were going to pass out. "F-Feels like m'gonna die," you may have also said.

The phantom sensation of your hand being covered in Amy's blood returned. You recall wiping it with the hem of your dress, and Lori taking your hands, preventing you from continuing to do so.

Lori calmly instructed you to, “Try this with me, honey,” and slowly breathed in through her nose. You copied as best you could.

She then slowly breathed out through her mouth. You copied as best you could.

Over and over she coached you until things started to ease.

You looked around you. Your new sweater was hanging off your elbows. Your pulse was still loudly thumping, but two doses of a corticosteroid will do that. In your escape, you’d made for the big rocks where you’d shared (sort of) a cigarette with Daryl. The stones felt nice and cool, and Lori’s gentle rubbing of her hand across your back was comforting.

“Been a while since you’ve needed the inhaler. ‘Decorative,’ you called it once,” she softly chatted. The sensation of not getting enough air wasn’t quite gone just then, but you felt pretty normal again.

“I reckon the cold and the smoke must’ve done me in,” you mumbled. Your throat was mildly sore after all the coughing. “It’s good it was mild.”

“Were you wheezing?”

“No, I…just couldn’t breathe enough or something.” You shrugged. “I don’t always wheeze when I need it.” Your nose was stuffy from crying.

She was thoughtful for a moment, and had begun to lightly scratch your back. “You and Glenn seem off this morning. I’ve seen you two tired before, but today you both seem…there’s something else going on, clearly. Did you two fight?”

“Not exactly.” It’s true. “We’re on the same page.” You weren't prepared to have to go onstage again, but just in case, you tried pulling yourself together.

“Was it about Maggie?”

You laughed genuinely. “Ha, not at all.”

Lori didn’t mirror your laughter or even smile in return. “Honey, I think you had a panic attack.”

That's ridiculous! was your initial reaction, which is why, at first, you protested. “Oh, it wasn’t that dramatic.”

“It looked different from where I was. But even still, it didn’t have to be or feel ‘dramatic’ to have been one. You know that.” The nonjudgemental straightforwardness in her voice, in her eyes, was enough to convince you that she could see straight into your heart and read what was there. “Y/N, is there something more going on?”

More than anything, at that moment, you didn’t want to lie to her.

But what could you do? Tell the truth, yes, 'the truth will out,' you know that. But you were convinced that telling the whole truth, right then, would be like lighting dynamite.

In your view, you would be exposing everyone to chaos and even violence, and you'd all seen too much of that already. And no, you couldn’t just tell one person because it never just stays with one person. Lori was/is not in any position to have more fear on her plate.

So what did you do?

You crawled back on that stage and you lied — by telling the truth.

“I’m worried he’ll talk.” Vague and a lie of omission, and maybe a little throwing your friend under the bus, but Lord have mercy on you, it was truthful.

Lori squeezed her eyes shut. “Me, too. Oh honey, I’m so scared!” she whispered, covering her mouth.

So scared of Shane, just like you are. “Rick won’t hold any of it against you. We all thought he was dead.”

She shook her head and stared at the ground.“But you saw how Shane behaved, you, you heard the things he said, Y/N,” she nearly hissed. “I don’t know who that man was, but it wasn’t Shane, just like when he had m—” then Lori cut off.

“When he had what?”

She shook her head again. “Seems Dale’s on his way over. He told me about what was going on so I could bring your medicine to you. He hadn't known what 'puffer' meant." A look of pure guilt. "And —oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry that you’re worrying yourself like this over my mistakes! It's not fair to you.”

“Your kid ain’t a mistake, it’s so good that they’re here,” you replied in total honesty. First time all day.

Maybe she’ll be honest with you and spill whatever Shane did that she’s not being upfront about. Whatever it is could surely have been described in a sentence. “What else did Shane do, Lore?” It can’t have been that bad, or could it?

All she did was shake her head once more. “Like you said, he hasn’t been himself.

‘Hasn’t been himself.’ Fine. You’ve got secrets, too, so there’s no way on earth that you can cast stones.

You stepped back onstage for hopefully the final time, and made yourself deliver the next lines. “That’s why we’re goin’ to Fort Benning.” Without you all. “Just him and me. Within two weeks, I hope?” The nausea still hadn’t gone away, and simply saying this brought it back.

Her brows sunk caution. “When was this decision made? I-I thought—”

“—I ain’t told him about it yet.” The bitter smile, you hadn’t been able to stifle. “Shouldn’t be hard to convince him, considering he was fixing to not so long ago.”

Lori’s apologetic tone wasn’t a put-on. “I’m so sorry he didn’t tell you. I had no idea you were left in the dark.”

That’s when some tightness came back to your chest, and your breathing turned faster again. “I know, Lore.”

She noticed. “Honey, hey,” she soothed, “breathe slowly, deeply." Her hand cupped your cheek. "His mistakes, his choices, his reactions are not your responsibility.”

“I know, b-but—”

“—And you don’t have to leave with him if you don't want to.”

“But wh—”

“—No buts.” Lori cupped your cheek, stood, and swiftly made toward Dale.

And here is where you hadn’t known she was going to be quite so straightforward with him.

In fact, you’d hoped she’d join you onstage and lie, too, but she behaved beyond reproach. “It was a panic attack, so please make sure to respect her privacy about it. I’ve got to check on the laundry.”

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

Him

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

Funny thing, he’s wearing the same clothes he had his accident in. He’s in the same stuff leaving that he had been when he got carried in there, except now they’re cleaned and mended.

It’s been good to be back outside, he prefers it. He can’t wrap his head around why some people can keep inside in front of a screen all day. You don’t get to hear or feel the wind indoors, can’t hear the birds and all that.

Now, he couldn’t say for sure, but stepping outside and knowing he didn’t have to go back in must feel at least half as good as getting freed from prison.

If prison was a nice-ass farmhouse without the risk of getting shanked or worse, obviously.

Merle would have some words if he heard Daryl say something like that out loud. Though, Merle was pretty settled when he was in lock-up. Fared fine.

His first view when he steps out into freedom is Glenn and the teenage boy kicking the ball around. Those two are straight into it and pay him no mind as he walks around them.

The rest of the group is around the picnic table, looks like they’re sorting laundry (?), therefore ain’t paying him no mind, either.

Phew.

This is good. He was wondering if Y/N was gonna parade him out or make it a big deal, but after hearing her and the other ladies talking in the hallway, she didn’t come back in. Works for him, he doesn’t like a crowd.

…But, like, where is she? He figured she’d be around, is all, but she ain’t by the table.

Ah, yeah, duh — she's probably still doing something with the girl that's about her age and her little sister. Still seems off Y/N and Glenn are only “five or six years younger” than him, but that’s what Y/N has said a few times.

The next thing he sees is Lori, who is swooping down the yard and toward the big rocks where he and T-Dog took a smoke break once. And where Y/N had her first try of a cigarette, too. Lori looks like a woman on a mission, damn. Dale is staring in the direction Lori is walking, those big-ass brows of his slanted downward. Wonder what that's about?

Over the sound of a few leftover end-of-season cicadas, he hears the normal drone of crickets, light talking from the group, the thunk of the ball getting kicked, a very loud crow, some cows mooing, somebody coughing, birds doing their thing, chickens clucking, the wind blowing. Mmm, good stuff. Being inside and hearing it just don’t sound as good as being right out in it.

Then, “Daryl!” comes from his left, and he sees Carol walking to him. She’s a good woman.

And now the memory of her kissing him on the cheek is making his cheeks heat up as quick as she steps toward him.

“I’ll carry those for you,” she quietly insists about his small pile of clothes. He lets her.

She’s been very, um, attentive. Been having most of her meals with him, babying him as much as he’d allow, and all-in-all has been treating him extra after he had his accident.

There are more coughing sounds that he almost pegs as being Y/N’s, but when he looks back in the direction of the noise, there’s no one, just Lori off on her walk, and she wasn't coughing.

“We moved your tent closer to the rest of us, so you would be closer to where we could help you.”

Closer. Great.

Daryl wanted nothing less, but a kind gesture is a kind gesture, so he mans up and acts proper, grunting, “Thank you.” It’s not like they went and messed with his stuff, they just moved the tent, and for a real kind reason.

Glenn rears and kicks, sending the ball soaring. Damn, he's good.

“Now, it may smell and look a little different, but all of your things are still there.”

“Huh?” What’d she mean?

“You deserved a nice, clean place to go back to,” Carol explains. “Y/N and I tidied your tent.”

…

...

…they what?

He gets the weirdest image of himself as being onstage and forgetting whatever it was he was supposed to say next, leaving him standing there like a mouthbreather in front of the audience. And he kinda wants to cuss the audience out.

His first idea after learning Carol and Y/N was: What the hell, y’all been messing with my stuff?? What gives y'all the right?

But, come on, even he had it in him to keep his mouth shut. They’d taken the time and effort to clean up his shit and it was probably as nice as when Carol had worked her magic in the RV. That's damned decent, in fact.

So, Daryl does not act like a jackass, and instead, remembers his lines and thanks Carol again.

“It was no trouble. How about I bring you some more breakfast once you’re settled in?” she quickly offers. See? Very attentive. And he didn’t do shit to have earned it, which made it more uncomfortable.

Aw shit, his cheeks feel all warm again. First around Y/N, now Carol? Maybe there is something to this whole concussion bullshit.

Or, maybe Carol done kissed you on the cheek and said you were a good man and that you did right by her little girl as much as a father should and that’s the best possible thing somebody could be told.

“Do you want some more coffee, too?”

I wanna to be left alone, lady. “Nah, m’great. Thank you.”

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

You

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

“Last night seemed to be an indication summer was officially over. But today,” Dale blows through his lips, “Well, we can already tell it’ll be a warm one.”

“Did we hit the first day of fall, yet? I forgot what date it is today.”

“No, that’s on the 21st. We’ve got some time.”

“Oh, wait!” you squeak (ouch, your throat is still sore from coughing). “Ain’t it the Holy Days for you still?” Rosh Hoshanah was sometime last week, but that one got sort of messed up because of everything that’s been going on.

Oh man, it was the day after Daryl got into his accident, wasn’t it?

Dale’s cordial expression falters. “Yes, it was last week.”

“Yom Kippur is soon then, right?”

“It’s on the 18th this year, yes. Two days away.”

There’s this very insistent raven that’s been cawing away. Or is that a crow? You can’t tell the difference. You can tell that you’ve bummed Dale out, however. “I’ve bummed you out.”

Smiling sadly, he concedes, “Jewish holidays are usually lonely ones in mixed company. And now, especially with it being the holiest time of the year, after everything…” He lifts his shoulders.

“I’ll do the fasting with you so you won’t be alone!” Ow, stop raising your voice so high. “Is it no food or drink at all on that day, or is water okay?”

A happier smile. “No food or drink — barring serious health concerns, of course, in which case, one is required to not fast.”

“No water must suck! When my lot do fasting, water don’t count.”

He nods his head once. “It’s all part of the atonement. It’s considered a blessing for us to fast for it.”

“And the feast after it is fun,” you sigh with a grin. You’ll enlist Carol and Lori to see about making him a yummy fast-breaking meal for the day.

This is what you needed. Dale didn’t press you regarding the panic attack, and has simply been keeping you company by the big rocks. You’ve haven’t had to go back onstage while he’s been sitting with you. You’d probably be content to stay here a good, long time if you didn’t have to use the toilet something major.

“Did you see if there was a pair of suspenders in the bags so you and Mr. Greene can match?”

“Is this your way of saying you’re feeling well enough to head back, or that you need privacy?”

“It’s my way of sayin’ I gotta go potty real bad.” You stand. “Suspenders are pretty cool, you can party like it’s 1899.”

“I actually quite like how suspenders look,” he chuckles, stretching and getting to his feet.

“Mm, they remind me of the Old West, I love ’em.”

Dale and you walk back until reaching the side of the farmhouse, whereupon you excuse yourself to head to the treeline and do your business.

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

Him

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

As soon as the heat starts to sink in, he unbuttons his shirt halfway and kicks his shoes off. Getting the socks off without hurting himself takes some effort, but it’s worth it. His stuff is so squeaky clean and fresh, he wants to avoid sweating the place up too quick.

His old pillowcase is gone, probably scrapped for dishrags seeing as it was pretty worn. In its place is a flower-covered one with soft, thick cotton fabric. There's some phrase about a 'woman's touch' that must apply here. Or, if Merle were here, prime Darylina ammo. Joke's on him, the pillowcase is soft as hell.

And being in there might seem boring, but it's 10 times better than being stuck in a damn bed and listening to music for days on end. Just cloud-watching through his tent window is fun enough for him.

In fact, it’s rad! He’s so psyched to not be in that room anymore!

Cloud watching, playing with his bolts, farting if he's gotta; he's content as can be. Seriously, he’s in such a good mood right now.

But as luck would have it, by the time he’s decided to see how easily a bolt can poke a hole through the mesh window (the answer is very easily, and it’s real satisfying) none other than Andrea herself appears at his tent door. The chick who shot him.

Now, she’s pretty as a picture and then some, but he doesn’t want his belly showing in front of her. If he’d been paying attention and heard her making her way to him, he would’ve buttoned up.

So, he tries out the same tactic as last night, when Carol walked in on him shirtless; maybe by not closing his shirt, she wouldn’t think about it? Or…fuck it, just about everybody has seen some part of him uncovered in the past week. At least there ain’t no scars on this side.

All he’s got to do is make like he’s onstage and that it doesn’t bother him having his literal nipples on display.

“Hey.” Andrea steps into his tent, looking like she is about to eat crow.

She hands him a book. He accepts the maybe peace-offering.

“It’s not that great, but…” she trails off, breathes out, and looks as shamefaced as can be.

Y/N, Carol, and T-Dog all mentioned she’s been kicking her own ass for shooting him. Granted, he’s still a little pissed, and, yeah, real thankful that she’s a shit shot, but — she was trying to protect the group, right? Ain’t even her fault he got stuck in that damn bed. The concussion, split side, and broken ribs did that for him.

He figures he’s gotta make it clear that she’s off the hook without making her feel worse for being let off the hook. And, he thinks he knows just the way to break the tension. It’d got the librarian at his high school to laugh the first time he made the remark, which is probably why he was usually allowed to eat in there during lunch if he asked.

Now, he knows reading is still on the no-go list, don’t worry, Y/N, but he casually holds the book up and flips through the pages.

He’s gotta, it’s the setup.

It’s good that Andrea ain’t said nothing yet, because it’s the perfect opportunity for him to pretend to be dead-serious when he complains, “What, no pictures?”

The joke does the trick. Andrea smiles and relaxes.

“I’m so sorry. I feel like shit,” she starts to go on, but he puts a stop to it.

Tucking the book aside as he settles down onto the pillow, he cuts in, “You and me both.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but, if there’s anything I can do, I—”

He cuts in one more time, “—You were trying to protect the group. We’re good.” He means it.

But, ya know, just because things are chill doesn’t mean he can’t bust her balls a little, right? “But hey,” he stops her as she’s leaving. “Shoot me again, you best pray I’m dead.”

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

You

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

“It went great! Better than I ever expected.” Andrea takes a seat beside you on the log. Judging by the look of serenity on her face, it appears that the monkey she’s had on her back for the past week is finally gone.

“Good, m’glad.” You knew it would be fine, but Andrea was so nervous.

“And I have to say, I can see the appeal now.”

“What appeal?”

“Daryl was,” she thinks on the right word and picks: “Charming.”

Ah. You see what she’s trying to do. “Well, go tell him that, then,” you suggest, cool as a cucumber. She and Dale thought you and he had a romantic thing going on. Lol, nah.

“And he was funny!” she goes on.

You sip your tea. “Mm, he can be.”

“Not angry, or, or nasty.” She closes her eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief. “I was so worried about how it was going be.”

You tilt your head in partial agreement. He can be a dick.

Your job for the rest of the day, so Papa Dale done told you, is to be chill (yes, he used the word ‘chill’ and it was adorable). It’s your only responsibility today, seeing as he joined you when you went to check the highway spot for Sophia. She hasn’t found it, it’s untouched. Again.

So now, your job = keep chill.

“Are you helping with target practice later?”

Oh, right, and there’s that. You suppose you could continue helping Beth with drawing her weapon smoothly, keep drilling her never, ever forget to switch the safety back and forth.

But…okay: maybe today, that isn’t your job. Maybe you need a rest from being onstage. “I think I’m gonna sit today out.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I just need a day,” you answer in too high a pitch.

Andy doesn’t inquire further. “How’s the little fuzzball?” she instead asks.

“Still sleeping,” you coo. The sluggish little chick you’d scooped up while quickly sprinkling feed-corn in order to feel useful is your insurance for keeping chill. Can’t not keep chill with a chick asleep in your lap.

“It must feel nice and safe wrapped up like that.”

“Mm.” The chick is nestled in a dishtowel, half its body also covered by your new cardigan.

“Y/N, have you not gone to visit him yet?”

“Not yet. He’d appreciate some time to himself, I reckon, after a week bein’ stuck in there and visitors and checkups at all hours.”

Glenn’s off doing farm chores with Jimmy, so he’s being kept busy and won’t be a concern. As for you, you’ve got your sleepy chick and are content to stay here on the log. You ate lunch, yet another peach (you’re up to six), just finished the leftover raspberries, and are now washing it all down with some fresh mint tea you made in honor of one of your best friends. She’d make her own mint tea and would call it ‘wild mint’ tea because it sounded exotic.

When Dale mentioned today’s date, you remembered it was her birthday. She was the most confident girl you’d ever met, and a sweetheart to boot. You really hope she’s alive.

Andrea chuckles to herself. “I gave him that terrible book to keep him occupied.”

Book?? To Daryl? But the concussion! “A book?”

“I brought him The Case of the Missing Man,” she shares with a grin. “He can join the survivor’s club of those who’ve read it — Y/N, is something wrong?”

“Oh, um, nah, it’s all good, uh,” you are fumbling so hard right now. Cool, you’re feeling lightheaded again, cool cool.

It’s all cool. There’s no fire. Stay chill. “I’m gonna pop over and make sure he ain’t cracked into it yet, he’s, it’s, it’s not safe yet. C-Concussion and all.” Listen to you, smooth like butter.

“Oh shit.”

“Andy, don’t sweat. Even if he did start on it, like,” and you pause, because, “I don’t actually know what can go wrong, I didn’t ask Miss Patricia, but I’m sure it ain’t nothing serious!” You cup the (awoken and now loudly peeping) chick between your hands as you book it (pun intended?) to Daryl’s tent.

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

Him

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

For Y/N to glide over wearing a pretty dress, hair all fancy, and holding some little bird was not something he put on his bingo sheet.

“Hiya, Daryl.”

It takes him a second. “Hey.” He ain't never seen her in a dress.

And with that little bird, he gets the image in his head of her bursting into song and the farm animals and forest critters doing a musical number with her.

He’ll *ahem* keep that to himself...

“I hope you’re enjoyin’ your new freedom! Mi—”

“—Who’s the little guy?” he had to ask first.

“It's a chick.”

Clearly. “Why?”

“It’s cute.”

She ain’t wrong. “…Can I see?”

“Yeah, it's adorable!”

He begins to get up, but she steps over faster than he can stand. She kneels beside his cot and, delicately, transfers the wrapped chick into his hands. Carefully, he unwraps the washcloth around it and slips his hand underneath it so sits on his palm with its teeny legs dangling through his fingers. It’s peeping like it’s getting paid for it, holy shit it’s so fucking cute.

“I came here wonderin’ if I might I borrow the, uh, the book Andrea just lent you?”

Ha, called it! The second Y/N found out he had contraband, she came to the rescue.

The chick quiets down, appearing to relax in his hand. His hand must be good and warm for it.

Maybe it’s because he’s in a good mood, but he smiles like a dipshit for a few moments before saying anything. “Nah, I wouldn’t dream of checking it out ’til you said it was fine.”

“Oh ha-ha,” she play-mocks, assuming he wasn’t being serious.

Eh, okay, maybe he was sorta razzing her, too. But he wants to come out on the other side of this whole concussion bullshit on the up, and if reading is still off-limits, it’s still off limits. He’s not gonna full-on disregard somebody who gives a shit.

“How’d ya end up dressed like that?” is his second question while he pets the chick lightly along its head using the feathers on his bolt.

“I wear this, like, all the time.”

“Oh right, yeah, you do,” he sarcastically responds. He tries to reach with his left arm to pick up the book under his cot, but gets a sharp twinge and surrenders that he can’t do that move yet.

Y/N snorts at the sarcasm and tells him straight, “The Greenes had some giveaways, so Beth gave me this outfit. Oh, thank you,” she says when he instead points in the direction of the book. She picks it up and hugs it to herself. “I do believe Carol put a few things aside for you to try on, too.”

“’Kay.”

Y/N looks pretty.

It’s nothing new, obviously her face is nice, but it's the whole blushing thing that keeps happening to Daryl's face that's annoying. Seems he's started blushing like a belle over all the damn women in camp these days. That really was some smack to the head he got.

He’s imagining himself as being back onstage again, forgetting his lines. He can make something up on the spot: “How you gonna search in that?”

“Ain’t like my ankles are tied together. Women have always been able to move, play, do manual labor of all sorts in dresses, corsets, stays, stockin’s, you name it,” she serves back with just enough fire that his belly did one of those good flippy-floppys. “That reminds me, Nervous Nelly came back! Did any of us tell you? She’s fine as can be, I fed her half a peach yesterday!”

Some of them baby hairs around her face are coming out of the braids. Her skin's got a sheen to it. And did she put pink stuff on her cheeks or something? Or is that because she was moving around a lot and it’s gotten warm out? Because her lips don’t look like there’s nothing on them but they’re nice and —

“—Dare, you okay?”

“Yeah. Tired.”

“You must be.” Why is she frowning? “You looked like you’d just got hypnotized or — you sure you feel normal?”

“M’fine, I just spaced out.”

She’s gonna have him do a thing, isn’t she? “Follow my finger for a little, please?” Ah-ha, see?

Pointer finger extended, he goes along with it for the 10 or so seconds it takes for the slight crease between her eyebrows to relax.

“Please stick out your tongue for me?” is her next request and, uh, why?

Well, he goes ahead and does it for her anyway. The hook ’em horns he makes at the same time are a sure sign he’s in a good-ass mood.

Y/N lets herself smile, then elaborates: “If it came out tilted, it’s a sign of stroke.”

Stroke? That’s a little much.“C’mon, you’re worried I had a stroke?”

She nods once. Her chest expands big as if she were inhaling really deep. “A smoker, extended bed rest, head trauma,” she quietly counts.

Is he hearing things, or does her breathing sound a little too fast?

“Can you point your toes three times?”

He point his toes three times, and yes, her breathing is a little too fast.

“Now please lift both arms parallel to the bed.”

He lifts both arms. The baby chicken is sleeping now and doesn’t wake with the motion.

“Okay,” Y/N whispers to herself.

“Tell me you’re not stressing out about nothin’.”

She blinks a few times and deadpans, “I would never.”

“Here,” he holds the chick near her face. “Get zen like this pipsqueak.”

“But you ain’t ‘nothing’ and you are at an elevated stroke risk.”

He’s only got the one word for her: “Zen.” The hovering motion he made with the chick was a fun touch, the little thing didn’t even mind.

Her expression suggests she’s trying to not smile, and, in a move he doesn’t anticipate, she leans forward to rub her nose on its beak. Her lips brush against his fingertips when she does, and his train of thought derails.

Next thing, her hands are overlapping his as she gently takes the chick back and re-wraps it in the washcloth. “’Lil buddy you’re fine, you’re fine,” she coos. “I’ll grab you the hand sanitizer and leave you to some peace, alright man?” she addresses to Daryl, who's still a little distracted, so a grunt and a chin tilt is how he acknowledges this.

Merle would be laughing his ass off right now, goddamn. ‘Sweet lil virgin Darylina’ sounds about what he’d be cackling about.

Y/N flips open the cap with her thumb and squirts the hand stuff onto his palm. Smells like lemons.

So, he didn’t have that stuff before, meaning she’d likely been the one to put it in there when she’d cleaned his tent with Carol. “Hey, um, thanks for the surprise.” Damn, he’s awkward. Smells way better in here.”

“Carol is so wanting to help you in any way she can. I was in it just to see you end up with that pretty floral pillowcase. I had to stop her from hangin' the matching curtains,” she snickers, then waves him goodbye and, boom, leaves.

So…how long until his heartbeat and head stop racing?

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

You

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

Yet another stage performance today. You had to act like you weren’t distracted by how boyishly charming Daryl looked lounging there with his shirt unbuttoned to his hecking waist, good Moses. But like, the way he snuggled the chick, and how your legit lips bumped into his fingers?? It was an accident! Ohh, but how he'd noticed your panicking so was all soothing and stuff...

Dude, and you were trying to sit like a dainty lady the whole time, too, what a poser.

Still, you think you were convincing in your latest stage performance. Oscar-worthy. Golden Globe. Emmy. Tony. Somebody hook you up with your EGOT.

Oh, and that little jab at his new pillowcase, aw yes, that was top tier friendzoning!

Or — oh, it wasn’t interpreted as flirting, right? No way did you intend that! And, hold up, there's no way he'd even care. It's Daryl.

Eh, you've earned a B- so far at being chill. You've got to get that grade up.

So, you are going to go pick fruit, alone, and you’re going to stuff your face because the show is over, you’re off stage for the rest of the day!

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 ; @oceanticspace ; @whistlesalot ; @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer ; @dreamingaboutthewonderland ; @kwazii-kat ; @darylsmavis ; @outlanderhornet22 ; @battinsonrobs ; @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable ; @writingmybeloved ; @boomergirl123 ; @iheartathena0 ; @moonliight-luv ; @suniloli ; @supernaturalgirl02 ; @cnake-garden ; @daryldixmedown ; @sophehe ; @crashlyrose ; @virgo-sunflower920 ; @jennythe ; @theficbaker ; @vampireautism ; @rosetta196 ; @wifeof-barnes ; @thegemthatreads ; @redjaylee ; @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes! Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox. We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)

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maxdibert · 4 months ago

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can i vent here?

i wanna scream every time marauders stans pulling snape-creepy-obsessive-stalker narrative (ugh but he’s not the one with a tracking map and invisible cloak, is he?)

when regulus stans(that are also anti snape) listing reasons why they like his character in canon discussions, and they just…describing canon snape???(i guess fanon too impactful for them huh)

istg they were not this bad before, i have a theory that the shift on the behaviour of these stans is marked by the existence of ⏰app and *redacted* fic

This obsession with Regulus has really caught me by surprise because I’ve been out of the fandom for a few years, and when I first got into it back in the days of Fanfiction.net and LiveJournal, he wasn’t a character anyone really paid attention to, or at least if they did, they portrayed him as a sort of 70s Draco Malfoy and that was about it. The fact that he’s now being treated as a victim of abuse and mistreatment who had no choice but to join the Death Eaters is laughable to me because it’s well-established in canon (Sirius himself says it) that his brother always followed the family’s rules and was actually Walburga’s favorite because of it. (Though I’ve always thought that if Walburga had so much contempt for her eldest son, it wasn’t just about politics, but because Sirius and she had very similar personalities: both were uncontrollable and insufferable, and she couldn’t stand seeing herself reflected in someone who despised everything she valued. And that Regulus probably had a calmer, more malleable, less confrontational character like his father. But anyway.)

Regulus is no martyr. Regulus was a young aristocrat completely aligned with his social class and its prevailing ideas, just like Draco or many of the Slytherins who were Death Eater children during Harry’s time. I’ve always seen Regulus as similar to Narcissa (in contrast to Sirius, who’s like Bellatrix) with pride in his surname and bloodline, with the belief that being who they are makes them superior to others, and with the firm conviction that those beneath them are worth much less or nothing at all. And, like Narcissa, I don’t see him as sadistic, just someone who joined what he joined feeling quite sure of himself but then got scared when things got out of hand. It’s something that happens to many people who join far-right groups, completely convinced of what they’re seeking, but then back down when they come face-to-face with extreme violence. But to project him as some poor victim… Please. Not only is it incoherent and a betrayal of canon, but it also takes away all the character’s depth. You’re stripping away the tragedy of his regret. You’re robbing him of the chance to become disillusioned with what happened and rebel against it. It’s a mess.

I’m convinced that the new Marauders fans simply hate Snape because: 1) he’s the living, canonical representation that their favorite characters were bullies and abusers, and it completely destroys the narrative they’ve created of the idyllic, super-progressive group of friends; 2) because they’re classist jerks who prefer to fangirl over the cool rich kids with money and status who are on the dark side, essentially turning it into some kind of magical Gossip Girl; and 3) because he’s not canonically attractive, and therefore they can’t make aesthetic TikTok videos with him. It’s such a superficial and absurd perspective, much like treating as canon a bunch of characters whose personalities, relationships, and stories don’t exist in the books because for most of them, we only know their names. But hey, fans like this have just enough brain cells to not crap themselves, so…

#severus snape #pro severus snape #pro snape #regulus black #sirius black #james potter #marauders #marauders era #the marauders

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laneboyheathens · 23 days ago

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Speculative season 2 posting because I am being plagued with Melshi thoughts:

Melshi gets arrested as part of wider/disparate rebellion activities (pirate radio Melshi PLEASE)

Because of the arrest, the PreMor blaster that Cassian gave him at the end of Ep11 is run through a system check

Cue ISB involvement

This is probably below Dedras pay grade (assuming no demotion after the Rix Road catastrophe) but they send Ghorst in for interrogation purposes

But, there is a lay period between when Ghorst can get there and oh wouldn’t you know they’ve got electrified floors in the cells

“Who the fuck is Cassian Andor”/“oh shit that’s Keef Girgo”

Cassian & Bix are trying to get the other arrestees out for unrelated reasons

One of those people is Ham/another Narkina 5 survivor

Also has an “oh shit Keef Girgo” moment but tells them that they took Melshi for further questioning

Oh no Ghorst has arrived

It’s okay Bix gets to blast his brains out (or put him in the torture machine and leave it turned on whatever floats your fancy)

Melshian 30 minute sex scene in the U-Wing (K2 is making sarcastic remarks)

#I am a deeply unserious person #spec fic I would write but am not going to have the time to #vibrating out of my skin how are they going to meet again #dani andorposting #(sorry for copying your tag sukie but it’s an excellent tag)#melshian #ruescott melshi

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specialagentlokitty · 10 months ago

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Aizawa x reader - the heart of a hero

Part 2:

You woke up to something being thrown at your head and you groaned, rolling over to the side.

“Don’t be such a bitch…”

“You need to take your tiny foods!” Venom yelled.

Reaching down, you pat the floor, trying to find the bottle and you picked them up, reading the label before looking at the symbiotesface in front of yours.

“You know these are food right?”

“The science man said you have to take them!”

You grumbled, tossing them back across your apartment, only to have venom fling them back at your head.

“That’s abusive man, what the fuck?”

“Take your tiny foods!”

You sighed, sitting up as you picked up the bottle, walking over to the sink to get a glass of water.

“Will you stop throwing them at me if I take them?”

“Maybe.”

Venom came over, studying you for a moment as you took your medication.

“I still don’t understand why we have to take the tiny food.”

“They’re antidepressants idiot, they’re supposed to make me so called normal. Anyway, I have work, so let’s go.”

You grabbed your work shirt, pulling it on over the one you were wearing, and you made your way to the quiet cafe.

You didn’t work much, you worked part time, it was the only job you could get, the pay was crap, your boss was horrible, but it paid for your medication you had to take, and let you buy a little bit of food each week.

As always, you finished late, you threw your hoodie back on and pulled your hood up as you left the kitchen of the restaurant, making your way into the dark street.

“I am hungry!”

“You’re always hungry…” you grumbled.

“I want brains!”

“You wouldn’t eat the damn chickens!” You hissed.

The creature huffed a little bit, taking control of your legs and you just sighed, letting him.

You couldn’t be bothered fighting him, and you didn’t feel like going home straight away either, so you let venom lead the way.

He jumped up on to a building, and you pulled your bandana up as you crouched down, resting your arms on your legs.

You stared at the ground below, yawning a little bit.

“This blows, can’t we just go to the shop. You’re not going to eat their heads anyways.”

“I crave violence!”

“Of course you do…”

Sighing heavily, you rested your elbow on your knee, and your chin on your hand, slowly looking over the streets.

So many people wondering about, probably having actual homes to go to, friends, families, maybe some of them felt the same way you did, you weren’t sure.

You were half asleep at that point, but when you heard a noise behind you, and the feeling of being tangled up in some sort of fabric you just sighed as you were dragged backwards.

“You’re coming with me venom.”

You recognised that voice.

Tilting your head up a little, your eyes bore into his, and you looked away again.

“Venom mask…”

Soon enough your body was gone, and he free of the scarf, and he let out a loud laugh as he pointed at the hero.

“I will eat your brain!”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“You are no fun!” He huffed.

Venom looked around, noticing a helicopter light was on him.

“Look, just try lose them if you can.”

“Fine!”

Venom ran towards the end of the building, jumping down the ledge.

He used the surrounding buildings to jump around, jumping between them, or swinging from them to get around corners.

He was fast, but you noticed that the pair of you weren’t alone in the skies, and in his attempts to escape from the heroes, you realised it was on purpose.

“It’s a trap!”

Before venom could stop, he came crashing into a clearing full of pros and police, all then them focused on the pair of you.

Venom looked around the construction site, grabbing some steel beams as he held them above his head with a roar.

“Venom don’t! They’ve got us, just sit down.”

You didn’t want to hurt any of them, so you forced him to give himself up as well, watching as they cuffed you, leading you to the back of a van.

You were taken away, taken to an isolated cell with guns in each corner, and you were strapped to the chair.

“I want food!” Venom yelled.

A police officer stood in front of the glass, arms crossed.

“Tell is who you are first. What’s your real name?”

“We are venom.”

“We know you have another form, I want to speak to that one, we believe that’s the true owner of the body, am I right?”

Venom tilted his head a little, grinning widely to show his teeth.

“I have eaten them!”

“No you haven’t. Where is the human? What is your quirk?”

Venom pushed his feet on the floor, pushing his chair backwards, and the guns followed him.

“I will stare at the ceiling!”

Half of venoms face receded to show yours.

“You dumbass, we’re going to be stuck like this now. Idiot.”

“I do not want to look at his ugly face!”

“I don’t want to lay here forever either, push us back up!”

“Fine! But you can look at his stupid face!”

Venom pushed you both back up, quickly covering you as the guns fired, and you waited for them to stop.

When they did, he fully disappeared, hiding inside of your again.

The officer couldn’t see much of you, you kept your head down, and you were still wearing your bandana.

“What’s your name?”

“His name is venom.”

“I want to know your name.”

You didn’t respond.

“What’s your quirk?”

Again you didn’t respond.

“Who do you work for? The league of villains?”

This caught your attention, and you lifted your head just enough so he could see your eyes.

“I’m not a villain.” You spat.

“Then what have you been doing?”

You refused to reply to his question, and he sighed, crossing his arms.

“Fine, I’ll try again tomorrow.”

They kept trying, day after day, you had your food delivered by robots, which venom enjoyed messing with.

You wouldn’t give the a chance to get closer to you to see your face, or try take your hood down, venom always had you covered, the mist they would flood the room with to knock you out didn’t affect the alien.

So he would keep you covered while you slept, or while they flooded the room with it.

You had broken free of your restraints a while ago, but you didn’t have the effort to try and break out of the prison, so you kept to your cell.

You were sitting in the corner playing a game with venom with some cards you had hidden in your pocket when you heard the speak activate.

“We have some heroes who are here to talk to you.”

Venom lifted his head to look up, and you smirked, swapping his cards before going back to looking at your own.

The speaker was shut down, so you couldn’t heard their conversation.

“Why aren’t they restrained?” Aizawa asked.

“They kept breaking out, they seem to have no interest in escaping.”

Aizawa nodded his head, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked through the window.

“He’s strong enough to escape, why won’t he?”

“We don’t think he’s the one in control, at least not fully. He seems to sometimes listen to what the other says. We don’t know their name, they won’t tell us, they just keep telling us they aren’t a villain, that’s it.”

Aizawa nodded his head, carefully studying the pair of you before.

Venom used your left hand to pick up his cards and he narrowed his eyes a bit before throwing them in the air.

“You cheated!”

“No I didn’t!”

He took over your body before launched you across the room, quickly uncovering you so your back slammed into the wall.

You fell on the floor with a heavy groan.

“This is why no one likes you…”

“They do this every day.” The officer sighed.

He left the room, leaning Aizawa sitting there.

“Venom the hero who found you is here to ask you a few questions.”

You and venom looked up, and you stared at Aizawa, pushing yourself to your feet.

Walking over, you stood in front of the glass with your hands in your pockets like him.

“Who do you work for?” He asked.

“I’m not a damn villain! Stop asking that!” You snapped.

“We eat villains!”

You turned to venom.

“Stop saying that shit we don’t eat them!”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes a little, then activated his quirk.

Venom decided to play along with this and hid himself inside you, and you rose a brow in confusion.

“You’re not a hero either, so what are you? Who are you?”

You sighed heavily.

“I’m a vigilante. Bringing down villains, we’ve never actually hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.”

“That’s still a criminal offence.”

“Doesn’t make us a villain, just a criminal then.”

“What’s your name?”

You stayed quiet.

“This is the same question they refuse to answer. That and what their quirk is.” The officer said.

Aizawa released his quirky, and venom came back out, putting his face against the glass.

“We want our tiny foods!”

“You won’t tell us what your tiny foods are! What does it mean?!” An officer shouted over the speaker.

“The tiny foods that make us normal!”

“Medication? What kind of medication?” Aizawa asked.

Maybe this could narrow down their search, if they could find the matching name or description from doctors, they might be able to figure out who you are.

“The tiny foods make us normal, so we are not so sad.” Venom said.

You sighed, placing a hand on top of your hood.

“He means antidepressants. I take antidepressants.”

“What’s your name, we can get a prescription for you.” Aizawa said.

“Im not stupid.”

“We’re going to find out anyway.”

You walked over to the back of the room, sitting down, resting your arm on your knee as you began throwing the cards across the room.

“No you’re not. I’ve been out of the system for years.”

“You’ll still be somewhere, we’ll ask around.”

You scoffed.

“I don’t get why you won’t leave us alone…”

“You’re using your quirk, scaring civilians, and taking justice into your own hands.”

“Well if people just left me alone like I wanted…”

“What’s your name?” Aizawa pressed.

You pushed yourself up again, marching over to the glass and you pulled your bandanna down, letting him get a good look at your face.

“There, happy now? You know exactly who I am.” You snapped.

With that, you pulled your bandanna back up and went back to your corner.

“Just leave us alone…”

“(Y/N)…” he whispered.

“Bring us the tiny food!” Venom roared.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes a little bit.

You were you, he’d recognise you anywhere, but he couldn’t recognise you all at the same time, you looked so tired, worn down, you looked so sad and void of emotion all at the same time

#my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha imagine #Aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #Aizawa imagine

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covid-safer-hotties · 3 months ago

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Also preserved in our archive

A COVID-19 infection can bring on depression or anxiety months after physical symptoms go away

It can take weeks, months or even longer to physically recover from COVID-19. But if you still feel “not right” after the coughing, fever, congestion and other symptoms have gone away, there could be reason for it.

The virus may have affected your mental health.

“We know that viral infections like the flu can lead to post-viral depression,” says psychiatrist Jack Owens, MD. “It makes sense — and ongoing research is showing — that some people develop depression, anxiety or other mental health issues after they’ve had COVID-19.”

What exactly is the connection? Dr. Owens shares what we know.

Can COVID-19 cause depression? In short, yes, COVID-19 can cause depression.

A study found that people with no prior history of a mental health disorder were up to 8% more likely to develop depression, anxiety or other mental health symptoms within two weeks to three months after a COVID-19 infection. The risk was twice as high in those who already had a mental health disorder.

Other research indicates that many people experience mental health issues six months after being ill:

About 90% of people (9 in 10) who were hospitalized with COVID-19 About 25% (1 in 4) in nonhospitalized adults The risk of depression remains high for up to a year after a COVID-19 illness, regardless of your past mental health history.

“Even people who feel fine physically may find themselves struggling to sleep, concentrate or enjoy life the way they used to before they got COVID-19,” notes Dr. Owens.

5 ways COVID-19 causes depression We know that stress and isolation during the pandemic negatively impacted mental health. But researchers are now examining the connection between COVID-19 and depression, beyond the effects of the pandemic.

Dr. Owens shares five factors that may be at play, as well as steps to take if you develop post-viral depression.

1. Inflammation Inflammation may cause changes in your brain that trigger depression or anxiety.

Here’s how.

COVID-19 causes your immune system to flood your body with chemicals called cytokines. A “cytokine storm” can cause inflammation throughout your body, including your brain.

Studies suggest that people with high levels of cytokines are more likely to have a severe case of COVID-19, as well as develop a mental health disorder.

2. Damage to brain cells The COVID-19 virus and the inflammation it causes may damage brain cells (neurons) and supportive cells (glial cells) that are crucial for brain activity and repair.

Researchers believe this damage may contribute to depression, anxiety and COVID-19 symptoms, like:

Brain fog COVID-19 fatigue Memory loss 3. Lowered mood-boosting chemicals One study found that people with long COVID had lower levels of serotonin — a natural mood booster that’s key to regulating emotions, memory and other brain functions.

People with long COVID have symptoms like headaches and difficulty thinking that last for three months or longer.

“You may get anxious and depressed if it’s months after your illness ‘should be’ over and you still feel unwell,” Dr. Owens says.

Depression and anxiety occur frequently in people with long COVID. So much so that many experts now consider them to be long COVID symptoms, rather than a result of having the illness.

4. Effects on blood sugar Another study showed that COVID-19 affected the brain’s ability to use blood sugar (glucose).

Blood sugar is your brain’s primary source of energy. Study participants with lower-than-usual blood sugar levels had pain, insomnia, memory issues and other persistent symptoms up to three weeks after a COVID-19 diagnosis.

Altogether, these conditions can also play a role in developing mental health issues.

5. Impacts on your life In addition to the biological effects of COVID-19, being sick can lead to financial worries due to missed work and medical bills. It can be isolating. And stressful. All of which can trigger mental health concerns.

“People who don’t have the financial means or social support to see them through an illness may have a higher risk for depression or anxiety after they recover,” Dr. Owens shares.

Signs of post-COVID depression Depression after COVID-19 causes the same symptoms as depression without illness — with a few exceptions.

“Some people with post-virus depression may feel guilty or blame themselves for getting sick,” Dr. Owens points out.

Other common signs of depression include:

Appetite changes that may lead to unintended weight loss or gain Changes to facial expressions, such as being slow to smile Difficulty concentrating, thinking or remembering (brain fog) Fatigue or low energy Feelings of hopelessness Loss of interest in activities that usually bring joy Poor sleep (insomnia) In some instances, severe depression can lead to:

Self-harm Substance misuse or abuse Suicidal ideation Signs of post-COVID anxiety The signs of anxiety and COVID-induced anxiety are also similar.

Dr. Owens notes that someone who develops anxiety after COVID-19 may worry about getting sick again or developing long COVID. If you were hospitalized, you may keep thinking about or reliving the hospital experience.

Other signs of anxiety include:

Difficulty relaxing or enjoying oneself Feeling nervous, restless or on edge (irritable) Poor or unusual responses to stressful situations Slowed thinking. Help for post-COVID depression Get help if depression symptoms negatively impact your life or persist for two weeks. Your primary care provider can be a good first step and may help you find a therapist or psychiatrist.

Depending on the severity of your symptoms, you may benefit from therapy, such as psychotherapy (talk therapy), medications, like antidepressants and anti-anxiety drugs, or a combination of the two.

These steps can also help protect your mental health when you’re sick with COVID-19 or recovering:

Eat nutritious foods that fight inflammation. Find healthy ways to relieve stress. Improve your sleep. Limit alcohol. Practice meditation, mindfulness or restorative yoga. Stop doomscrolling. Get well soon(er) The stress of being sick with COVID-19 can make you feel like you’re on an emotional rollercoaster. It’s common to feel worried, sad or tired when you’re not feeling well. Be kind to yourself and give your body and mind time to heal.

“Your physical and mental health greatly affect each other,” Dr. Owens reminds us. “Most people feel better mentally as COVID-induced inflammation and other physical symptoms subside. If that’s not true for you, talk to your provider so you can get the care you need.”

Study: www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(20)30462-4/fulltext

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #depression #anxiety #mental health

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untamedwind01 · 6 months ago

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I’m not done with tgg yet and I like how team diamonds are obviously a good team on their own, they’ve got the brains. Team hearts has the experience too. And team clubs has caffeine and 2 brain cells

#the grandest game #savannah grayson #grayson hawthorne #gigi grayson #lyra kane #knox landry #brady daniels

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dumbass-duo-showdown · 1 year ago

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DUMBASS DUOSHOWN ROUND 2 BATTLE 2

DENJI & POWER FROM CHAINSAW MAN vs GUS & SHAWN FROM PSYCH

REMINDER TO CHECK OUT THE PROPAGANDA

denji & power had so much propaganda they got their own post!

Gus & Shawn

They’ve been friends canonically since at least 3 years old and at the start of the show they’re I wanna say 30 maybe? And yet these two grown men are THE most chaotic idiots (affectionate) in the whole show (and let’s be real anywhere). The entire show in fact hinges on the idea that they’re dumbasses and WILL get into carat shenanigans. Episode examples include the one where they are investigating an alien abduction, the one where they’re looking for big foot, the vampire one, all of these by the way they hundred percent believe to be true until they themselves unwillingly prove otherwise. And maybe the most dumbass moment of all time, when Gus finds his boss dead and instead of calling the cops he gets his dna ALL OVER THE CRIME SCENE, calls Shane to help clean up and Shawn gets HIS DNA ALL OVER THE CRIME SCENE AS WELL!!!! Truly cannot think of a worse reaction to finding a dead body. They’ve been sucking that single brain cell that exists between them dry for over 3 decades now and they show no signs of stopping.

they are such idiots (affectionate) and they can't live without each other

they are. so stupid. both of them can be smart in their own ways but when you put them together the dumb best friends energy is unmatched. they are platonic soulmates pretending that shawn has psychic powers and solve crimes by dicking around and somehow always coming out alive. they accidentally befriend the criminals they’re supposed to be investigating constantly. they’re always one step away from being fired or arrested bc of their dumbassery

the entire show is literally shawn pretending to be a psychic (← dumbass behavior) and gus aiding and abetting him and actively a dumbass as well

If you have seen even a single episode of this show, you know these two fools are the best duo ever. Constantly bantering theough 80s movie references and animal like noises, most often above a dead body, these two bring unique different dummy energy that both brings each other up and builds up their own skills along the way. I will love these two men until the day I die and they deserve an honest chance to be the best dumbass duo of all time!

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nonmurdery · 8 months ago

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MORONIC EYES

suit saeran + reader | oneshot

summary: reader deals with the aftermath of saeran’s bad ending 2.

author’s note: hello! this is my first time posting my writing on tumblr. i recently got back into mystic messenger thanks to @cvhenia and fell hopelessly back in love with these pixel arrangements. i’m already thinking of writing a pt.2 for this.

trigger warnings: verbal abuse, starvation, suicidal thoughts

word count: 1,482

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

This is Reader’s doing. Isn’t it? At least, that’s what Saeran’s been telling them for the past forty-nine days. Forty-nine days. That's how long he has spent delighting in their misery. It's been fifty-eight days since their arrival to Mint Eye, nearly two months.

“…Ugh. I suppose you’ve earned something to eat, moron.” He sauntered over to the single pedestal table in the middle of their room. Along with the black vase with its assortment of flowers, there was a platter of sandwiches. Two pale pink wingback chairs flanked the table, one with a decorative square pillow. Reader has grown weary of the shade; that same pink occupied their blanket and pillowcases. They bit back any comments about how it sickened them—it made sense that Saeran would change their ivory walls and curtains to pink in order to torment them further.

They were sitting on their knees, on the mattress where they spent most of their days. Reader toyed with the hem of their dress, the same dress Saeran kept them in. Once, they might’ve thought the flower patterns and vine embroidery across the blackness of the smooth fabric was beautiful. Now, the dress was a tragedy.

At least Saeran dressed in the same well-tailored suit that hugged his body. Reader redirected their attention to the rain lashing the windows. They imagined hanging out in it with old friends. A ghost of a smile graced their lips imagining the scene: Yoosung slipping in a puddle and dragging Saeyoung down with him, Jaehee suppressing laughter, Zen’s mocking smirk, and Jumin hiding away under an umbrella.

It's difficult to picture what they're doing right now. Hopefully not locked away in a tower like the Brothers Grimm’s Rapunzel with her long, gold tresses.

They imagined Zen to be the one clad in prince’s attire and chanting: “Reader, Reader, let down your hair!” from below. He'd make a great fairy tale prince. They pictured him beaming at their comparison.

With the rain, Reader’s mind became flooded with thoughts of their kind-hearted Ray. They'd kiss him as rain beat down on the two. Reader regretted not kissing them harder in the secluded garden. Their daydreams went up in smoke with the loud click of Saeran's tongue.

“Are you deaf? Or do you just lack the brain cells to understand me?” Saeran's mouth slid into a lopsided grin.

Reader's eyes roved freely over his figure. He lifted a brow and moved into one of the seats, his movements perfectly feline. Saeran picked up one of the little finger sandwiches off its silver platter and bit into it, chewing slowly. “See? it’s not poisonous.” Not that I'd waste poison on you, he failed to add.

They’ve trusted him before, only to get their gifts ripped from them. Reader didn’t remember when they started thinking of food as a gift … Maybe when it became a rare delicacy. Saeran’s cruelty seemingly knew no bounds. They only wondered when he'd get a partner to spite them. They’ve lost a dangerous amount of weight in their time at mint eye. Reader has started to lose other things, too.

Small things, mostly. Such as autonomy, freedom, access to daily showers, and the RFA. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t lost great things—take afternoon walks and cold lemonade in the summertime for example.

“Ask: ‘Saeran, may I please eat lunch with you?’”

When they went to speak, their tongue felt leaden. Despite this they asked: “Saeran, may I please eat lunch with you?”

Reader’s voice cracked right in the middle of their sentence.

That fiendish smile on his moon-white face grew. “You may, Reader.” He watched as they reluctantly left their spot on the mattress and sat in the other chair.

Saeran’s minty blue eyes filled with amusement. He propped his cheek with a spare hand and his snow-white hair shifted, the frosted pink edges falling over one eye. It was difficult to imagine him with crimson hair and honey-colored eyes like his twin, Saeyoung. They gingerly reached for one of the small sandwiches and picked it up. Seconds later, they wolfed down the entire thing, going in for seconds.

“You’re such a hog.” He made a face. “I’d kill you if you weren’t fun to break.”

“I wish you'd do it. Get it over with.” Their eyes spoke what their lips refused to.

He can pretend to have power all he wants; Reader knows the truth. Saeran is equally weak, if not weaker. He’s under Savior’s control, just like everyone else in Mint Eye. That’s what made it difficult to completely hate him. Reader justified his wrongdoings because of his trauma. Their bodies are bony, skeletal, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. The main difference between the two of them was the smell. Saeran smelled like his floral lotions while Reader’s scent consisted of sour breath and sweat.

Saeran saw the flickering embers within their eyes, the remaining fight from their lost inferno. He wanted them to snap and say something without his permission. Reader is only a shell of their former being. They’ve lost nearly all hope of being rescued by the RFA. If Saeran sought further control, he’d need to reevaluate his plan. His harsh words elicited no more tears from the faucet in their eyes.

Did that mean their affection for Ray has gone down the drain so soon? They stopped fighting for him. Saeran expected them to burn brighter. To Reader’s satisfaction, he found himself painfully disappointed in them.

“Dull as dishwater,” he mumbled under his breath.

It's not like they're silent without reason. Saeran commanded them to only say “yes” to him. Yet there isn't anything worth talking about anyway. They lowered their eyelids, watching the sandwiches as if they'd grow legs and crawl off the platter.

“I’ll be back.” Saeran’s bottom lip caught between his teeth on his way out of the room.

They let loose a sigh of relief when the door clicked behind him. Reader placed a hand over their chest in an attempt to calm their thundering heart. They gobbled up the rest of the sandwiches, not sparing a crumb. If they kept this up, Saeran’s ought to get bored of them.

“Now,” Reader moved to the door when he surely left, twisting the knob.

When it didn’t open, they tried opening up the windows. This became something of a daily routine. Reader held a sliver of confidence that he’d forget to lock them in. Everybody makes mistakes. They've made a whopping amount of them. Enough to completely change their life in a number of days.

If only there was a reset button for this.

Even with one, they didn't trust themselves enough to not fall in love with Ray again and do this over again. Love had proven itself to be a destructive force.

“Oh, come on … There must be something.” They chewed on one of their jagged fingernails, contemplating their next decision.

Their attention turned to the vase on the table. Angrily, they scooped it up in their frail arms. Either it's heavier than it looks, or Reader has lost their strength. They walked over the light gray rug that sprawled across the floor and hurled the vase at their window.

Except they missed their shot. The vase slipped from their hands and crushed a foot beneath it. Tears rushed to their eyes from the pain as they let out a screech in response. Reader grabbed their foot and watched as water and flowers poured from the intact vase.

Why hadn't they thought to drink the water? Plant fertilizers are mildly poisonous, but it's better than nothing at all. Burning tears trailed down their cheeks. They took a sharp breath inward and threw themselves on the bed, landing on their back with their legs dangling off the side.

They sniveled as the tears gathered in their ears. Watching the brown chandelier overhead had also become a part of their daily routine. It reminded them of the parties they used to host. Reader interlaced their fingers and settled them on their belly.

Unknowingly, they melted into the void. A dreamless sleep with nothing beyond darkness. They've compared rest like this to death itself. It made death seem … Easy. Easier. Relaxing. Worth it; Saeran couldn't bathe in their sorrow if they were dead.

He never specified when he'd be back. But Reader saw no more of him for the night. Maybe he did show up with dinner for them, only leaving upon the discovery of their rest. No, that wasn't like him.

When their moronic eyes opened, they took in the expanse of their bedroom. Their temples throbbed from another migraine. Sunlight seeped in through the windows, casting a soft glow on the planes of Reader's face. How long had they slept? Was it the next day or a catnap later? Only one thing was for certain—

They were alive.

#my fic #mystic messenger #saeran choi #mysme rfa #fanfiction #yoosung kim #hyun ryu #jumin han #saeyoung choi #jaehee #rika kim #toxic relationship #toxic love

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lionlena · 2 years ago

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Why I think Fireflies are DUMB and Marlene is cruel

I re-watched episode 9 and this scene caught my attention

Okay, I know Marlene said the patrol didn't know them, but their behavior is still stupid to me. They didn't know it was Joel... Yes, that JOEL (damn dangerous dude). What did they see? The girl and probably her dad in the open space and yet they decided to waste the stun grenade launcher.

I'm assuming this isn't something you can buy on ebay in post-apocalyptic times. So? What should they do? They have the upper hand, they're obscured, they've got guns, and these two can't see them. In addition, Joel is not holding a gun in his hands, but has it slung over his shoulder. It would be enough to fire a warning shot in the air and shout: "Stop! You are surrounded! Put your hands up! Tell me who you are and what you are looking for!"

Is it really that hard? I'm under the impression that it is because fireflies are untrained and unorganized. I saw a similar situation in episode 7. Seriously, didn't any of the fireflies (with more than two brain cells) say, "Hey, this young girl with no experience is supposed to guard the warehouse by herself? Maybe someone older and more experienced should be with her? You know, so she doesn't do anything stupid. Like she don't go to quarantine zone and go get friend? I'm just saying"

I know FEDRA is evil anyway, but the fireflies will never defeat them. Why? Because FEDRA has a structure, a hierarchy and they are organized.

And now Marlene... She is surprised that Joel made it to their base. “We lost half our crew crossing the country. I had five men whose only job was to protect me. I still nearly died. How did you do that?"

My assumptions are that Marlene may have assumed Ellie was already dead. How long has it been since she last saw her? Four months? Half a year? She couldn't be 100% sure that Joel wouldn't abandon Ellie. Don't get me wrong. I love Joel. I love what a great father he is to Ellie, but Marlene didn't know that. To her, Joel was a smuggler who was supposed to smuggle Ellie in exchange for a reward. Any other smuggler would have decided after a week that all the hard work wasn't worth it. So what am I aiming for? I don't think Marlene was prepared for Ellie's arrival. The fireflies and the doctors weren't prepared either. The entire laboratory facilities were probably not prepared (assuming there were any at all some laboratory). And yet Marlene decided to kill Ellie. She didn't want to spend even one day with her friend's daughter. Why? Because she is cruel and blindly believes in something that has no logical or scientific basis. She stubbornly wants to save a world that no longer exists and that will never exist again.

And she's also cruel to Joel. She says, "I owe you a favor. We all are." And yet she denies him the most basic thing, which is goodbye. Anyone who, like me, has lost a loved one without being able to say goodbye to them knows how painful it is.

And she's also cruel to Anna. She promised her that she would take care of the baby, and what she did... 1/ She gave Ellie to FEDRA 2/ She gave Ellie to Joel Again, I love Joel, but to Marlene Joel is a cruel, brutal, heartless smuggler. 3/ She gave Ellie to a doctor who shouldn't even be called a doctor (Hippocratic Oath says something to someone? "Primum non nocere") Probably this doctor could have been blind, deaf, and paralyzed in his right arm, and Marlene would have agreed to the operation anyway.

She says: Our doctor thinks... Thinks? what the fuck? He should be sure. IN 100%. Because if it's true and Ellie is the only chance to create a cure, then you can't assume anything... YOU HAVE TO BE SURE OF IT

But the peak of her cruelty for me are these words: I do understand. I am the only one who understands...

How dare you? How fucking dare you say that! You don't understand anything!!! You didn't lose your baby. For twenty years you haven't had the same nightmare that one day became true again. You don't know what it's like to be a parent again. You don't know what Ellie's been through. You didn't see her fear, her tears, her laughter. You weren't with her the first time she drove the car, the first time she slept in the woods, the first time she saw a giraffe.

you know nothing jon snow

Ok, and back to fireflies and their stupidity again.

If Ellie was so important. Why was the operating room so poorly protected? At least three soldiers should stand by the doctor and not move even when they hears shots.

But again they showed their disorganization. Why? Perhaps the biggest mistake is not having the right leader. Imagine if someone like Joel was their leader. Someone who always expects the worst. Someone who thinks first and then acts.

That's why fireflies are stupid to me. Because first they act (throw a grenade, carry out an operation... they hand over the children to a smuggler) and only then... wait... No, they don't think. They only act.

And what do they get in return? Angry Joel in killer mode :D So seriously. It wasn't even Joel's fault. The fireflies asked for it.

#the last of us #tlou hbo #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams #joel and ellie #marlene #fireflies #team joel #joel is the sweetest person in the world #by the time #until the stupidity and cruelty of the others puts him into angry dad mode #my analysis #Pedro Pascal #bella ramsey

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starwalker42 · 2 years ago

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human credentials

A realisation, a car ride, and a question.

“Scully… do you think there’s a chance you might be autistic?”

Autistic!Scully fic, because my brain wouldn't shut up until I wrote it. I've pictured it taking place in season 2, but it could probably fit anywhere between season 1-6. Many thanks to @i-want-those-files for the autistic Scully meta that started this whole thing, and for the Discord loaves who have put up with me talking about this for weeks <3

Read on AO3 | @today-in-fic

It's been a long morning.

A phone call at 3am; Skinner’s voice, still thick with sleep, apologising for the early hour. Some weapons bust at a warehouse in northern Virginia – intel was fresh, perps were in place, and all hands were needed on deck for go time in two hours. A car would be outside his apartment in ten minutes. Mulder had rolled off his couch, turned off Space Odyssey, and was waiting by the kerb within two.

Scully was already in the back of the sedan, but they’d maybe exchanged ten words on the way – she’d dozed as Mulder had watched the pitch-black countryside roll past the window, feeling a familiar itch buzz through him. If he was back at his apartment, he’d be heading out for a run to shake it off. He guessed an armed raid would be a suitable replacement.

They got to the rendezvous late, barely twenty minutes before it was time to go – just enough time to get kitted out and receive a rundown on the plan. He sat next to Scully in the SWAT van, elbows bumping in the close quarters, and waited for the signal to go.

It was loud, messy, but over in less than ten minutes – the gang had been caught unaware, with barely a chance to react. All the same, there were casualties: two agents and four suspects wounded in the crossfire, and one suspect dead from a hand grenade he’d detonated accidentally. Mulder’s ears were still ringing, four hours later.

Four hours later, when he’s still at the warehouse, because a big raid like this means one thing: paperwork.

His rifle has been checked three separate times, and he’s been asked the same questions twice, by separate senior officers: How many times did you fire your weapon? Do you feel you reacted with proportionate force? Who provided your orders? Did you voice any concerns prior to engagement? Were these listened to by your task force leader?

And he’s answered the questions as they want him to, playing the good little FBI agent and biting back any sarcastic response that threatens to raise its head. They’ve shut the X-Files before. He doesn’t need to give them encouragement to do it again.

Once the seniors are satisfied, he’s allowed to go, so long as he promises to keep his cell phone close by and not to speak to any press until the official statement is released. They give him permission to turn in his vest and helmet, and after leaving the debrief area he’s finally allowed to talk to the other agents milling around the scene, looking just as drained and bored as he feels.

There’s only one agent he wants to talk to, but she’s nowhere to be found.

He feels his heart twist in something that feels like disappointment as he realises she’s probably long gone, on her way back home after her own debrief. There’s an understanding that they won’t be in the office until later, now, but part of him had been hoping they’d drive back to Washington together, sharing common grievances and singing to the radio. He swallows the familiar feeling of abandonment and asks another agent how to get out of here.

“There are cars out the back.” Mulder nods and turns to leave, until the agent adds, “Good luck out there.”

He doesn’t bother asking why, but the comment is explained soon enough.

Someone must have tipped off the press, because the moment he steps out of the warehouse he’s blinded by camera flashes. There are microphones being thrust towards him, and he can’t respond even if he’d wanted to, because all the questions are flowing together, too loud for him to hear. For a long moment he just stands there, blinking away the sunspots in his vision.

Then he remembers – he’s got to be a good little FBI agent, and standing mute and dumb in front of the press is not a good look.

“Excuse me.” He squeezes past the cameras, keeping his head down.

He isn’t wearing his windbreaker, and he hopes that with nothing to formally identify him as FBI the journalists will soon lose interest. A few keep trying as he edges through the crowd, but after a few ‘no comment’s they leave him alone.

As he leaves them behind, the first drops of rain start to fall. He hurries around the side of the warehouse to the cars, flashing his ID to the agent monitoring them as he ducks under the ticker tape.

It’s a standard fleet, government-issue black sedans, and Mulder knows each one has the keys waiting for him in the ignition, ready for him to head back to Alexandria with the understanding that he’ll return it to the Hoover Building at his convenience.

He doesn’t like being a good little FBI agent, but it does have its perks.

He’s surveying the cars, reading to take his pick, when he sees a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye.

It’s Scully. She’s sat in a car – in the passenger seat, he realises with a grin.

She waited. Of course she did.

He practically bounds over, throwing open the driver’s door, and leans in. “To Georgetown, ma’am?”

She doesn’t acknowledge him. At first, he thinks nothing of it, just climbs into the seat and starts to buckle his seatbelt, but then he notices her hands. She’s got both of them resting on her thighs, and she’s clenching and releasing her fists, over and over, so fast it seems an almost unintentional movement, a spasm of muscles.

He looks up at her face, and realises her eyes are squeezed shut. Her shoulders are tight, pulled up towards her ears, and her hands keep going. In, out, in, out.

He’s never seen her like this. He’s not sure what to make of it.

“Scully?”

There’s a noise, then, a whine almost, quiet but continuous, and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s coming from his partner.

“Scully?”

It doesn’t stop. To his distress, her movements start to get more frantic, her fists clenching faster and faster, until suddenly something changes. Before he can stop her, her hands have come up and she’s hitting herself, slapping her open palms against the side of her head hard enough that it must be hurting, but she doesn’t stop.

Mulder doesn’t think, just moves – he gets out of the car, indifferent to the steady downpour that’s now started, and heads to her side, opening the passenger door. He reaches in and grabs her wrists, so tight he can see the skin there turning red as he pulls her arms away, back into her lap.

“Scully, stop.”

His touch seems to freeze her, and she stops, not fighting him – but as soon as her hands still, her feet start to move, her knees bouncing up and down, and she’s still making that noise, a soft keening in the back of her throat. Frantic, he runs his eyes over her, searching for an injury, blood, anything that would explain… oh.

Some part of his brain finally kicks into gear, and as he watches her, watches the tension in her body and the need to move, it all slowly starts to make sense in a way he hadn’t been expecting but now seems entirely logical.

“Scully,” he says quietly, kneeling down next to the car. “Scully, I think I know what’s going on. I know you need to help yourself calm down, but I can’t let you do something that’ll hurt you. Okay?”

She doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t open her eyes or relax, but she acknowledges him, gives him a quick, jerky nod of the head.

“So if I let go of you, I need you to do something that won’t hurt. Promise me?”

Scully nods again, and he releases her wrists.

As he’s expected, her legs slow their bouncing as she laces her fingers together, squeezing them against each other. Little by little, her shoulders start to relax.

Mulder stays kneeling by her side, and keeps his voice quiet, his tone even.

“Can you tell me what happened back there?”

For a long moment, Scully doesn’t reply, just sits there, clenching her hands. Then, just as quietly as he had, she speaks. “It was too much. It was just… too loud, and too bright, and there were too many people, and it wouldn’t stop.”

Her hands start to move faster, and he fights the urge to grab onto her again. Instead, he exaggerates his breathing, gently prompting Scully to do the same, helping her breaths come slow and deep. He waits until her hands slow down, and then asks her another question.

“How can I help?”

“Uh…” She gives a shaky smile at that. “Honestly, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

That eases the grip of fear from around his heart, just a little. He’s doing something right, at least. Realising he’s still crouched next to her open door, he starts to straighten, giving her space.

“Should I get back in the car?”

For the first time, Scully’s eyes open, seeking his.

“No,” she pleas. “Stay there?”

Her desperation makes him pause; he relaxes back onto his haunches as her eyes slide shut again, and stays in place by her side, feeling the rain drip off his hair. “Okay. I’m here for as long as you need me.”

Gradually, her hands start to slow, moving from a regular rhythm of clenching and releasing to an occasional squeeze together, until they’re resting on her lap, entwined but still. Her breathing has steadied, too, and with a final deep inhale Scully lifts her head and opens her eyes again to look at him.

“Okay. I think I’m okay.”

There's a moment where he wants to say something, wants to take her hand and squeeze it, but he stops himself, aware they’re not completely alone.

Instead, he suggests the only thing that he can. "Do you want to get out of here?"

She breaks eye contact, something under the surface that he can’t quite place. "Yeah. Let's do that."

He gets back in the car and they drive.

xXx

It’s been almost an hour of driving before Scully speaks.

“I’m sorry about that.”

They’ve made good progress through the near-empty roads on the way to DC, but now, as they near the capital, the traffic has started to pile up; Mulder watches the rain bounce off the trunk of the car ahead as he tries to think of a way to reply.

Finally, he settles for an easy response, a non-answer, really. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. Calmer. I think it was bad because I hadn’t slept - my nerves were a little frayed.”

“Has it happened before?”

“A few times. I normally deal with it before it gets that bad.”

What she doesn’t say doesn’t escape his attention. This has happened before. Multiple times.

He tries not to think about that – about her struggling, panicking, feeling overwhelmed and not feeling able to tell anyone. Has it happened when he’s been close by? After she’s left the office, or in the adjoining motel room? Have there been times where he’s missed it, or mistaken it for tiredness or irritation, when actually it was something deeper, something far more difficult for her to explain?

He remembers what crossed his mind, standing in the rain next to the car.

“Scully…” He starts, immediately trailing off as the words escape him.

How do you ask something like this? And not just to a stranger, but to a friend, his partner, who knows him better than anyone? Who he knows better than anyone?

Someone he should know better than anyone. There’s a voice at the back of his head asking why it took him so long to notice, why he never asked the right questions or picked up on certain things, why it took him until now to join the dots together. He can’t indulge that voice right now - there’ll be time for blame and rumination later. He needs to finish his question, get it out before he loses the confidence to do so. So, before he can overthink it any further, he sets his jaw and bites the bullet.

“Do you think there’s a chance you might be autistic?”

He can’t look at her as he says it, but there’s a pause, and he feels her eyes on him. He keeps his fixed on the headlights of the car in front, giving her time. She can shout at him if she wants to – he thinks he might deserve it.

She doesn’t shout. After a moment, she asks him a question in response. “You’re the psychologist, right?”

He knows what she’s asking, and he doesn’t want to lie to her.

“I think… I think what happened earlier, what you described, was sensory overload. And what you were doing with your hands looked a lot like stimming.”

“And that’s related to autism?”

“It can be.” She’s not going to let him drop it, not that easily, so he fishes for the right words for a moment. “Scully, I can’t diagnose you, and even if I could I wouldn’t want to. A diagnostic label is so definite, and people can find it so harmful if they’re not ready, and the last thing I want to do is to make you feel uncomfortable - I know it’s not easy to hear, not if you’re still processing the idea.”

He stops himself, aware the words are coming out faster than he can control them.

“I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t want to upset you.”

“You’re not.” He turns to look at her. She’s looking right back, endless blue shining with a resolute certainty. “Mulder, back there… that’s the first time anyone has ever understood what’s going on, or said something helpful. When I used to – what did you call it?”

“Stimming. Self-stimulating.”

“I used to do it sometimes, in grade school, when it got loud, or everything was too much. I’d just… click my fingers, or clench my fist over and over. But then the teachers told me off for fidgeting, and the other kids laughed at me, so I forced myself to stop.”

He forces himself to wait, to let her fill the silence.

She takes a long, deep breath.

“I remember thinking ‘what’s wrong with me?’. It felt like there was some big joke, something everyone else was in on, but that I couldn’t work out.

“I still feel it now, sometimes, this sense of…” she gestures vaguely. “Of something being wrong. Something’s wrong with me, and everyone else knows, but I can never pinpoint what it is.”

She runs her tongue over her lip, and her next words shake a little. "Mulder, are there… are there other things? About me?"

He knows what she means. And she wants it from him straight, so that's how he gives it to her.

"I know that when people make small talk with you, you get uncomfortable. You prefer it when people say and act how they think, and you find fitting in with people, especially other women, difficult. You don't like change. You have a very rigid belief system, and you don't like anything challenging that. Expressing emotion doesn't come easily to you, but when you feel you feel a lot. You like numbers and science and the certainty of the laws of nature."

And there's nothing wrong with you, he thinks, but doesn't say. There's nothing wrong with you at all.

Scully's quiet for a long moment. He knows her well enough to know that this means she's thinking, probably too much.

“Okay. I probably, to some degree, fit the profile. But I can do all those things. I can make small talk and act interested in those conversations, and I can tolerate uncertainty and change. And I can deal with too much noise and movement, most of the time.”

“Isn’t that the problem?”

She looks at him.

“The words you’re using, Scully. ‘Act’, and ‘tolerate’ and ‘deal with’. You don’t do those things because you find them easy, or because you enjoy them. It’s because you have to.

"A lot of autistic people - autistic women, especially - talk about pretending. Masking how they actually are or feel, because they want to blend in. It's like… like constantly wearing a disguise you don't feel safe enough to take off."

She falls silent again. The cars ahead start to move, and he puts the car into drive, almost missing her next words under the noise of the engine.

“I thought that was how everyone felt.”

Mulder doesn’t know how to respond to that, or if she even needs a response, so he just waits.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know myself. So much of who I am is for other people, to fit in, and I don’t even know why I bother because it doesn’t make me feel better. Instead I feel like I’m hiding, and I’m terrified of being found out. I’m waiting for someone to realise I’m not who I pretend to be.

“You know, I get so excited about science. About the beauty and the mystery of it, and its absurdity and incredibility, about how I’ll never know everything about how the world works, and how the laws of nature and physics are older than the Earth, and will keep the universe moving even after I’m gone. But I can’t explain that to anyone in a way that makes sense, so I pretend I’m interested in science and medicine in the same way everyone else is.

“But it’s not just that, it’s everything else. I mean, at work I wear certain clothes and style my hair in a certain way, not because I want to but because that’s how I’m expected to, and I look in the mirror and don’t recognise myself because that’s not me. I feel like you’re one of the only people who’s ever seen past that, who even gets close to knowing who I actually am. To everyone else, I’m completely different. I’m some person who doesn’t even exist, it’s just a lie.”

She pauses.

"It's… it’s exhausting.” Saying that seems to help some of the tension leave her body.

“That’s how I feel. I don’t know if I can explain how… how tiring it is, having to be normal, for other people.”

“What if you didn’t have to be?”

She gives him a look. "Mulder."

"No, just bear with me for a minute. I know you won't be able to with everyone, but with me, at least. What if you could completely let go of that need to be normal?"

Another pause. Then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear: "I'm afraid."

He's only heard her say that once before, sat at his bedside discussing belief and life after death, and her father who passed away only a few short days before.

"I think I'm afraid of what happens if I let go of the mask."

Something twinges in his chest at the idea that Scully – Scully, who can stand in front of a team of seasoned agents and give orders with the best of them, who will stare death in the face without blinking, who is the kindest, most compassionate, most amazing person he’s ever known, is scared of the judgement of other people.

The words come to the front of his mind again, and this time he feels them almost slip from his lips: There is nothing wrong with you. Everything you think is weird, or wrong, or unacceptable, makes you perfect. You’re incredible, Scully.

But he can’t say that. Can’t allow himself to say it, not like this, because he’s a little bit scared of what it signifies. So instead, he says something that he hopes is close enough to what he means, what he wishes he could say.

"Scully, I am the last person on earth who would judge you." It comes out softer than he'd intended it to.

Slowly, they edge forward with the traffic, the rain starting to slow. He doesn’t take his eyes of the car ahead, but he can feel her thinking all the same. This time he finds himself filling the silence.

“I want you to know that if the office is ever too loud, or we’ve just come out of a busy meeting, and you need time to yourself or you need to stim, you can do. I know it might be hard if you’re used to hiding it, but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t.”

“I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

He glances across at her. “Scully, I do it around you all the time. It doesn’t bother me.”

They stop again. There’s a moment of silence, and when he turns to face her, Scully’s looking at him, forehead creasing in confusion. Mulder suddenly realises that he’s always just assumed Scully knew.

“I stim.” He answers her unasked question. “When I tap pencils, or chew seeds? It’s different to you, I do it to concentrate, but it’s the same thing.”

“But you’re not…”

“Autistic? No, I’m not.” Now he has to explain, he’s not actually sure how to. He’s never said the words out loud before. “In 1983, ten years after Samantha went missing, there was a police inquiry into her disappearance. I had to have a psychiatrist assess me, to check how reliable my testimony was, and if there was a chance I had a psychotic disorder that would explain what I saw.

“When he finished the assessment, he asked why no one had ever assessed me for attention deficit disorder before.”

Scully smiles at that, her lips twisting into a half-grin.

“I know,” Mulder jokes. “You’d think I would have worked that out sooner, given the 21 years I’d spent with my brain and the three-year psychology degree.”

The traffic starts to move again – the roads are clearing now as rush hour comes to an end and they move further towards the centre of the city. They both fall quiet once more, Mulder’s attention on the roads ahead and Scully back to gazing out of the window. It’s a peaceful silence, though, one that Mulder hopes is a good sign rather than an indicator that Scully’s lost in her own thoughts again. Neither talk until he pulls up outside of her apartment building, which is when Scully turns to look at him, one hand on the door handle.

“Mulder?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He hears the gratitude in her voice, deeper than he’d expected. He can’t quite acknowledge it; he wants to tell her she has nothing to thank him for - that all he’s done, really, is the bare minimum, and probably far too late, at that.

He doesn’t say any of that – just nods a little, in understanding, and offers her a small smile.

“Any time.”

She opens the door, saying over her shoulder almost as a second thought, “I’ll see you later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Scully glances back at him properly, and he gives her a full-blown grin. “I’ve got a case about hydrokinesis that’s got your name on it.”

She rolls her eyes at him as she gets out of the car, and he laughs.

#xf fanfic #txf fic #msr #my writing #please someone validate my headcanons lol

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maddymoreau · 3 months ago

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Dead Space 2 Live-Blog

Chapter: One

Dead Space 1 Complete Live Blog: Click Here

NICOLE AND ISAAC WERE SO CUTEEEEE!!!!!!

I find it very refreshing seeing a video game have a couple in their late forties dating! Also the sequel revealing Isaac was the one that encouraged Nicole to take the job on the USG Ishimura (ಥ_ಥ) . . .

The Red Marker is still forcing a grieving Isaac to experience scary hallucinations of Nicole since it's upset it wasn't returned.

Apparently after the events of the first game someone named Tiedemann found Isaac in his ship.

I'm unsure who Tiedemann works for, but Isaac was taken to a place called the Sprawl. In their psych ward they built new labs to study and experiment on Isaac and other patients.

The Red Marker imprinted into Isaac's brain a self-replicating signal. It's killing Isaac so they’ve been keeping it at bay with memory suppressants.

Three years have passed, but Isaac has no memories of this due to the memory erasing drugs.

I translated everything in Isaac’s padded cell:

Currently the Sprawl is infected with Necromorphs. I'm only able to escape thanks to someone named Jacob (rip). Jacob was working with a woman named Daina.

Unlike Tiedemann who wants all the patients killed, Diana wants to help. She's guiding me over comms to her location. Since if I'm able to reach her she can (supposedly) treat me and help me escape.

My Theory: I don't think Daina plans to betray me, but I do think she is part of the Church of Unitology. Since Daina means God is my judge. It was briefly mentioned that Patient 3 was a woman so I’m guessing that was her. (Issac is Patient 4.)

I also briefly encountered Patient 5 named Nolan Stross, who is kinda hot and the ONLY person I trust.

By the end of the chapter I got my suit!!! I’m not trapped in the Sprawl with Necromorphs THEY’RE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH ME!!!

#𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁: Jacob is actually from a side game called Dead Space Ignition.#Which is a puzzle game with a comic style. 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 different style and gameplay from the main Dead Space series.#If you have the finished Ignition when playing Dead Space 2 you'll get bonus items like a different suit with perks.#I'm 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 going to play it but maybe I'll watch it later.#MadisonPlaysDeadSpace2 #Dead Space 2 #Dead Space 2 Spoilers #Long Text #Long Post #Tw Flash #Flash #Tw Flashing #Flashing #Tw Blood #Blood

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kalebishop96-blog · 2 years ago

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CupBromance Headcanon or AU (Cuphead)

Motto: Life is a 2-Player Game.

Cuphead and Mugman have a super close relationship to the point that they are really really fond of each other.

They:

- Share the same brain milk (brain cell). Even if they do not agree on every idea, they tend to see each other eye to eye, telepathically, and non-verbally. No matter how stupid they are, they laugh and ride on the same humor, tease each other for fun, and no matter what never drop the conversation.

- Are Super rough players. They wrestle, arm-wrestle, roughhouse, tickle fight, pillow fight, horseplay, etc.

- Have secret handshakes and bro body language. They clink their heads... in the most extreme ways at times (because they’re the only cups in the world), they high-five with their straws, they have a high-five combination of their own, they hold hands, etc.

- Support each other. For example, Cuphead is stronger and tougher, while Mugman is sensitive and empathetic. Their differences are each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and they’ve definitely got all of those covered.

What makes them unique out of every brotherly dynamic out there is there will be a large amount of “cartoon logic “ in their brotherly love. Like inflating their fists with their thumbs for arm-wrestling, and others. Just imagine if Looney Tunes, Mickey Mouse, Fleischer Animations, and other types of cartoons were solely focused on brotherly love, that’s this relationship for me.

Some characters I would like their personalities and dynamics to have:

I WANNA MAKE THIS HAPPEN SO BAD! MAKE IT CANON!

#Cuphead #mugman #cuphead and mugman #headcanon #bromance #fred and george #team rocket #rottmnt #mario and luigi #ruffnut and tuffnut #alexander armstrong #sig curtis #animaniacs

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elshells · 2 years ago

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Find the Word Tag

Got tagged by @tisiphonewolfe, @writernopal, @clairelsonao3, and @captain-kraken. Thank you all so much!!

(No Pressure) Tagging: @dragonedged-if, @mysticstarlightduck, @outpost51, @cosmiccoincidence, @writingmaidenwarrior, @liv-is, and anyone else who wants to jump in!

Your words to find are: FOUR, CIRCUMSTANCE, FAVOR, SHADOW, and EMBRACE

Asterisk (*) denotes a passage from an unreleased chapter that may contain out-of-context spoilers

Round One: @tisiphonewolfe

Words to find: HEAL, FINGER(S), WORLD, SPLIT, and SCRAPE

HEAL - Agent Ace, Chapter 5 (Sophia's POV):

“You definitely sustained yourself a nasty bit of head trauma. Mild concussion, as you put so aptly, but nothing so serious. I’d be thankful for such a dim living space with a condition like that. City lights can be overstimulating, even for a healthy brain. Though the wound in your arm is rather deep—thank you, Bellona—I expect that, too, will heal without any complications. So long as you don’t behave foolishly with it.”

FINGER(S) - Agent Ace, Chapter 2 (Harley's POV):

“I spoke to an inquisitor about the phone call, and he said he’d pass the information on to the field agent.” Jade wrapped a coil of hair around her finger and tugged on it gently. “The rest, I’m still piecing together. The Watch has been acting hush-hush, to avoid alarm, I guess. You know how they work. It’s an ongoing search, but I don’t think they’ve found anything yet. At least, they haven’t released any updates on the case.”

WORLD - Agent Ace, Chapter 3 (Sophia's POV):

“Wait!” The word slipped past Sophia’s lips before she could stop it. He paused and looked back to her. “Yes?” “Who are you people?” Janus hesitated, his mouth twisting into a wry expression. When he finally spoke, all he said was, “We’re the ones who’ll change the world.”

SPLIT - Agent Ace, Chapter 10 (Harley's POV):

Jade dropped the can with a loud clatter. She met Harley’s gaze for a split second—long enough for her to see another flash of gold—before she broke down into tears.

*SCRAPE - Agent Ace, Chapter ?? (Sophia's POV):

She’d almost drifted off when Janus’ voice startled her awake. “I’ll keep watch. If anything happens, I’ll wake you.” “I’m fine. I don’t need rest,” Sophia grumbled. She sat up straight and resisted the urge to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Mm-hm.” Janus used the pointed end of the rod to absentmindedly scrape moss off the side of the apartment wall.

Round Two: @writernopal

Words to find: SUFFER, ESTEEM, SMILE, AMICABLE, and CAT

SUFFER - Agent Ace, Chapter 8 (Sophia's POV):

“No use lying to us, kid,” the vigilante growled, swinging his hook back and forth like a pendulum. “We know damn well you can read.” Max flinched. “N-No, not like that. I mean, uh… I’m farsighted. I can’t see the screen.” The vigilante caught the hook in one hand and went deadly still. The color drained out of Max’s face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mulciber shooed the vigilante toward the door. “Put that thing down and go get the boy his glasses. We don’t want him to suffer from eye strain!” The vigilante turned on his heel and stormed out of the cell. Mulciber chuckled to himself.

ESTEEM - Agent Ace, Chapter 8 (Sophia's POV):

Mulciber ignored the question. “Look at you! That mask suits you well, my friend. I knew it would. How are you feeling today?” “F-fine, sir.” The vigilante said anxiously. “Uh, Apollo said you wanted to see me. Have I done something wrong?” “No, no, quite the opposite.” Mulciber clapped his hand on his shoulder and led him over to the table. “I have an introduction to make.” He made a gesture toward Sophia. “This is Agent Sophia Colbo, an esteemed enforcer of the Watch who’s been hot on our trail. Agent, meet our newest recruit. Our newest Prophet.”

SMILE - Agent Ace, Chapter 10 (Harley's POV):

“Did you make this?” Harley asked breathlessly. “Only partly.” Jade stood next to her, staring at the window and looking as mesmerized as Harley felt. “A couple of weeks ago, I came by here and found another artist leaving her mark. I didn’t know her, but she caught me watching and asked if I wanted to join her.” A smile grew on her face as her eyes drifted over the painting. “I didn’t want to at first—it’s sort of a rule that you shouldn’t paint over someone else’s art—but she insisted. Said that we could be partners. So I helped her finish it, and I added Max’s name, with her permission.”

AMICABLE - N/A

Didn't have this word!

CAT - Agent Ace, Chapter 12 (Harley's POV):

The vigilante stopped in the middle of the room. Harley couldn’t see anything above her boots, but she could imagine her eyes scanning the room, like a cat stalking a mouse.

Round Three: @clairelsonao3

Words to find: SHINE, LOSE, and CARE

SHINE - N/A

Didn't have this word!

*LOSE - Agent Ace, Chapter ?? (Sophia's POV):

Chuck took the money and leaned under the desk. When he surfaced, he held two key cards and a set of car keys in his hand. “Use these to get into the room—don’t lose them,” he said, passing them to Janus. “Car’s in the lot when you need it. Be mindful of quiet hours, and don’t make a mess.” He paused, then ripped a piece of paper off of a notepad and handed it to Janus. “And this week’s net password is ‘wagyu beef.’ No capitals, no spaces.”

CARE - Agent Ace, Chapter 4 (Harley's POV):

“Of course I am!” He spoke in a hushed tone, but there was a detectable edge to his voice. “I have no idea where she is. But you know all about that, don’t you?” The next pause was much longer, and Ahren’s brow furrowed in anger. “I don’t care what the policy is. Is Sophia in danger or not?”

Round Four: @captain-kraken

Words to find: FAINT, LONELY, GROW, and MEMORY

FAINT - Agent Ace, Chapter 8 (Sophia's POV):

Max set the tablet down on the table, took a deep breath, and tapped the screen. A faint blue glow emitted from the device, casting shadows over his face. He squinted long and hard at the screen, concentration etched on his face.

*LONELY - Agent Ace, Chapter ?? (Sophia's POV):

She entered a clearing at the end of the path, a glade blanketed in pine needles. A lonely outhouse with peeling paint stood amongst a copse of trees, marking the fork of two split paths. One led out of the woods and down towards the lake, while the other inclined uphill, towards the outcropping of rocks that peeked out from the canopy above.

GROW - Agent Ace, Chapter 2 (Harley's POV):

Blumoore was as vibrant as ever. The Vibe, a grungy music club and one of Harley’s favorite night time hangouts, was on full display as usual. Crowds flocked in and out of the venue, and she could almost feel the pump of hard rock vibrating in her bones. As the club disappeared from the window, she caught more familiar sights. The Equinox Cafe, Dorian’s Garden—her mother’s favorite florist—and the corner bookstore where Harley had practically grown up. Even the overpriced juice bar she’d never set foot inside before brought a calm wave of nostalgia washing over her.

*MEMORY - Agent Ace, Chapter ?? (Sophia's POV):

The car lurched to the side as it took a turn and picked up speed. Sophia shifted back upright in her seat as they left Harmont behind, disappearing into a glittering city skyline. If they hadn’t been seen, they’d be in the clear, for now. But Sophia didn’t feel better in the slightest. She’d been unable to shake that memory of her father since she first encountered the vigilantes. It used to be a fond memory—a solace in times when she was feeling nostalgic—but now it left a sour taste in her mouth.

#find the word tag #writeblr tag game #writeblr community #wip: agent ace #out of context spoilers #ella's writing

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nexxen24 · 9 months ago

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The Sunwalker's Respite

BG3 FANFIC

Spawn Astarion X Female Tav

Chapter 3/6

Chapter 2: https://www.tumblr.com/nexxen24/746988878264778752/the-sunwalkers-respite?source=share

NOTE: Pg-13, no smut, only implied.

IMPORTANT: Please read the prologue and chapters 1 and 2 prior to this one. Thank you.

Chapter Three

The Underdark, Six Months After the Absolute’s Demise

It had been months since I’d been to the Underdark and while it was beautiful, covered in glowing plants and mushrooms and had that air of mystery to it, it was also terribly dangerous and I was shaking as we followed Maleera down a path. The vampire spawn that we released took shelter in the Underdark since it never got sun, there was never really a daylight cycle down there, no need to hide during the day when it was just always night. They had taken up residence in a really old building that used to be an out building for the Arcane Tower but had long since been destroyed. The spawn fixed it up, made sure it was inhabitable and took it upon themselves to move in, creating almost like a mini city contained within a mansion and I nodded, impressed as we walked up to it.

“Wow, it looks beautiful,” Astarion admitted and Maleera nodded in thanks.

“Yeah, they did a good job. Frankly, anything would be better than those cells tho,” she said and Astarion frowned, holding back a bit, a look of guilt flashing across his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked and placed a hand on his shoulder as he nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just faced with the reality of my actions, I did this to them, they’re here because of me.”

“They’re also alive because of you,” I said and he nodded. “They’ll focus on that more, I’m sure.”

“I know…I just know that he’s in there and I don’t know what I’ll do when I see him.”

He was referring to a drow named Sebastian, the first of his victims that he ever fell in love with and tried to save but Cazador was one step ahead. We ran into Sebastian before defeating Cazador and he admitted to thinking that Astarion was genuine when they first met, that hearing his name whispered in the darkness of an alleyway in Baldur’s Gate made him feel safe, loved. Sure he was a bit upset that Astarion was lying to him, just doing it to get him to Cazador but Sebastian sent us a letter after we defeated the brain that thanked Astarion for saving him. He claimed that it felt good that we looked into his cell and didn’t see a monster but the young drow he was, the drow he could be again.

“Remember his letter?” I asked and Astarion nodded, having gotten emotional when he read it.

“I do, yes.”

“Well then you know that he’s not upset with you, he’s grateful you saved him, they all are.”

I turned to Maleera and she nodded, wandering back over and placing a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“She’s right. Those spawn were grateful you let them live when you had the chance to kill them, they never expected to be given a second chance at life,” she assured and he smiled at her, pulling her into a hug. “Same with the others, they’ve missed you…minus one.”

“Who?”

“Killian…no one has seen him since we made it down here,” she said and Astarion’s eyes widened.

“Who?” I asked and he swallowed hard.

“Killian was one of the spawn we ran into in Wyrm’s Crossing, the one I nearly burnt to death,” he admitted and my eyes widened, remembering the two spawn we came across in the Flophouse.

Two of the spawn, Killian and a female tiefling had taken up residence in the Flophouse in order to look for Astarion and we ran into them, looking for more information about Cazador and his whereabouts. Learned that the spawn assumed that the Rite of Profane Ascension included them and were eager to get Astarion back in order to gain the power they had been promised. It was Killian that didn’t believe us when we told them the truth and Astarion took some drastic measures to get the point across. He left Killian with some nasty scars and I frowned, hoping that he wouldn’t hold a grudge and would at least be grateful for the fact that we saved him, that in some way Astarion and I were right.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t hold grudges,” Maleera said and Astarion nodded, looking worried and I grabbed his hand for a bit of comfort.

He gave me a smile and squeezed my hand a bit harder as we walked up to the front door of the building the spawns had set up and I nodded, impressed with the set up and how far they’d gotten. Sure they were all basically stuck in the Underdark, known for its endless night, terrifying creatures and really not much of anything but at least they weren’t hiding, weren’t forced into cages or imprisoned. Here the spawns and the few we passed on our way through the house and to a large back room even looked happy and were standing around and joking, goblets in hand and smiles on their faces.

“The others minus Killian should be in here,” Maleera said and pulled open a large set of doors to reveal the other 4 spawn left, all crowded around a large table.

The group was varied in races and had a tielfing, a halfling, a human and another high elf who were all crowded around a large table, laughing and clinking glasses together. The closest to us, the tiefling, turned and her eyes widened when she caught Astarion and Maleera in the doorway. She jumped up and ran over, throwing her arms around Astarion and knocking my hand out of his as I raised a brow.

“Astarion!” she exclaimed and grinned at him. “Gods…it’s been so long. Where in the hells have you been?”

“Uh…saving the world.”

“Oh yeah, we heard about that, very impressive.”

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great, so has Violet and the others. We’ve all been great minus…”

“Killian,” Astarion concluded and she nodded. “I heard.”

“I can’t believe him, he was so grateful that you saved us from Cazador but as soon as we got down here he became determined to find some way of completing the ritual you didn’t. We tried to convince him that it wouldn't work but he wouldn’t believe us, just took a bunch of spawn and left in a rush.”

“If any of those spawn died getting down here the ritual can’t be completed,” Astarion added and she nodded.

“Exactly and they did,” she said and sighed before her eyes caught mine and they narrowed. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, this is Hanelly. She was there when we saved the realm and is just recently my wife,” Astarion said and pulled me forward. “Hanelly this is Aurelia and behind her is Violet, Youssen and Leon.”

“I can’t believe you actually settled down, Astarion, the playboy, the guy who claimed that he’d never fall in love.”

“I said those things because falling in love before almost got me killed,” Astarion snapped and Aurelia eyed him as he grabbed a goblet of what I assumed was wine and took a long sip.

I followed Astarion over and sniffed the goblet, determining it was wine and grabbed my own, joining him in downing it as Aurelia wandered over, looking ashamed.

“Sorry…I forget how long you stayed with him,” she muttered and I raised a brow.

“How long were you with Cazador?”

“Only 40 years. Still a long time but you forget how lucky you had it sometimes, besides, he was always the favourite.”

Astarion glared and took another sip before refilling the goblet and taking a seat as I sunk into one next to him, trying to ignore how tense the room had gotten.

“That I was,” Astarion agreed and stared at his cup, swirling the wine around.

“We don’t need to sit here and bicker about who had it worse,” Maleera said. “We need to focus on the fact that minus Killian, we’re finally all back together again and I think that’s pretty cool. I’ve missed this and even though Cazador tried to pit us against each other back then I always believed that in some way we could come together and now we have. This is a good thing.”

“Sure. We’re all so happy to be stuck down here,” the one human, Leon, muttered and my eyes caught Astarion’s.

Sure we were here for a ring that would allow Astarion to walk in the sun but that was what they all wanted and I was unaware if anyone else knew about it. If the nearly seven thousand spawn here knew that there was a ring that would let them finally return to the surface then it would be a bloodbath. We had to keep it a secret and the look that Maleera was giving me made it clear that she felt the same and the drow chuckled before placing a hand on Leon’s shoulder.

“It’s not too bad, this place is nice,” she said and he shrugged, taking a long sip of his wine.

“At least Killian isn’t here.”

“What did he do besides leave?” I asked and Leon tensed, hands curling around the stem of his goblet even tighter.

“Too many things.”

“Do you remember the spare room in the palace…where the book was for the door,” Astarion said and I nodded. “There was a woman in there, she was dead, turned into a necrotic bomb by Cazador. That woman was Leon’s daughter and Killian was the one who told, he thought it would make him the favourite. It didn’t.”

“I spent years trying to protect her…she was thirty when he found her and I hadn’t seen her in almost two decades and yet…it wasn’t enough,” Leon said and glared before he stood, downing the rest of his wine and slamming the goblet down onto the table. “You may think that we can be this big happy family of broken people but we can’t, Maleera. We’re better off alone.”

Leon sighed and wandered out of the room, the halfling named Youssen following behind him and I sighed, running a hand through my hair at how poorly this was all going.

“Maybe he’s right,” Aurelia said and grabbed the hand of the other high elf, Violet before heading towards the door. “Thank you for trying, Maleera.”

Maleers sighed and poured herself a second glass, downing the entire thing and pouring a second before taking a seat at the table with a very loud sigh. I could see where both sides were coming from, both the spawn that wanted to reconnect and the ones that could care less. They were all forced together because of terrible circumstances and forced into being demons that stalked the night, looking for prey for their master. So many years of that would make anyone bitter and I wasn’t about to hold that against Leon but I could tell that it was starting to get to Maleera.

“I tried at least,” she said and chuckled, dryly.

“You tried a lot, it’s admirable,” I said and she smiled in thanks.

“At least not all of them are alone. Aurelia and Violet managed to find love like the two of you,” Maleera said and Astarion smiled at the doorway, looking pleased that he wasn't the only one who managed to find a bit of peace.

“Everyone needs something, sometimes it's love, sometimes it's just connection,” I said and she nodded, smiling at me. “So…about what Leon said…we can't tell them about the ring.”

“No, you can't,” she agreed and I nodded, knowing that sounded best. “It would be a madhouse down here if anyone knew there was a chance at getting to walk in the sun again. It's what they all want. Keep it hidden.”

“What do we tell them? I mean…they all know Astarion escaped, we saved the realm and had from what they can tell, no reason to return here.”

“Leave it to me. I'll tell them I offered a tour, they trust me,” Maleera said.

“They also trust me,” Astarion shot back and she sighed.

“Maybe not as well as you think.”

“Great, we really shouldn't have come here,” he muttered and I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I spent so many years with them and you and even though Cazador spent so long telling me I was the favourite, I was better, I was still grateful that I wasn't alone. We saved them and we get no thanks…feels like a sick joke.”

“They are grateful,” Maleera assured and he scoffed. “They're also scared. They don't know what will happen down here and have had some close calls. The original seven, now six, are meant to lead, meant to be the ones that knew more than any of the other spawn. A lot of them don't want that, they don't want to be leaders, they just want to be free.”

“But the spawn, they need leaders or else this will all dissolve,” I said and she nodded with a sigh.

“It’s not all bad, there is someone here that would be very excited to see you,” Maleera informed and Astarion's eyes widened.

“He made it?”

“He did yes,” she said and my own eyes widened when I realised she was talking about Sebastian, the man that Astarion fell in love with all those years ago. “If you want to see him, he'll likely be in the library, it's on this floor and he'll also know where a diary that belonged to Evelina is.”

“You planned this,” Astarion accused and she shrugged.

“Sebastian being the one to look after the library was just a happy coincidence,” she said and smiled, brightly, before standing. “Now, I'm gonna attempt to make everyone like each other again. Meet me in the great room for a feast when you're done, I'm sure everyone will be willing to have some dinner together and this time it won't be rats.”

Astarion nodded and stood as well, wrapping her in a quick hug before she wandered off and he stood there a second, debating what to do. The last time we saw Sebastian he was standing in a cage, barely alive and shocked that Astarion had no idea he was still alive. Cazador kept Sebastian and so many other turned spawn alive for years, centuries even, just to be used in the Right of Profane Ascension but we never gave him the chance. Sebastian for the most part was now free and yet Astarion still looked hesitant, likely worried he'd act the same way as the other spawn. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t, that he’d be grateful we decided to open the doors, free the spawn rather than kill them but there was always that bit of worry in the back of both our heads.

“You can talk with him alone, I know you have a lot you want to say to him,” I said but Astarion shook his head.

“No, definitely not. I made a vow to you that we’d be together for life and I’m not about to leave you alone here. Many of the spawn are like Maleera and the others but there could be a few Killian’s here as well and I don’t want to risk it.”

“Really, you think that I couldn’t handle myself against a couple spawn?” I asked and Astarion frowned at me, likely remembering the handful of times I threatened him during our adventures and the leagues of people I killed inbetween.

“Don’t worry, I know you can. But we also don’t know how they’re not starving and if we find a prison full of defenceless Drow, I don’t want you to be their next victim.”

“I adore it when my husband says such romantic things as, ‘keeping you safe from a Drow prison’,” I said and Astarion frowned at me as I chuckled and gave him a long and deep kiss in assurance that I was going to be alright. “We haven’t had issues yet, I’m sure they discovered some way to keep themselves sane. Frankly, we don’t know anything about the other spawn, not even how many survived and Sebastian is a great place to start getting some answers.”

“If he'll even speak to me,” Astarion muttered and sighed as we began to make our way through the mansion.

Seeing it fully really put it into perspective as to why they chose it and the place was grand, full of fancy looking furniture and decorations. Bits of it were still covered in dust and I spotted a few abandoned puddles of dried blood, but the spawn had managed to clean it up quite nicely for the most part. The place was also huge, about three stories plus a basement with gods knows how many rooms lining the upper floors. The library Maleera pointed us towards was near the back and my eyes widened when we stepped inside as I stared, slack jawed. It was huge, two stories and lined with rows upon rows of books and scrolls, all very beautiful and very rare. I spotted a couple that Gale even had been dreaming about acquiring and reminded myself to ask Maleera if he'd be allowed down here one day. Sure the spawn all wanted to remain undetected and safe from any surface dweller that wanted them dead but Gale wasn't about to kill any of them. He'd be more interested in studying them and had been bugging me for weeks about getting Astarion to indulge him about the inner workings of a vampire spawn.

“Gods, Gale would be in heaven,” I muttered and Astarion nodded in agreement just as the spawn we'd been waiting for stepped out from behind a bookshelf.

Sebastian looked loads better than what we'd seen in the cage and he was dressed in nice, simple clothes that were clean and not torn or bloodied. He still had the same scars from being a part of the ritual, something that would never leave him but his hair was now clean, pulled back into a bun and he looked happy. Without the grime it also became quite obvious that he’s a Drow, greying skin and all and was being accompanied by what looked like a Half-Elf. The two were each carrying large stacks of books and Sebastian almost dropped his when he caught sight of Astarion and I staring at him.

“Sebastian?” The Half-Elf asked, concern written across his face as Sebastian gingerly put down his stack.

“I'm fine, Leo, they're old friends. Put these back and I'll meet you upstairs in a bit.”

The Half-Elf, Leo, nodded and kissed him briefly before picking up a few extra books and turning the other way as I smiled. They looked happy, very happy and it made my heart ache that he looked way more alive than ever before. Maybe not as alive as before Astarion lured him to the Szarr palace but I hoped that in some way, he was back to being himself.

“Sebastian, it's great to see you,” Astarion muttered and stepped forward as I followed. “I'm sure you remember me and Hanelly. She's my wife now, actually, was only a partner back when we killed Cazador.”

“It's lovely to see you again,” I said and waved with a bright smile.

“You as well. Come in, sit,” he said and cleared off some couches, taking a seat as we followed suit.

The air was a bit awkward as we took our seats and I watched Astarion as he studied Sebastian, trying to see if he was still the broken man we left behind in Cazador's dungeon before we defeated him. He didn't look broken, he looked happy, in love and free like all the other spawn we had encountered. Frankly the only one that didn't sound happy was Killian and a part of me still wondered why he was so pissed off at the world in the first place. There had to be an explanation and I reminded myself to ask the others even more about him as Sebastian cleared his throat.

“Now…um…as you see, I'm doing pretty good,” he said and Astarion finally relaxed, giving the guy a smile as he went.

“That's good to hear. We left you in a bad spot,” he admitted and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“But you saved us,” he said and smiled. “You unlocked the cages, let us go and I'll never be able to forgive you for that.”

“You not hating me for putting you there in the first place is more than enough.”

“I don't,” Sebastian admitted and I smiled at how relieved Astarion looked. “Before I came to Baldur's Gate I was stuck in the Underdark, avoiding my duties as a Lolth-Sworn Drow and wishing I was anywhere else. Sure being manipulated by you and trapped in that cage was terrible but it also freed me. I would've likely died at home, they don't tend to keep middle children or ones with little talents but through you, in some weird way, I was freed. And freed again when you chose to let the spawn escape.”

“About that,” I began and he glanced at me. “How many survived?”

“There are only 2800 living here right now. Most of the spawn died when we got down here and Killian took 1000 when he left. It was treacherous those first few days, it took about three weeks to find this place but the main spawn helped a lot, they kept us safe.”

“This place, what is it?” I asked and glanced around the massive library.

“It used to be a university, just on the outskirts of a Seladrine city called Halvera, but the city was destroyed and most of the Seladrine Drow living here were killed about 170 years ago. This place has been empty ever since and has more than enough space. Almost three floors of dorms, a massive library as you can see, dining halls, greenhouses, even a dungeon. Everything we could need, just sitting here and soaked in death like everywhere else in the Underdark.”

“What about blood?” Astarion asked and Sebastian smiled.

“That's actually a pretty cool story,” he said and pulled out a small satchel before reaching in and grabbing what looked like a mushroom. “This is called a bloodcap mushroom, here, eat it.”

Astarion grabbed the mushroom which was dark red in colour with a light red stem and stared at it before taking a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed the mushroom before swallowing the rest and sitting there for a solid minute.

“That was…interesting,” he said and Sebastian chuckled.

“They grow in puddles of blood. They're basically small little vessels of blood and can sustain a spawn for a whole day on just one. We have an entire greenhouse full of them outside, just need one corpse and suddenly you can feed up to 200 spawn. It was pretty touch and go until Violet figured out they were edible and then we found ourselves a food supply and this place had a cellar downstairs with enough wine for double the amount of spawn and then some. Sure mushrooms and wine feel like a weird food source but it's worked so far and it's better than starving.”

“That it is,” I said and chuckled, wondering what spawn was crazy enough to eat a mushroom that popped up in a puddle of blood. “In general how would you say the spawn are fairing?”

“I’d say pretty good,” Sebastian admitted and I caught the fact that Astarion visibly relaxed. “We’ve been through a lot but even living in an abandoned school in the Underdark is better than being stuck in Cazador’s prisons. Here we have freedom, we have food, we have peace and some of us even have love.”

“You would’ve had that and been able to walk in sunlight if I left you alone,” Astarion muttered and Sebastaian sighed before reaching forward and placing a hand on his.

“I know that you blame yourself for all of this, that so many spawn are here because of you but we’ve all heard the horror stories from your time with Cazador, you had no choice.”

“I tried to keep you safe,” Astarion admitted. “I tried to leave you be but he…” Astarion paused and sucked in a deep breath, his hands starting to shake as Sebastian held on tighter, trying to offer him some comfort. “I…I got caught. He locked me in a tomb for almost a year, no food…nothing. I thought you were safe because of that but he punished me regardless.”

“That was before,” Sebastian said. “You had the chance to get revenge on Cazador by completing the ritual yourself and reclaiming his greatest wish and you didn’t. You stopped a cycle of violence and when you saw us in that cage…You didn’t see monsters, you saw people. Everyone here is grateful for that, you’re their hero, not their captor.”

Sebastian stood and Astarion followed him, staring at him in mild concern as the guy stepped forward and wrapped in a tight hug, digging his face into the crook of his shoulder. Astarion stood there a second before he let out a sob and wrapped him in a tight hug, pulling the young Drow tight against his body as his shoulders drooped and he looked much more relaxed and free.

“Thank you,” Astarion muttered as Sebastian pulled back and smiled at him.

“No…thank you,” he said and grabbed my hand before pulling me up, wrapping me in a tight hug as well. “You as well. I can tell that you were a pretty big influence on his choice to stop the ritual.”

“I assisted but it was all Astarion in the end,” I said and he smiled at me. “The cycle of violence and abuse that Cazador created needed to stop and I was grateful when Astarion chose to stop it. Freeing all of you was a bonus and something that needed to happen.”

“I agree. If I was stopping that ritual, then I was also freeing the lot of you. It felt like a bad choice at the time but now…not so much.”

“It’s been good so far,” Sebastian said and sighed. “I just hope it stays that way.”

“We’ll help in any way we can,” I said and Astarion nodded in agreement. “Though…I also have a favour to ask you. We’re looking for a book, a diary that belonged to Evelina. Maleera said that you’d be able to assist since the book was taken from the mansion and brought here. We were hoping to learn more about Cazador’s family, it was part of the reason we came down here.”

“Yeah, for sure, I’ve seen it before,” Sebastian said and glanced around the library’s expansive collection. “I’m sure I can find it eventually.”

“They’ll be able to give you some time while they join us for dinner.”

We all turned to find Maleera standing in the doorway, a smile on her face as she caught sight of how relaxed Astarion looked around Sebastian despite their history. She could've easily asked Sebastian about the journal or even gotten it herself but I knew that Maleera wanted them to make up, to realise what they've done for each other. As much as Astarion believed the spawn hated them he also gave them what they had always been looking for, freedom, much like I gave him. He did for the spawn what I did for him and it was wonderful to see the way it lit up his face when he realised it.

“We're joining you for dinner?” Astarion asked and Maleera nodded, a grin on her face.

“That you are. All the main spawn will be there.”

Astarion frowned at the fact that he had walked into a trap and a dinner was the perfect way for the spawn to reconnect. I had to hope that in doing this they would let bygones be bygones and actually help each other, even appreciate each other as a found family but only time could tell. The spawn had all been through a lot and I had no idea what they all really thought of the one that escaped. Astarion had been free for a lot longer than them and earlier didn't bode well that they were also grateful he freed them. But the group didn’t look that upset as we wandered into the dining room and took our seats among the other spawn who were already chatting and sipping from glasses full of wine. A plate of the blood mushrooms was sitting in front of them and I was pleasantly surprised to find some roast chicken and vegetables sitting next to Astarion’s plate.

“How did you?”

“I was and am still a cleric. Create food and water works even down here,” she said and I smiled in response, taking a bite and being pleasantly surprised.

The other spawn all ate their mushrooms and eyed me as I became very aware of the large collection of eyes on me and didn’t like the way I was being watched. Sure I was technically the only non-spawn in the building but they didn’t have to stare at me like I was some art piece to be studied.

“So…Hanelly…We all know a lot about Astarion, were a bit trapped with him for longer than we’d like to admit but we know next to nothing about you,” Leon said and smiled as he sipped his wine. “What’s your story, before the Mind Flayer tadpole of course.”

“Uh yeah…I was born in a small elven village a few hours outside of Baldur’s Gate that was surrounded by these incredible forests but my dad wanted me to have a better life so he took my brother and I to a human village named Calder. We didn’t know this at the time but the leader of Calder stole a branch from the Mother Tree and made a bow which really pissed off the elves. I joined Calder’s army to fight back and by the time I realised I was fighting other elves it was too late. The battle cost the lives of my brother and father and I started to live with a group of Harper’s at the Moonhaven Inn shortly after.”

“So…you’re a fighter,” Leon said and I nodded. “You’re one of three in this room. Youssen and I were also fighters.”

“A former Flaming Fist!” Youssen yelled and I wondered how many glasses of wine he’d consumed before the dinner.

“Interesting…they…they’re not doing well,” I muttered and rubbed a hand along my neck, thinking of the job that I rejected. “Duke Ravenguard is trying to make it better but the Absolute really ruined everything.”

“I heard they were in shambles, shame, back when I was a part of them they did great, best defence force in the city.”

“It all went downhill when you left, you’re the problem,” Leon said and Youssen nodded, pointing his glass towards him.

“You bet. Should get right back up there and whip them into shape!” He said and grinned as the table went quiet, the spawn very aware of why that wasn't possible.

“What are the rest of you?” I asked and tried to change the subject as I glanced over at Violet and Aurelia.

“We're both bards,” Aurelia said and grinned as Violet nodded. “I've been playing music since before I could walk. The violin is a personal favourite or a flute and Violet is amazing on a lute. We haven't been able to find any down here but I'm still looking.”

I made a mental note to grab the lute I had grabbed off a Drow named Minthara all those months ago. It felt like a lifetime ago that we betrayed her and killed her in our fight for the grove and Astarion managed to get the armour he never took off since then. The very set he was wearing at the moment, deep red and gold and made of swirling pieces of leather that fit him like a glove. I admired the armour and the way Astarion looked so comfortable in it after being so vocal against it for so long.

“I have a lute that I can bring you,” I said and Violet grinned.

“Thank you,” she said and I smiled at her tiny little voice, barely carrying over the table.

“I'm surprised Astarion hasn't been using the lute, he was a bard himself you know,” Aurelia said and my eyes widened as Astarion sent her a very angry glare.

“What? A bard?” I asked and eyed Astarion as Aurelia chuckled. “When I met him he said he was a rogue, he acted like a rogue. Are you not?”

“I might've told you what I wanted to be,” he muttered and my eyes widened further. “Before Cazador when I worked as a magistrate in the city I used my high charisma to get me places and performing was simply a perk.”

“All this time you could've been serenading me,” I said and Astarion grinned.

“Maybe when we go home I'll dust off a flute and see if I still got it.”

“Rogue makes sense, he always was sneaky,” Maleera said and Astarion put his hands up.

“Guilty as charged.”

“So bards and fighters…what about Killian?” I asked and the table went quiet once again, everyone going back to their mushrooms or wine, not meeting my gaze. “Sorry…I was just curious.”

“No, it's fine,” Maleera said and sighed. “Killian was a paladin. He kept it up for years after being turned, never wanting to break his oath. But it all came crashing down when during a dinner a lot like this one, which were rare, Cazador suggested a right hand spawn. He immediately turned to Astarion, the best at getting meals and the most charming and Killian exploded. He jumped him, bread knife in hand and almost killed him. I barely managed to heal him before he bled out. That broke the oath, the Oathbreaker Knight appeared a few hours later but Killian dismissed him, claiming he was done.”

I had grabbed onto Astarion’s hand part way through that story and glanced at him as he rubbed a spot on his left side with his free one, thinking back to that moment. Killian’s hatred of the other spawn seemed to stem from jealousy and the fact that Cazador very obviously picked favourites. Back in his mansion we discovered a lavish bedroom down one corridor that Astarion claimed was reserved for only the best spawn and that normally was himself, Violet, Leon and Maleera, the few that followed his every order, no matter the cost.

“I’m good now, no harm done,” Astarion assured and kissed the hand, giving me a smile before we listened to the other spawn tell us stories that weren’t as horrible.

A favourite among the group came from Aurelia who once got locked in a tomb for six months after she used vicious mockery on Cazador in front of a large gathering of nobles. At the time I assumed the prospect of getting revenge was terrifying but now she just laughed it off and claimed the months of starvation were worth it just to see his face when it actually worked. The others detailed the nights they spent in the quarters, altogether and trying to ignore their horrid circumstances by sharing their own stories of what life was like before. Youssen would entertain them with tall tales about his work with the Flaming Fist and Aurelia and Violet would whistle or very quietly play a small flute they found on their outings for Cazador.

It was nice to hear that after all the stuff they had been through and despite their initial hesitation at agreeing to actually be somewhat of a family, in the end they had been one. Getting stuffed together and forced to endure that man for so many years in some way brought them closer and the spawn were the only ones who truly understood what the others were going through. I even caught Astarion smiling at some of the stories and adding his own, even some they forgot to mention like Aurelia pranking Killian or Violet stealing butter buns and hiding them under her bed even though she couldn’t eat them. I was grateful that not everything was horrible and was just about to add in some stories from our time saving Baldur’s Gate when Sebastian entered, journal in hand and a very worried look on his face.

“Sebastian,” I said and stood, wandering over as he held out the journal.

“I found it and read through it…it’s not what you expect.”

“How so?”

“Evelina wasn’t kidnapped,” he said and he pulled open the journal before flicking through to one of its last entries. “See for yourself.”

I read through the entry as my eyes slowly started to widen at the words she had written and what they implied. Maleera was certain that Evelina was taken by Kathrac and dragged down here against her will as a debt that she was forced to pay for something her brother did years before. But the words that she had written didn’t describe some weird debt but a plan to prevent Cazador from ever finding her.

“She wasn’t kidnapped,” Maleera said and I nodded.

“She wasn’t.”

“Then why the hell would she agree to come down here?” Astarion asked as he walked over and I handed him the journal.

“Evelina wasn’t kidnapped by Kathrac…she was betrothed to him,” I said and all their eyes widened as I began to realise that getting that ring was about to be a whole lot harder.

If Evelina wasn’t kidnapped and frozen in time somewhere deep in the Underdark then she was still alive, living with a very powerful Lolth-Sworn Drow leader and the ring could be long gone. Our entire plan was starting to sound like it had been doomed to fail since the very beginning.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #elf tav #neil newbon #romantic #romance #spawn astarion #tav #bg3 fanfiction

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