#of course except the lord and savior

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shen yuan, dragon god of cang qiong mountain sect, has a new mission.

[Mission {Master of Masters} at 2% progress. Subquest {Master of One} begins now! USER_002 must obtain protagonist [Luo Binghe] as a personal disciple! Continue to work hard!]

there are steps between, of course. shen yuan comes back down the mountain once he’s calmed down—just to check on binghe, not to make a scene! but yue qingyuan was alerted that their sect’s god had descended his peak, and a meeting of all cang qiong’s lords was called. every peak lord is called back to cang qiong. it’ll take a week for everyone to arrive—liu qingge is off on a night hunt, and shang qinghua is accompanying his head disciple to negotiate contracts for fabrics and dyes (and, shen yuan thinks resentfully, probably off doing traitor-to-the-sect business. fuck that guy).

while they’re waiting, shen yuan is invited to stay on qiong ding—as if he doesn’t have a perfectly good mountain he can ascend again until the peak assembles. but yue qingyuan seems anxious to have him, and shen yuan is kind of internally geeking out over getting to properly meet this sect leader. so he agrees, and he’s arranged in a manor fit for a visiting sect leader, which is kind of insane. rich, dark woods; silks in qiong ding’s deep blues and grays; night pearls illuminating every room. is this how people live in this world???

yue qingyuan…hovers a fair bit. surely he should be busy with sect-leader-y things, but apparently having shen yuan come down is a huge deal that requires yue qingyuan’s constant attention. bringing tea and snacks, accompanying him to meals on each peak with all the lords in residence (except shen qingqiu), escorting him to and from qing jing every day when he goes to check on binghe.

that always seems a little uncomfortable for yue qingyuan. shen yuan is still rightfully pissed about binghe’s treatment, but he hasn’t gotten that horrible feeling that his territory is under threat again, so he assumes binghe is alright. the first time he tells yue qingyuan that he’s going to qing jing to check on ‘that young disciple your shidi thought it right to whip,’ yqy gets this constipated look on his face before—before fucking defending sqq.

saying sqq isn’t a cruel man, really—or, he is, but not without reason. all of cang qiong’s disciples are disciplined when it’s appropriate, he says. shen shidi has had problems with that disciple before, and lord canglong shouldn’t judge him too harshly before he hears the full story.

the furious energy crackling around shen yuan is enough to cut yue qingyuan’s entreaty for leniency off. yue qingyuan always seemed like the kindly big-brother type in the novel, if a bit too indulgent of sqq. and shen yuan always wondered why he would turn a blind eye to sqq’s abuse of lbh when he knew it was going on. now he’s seen it with his own eyes, and yue qingyuan still has the audacity to try to cover for sqq, and it kind of makes shen yuan sick.

he’s been doing his best to play the part of the great immortal now that the upset of his initial descent from the mountain has passed. but when yqy defends sqq like this, shen yuan can’t help but drop all pretense of formality and glare, eyes blazing, at this sect leader. ‘do you think i’m fucking stupid?’ he spits. and yqy pales, horror in his eyes, trembling more as shen yuan lays into him.

to discipline a child is to teach them the way they should go. what does whipping a thirteen-year-old boy teach him? shen yuan knows what luo binghe has learned from his shizun’s instruction. that he is stupid, incapable, unworthy of his martial family’s care. that the sect who took him in—the sect shen yuan himself established centuries ago—only took him so it would have something to beat.

shen yuan is pissed. he doesn’t wait for yqy’s escort to qing jing; he takes his sword there himself, finds luo binghe, and brings him back to the guest manor yqy set him up in. binghe is confused, of course, to be faced with his savior’s fury, but when lord canglong makes a request of him, he’s all to happy to comply. and if he buries his face against lord canglong’s robes as they fly back to qiong ding, it’s only to protect his face from the wind.

there’s warmth in his chest whenever he walks near lord canglong, and as he’s led by a hand on his shoulder into lord canglong’s guest quarters, binghe feels like he might combust (in one part, from the overwhelming, humbling joy he feels at being the subject of his sect’s god’s attention; in the other part, because lord canglong’s grip is imbued with so much spiritual power it makes binghe’s skin tingle all the way down to his toes).

binghe follows lord canglong into the main room and, when it’s clear they’re done walking, he sinks to his knees in gratitude.

‘enough of that, luo binghe,’ shen yuan splutters, reaching to pull binghe up from his kowtow. honestly, he’s going to be the emperor! none of this prostration; it’ll only be a debt on his head later on! ‘get up. i won’t see you humble yourself to this—uh’ shit! System, help! What do gods like this call themselves?!!

[Answering USER_002, his title is {Lord Canglong, Shen Yuan, Grand Master of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.} ‘This Grandmaster’ would be expected and appropriate.]

god, that feels so pretentious. shen yuan swallows his millennial sensibilities and does his best to thicken his face a little. ‘—to this grandmaster whose sect has treated him so poorly.’

binghe looks up with stars in his night-dark eyes, and it takes every shred of shen yuan’s self control not to soften at the awe in this child’s face. how come no one told him little lord luo would be so cute?! of course he’s adorable; he’s the protagonist.

‘this—this lowly disciple wouldn’t dare—that is, he wouldn’t presume to, um—lord canglong is—”

poor thing! too cute, too cute!

‘luo binghe is not lowly,’ shen yuan says first, because that feels like the most important part to address. no humbling yourself in front of this old dragon, ah! no debts to this sect! ‘didn’t this grandmaster say in front of everyone that luo binghe is uniquely gifted?’

‘this disciple thought…’ luo binghe’s eyes are already trained on the ground, but he shrinks into himself at this. in this grand room, luo binghe looks so small, so unlike the menacing demon lord shen yuan knows he’ll become. ‘this disciple thought that perhaps, in his anger, lord canglong…exaggerated… to make a point to shizun.’

‘if i have anything to say about it,’ shen yuan mutters, ‘he won’t be your shizun much longer.’

at that, luo binghe’s gaze snaps up, his shoulders tight. ‘this stupid disciple doesn’t understand.’

‘not stupid,’ shen yuan says immediately. ‘what this grandmaster means to say is just that. luo binghe will not be a qing jing peak disciple for much longer. this grandmaster does not trust qing jing peak’s lord to raise luo binghe well, so he will do it himself.’

[bodythieves]

shane mccutcheon x you | cw: intox!makeout, slight fingering?, dirty talk-ish | stoner!shane, neighbor!shane, anxious!reader (is that how i label this shit?)

THIS IS RLY LONG!

okay, okay. let's be honest here: you are not one for change. you are not one to break out of your routine, one to sway from your typical path. no, rather, you are steadfast in every moment of your day, to an absolute t. some of your friends like to tease you until your skin feels hot, and you look down at your feet. you have a google calendar (your lord and savior) and a prescription for an unnamed anxiety medication that you'd-rather-not-talk-about.

and shane. oh, god, shane mccutcheon. shane was your neighbor in a shitty LA apartment, a hairstylist/absolute fucking menace. every other day, she's sitting on the stoop, feet flat on the ground and elbows on her knees, a cigarette dangled between her lips. she'd smile, check you out- go to say something. but you- being you, of course- would quickly swing open the and duck inside.

today was particularly awful for you, though. your therapist had broken up with you. he was moving to a new practice, they didn't accept your insurance, and you had just gotten so comfortable. remember how we made it known that you weren't great with change? the smallest thing could make you itch. make you feel as if you had lost everything, like it all was over. so, understandably, you were having a meltdown inwardly that you couldn't let out until you reached the sanctuary of your one bedroom apartment and closed that manager's-special, white door. except you wouldn't be doing that, no. not now. because you felt your face betray you as you neared the pathway that led to the glass vestibule of the apartment complex. there she was.

"oh, look," she snorts softly through her nostrils, her lips quirking up into a smile upon seeing your own (even if it was microscopic). she had just sat down to smoke as you neared, her lithe frame hunched over as she picked through a paper cigarette pack. "didn't know you were able to do that." tracking shane's movements, your eyes followed the brunette as her slender fingers plucked out a cigarette, and brought it to that smug grin.

"I've smiled at you before." you said this far quicker than you would've liked to. quick enough that shane could tell you were already nervous. your paces brought you to the cement set of steps before the vestibule, the glass reflecting a soft glare from the setting LA sun. as you came closer, you let your gaze drift over her. shaggy brown hair, a charming disposition- definitely was trying to make you laugh. you cleared your throat, then looked back at Shane's cigarette before she lit it. "do you.. care if i bum one of those?"

um, who the fuck is that? why are you asking for a cigarette right now? oh, that’s right. you were being you when faced with uncomfortable amounts of difference in your typical day-to-day life. your therapist dumped you, your job is mundane, your family is incessantly nagging you, your anxiety is never-

“oh?” shane perked up, the filter of her cigarette now between her teeth as she smiled, rather than her lips. dark green eyes sparkled playfully, but her brows pushed up in an attempt to feign sympathy. she could tell you were feeling off today. after all, you were speaking. “yeah, sure, of course,” she said, fingering open the back with her thumb and taking a look. something about shane’s voice sounded so teasing. as if she wanted to sound like she’d take care of you, like she was worried. her left hand moved up to pull the cigarette from her teeth and her tongue darted out to wet the corner of her lip. A small tsk could be heard from her. “mm.. I only got my lucky left. you don’t care to share, do you?”

you were gonna faint. you were gonna fall over, die, cream your fucking pants. yeah, of course, you thought shane was hot before. why else would you avoid her every time she tried to holler at you? you couldn’t handle that. like we established earlier- you’re a hazard when your schedule is disturbed. but now? right here, standing just a couple feet away from a shane, engaging in conversation, breaking your perfectly time-alotted pattern? the thing that kept you distracted from all the shit of your daily experience? you’d never seen anything hotter.

you felt your body begin moving against your will, sitting down beside shane without missing a beat. your feet became brutus, your mind julius, crying why! you too?! you’re betraying me! as you turn and allow the backs of your sneakers to hit the cement step, lowering yourself down. part of it was definitely to show yourself off to shane. at least a little bit. if you were going to deter from your repetitive habits, why not be a little risky? flirt a little? on the other, you just needed to know that another person was real. what better proof is proximity? “yeah, that’s cool,” your voice is quiet as you take in the sight of shane so close and in such pretty light, your nerves absolutely eating at you.

her lighter was lime green and struggled to spark at first. instinctively, you reach out. you cup your hand around the lighter and use your fingers to hide shane’s cigarette. smoke curls from her nose and she pulls her face away, pinching her brows together as the cigarette began to spark. nodding a silent thank you for your assistance. hush sounds of burning paper, then a cloud of smoke, exhaled through the woman’s nose- you begin to forget. why had you never really spoken to her before? why do you avoid interaction like this?

“well,” shane mumbled from the butt of the cigarette, more smoke leaving her nose. “you have a pretty smile.”

you and shane sit in a friendly silence for a moment, but it’s quickly changing. you can feel that shane is checking you out. of course she is- you’re insanely cute. with high features that are just soft enough, making you so easily approachable. if only you weren’t an anxiety attack on legs! taking a glance at her, you can feel your heart pick up motion in your chest, thrumming inside of your work uniform. shane puts her fingers to her lips and pulls the cigarette away with her thumb and forefinger.

“you smoke weed?” you asked her, raising your eyebrow. your fingers moved, taking the cigarette between your own thumb and finger.

“uh,” she said, starting to let out a chuckle. “i mean, yeah. why?”

“you hold it like you’re smoking a joint.”

“hm,” shane smirked a little, letting you take the cigarette from between her fingers. “do you smoke?”

you shrug a little, taking a slow pull from the dart of tobacco, letting the thick smoke hit your throat and sit for a second. it had been a long time since you’d had one, and it always felt so right when you needed it. “sometimes,” you said, still holding your drag in your throat. “gives me bad anxiety on occasion. try to steer away from it.”

“damn,” shane’s green eyes rake over the side of your face, taking in your features as you blew out a faint stream of smoke. “you think this could be one of your sometimes?”

you pass the cigarette back, turning your head slightly to the left so you can look at shane. a sheepish expression crosses your lips and you mull over the thought. but only for a minute.

“yeah. honestly, i could probably use it.” what was a little more change? what was a little more anxiety? at this point, neither could push you any further than you already were. your response to shane’s question caused the brunette to smirk around the filter of the cigarette, and she nodded as she exhaled. you two sat for a few minutes after, sharing the smoke. there weren’t really any words spoken, but the lack of conversation was made up for in exchanged glances. you took a final drag of the cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and used the toe of your shoe to step it out.

simultaneously, you and shane stood on your feet from the stoop of the apartment complex. you looked her over- taking in her tall and dangly frame, hidden beneath a dark gray zip up and loose jeans, hanging from her hips. her shaggy hair was flippy and chopped, a small blonde tuft in the back. she was.. god, she was actually so cute. you looked away for a second, remembering that you were about to join her. upstairs. in her apartment. and smoke weed. with hot cheeks, you turned on your sneaker and moved on to the cement steps, pacing towards the glass door and slipping your key inside. shane’s presence was looming. literally. you felt her come up behind you and grab ahold of the metal frame just above your head, pulling it open wider so you could get in.

christ, you thought. you were betraying everything you knew: routine, mundanity, consistency. to go hang out with your neighbor who brought home new girls every other night, who smoked out the whole complex, who always smiled at you when she saw you. fuck, fuck, fuck- sneakers, both yours and shane’s, lightly thudded on the linoleum steps of the apartment hallway, bouncing off walls. jeez, focus long enough, you were certain you could hear your heartbeat echo back to you. oh, god, oh, god, oh, god- you stand behind shane, she leads you into her apartment. messy, disorganized, totally not you. you are well kept, you are neat, you are- totally about to jump this woman’s bones. you realize this as Shane sits down on her futon, legs spread wide, her lap just begging for you to come sit on it. oh, god. fuck. oh, god, oh-

“fuck,” you breathed out. you’d had to have been holding that in forever, lungs burning and eyes clenched tight. your head fell back on to the arm of shane’s futon and you could’ve sworn that this was all just a dream. that joint was either insanely strong, or you were losing time because of your previously high levels of anxiety and tension. ‘relax’- she had whispered to you, just before this heated session- ‘let me take care of you. i know what i’m doing, swear. only if you want me to.’ of course you wanted to. to deny that would be an absolute lie.

you feel shane’s breath fan against your neck, the sensation warm and all-consuming. her nose pushing against your jaw and nestling below your ear, soft lips brushing along your skin, ringed fingers slipped up your shirt and ghosted her fingers over your naval, teasing gently at a metal piercing that lay in the skin. her smile could be felt against your neck and she reared back, leaning on to the heels of her feet with a playful grin. her eyes sparkled and she pulled the hem of your shirt up with her right hand, then moved her left from the back of the futon. that hand made its sneaky way to your thigh, pushing your knee into the futon’s black fabric.

“that’s cute.”

“yeah?”

“oh, for sure. you.. got another one?”

“no,” you murmur shakily. you suddenly wished you had more. wished you’d succumbed to those thoughts of impulsivity that rushed through your brain when your spiraled out of control. you thought, for a moment, it would’ve made you more attractive. but… it seemed like shane didn’t mind it. she dropped your shirt and brought that right hand to her mouth, running her thumb and forefinger over her chin. her left then took hold of your black slacks, the uniform for your job, her forefinger hooking into a belt loop.

“that’s okay,” she said, looking at you through her lashes, letting her hand fall as she spoke. “you’d look really good with some more.”

you can’t do this any longer you are losing grip now. you shift your hips desperately, the futon squeaking annoyingly beneath you, but you brush it off. your nerves are shot, you’re insanely horny, you need to get this shit out of your system. “shane,” you mumble lowly, trying to get her attention. you succeed.

but first, she cracks that teeth-rotting smile. the one just sweet enough to make your mouth hurt, and sexy enough to make you sick. then, she does it. she leans in again, and you are full on making out. no longer just slowly kissing, clouded in a smoky haze, kisses tasting of resin and cigarettes. her lips are so soft, her fingers nimble and dexterous as they cup the small of your back. she pulls you. up, into a sitting position, and wraps her palm around the nape of your neck to hold you there. the hand that had pulled you shifted once more as shane lay back on to the futon, and you went right with her. she was handling you. not forcibly, no, but gently, enough to just guide you.

and seeking a safety net in your crumbling control, you let her. you slid into position, right in shane’s lap like you’d wanted to be in the first place. perfect. hanging your head low, you pushed down against your neighbor’s lap and felt yourself rush with a specific heat you only experienced when you knew you weren’t supposed to be doing something. foreheads pushed together, lips a breath apart, you closed the gap. your hands brace the sides of shane’s head and your knuckles nearly turn white from how hard you grasp on to the wooden frame.

shane’s kiss is absolutely filthy. she’s licking, drawing your mouth open as if it were a profound cavern she was in dire need to explore, pulling air from your lungs. you aren’t sure how you’re still feeling at this point, but a trace of shane’s touch runs down across your belly button piercing again and pulls at the button of your slacks. expertly, her lips never once stop moving as the plastic black button pops and she teases down your zipper.

you. oh, you have never been so hungry. you were starving. fuck schedules. fuck routine, to hell with repetition. what was it for anyway? to be comfortable? being comfortable never brought you into situations like this. without thinking, one of your hand relents from the frame and rushes to grab shane’s hand, pushing at her wrist so her fingers would cup just above your underwear, palm right over your pubis. you hadn’t shaved in awhile. though you were tidy, you hadn’t had any in awhile. shane liked it though. you could tell based on how she smiles against your mouth.

words no longer suffice. you clench violently around nothing, your need so heavy that you feel your pulse in the depths of your center. shane pulls away only for a moment to gaze into your eyes as she pulls the fabric of your slacks just slightly past your hips. enough to where she can push your underwear to the side and tuck her fingers against your warm skin, and enough to watch you react.

“you..” shane nearly moans out the word. “you’re.. stupid wet right now.” her brows turn up and she parts her lips, leaning forward on to futon so she could be closer to you. her fingers moved. and you’d never felt something so good. silver rings, soft fingertips, hands that knew what they were doing. you shuddered and jerked, nearly squealing as she ran her thumb over your clit. she looked like she was about to worship you. like she was ready to pray to you. she was so adorable, somehow.

“yeah,” there’s hardly anything but desire behind your voice now. “yeah, i.. i told you-“ you grunt and jerk your hips.

just as Shane’s fingers begin to move in circles, your eyes flutter shut and you begin rocking your hips.

“i needed that joint.”

shane hums out a low chuckle and nods her head. her thumb leaves your clit for only a moment. brushing south and rubbing along your entrance, she eases the truth from your lips.

“i hoped it would end with this, too.” you tone was airy, so overwhelmed with need that you could hardly hear yourself speak.

and just like that, how the truth did set you free. shane’s lips met yours and she kissed you so slowly. lips locked passionately, as if she were thirsty and the only refreshing thing was your kiss. her fingers moved back to your clit, stroking and pushing in motions that rounded your hood with horrifying ease. this was too good. this was great. this was perfect.

you were never going to stick to routine ever again.

notes: okay that’s it im done Im so sorry to lead up so much to barely anything at all but. BUT I GOT NERVOUS. ANYWAY HERE’S THIS IM TAGGING @thestarkillers bc ik they love shane the way i do and this is for them ok bai ALSO i wrote the second half of this drunk. enjoy!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

We Were Built to Fall Apart and Fall Back Together

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria (pre-Saviors war) Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood, injury, illness; allusions to self harm; canonical character death Summary: After Denise's death, you notice something is terribly off about Daryl, but he won't let you close enough to find out what. A/N: This novel was written for @darylssunshine and my lord, I'm worried that I got too carried away and that's just a ton of rambling and ooc Daryl. 😢

*gif is not mine

Something was wrong with Daryl.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you just knew he wasn’t himself. Well, completely himself. He was amped up and ready to fight, ready to take revenge. Everyone seemed to understand why. He had watched Denise die, harbored that guilt upon his own shoulders alone. He had conceded and let her go with him and Rosita. It was his fault that she had been taken from the community, taken from Tara. Of course, that wasn’t true. The blame lay solely on the Saviors, but Daryl was nothing if not self deprecating and stubborn. That—the willingness to take full responsibility, to beat himself down—was commonplace. However, there was something else.

Something in the way he communicated, a quieter tone than usual. Of course, no one else picked up on it. No one else spent 99% of their time with him. No one else had conversations with him in bed, heard him vent or laugh or just talk when everything else was still and quiet.  Not like you. No one else heard the different octaves, the slight trembles. To everyone else, he was just talking. 

Something in the way he carried himself. Daryl had a specific gait. Nearly silent footfalls when stealth or care was needed but in everyday activities, his boots pounded the ground. He walked with purpose, long and even strides. Not with a slight drag of his left leg. So minuscule that no one seemed to notice. Except you. 

Something in the way he ate. Daryl had a healthy appetite. He shoveled food into his mouth like someone would take it from him at any moment. Maybe someone had before. He gave it up willingly when supplies were scarce and he feared the kids would do without. Supplies weren’t at a surplus but no one was starving, yet no one seemed to notice that Daryl wasn’t eating. No one except you. 

You had reasons to worry that others had no way of being aware. Daryl wasn’t coming to bed at night. Two nights in a row. You found him on the couch the next morning. That was concerning in itself. Daryl up at the ass crack of dawn Dixon was still asleep when you came downstairs. Once he was awake, there was no conversation. Not a word spoken. He’d forego his coffee and anything to eat and just trudge out the door. 

“So.” You leaned back against the wall next to him, narrowing your eyes when he moved to the side just the slightest bit. 

“So?” He crossed his arms, hands tucked away in his armpits. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You pressed, forcing yourself to keep your distance. He angled his head toward you but kept his eyes on the meeting. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” He rasped in a whisper so quiet that you needed to lean closer to hear him properly. You answered with a simple mhm. There was no point in pursuing the conversation there. 

“Has anyone taken inventory since—” Rick let the words filter out, dropping his head with a sniff. “Tara isn’t up for it but we need to know what we’re running low on and—”

“I can do it.” Carol volunteered, standing and smoothing her pants and shirt. “I’ll go now. We know there was quite a list when she—” Even Carol couldn’t seem to muster the words. 

“Died.” Daryl finished, his voice rough. Everyone looked at him, a variety of expressions. “What? No one else seems to be able to say it. She was murdered. Killed. Dead.”

Rick was quiet for a moment, as were you, waiting for the next thing someone would say. 

“That isn’t on you Daryl. It was the Saviors, and she wanted—”

“The hell it ain’t.” The archer snapped, pulling his body from against the wall with the slightest stagger. You squinted, surveying the room. No one noticed. Of course they didn’t. “I took ‘er out there. Knew better but did it anyway.” He was challenging them, daring anyone to try and take some of the weight of guilt from his shoulders. When no one spoke up, he tapped his fist against the side of his leg and stalked out of the room. 

Then it was all eyes on you. A wordless game of who’s gonna check on Daryl was set in motion. 

“I’ve got him.” You nodded and left the room. He wasn’t in the foyer and unlikely to be upstairs in a house that wasn’t his own, so you opened the door and traipsed down the porch steps. “Daryl?” A look to the left and then to the right revealed nothing but empty evening streets in Alexandria. 

You knew almost everything there was to know about the archer. Including that if he did not want to be found, you would not find him. 

You did the only thing you could. You sighed and headed home, hoping just maybe he’d be there, though the odds were against you. 

The house was dark when you got there, which was nothing new. Even if he was home, he could move around in the shadows like a ghost. Opening the door, you stepped inside and closed it behind you, opting to leave the lights off for the moment. 

“Daryl, are you home?”

Nothing. 

Another sigh as you removed your boots and padded into the kitchen, this time, turning on the lights. Coffee would have been the better option but your nerves won out with their persuasive argument for alcohol. You had two bottles of wine that you used in cooking—well, that was the intended use. 

Glass poured and book in hand, you turned off the light and perched yourself on the couch, lighting a candle to illuminate the words on the pages while you waited for him. Even if you fell asleep, you’d know if he came home.  If the apocalypse had made you into anything, it was a light sleeper. You’d know the moment that door opened. 

It never did. 

When morning came without a trace of your boyfriend, you passed into another level of worry, the part where the scenarios came intruding upon your usually levelheaded thoughts. 

What if he had gone after the Saviors alone? What if he had been hurt? What if he had been—

No. That thought, you simply refused to entertain. Boots on and weapons holstered, you stepped outside. Carol was walking toward your house, but before you could ask if she had seen the missing archer, she was looking up with a hand hovering over her eyes to block the sun.  A glance toward you but she remained silent. 

Jogging down the steps, you joined her, shielding your eyes and looking toward the roof of your house. 

Daryl was perched there, knees drawn up with his arms wrapped around them. He was just watching the townsfolk move about without a word or movement. You worked your jaw back and forth to stifle the annoyance of having him above your head all night while you waited for him until the candle had burned out. 

“I got this. Thanks, Carol. Did you need anything else?”

She was still watching her best friend but reluctantly turned to you. “We’re running low on nearly everything in the infirmary. Gauze, gloves, ointments, antibiotics, painkillers, and the meds some of the people need to manage health issues. Would you—”

There was a loud thud several feet away, Daryl straightening—staggering and tilting but yes, straightening—from his jump. “I got it. Make a list.”

“Daryl, maybe you should—” Carol started. 

“Make a list.” Was all he said before walking up the steps and into the house. 

You started to speak but the other woman was faster. “Something’s not right with him.” She had crossed her arms and was staring at your front door. “He isn’t eating. He’s walking differently and there’s something about his tone.” You blinked at her. “What? Just because you’re sleeping with him, you think the best friend doesn’t notice these things too?” Carol smiled, squinting against the sun. 

“Touché.” You conceded with a nod. 

“I’ll make the list but go with him. You and someone else. No matter what he says.” Her hand came to rest on your shoulder and squeeze. 

“You know I don’t listen to what he says anyway.” You placed your hand over hers and brought it down with a squeeze of your own, separating as you walked toward your house. 

Your bag was on a hook by the door, all unused necessities still inside. You merely needed to replenish and pack up some extra clothes. As your boot touched the bottom step of the staircase, you heard the tap begin to run in the kitchen. You carefully hung your bag on the banister post. 

Rounding into the room, you found Daryl grasping the edge of the kitchen island, arms outstretched with his head hanging between them. His hair was draped like a curtain, shielding any view of his face. The glass he’d filled sat untouched in front of him. 

As you approached, it became apparent that he hadn’t realized you were even in the room. That was beyond concerning. Daryl had an eagle eye and the hearing of an owl. He should have heard you the moment you entered the house. 

“Daryl.”

He didn’t startle, just simply squeezed the countertop’s edge. “Take it you’re goin’ too.” He rasped, his words followed by a harsh sniff. 

“Of course, I am.” You stepped closer and reached for his hand, your fingertips barely making it halfway before he moved. “Daryl, wait.”

“G’on an’ get ready. Wanna head out, maybe be back ‘fore dark.” 

“Listen, I know someth—”

“Take whatcha need in case we gotta make it a overnight thing.” His own bag was on the hook beside where yours had been moments ago. Daryl snatched it as he opened the door and headed outside. 

“Stubborn fucking mule.” You grumbled, jerking your bag from the post on your way up the stairs. 

You had been in the car for 45 minutes and Abraham had not stopped talking. You loved the big red gorilla but sometimes, he needed several layers of duct tape over his mouth. From the way Daryl was massaging his left temple as he drove, you would need to find that tape or the other man would be riding in the trunk very soon. 

“Really puts a burr in my saddle what they did to Denise.”

Shit. 

Daryl’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. The fingers rubbing his temple clenched into a fist. His jaw tightened and ticked. Abe had already been grating his nerves and it seemed the other man had severed the last one completely. 

Time to defuse. 

You cleared your throat. “So, according to the map, we should take the next right.” With a grunt, the archer followed your directions. 

By the time he shifted the car into park, your worry for his well being had reached a crescendo. His eyelids were drooping. A thin sheen of sweat was glistening on any patch of skin you could see. And when he opened the door, he put his boots on the ground and sat for a moment before grasping the top of the door to pull himself up and out. 

Something was definitely wrong with Daryl. 

He opened the back door and grabbed his bag, slamming it before Abraham could even blink. 

“Alright, little lady. What seems to have his panties in a bunch?” 

Maybe you really could find some duct tape. 

“I have no clue.” You watched Daryl light a cigarette behind the car while he scoped out the strip mall for any signs of danger. Even while standing still, he listed sideways and struggled to right himself. “But it’s nothing good.”

“I’m gonna go on ahead. You check on your dreamboat. See if he needs to sit this one out.” The large man nodded, climbing out of the cramped backseat. 

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Cause that’s gonna work.” Abraham just grinned at you and got a clear view of your middle finger in return. Your eyes settled on your archer once again, now leaning against the trunk much as he had the counter that morning. Abraham stopped without getting too close, cracking some joke that at least made himself smile before moving on. Daryl simply shook his head. 

Your lips trilling, you finally opened the door and climbed out. Working your arms through the straps of your bag, you closed the car door and rounded the back as Daryl’s hand fell away from his stomach. He caught your narrowed gaze and grunted, pushing himself away from the car. 

“S’get this over with.” He grumbled, stalking away at a slower than usual pace. You didn’t even have to walk briskly to catch up as you normally would. 

“You—pulled a muscle?” You said in your best game show contestant voice. The man didn’t stop but his eyes slid over to regard you quizzically without turning his head. 

“What?”

“You have a migraine?”

“Y/N.”

“Indigestion?”

“Stop.”

“Stubbed your toe?”

“Y/N.”

“A goddamn splinter in your left asscheek? Would you just stop and tell me what’s going on?!” You reached for his shoulder but he sidestepped straight into a graceless stagger, expression pinched and angry. 

“Told ya already! Ain’t nothin’ wrong! Just wanna get this done so we can get back to focusin’ on those assholes that killed ‘er!” With a groan of frustration, he pulled his gun from the holster, but you didn’t miss the pain that flashed across his face. “Would ya just—just go that way? Ya got the list. M’gonna see if there’s anythin’ else we can use.”

“Daryl, I know you. Would you please—”

His arm straightened out past your head, pointing a finger on the direction Abe had gone. “G’on.”

Your nostrils flared but you spun on your heel and stomped away. The insufferable archer couldn’t possibly understand how well you knew him if he thought he was hiding anything by being a jerk. Daryl had three types of anger: angry, homicidal rage, and—the one you and everyone else saw the most—deflection. He would use the fear of provoking his ire to keep anyone from detecting that something wasn’t right, whether that be physical or emotional. 

Daryl was grieving and guilt-laden. No one could ever make him feel worse than he could on his very own, but per your observations over the last couple of days, that wasn’t the entire issue. There was a physical ailment of some sort. Precarious steps, sweating, exhaustion, poor appetite. 

Your stomps slowed to a crawl before your feet were just no longer moving. Abraham had caught sight of you by then, nodding that he had located the pharmacy, but you didn’t notice. 

“Oh, my god.” He would have told you, right? You, of all people. There’s no way he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t have risked everyone. You were already running back to the spot where you had gone your separate ways, the tall redhead’s boots pounding the pavement behind you, but Daryl was no longer there. Not that you thought he would have just stood there anyway. 

“What’s all hubbub, bub?” Abe called from just behind you. 

You didn’t answer. You continued to take corners and weave in and out of alleys between shops, your gun drawn but not even poised to aim. “Daryl?” You called near frantically. The groans and snarls of hungry corpses grew nearer, sending your heart pumping into overdrive. “Daryl?!” 

Rounding into an alley, his name was on the tip of your tongue when a tight grip on your bag yanked you inside the door you had nearly passed right up. With a squeak, you made to raise your weapon only for an overly warm hand to push it back down. 

“Y’soundin’ the dinner bell out there or somethin’? S’gotten into ya?” Daryl snapped in a harsh whisper. His face was inches from yours, his hand still folded over your own. His skin was on fire.

Oh god, no. 

Abraham’s shadow blocked most of the light from outside the storage room, your words spilling into the shadows. “Daryl, are you bit?” His hand was snatched away as if you had slapped it. 

“The fu—no, I ain’t bit. Y’think I wouldn’a told ya?” Daryl hissed, turning to head further into the building. 

“I’m beginning to wonder.” You laughed wryly. He just kept walking. “Then you’re sick.”

There came a frustrated groan from the silhouette walking in front of you in the poorly lit area. “Give it a rest, would ya?”

“You have a fever. I felt it. You’re burning up.”

“S’my blood pressure hittin’ the roof cause you’re pissin’ me off!”

You bit your tongue when Abraham chuckled from somewhere behind you. “Who needs the good ol’ boob tube when you’ve got relationships in the end times?” You barely stopped yourself from aiming your gun at the man. There’s a time and a place was a concept with which Abe was drastically unfamiliar. 

“Would you stop waking please? I know you’re sick or—or you’re hurt. Just talk to me. I only—”

“M’a grown ass man, Y/N! Don’t need ya tryin’a be my mama!” He grabbed the handles to a set of heavy metal doors, but didn’t try to open them yet. “Get on back an’ find the pharmacy. Gonna meetcha there.”

“Daryl—” 

A large hand came to lay heavily on your shoulder, fingers squeezing with a tenderness that brought tears springing to your eyes. “Come on, chickadee. I think we should get on over to that pharmacy.” Daryl was still gripping the handles, his head bowed, the door remaining unopened. “Come on now.”

You swallowed hard with the first step back, wiping angrily at your eyes as you turned to push past Abraham. “Let’s get the shit and go home.” Stepping outside, you squinted against the sun and glanced to your right where the walkers shuffled by in the back alley. They hadn’t noticed you. When a solid thud sounded from behind you, there was no hesitation in rolling your eyes. “Jesus, Abe. Be quiet.”

“Wasn’t me.” 

You twisted to regard him, finding thick eyebrows raised while he shook his head. “Daryl.” His name came out across a breath. You pushed past the large man for a second time and navigated through the dimness to where you had left the archer at the door. A dark heap laid against the bottom of the entryway, unmoving. “Daryl? Oh god, Abe!” 

“Ssh. The walkin’ uglies are gettin’ closer. We should—oh, shit.”

You were already on your knees, feeling the dry heat of fever in Daryl’s skin when you took his face into your hands. He was no longer sweating; simply burning.  “Daryl. Daryl, please open your eyes.” With frantic movements, you started patting him down, moving clothing to examine his skin. “Abe, the flashlight.”

The redhead scrambled to shrug off his bag and pull the device from the side pocket. He clicked it on. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hold it steady.” Parting Daryl’s vest, you began unbuttoning his shirt. “Turn your head.” 

“I’ve seen a man’s chest before, darlin’.”

“Turn your fucking head, Abraham!” You shouted, flinching when you heard a snarl that was much closer than the rest. “Give me the light please.” Your left hand held Daryl’s shirt closed, the buttons undone, while your right hand extended and gestured with urgency. “Please, Abe. Give me the light and go see how many there are—if you can handle them.”

He glanced between you and Daryl, obviously not understanding but did as you asked. Once he had walked out of sight, you lowered your head with a long exhale. Over the months you had known him, Daryl had allowed himself to feel less and less defined by his scars. That didn’t mean he wanted to parade them in front of everyone, even if the individual had already seen them. You and Carol seemed to be the only exceptions to that rule. 

The flashlight held beneath your chin, you parted his shirt, the culprit for his symptoms staring you in the face. A bandage covered the lower left side of his abdomen. It was clean but the skin just around the edges was an angry red. Nostrils flaring, you peeled away the gauze and then let go, the tape resticking to small areas. The flashlight fell to the concrete floor. 

“You are un-fucking-believable, Daryl Dixon.” 

The bullet wound was still open, torn and gaping from his own success in removing the slug, lined with crusts of yellow and a sickly shade of green inside. You knew what this was, this was his punishment. For himself. The burns for Beth. An untreated bullet wound for Denise. He wanted to hurt until he made it right.

“Goddamn you.” You sobbed, removing the bandage entirely. Bowing over him, you let your forehead drop against his chest, shoulders shaking with tears you no longer cared to suppress. No. No, you couldn’t break down. Daryl needed help. 

Abe wasn’t fighting. Aside from the distant snarls and scrapes of shuffling feet, you heard nothing. 

“Abe?” You called as loudly as you dared, sniffling, your face wet with tears and snot. “Abraham?” 

“I’m here, girly.” He appeared within your sight, gore-covered knife in hand. “Got the ones outside. 

“He was shot. It’s—it’s infected.” You scrambled to close Daryl’s shirt and picked up the flashlight, the beam trembling. “Would you—I need to go to the pharmacy. We’ll need the meds—everything that’s there. Can you stay with him?” He was shaking his head before you even asked. 

“I’m gonna take care of that pharmacy. Then we’ll load up tall, dark, and broody. We’ll go home and get him all fixed up, you hear me?” He called your name quietly and crouched down when you just kept staring at Daryl. “He’s gonna be just fine. He’s got you lookin’ after him.” Your wet gaze fought to meet Abraham’s, finally succeeding even as your eyes danced and darted in a valiant attempt to maintain it. 

The inhale trembled just as harshly as the exhale. “Okay. Okay, take our bags, too. You’ll need the extra space. I’ll, um—I’ll barricade the door after you go. Shave and a haircut when you come back?” 

“Two bits.” He grinned, rising to his full height. Your fingers grazed over Daryl’s jaw as you stood, loath to leave him for even that meager amount of time. Abe checked outside the entrance, each way, and turned around to walk backwards as you started closing the door. “If I’m not back in five minutes, just wait longer.” You rolled your red-rimmed eyes and shut him out. 

Searching the room with the flashlight lifted, you found a desk. It looked sturdy, heavy. You really weren’t even sure you could move it alone. Placing the flashlight on the floor, you pushed against the side, grunting and huffing between your sniffles and hiccups, but it was all for naught. The thing didn’t budge. 

“Fuck.” Spinning, you pressed your back against it and used your legs, finally getting the damn thing to slide, albeit noisily. You couldn’t manage getting it firmly against the door, but nothing was getting by it and that’s what counted. Snatching up the light, you grabbed one of a stack of metal folding chairs and ran back to Daryl’s side. He hadn’t moved an inch, but his head was rolling back and forth against the concrete. 

“Y/N—”

Longing to just sit next to him, you stood the flashlight on its end next to your feet and jammed the chair beneath the door handles. The dead weren’t coordinated or cognizant and could only open the door by accident but it was possible and you were taking no chances. 

Back on your knees, you leaned over him, smoothing back his sweat-slick hair. “I’m here, love. I’m mad as hell but I’m here.” The heat radiating from him made your stomach churn. You pressed a palm to his cheek, his forehead, flipping your hand over to do the same.  

“S’my fault. She’s dead—gone an’ s’on me.” He started to sit up, finding he couldn’t, either too weak or in too much pain. Daryl had a high tolerance for hurt, so it was likely the former. 

“Ssh. Stay still.” His hand moved toward the exposed wound. You caught his wrist and brought his palm to your lips, kissing and lowering it back to the floor. “Nothing’s your fault.” 

“You’re s’posed to say that cause ya love me.”

You laughed quietly. “Maybe, but I mean it. She wanted to go, Daryl.”  Petting his hair in tender strokes, you watched his eyes struggle to remain open. They were only slits of bloodshot and blue as it was. There was a thud scrape thud outside.

“You’re pretty.” Daryl slurred, head turning to chase your touch when you pulled away to twist toward the alley door, blocked by several shelves and other junk. No coordinated knock, no light seeping inside. Walkers. 

“That’s the fever talking.” Out of an unfortunate practiced habit, you checked his pulse, finding it thready, too fast. 

“Nah. Always pretty. Even when I ain’t cookin’ from the inside out.” His eyes were closed, rolling beneath the lids. 

“And you’re handsome. Even when you are cooking from the inside out.” You mused, tracing his jaw with a fingertip. The corner of his mouth ticked, as close to a smile as you were likely to get. “Abraham went to clear the pharmacy. Gonna get you all cleaned up. Head home. You’re gonna be in a bed for a while.”

“I like the bed.” You were wrong. Now, he was smirking, eyelids fluttering. “‘Specially when you’re in it too.” His hand left the cold floor and landed lightly on your right hip, fingers weakly flexing. “Could take advantage’a me right now.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed in earnest, “now I know it’s the fever talking.” It was a true statement. Daryl almost never initiated physical intimacy, but he also never turned you down when you craved it. 

When your relationship entered into sexual territory, you thought he was only doing it because he wanted you to be happy, guilt had consumed you. As if his Y/N sense had tingled, he had reassured you, promised that he wanted it too but just didn’t know how to show it, how to come to you with his own needs. He was a patient and gentle lover, contrary to his rough and rugged exterior. He was comfortable showing you that side, that affection, behind closed doors. That’s all you could ever ask for, ever would ask for. 

“Wanna kiss ya.” His hand carved a trail up your side, fingertips grazing your breast but not lingering. His hot palm settled on the side of your neck. “I love ya. Gimme a kiss.”

Smiling brightly at this vulnerability and feverish show of true emotion, feelings that would never receive a voice— even with you—you leaned down and brushed your lips over his. His mouth trembled as he began to shiver, chills setting in from his body fighting the infection, fever burning unchecked. “Easy, tiger.” You cooed against his mouth. “I love you too. You stay in bed when we get back and I’ll give you whatever you want, but for now, I just need you to rest for me, okay?”

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He grinned, silly and lopsided, as you pulled away for a clear look at his face. Even in this state, you had not a single doubt that if Abe returned at that very moment, Daryl would morph into a scowling, grumpy asshat. Oh, how you were going to tease him later. He deserved it for hiding that injury from you.

Minutes ticked by, and it felt like hours. How long had Abraham been gone? Daryl was trying to roll over, attempting to curl in on himself, but you managed—with frighteningly little effort—to keep him on his back. When he groaned, arching his upper half with a hand trying to press against the wound, you caught his wrist again. “Ssh ssh ssh, leave it alone. I know it hurts but it’s infected enough as it is.” He didn’t appear to have any walker blood on his hands from what you could see with the dim flashlight beam but you’d take no chances.

“M’sorry I lied to ya.” Now he just sounded miserable, your heart clenching and aching despite your frustration. 

“I know you are. You can make it up to me later. Right now, I just need you to rest and hang on, okay?” Your fingers carded through his hair, catching on tangles and snarls. You’d help him wash it later, give him the sweet attention he so desperately needed while hurting so deeply, physically and emotionally. 

He went quiet after that, still trying to reposition, whimpering when you wouldn’t allow it. 

“I know, baby.” His pain so bare, ailing from the infection, you could hardly find it within you to be angry with him. He had punished himself enough. He didn’t need the weight of your irritation on top of it. You would need to talk to him, but you’d have to hold back, douse that flicker of anger that he didn’t allow you to help him carry the emotions that were weighing on him so heavily. 

Knock knock, na-knock knock. 

“Abe.” You whispered, beginning to rise to your feet when you felt a weak tug at the bottom hem of your shirt. Daryl’s eyes were wide and unfocused, the pretty blue dull from fever. 

“Don’t go.” 

With a sorrowful look of apology, you worked his fingers loose, lifting his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back. Not even leaving this room.” He didn’t respond, but allowed you to lower his hand back onto the floor. Standing, you quickly crossed the distance to the door, placed your back against the desk to slide it away. You barely achieved it, feeling wrung out from Daryl’s openness under the influence of his feverish state. 

“We hit the jackpot.” The redheaded man held up two bags, the contents nearly spilling out. The one on his back was equally as full. 

“Did you see fever reducers? Tylenol? Ibuprofen? Aspirin?” You grabbed the side of the bag closest to you, nearly tipping it too far in your haste. Abe was talking behind you, reblocking the door while you walked back to Daryl, your hand sifting through the bag. Come on. You weren’t looking while you walked, your body on autopilot while your mind concentrated on getting your boyfriend what he needed. When you could see a yellow label toward the bottom, just barely visible beneath the tubings, fluids, and other pills, you nearly shouted in relief. Bayer Genuine Aspirin. “Thank god. Abe, your canteen.” 

You were already opening the bottle, punching through the seal. “Here.” Abraham tapped the container against your shoulder. With two tablets already in your hand, you took hold of the canteen and motioned for him to unscrew the lid. 

“Thanks.” In the moments of your absence, Daryl had finally succeeded in turning onto his side, legs drawn up, body quaking. “Daryl.” There was no room on his opposite side. He was too close to the doors. “Daryl, I need you to take some meds for me.” The only reply was a groan while he pulled his knees closer to his chest only to jerk them away with a choked off shout, the movement aggravating the wound. “Daryl.” 

“Need me to, uh—” Abe waved a hand toward the whole of Daryl. You knew what he meant. Even as you nodded, you could already hear the grumbled complaints about you allowing him to be manhandled. “Okay, Prince Charming, just need to sit you up a little for these pills. Then we’ll get the fuck out of here.” He started with the left arm, sliding a hand beneath it to roll the archer just enough to work his other hand underneath the opposite arm. “Upsy daisy.” Abraham moved slowly, his eyes telling a tale of worry when Daryl grimaced and groaned. “He’s hotter than a jalapeno’s ass.” His voice was quiet but there was an urgency there. “Give him those pills and then we gotta go.”

He was right. If the fever continued to climb, there was the risk of febrile seizures. No one wanted that to happen. “Here, take these.” You pressed one of the pills to the archer’s bottom lip, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

“Ain’t takin’ your stupid pills.” Daryl snapped—damn near literally—jerking out of Abe’s hold just to fall back into it. You reeled back, just from the sudden movement, not out of fear. Never fear. Not with him.

“Daryl, stop.” You walked on your knees to get a little closer, trying again. “I need to get started on getting that fever down.” Chapped lips pulled away from teeth in a snarl, his hand coming up to slap yours. The tablets disappeared into the shadows. “Daryl, what the—”

“Said I ain’t takin’ your fuckin’ pills, Merle!”

Your breath stuttered, saucer eyes flitting up to Abraham and back down. “It’s Y/N, Daryl. Merle—Merle isn’t here.” The canteen was placed next to the bag of medical supplies, keeping a few feet of distance between that and Daryl, in case he lashed out again.

“Think I dunno s’goin’ on?” Your eyes slid up to Abraham as he lowered himself behind your archer, large hands relocating to grip Daryl’s biceps. “I take the drug’a the week an’ you steal the rent money to get more! Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’!” 

“It’s just aspirin. And it’s just me and Abe here with you.” He tried to lean toward you, halted by the other man’s strong grip. He was too weak to do much about it. “Merle’s not here. Do you remember where he is?” You risked reaching toward him, fever-bright eyes tracking every movement right up until your palm rested on his shin. 

His breathing picked up as he lowered his head. It hung forward with his hair acting as a protective curtain. “Dead.” He rasped. “Merle’s dead.” You would have asked Abraham to let him go but he’d likely topple over without the support. 

“I’m sorry.” You squeezed his leg, tilting your head when his whole body tensed. 

“I hitcha.” The tone of his voice was both incredulous and remorseful. “Y/N, m’so—”

“Mm mm. None of that. You’re hurt. You’re sick. You’re burning up.” There was a sound from behind the double doors. “Daryl.”

“I’ll take ‘em.” 

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Shaking two more tablets from the bottle, you ducked your head to encourage him to look at you, the small white tablet was pressed against his bottom lip again. “Come on, love.” The second pill was behind your other three folded fingers. That left your other hand free to grab the canteen. 

His lips parted just as the first walker scratched against the other side of the doors. With time quickly running out, you pressed the pill past his lips, following it up with the second. You rapidly opened the canteen and brought it to his mouth before he could attempt to dry swallow the meds, smiling approvingly when he tilted his chin upward to allow you to help him. That in itself spoke volumes about his current state.

“Let me just rinse the wound and put some gauze over it and we can go.” Another thump had both you and Abraham looking at each door. “Shit.”

“Shit’s right. I think we’re boxed in.” He was careful when easing Daryl back into a supine position, hovering to make sure you asked nothing else of him. “Take care of him. I’ll go take a look at how deep the shit we have to wade through is.”

“Okay.” You nodded, digging through the bags. If there was nothing else, the water from the canteen would have to do until you could get him back to Alexandria. The wound needed disinfecting horribly, but your options were limited. Your lip was becoming sore, indented from your teeth pressing into it while you searched. “Please, please, please.” When your hand wrapped around the bottle of rubbing alcohol, you could have sobbed. Daryl was barely holding on to consciousness when you turned to him, breaking the seal on the bottle cap. “This is gonna suck, baby.”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t really expect it of him. What you did expect was the almost violent reaction the moment the cold burn of the liquid washed over the wound. His eyes flew open with a scream that you were likely to hear in your nightmares. It was easy to catch his shoulder with one hand but keeping him there was another problem entirely. His hands scrambled toward his stomach, fingers clawed as if he could scrape out the lingering sting of the alcohol. Forced to sit the bottle aside, somehow carefully enough not to spill it, you caught his wrists, one and then the other, alternating back and forth to keep his hands away from the festering wound. The doors trembled with the renewed efforts of the dead following the noise. 

“Daryl. Daryl, listen to me. I know it hurts but I just cleaned it. It’ll stop soon.” His head fell against your collarbone with an accompanying whimper that made your eyes burn with moisture. “It’ll stop soon.” He was at least cognizant enough to heed your instructions, his hands falling limply to the floor, only for his nails to scrape back and forth over the concrete. “I need to put a dressing over it, cover it until we get home.”

“We’re boxed in.” Abraham said before even rounding the work table that blocked your view of him. “We need to wait it out and hope they move on.”

Your head was shaking back and forth, chin bumping into Daryl’s temple. “We can’t wait. He needs help now.” You had, at some point, wrapped your arms around the shivering archer, rubbing his back as he panted against your neck. 

“M’okay.” He whispered, likely not loud enough for Abe to hear.

“No, you’re not.” It wasn’t supposed to come out as authoritative as it did but it had the desired result. 

“Okay. M’not.” Daryl agreed, rubbing his fiery forehead against your skin. “M’sorry.”

“Stop it. It’s done.” You let your tone soften. He didn’t need anymore weight on his shoulders. “We just need to get you outta here.”

“You could find a way out. Leave me here, come back for me.” He rasped. You weren’t even sure he was entirely grasping reality at that point. He couldn’t be if he thought that you would ever leave him behind.

“We’re not doing that.” Abe interjected before you could even summon a refusal. “We’ll find a way. Just hang tight, man.” With another glance toward the door you were perched in front of, he looked at you. “You too, buttercup.” With that, he stole the flashlight and began searching the room.

You turned your full attention to Daryl. You couldn’t see enough to cover the wound but maybe you could still fumble through it. Reaching into your bag, you dug through the newly acquired supplies to find the few things you had brought with you. He was moving against you but you thought nothing of it until you heard the distinct clink of his zippo. His hand was vibrating when the flame lit up the small area around you.

“Thank you.” A kiss was pressed against the crown of his head while you relieved him of the lighter and placed it on the floor. The shivering had worsened and you worried again about seizures just as you found the gauze and tape you had brought with you. The rolls were almost spent but you likely had enough to cover the wound at least. “Will you lie back for me?” Daryl nodded silently and let you guide him until he was on his back, body jerking as the cold of the floor seeped through his clothing to cool his feverish skin. His eyes were barely slits. 

It was a quick process, the bandage taped down and his shirt buttoned up. Replacing the lid on the bottle of alcohol, you crawled up to sit above him, pulling his head onto your lap. He turned his face against your stomach and sighed as your fingers carded through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“You’ll be okay.” You have to be.

It had to be hours that had passed, Daryl’s skin cooling only to burn again. He was unconscious, restless and moving constantly; head tossing, fingers flexing, legs drawing up only to straighten. How could you have let him get this bad to begin with? You knew something was wrong and you told no one, thought you could deal with it on your own. He was your boyfriend, your person, and you allowed him to suffer.

“Found a air duct.” 

You startled, causing Daryl to flinch but not wake. “What?” Abe shined the light above your head, jerking it to have you looking up to a series of large ducts that likely led to other areas of the building, maybe ones that were not surrounded by the dead.

“We can crawl through, find an empty room. Go out a window or a door if there is one.”

The idea was sound except you weren’t sure Daryl could move on his own and dragging him would take longer than you were afraid you could afford. “What about Daryl? He can’t—”

“He’ll have to, or I could go. Bring back help, but those rotters are gonna take down those doors sure as my short and curlies match my head.”

I did not need to know that. Regardless, he was right. There was no other way. The doors beside you were trembling as hard as Daryl, soon to buckle under the weight and efforts of walkers seeking a meal. With a deep breath, you nodded. 

“Wake him up.” Abraham ordered softly. “I’m gonna get one of these open.”

Another nod but he was already walking away. Looking down at Daryl, his face completely hidden against your belly, you stroked his cheek. “I need you to wake up.” He shifted and groaned, but didn’t rouse. “Daryl, baby, you’ve got to wake up. We have to get you out of here.”

“M’awake.” His voice was muffled against your flannel, syllables jarring with the shivers wracking his frame. “Where are we?” He took a deep breath while he turned his head, as if he had been suffocating himself against you.

“You don’t remember?” Worry churned in your gut, crawling up into your chest with a sickening grip on your heart. 

“Can’t—can’t think.” His eyes struggled to open, face contorted in discomfort. He began trying to sit up, groaning and hissing through his teeth when you helped. His left arm wrapped around his middle as he looked around. “We—we went on a run.”

“Yeah, and we’re kinda trapped.” He snapped his head around to look at you, swaying slightly. “Dead at both doors. Abe found some grated ceiling ducts that run above. We’re gonna crawl through them and find a spot where we can get out.” You licked your lips and leaned toward him to catch his wandering attention. “Can you do it?”

“Ain’t got no choice.” Bracing his abdomen, he shifted to the side, slowly getting his knees beneath him. When you hastily stood, hands on his ribs, he said nothing against the assistance. 

“Abe, you get one?” You called.

“Almost.” There was a loud clang. “Strike that. Got one.”

“On our way over.” Daryl was on his feet but still doubled over, trembling so intensely that you weren’t sure his legs would hold his weight. “Let me help.” It wasn’t a request. Firmly taking the wrist of the hand he had braced just above his knee, you pulled his arm over your shoulder. The fever was raging beneath his skin, boiling his blood into vapor. He needed the infirmary. Carol could start an IV. You could wipe him down with cold cloths. He could get antibiotics. The wound would need to stay open until the infection was under control. You could do none of those things until you got him back home. “A little further.” You encouraged, barely looking away from him to where Abe was walking toward you.

“We gotta get while the gettin’s good.” He pulled Daryl’s arm away from you, barely letting the archer’s feet touch the ground as he hauled him toward the duct. There was already a crate waiting to give you all enough height to reach.

“Abe,” you said as you studied the escape route, moving around to gather your bag onto your back and toss Daryl’s up and inside. “I need to go first. Then Daryl, then you.” Daryl was dazed, staring at you but seemingly seeing right through you. “I can scout for a door or window. Daryl behind me. If he struggles, I need you behind him so you can push him along.”

His eyes focusing, the archer squinted. “M’fine. Don’t need no pushin’.”

You stepped forward, his slouch against Abraham bringing him to perfect eye level. “If you say m’fine one more time, you won’t need to worry about walkers, Daryl Dixon.” With a huff, you side stepped them and climbed up on the crate, grabbing the edges and hoisting yourself up. “All I’ve heard is m’fine and ain’t nothin’ wrong for days and now you’re half dead and surrounded by walkers. I swear to god, I’m going to throttle you.” You rambled, not really even caring if he heard you. 

Even if he didn’t, Abe did.

“Phew, man. I wouldn’t wanna be you when we get back.” He helped Daryl onto the crate, hands hovering to catch him as the archer began to pull himself up, his arms shaking violently with the effort. Abraham had to duck and let him use his shoulders and back to make it inside.

You crawled forward enough to make room for both men, turning on your side so you could look down to watch. Daryl made it onto his hands and knees, managing to crawl out of the way before he lowered himself gingerly, letting his forehead rest against the cool metal. 

“Alright, girly! We’re all in! Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You turned without a word, crawling forward. The ducting turned to the left and then the right, bringing you just above a herd, all trying to break through the double doors you had just left behind. Your movements were slow and careful, the drag of Daryl’s pack being nails-on-chalkboard loud.  You didn’t want to attract attention and have them trying to follow the sound. It was fortunate that the combined groans and snarls concealed the movement above but Daryl was struggling.

You looked back, lifting your arm out of the way to get a clear view. He wasn’t crawling. He was on his belly, hooking his fingers into the holes of the grating below to pull himself forward, pushing with his legs as best he could. Abraham was just behind him, telling stories and jokes with a few words of encouragement in between. You needed to move faster, leave them a little behind so you could find a way out.

“He’s flagging, Y/N.” Abraham called out quietly after a few more minutes of crawling and dragging. You stopped again, and looked back. Daryl was barely pulling himself along, his sick and injured body just having no more of it.

“He’s right here.” The man in question groaned. 

“Fuck. Daryl. Daryl, stop.” His body went limp with the exception of his heaving breaths, cheek against grating. “Rest. I’m going to find a way out and I’ll come back.” Abraham nodded from behind the archer, who merely turned his hand with a thumbs up. You left both bags and crawled with purpose, watching the areas below you for walkers, where you would slow down and minimize any sounds. Right, left, left. There were forks in the ductwork. You had to remember how to get back to where you had left the two men. Right, left, left. Your brain repeated as you headed straight. Looking below you, there was a well lit room. It was quiet aside from the distant groans blocked by a door. 

Bingo.

You crawled until you found the opening, lifting the thick metal and turning it so you could drop it to the floor with a clang. You stayed still with bated breath. The door did not jar and the sounds remained distant. Lowering to be flat on your belly, you peeked out to get a full view. The room was empty; an office. A decaying body lay in the corner, jeans and a logoed t-shirt with a gun laying on their chest. Poor bastard. The door would lead out into the halls but there were windows. No shadows passed by in the few minutes you offered. When you felt dizzy from hanging upside down, you wiggled backward. 

With three quick breaths you let yourself fall out and crash to the floor with a decent thud and a groaned ow. It took a moment to catch your breath, your back protesting as you levered yourself to your feet, quickly devising a strategy. The desk was just as heavy as the one in the warehouse area, sliding and catching on carpet this time rather than the smooth concrete. Somehow, you managed to get it in front of the door. 

Climbing onto the desk, you winced at what was bound to be a painful disaster. Keeping your eyes on the edge of the duct, you walked to the far end of the structure. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. The running start was minuscule but it proved to be enough. While one hand slipped, one latched on and you were dangling from the vent. With nothing and no one beneath you, you had to grab hold with your other hand and pull yourself up. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have faked cramps in PE class.” You grunted. The grates in the bottom of the duct made pulling yourself up a little easier once you could reach them. After what seemed like an eternity, you were finally inside and wasted not a single second, moving hastily, almost clumsily. Left. Right. Right. 

“Daryl. Abe.” You breathed once they were in sight. Abraham, however, stared back at you with concern, stricken. 

“Y/N, I didn’t know what to do.” You shook your head, clueless, and looked at Daryl. He was on his side, breathing in shallow pants. “Turned him on his side, that’s all—”

“Fuck.” Seizure. You crawled past the bags and brushed the hair away from Daryl’s face. The other man was talking, but you didn’t hear him anymore, feeling the inferno beneath the archer’s skin. “We gotta go. You push, I’ll pull.” With Abe’s help, you were able to maneuver the unconscious archer into his back. 

You had a bag hanging from each shoulder, giving you even less room to shuffle properly, but you kept moving, tugging under Daryl’s arms while Abraham pushed upward using the sides of the archer’s knees. It was a long and grueling trek with you whispering to him all along the way. 

“You’ll be okay.”

Just before you were set to pull him again, he groaned. “Y/N?”

“I’m here.” You let go and leaned over him. “I’m right here. Found a way. Just need to get you there.” He gave a noncommittal hum, blinking open tired eyes when a tear hit his cheek. You could have sworn it evaporated. 

“Feel like shit.” He grumbled. Your hands hovered while he made slow work of turning himself over, rising onto his hands and knees. 

“Look like it too, man.” Abe teased. Bless him for trying to lighten things up. 

“Thanks.” Daryl mumbled, raising his head to meet your eyes. “We goin’ or not?” His entire frame shook. 

You wanted to shove more aspirin at him, needed to, but letting him move on his own while he could would get you out of the ducts and closer to the car. “Uh, yeah—yeah, let’s go.” You were actually stuck crawling backwards but it wasn’t the worst thing. It gave you the opportunity to keep an eye on him. He seemed to be doing okay, moving slowly, clumsily, but doing so on his own. In the conscious back of your mind, running on autopilot, you kept up with the ducts. Right. Left. Left. “How’re you doing?” 

“Peachy, sunshine. Just peachy.” There was no bite to the words, just exhaustion and pain. “How much further?” He was tiring again, movements becoming even more sluggish. If he stopped for a break, it was likely you and Abraham would be dragging him again.

“Not much.” You looked over your shoulder, backing around the last turn. “Almost there.” The duct began to grow brighter with the sunlight from the windows below through the missing grate. You looked back just in time to not fall out. “Okay, let me go take a look.” Daryl nodded, remaining on all fours even when his arms seemed barely able to take his weight. 

You slid one bag at a time off your shoulder and out of the opening. Going out feet-first made it so much easier than the first time. You landed easily and pulled the bags with you toward the windows, checking outside and then listening against the door. You didn’t even hear the walkers from earlier. Maybe they had moved on to where the others were trying to break through. 

“It’s clear!” You called up quietly. Before you could offer any insight, Daryl tumbled out of the vent and landed with thud and a sharp exhale. “Jesus, Daryl!” Grabbing beneath his arms, you helped him move out of the way for Abe to tumble out in a similar fashion. “You okay?” You tossed over your shoulder, propping Daryl against the wall to look him over. 

“That was a bitch.”

You cracked a smile and nodded at the archer. “He’s fine.” Daryl snorted weakly. His head dropped back against the wall while you busied yourself with finding the aspirin and the canteen. “Here.” His eyes were barely open, reserves spent. “Come on, baby, work with me here. We still have to get you to the car but I need you to take these first.” Sucking in a breath, he raised his head and opened his mouth. He didn’t even try to take them on his own. This is so bad. You weren’t sure if he even knew what was going on, if he would remember anything after collapsing by the doors.

“Gonna need you to get the car, girly.” 

“What?” You turned, almost spilling the water on Daryl. “Sorry.” You carried on with getting the pills onto his tongue and holding the container for him while he took two long swallows, turning his head away to let you know he was finished. Brushing back his sweaty hair, you leaned in to kiss his forehead and then joined Abe at the window. “I’m not leaving him.” You focused on where the three of you were in proximity to the car, ignoring the look the taller redhead gave you.

“Listen, I know that, to you, no one will ever be better at taking care of him than you,” when you shot him a look, he held up a hand, “but you’re faster and you can get the car to right there at the end of the alley, I can carry him out. You can’t.”

Crossing your arms, you twisted to look back at your boyfriend. He seemed to be caught somewhere between awake and asleep. His skin was pale in direct contrast to the fevered flush on his cheeks and chest. His eyelids were purplish, lips nearly colorless. You didn’t like it, but it was the most logical option.

“Alright.” You whispered, nodding as if responding to yourself. “Alright.” Turning, you dropped your arms and crouched down beside Daryl, digging through his pockets for the keys. “Daryl.” He hummed but didn’t move. “I’ll be right back, okay?” When you stroked a finger down the edge of his jaw, he leaned into the touch, scowling when it pulled away. “I love you.” You wanted to make sure he knew, just in case; wanted him to hear it.

“Me too, sunshine.” He said breathily, face relaxing. You thought he had passed out but then he inhaled deeply and lifted his head, opening dull, unfocused eyes. “Where are we?” You didn’t answer. Keys acquired, you strode purposefully for the windows and opened the nearest one.

Halfway out, you fixed a warning look on Abraham. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout him. Just worry ‘bout me if he comes to his senses again and you’re not here. Go on, now.”

There was no way you couldn’t smile—because it was true. It didn’t matter what was happening to Daryl, if you were missing, he was razing everything in his path to find out why and where. He might not actually speak the words I love you but he would show you constantly. You were just fine with that. You didn’t need verbal declarations from a man that had literally almost died for you several times over and then shrugged it off like it was no big deal. 

It had been one of those moments that you had bit the bullet, so to speak, and flung yourself into his arms, kissing him breathless. He had turned several shades of red afterward but then things began to change. He was more open with you, wanted to be around you, wanted you to be around him. And then there you were, several months later, and he was yours. You weren’t sure he knew the name of a single woman in Alexandria that wasn’t in your group. He didn’t give any of them a second glance, regardless of how they swooned over him. 

Then your thoughts turned to Denise. She hadn’t really been one of your group, not in the beginning but her love for Tara and tenderness toward all of you had integrated her into the circle of survivors you called family. She had always been kind to Daryl. Making sure he ate and had vitamins—even if he said it looked like shit. She wasn’t afraid of him like so many others had been. 

It was why he was taking her loss just as hard as Tara was.

Your feet touched asphalt outside the window without a sound, something you had picked up from Daryl. Creeping forward, close to the wall, you leaned around the corner toward the parking lot at the same time as pulling one of your knives from the thigh-sheath. The car was within sight. A quick run over and you’d pull it around. You’d have Daryl home and hooked up to an IV before nightfall. Staying low, you continued to stick close to the outside of the buildings. You would only put yourself out in the open when you needed to make the last sprint. Unfortunately for you, you weren’t paying enough attention to the wall you were sliding against.

The open door caught you by surprise, the walker that stumbled out of it, even more so. “Shit!” The old man barrelled into your side, knocking you into a concrete beam and down to the ground, the side of your face dragging over the rough asphalt while your knife went careening. Using your knee, you kept the body held off of you, one hand smacking away the cold, slimy fingers trying to dig into your skin. Your other hand fumbled for your second knife. Abandoning that endeavor, you concentrated on getting the damn corpse off of you. 

With a swift movement, you grabbed the tattered jacket the body still wore and pulled sideways, using the momentum to swing yourself on top of the walker. Obtaining the upper hand, you were able to snatch your knife and drive it through the eye socket with a disgusting squelch. You sat straddled over the body for a moment, catching your breath. The right side of your face burned, the thick coppery scent of blood in the air. 

“Asshole.” You pulled the knife free and stabbed it one more time just for pissing you off. With no other immediate threats, you took the chance to snatch up your other knife and resheath it before your boots pounded the pavement all the way to the car. From over the top, you could see the split up sections of the herd wandering the different alleys next to the building. None of them seemed to be heading to where you had come from, but sometimes they were sneaky bastards and you didn’t know until they were on top of you. Glaring daggers at the body you had left on the pavement, you mumbled “case in point.”

Behind the driver's seat, you started the engine and immediately moved toward the alleyway you had exited, throwing the shifter into park. You heard him before you could even get out of the car.

“The fuck ya let ‘er go out alone?!”

“Calm down, amigo. She’s just gonna get the car and bring—”

“Why didn’t you go get the car?!”

“Someone’s gonna need to carry you when you end up eatin’ shit cause you won’t calm the hell down!”

“M’goin’ to get ‘er.”

“I promised her I wouldn't let anything happen to you.”

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep. Y’should know there ain’t many ya can anymore.” His voice had quietened but you could hear him moving as you got closer. The window opened just as you stepped below it. Grabbing the pane, Daryl started to haul himself out but stopped with a startled shit! and nearly fell back inside. “Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He hissed.

“Was it your turn to ring the dinner bell, loudmouth?” You grinned, only for it to widen when he flipped you off. “Abe! Toss out the bags. I’ll load them while you help him.”

“Ain’t needin’ no help.” Daryl argued, hand pressed against the side of his stomach while he struggled to climb out the window. Abraham was shaking his head fondly and tossing you the bags through the second window. You juggled all three bags at the same time, throwing them into the trunk. A group of two dozen or saw walkers had ventured out of the alley near the body of the one you’d encountered. 

“Shit.” You made it back just as Daryl’s boots hit the ground. He staggered sideways and bumped into the opposite wall, panting as if he’d run a marathon. “Idiot, you should have let him help.”

“I got it. M’good.” He straightened and put his hands on his hips then crossed them on the top of his head, trying to catch his breath. 

“Baby, you don’t look good.” He didn’t flinch away when you reached for him. It was likely because he had been avoiding your touch to hide the fever, but that cat was long out of the bag. He simply looked miserable, lowering his head when your palm rested against his cheek. “Come on, walkers headed this way.” 

Only then did he seem to notice the blood on your face. “What happened?” His overly warm fingers gripped your chin and turned your head while his other hand slapped flat against the wall to keep him upright. 

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Smiling gently, you turned toward the car, catching the concerned look that came over Abraham’s face.

“I don’t—well, shit!” He bolted past you and caught Daryl under the arms before he could hit the ground. “Open the door, get in the back and help me get him in.” You didn’t need to be told twice. With the back door open, you watched Abe scoop up the archer in a bridal carry that you’d have to remind the man not to tease Daryl about later. With a nervous glance through the back window, you whined at the closing distance between the walkers and the car. 

“Come on, come on.” Abe angled Daryl toward you so you could grab beneath his arms and pull him in with a little help from the other man. He arranged the archer’s legs to hang off the seat while his head was on your lap. The walkers were touching the back of the car by the time Abraham closed the driver’s side door. He said nothing but held a peace sign out the window as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Finally able to breathe, you kissed Daryl’s forehead and smoothed back his hair. “We’ll be home soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

You were sitting by the window in your room, drinking a hot cup of tea Carol had brought for you after the initial chaos of getting Daryl stable and settled had fizzled out.

There had been two seizures on the way back to Alexandria, his pulse hammering beneath the fire of his skin. Between you and Carol with Rick and Michonne grabbing anything that was needed, an IV was started, Daryl was stripped down and covered with a thin sheet, the wound was debrided, and you had cleaned his skin with cool cloths until the tea was ready.

Carol had gone to do inventory with what hadn’t been used or wouldn’t likely be needed in his recovery, leaving you alone with your archer. Your head fell back against the chair and rolled toward where Daryl lay. The sheet was just above his hip bones, letting air get to the freshly cleaned wound until the inflammation was down enough to be stitched—if it could be at all. His color was a little better, improved after only an hour of fluids.

He groaned, heading lulling toward you, a spasm of pain fluttering over his features before he relaxed again. Abandoning the mug on the window sill, you dragged your exhausted body to sit on the edge of the mattress and wrung out the cloth over the bowl next to the bed. The fever was still present but likely to improve now that he was resting and receiving antibiotics, the fluids keeping him hydrated against what the heat stole from him. 

He groaned again, eyelids fluttering but not opening. “Ssh.” You hushed, wiping down his face and neck. “We’re home. We’re safe.” He remained still, but you continued to soothe him. “I’m here, baby.”

He didn’t stir again until deep in the night, eyes blinking open to find you sitting in a chair next to the bed, thumb stroking the top of his hand. 

“Y/N.” He croaked, grimacing. Clearing his throat, he tried again with the same result. 

“Let me get you some water.” You used your free hand to push against the chair arm but his fingers tightening their hold brought you to a halt. Brow drawing inward, you sat back down. 

“M’fi—” He visibly choked down the words at your withering expression. “Yeah. Water, uh—uh, please.” He cleared his throat again and coughed. When his fingers loosened around your hand, you got up and went downstairs. 

Carol came in the door while you filled the glass, walking past the kitchen before stepping backwards to peek her head in. “Hey.” 

Tiredly, you returned the greeting, sitting the glass on the counter as she approached. With a gentleness that you needed, she rubbed circles on your back. 

“Go easy on him.”

You tossed your head back with a sigh. “I know.” Leaning forward onto your elbows, you rubbed your hands over your face. “I’m just so angry with him, Carol. He could’ve died.” Her soft ministrations continued. 

“You both need some rest. He needs to heal and you need to forgive him.”

With a smile that was hard to summon through your exhaustion, you picked up the glass and took her hand, squeezing it before letting go. “I already did.” 

Your feet dragged with each step up the stairs, finding Daryl still awake when you entered the bedroom. “Can you sit up?” 

“Think so.” His voice scraped across his vocal chords and he winced. His arms shook but you waited him out, letting him do it himself since he seemed to be fully aware. 

“Here.” His hand trembled but he managed to drink on his own as well. 

“Better?” You took the glass, sitting it on the bedside table. He responded with a quiet mhm and leaned forward so you could pile the pillows up behind him. “Daryl.” You could see the dread in his expression. 

“M’sorry.” He picked at the skin around his thumbnail, looking down at his lap. 

“I know. Daryl, look at me.” You caught his wrist as his thumb was in route to his mouth. Swallowing hard, he looked the other way entirely. “Baby, look at me.” The flush that was already present on his face grew darker, but he finally acquiesced to your request. “I’m not mad at you, but you scared me.”

“I know.”

You leaned toward him and brushed back his hair. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I know what happened, it—it hurt, but Daryl, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Why ain’t it, Y/N? Shouldn’a took her out there. Shouldn’a—” His voice cracked. 

“It was her choice to go. She wanted to go.” Your hand left his hair to rest against his cheek. He absently leaned into the touch but didn’t move when you saw the realization flitter across his face. “You took a bullet to try and stop them. You did all you could.”

“Wasn’t enough.” He whispered, turning his head away from your palm. You felt anger rising up, itching to crawl out of your throat in the form of harsh words. The silence was deafening, the tension smothering. With a deep breath into your nose and out of your mouth, you remembered what you had told yourself. 

“You don’t have to carry this alone. I know—I know what you do to—what you allow yourself to go through feels like a penance, but if you’d just let me, I can carry some of that weight.” He chewed his bottom lip, shifting slightly until he winced, his hand almost covering the open wound before he caught himself. “That’s what friends do, Daryl.” When he lowered his head, you ducked to hold his gaze. “It’s what couples do.”

When he released his lip, red and indented from the press of his teeth, his chin wobbled, nose twitching and eyes squinting against the tears that threatened to fall. “Ain’t—” he swallowed and sniffed, turning his head even further from you. “Ain’t yours to carry.”

You didn’t hesitate. “If it weighs on you, then it weighs on me. Let me help you. Let me be there.” Standing, you took the two small steps that brought you to where he sat, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek before you gripped his chin and willed him to look at you. “Let me love you right.”

You had only seen Daryl cry twice; when he lost Merle and after the self inflicted burns when Beth was taken too soon. He hadn’t yet cried for Denise or for Tara. You weren’t sure he ever would. 

Then the dam broke. 

It started as a shaky breath, a whimper, but then his head dropped, his shoulders jerking with each sob. You said nothing while walking away, placing a hand on the knob to close the door. Carol was in the hallway, a towel on her arm, heading to shower, when she caught your eye. Her smile was sad, tight-lipped but she nodded. You returned the gesture and closed the door. 

Daryl had drawn up his right knee, his elbow pressed into it so his hand was over his face. There wasn’t much room on the side he was occupying, so you lifted the tubing for his IV and crawled up to sit on the other side, pulling him against you without protest, his face against your collarbone. 

“It’s okay. It's just us.” You whispered into his hair. “It’s just you and me and I’ve got you.” It was impossible to hold back your own tears, listening to him release all that pain, everything the wound only delayed. So you held him tight, weeping into his hair and letting him cry until his energy waned, his breaths evening out. 

“M’gonna try.” He whispered suddenly, causing you to startle. 

“Try?” You brushed his hair back and angled your head to see the side of his face. 

“Try to—gonna try to letcha help.” He sniffled and nuzzled against your skin. “Letcha be there.”

“I’ll always be there. Promise.” 

His arm wound around your middle and held tight. “Don’t make promises ya can’t keep.” You laid your cheek on the top of his head. 

“I’m not, baby.” His head tilted back, forcing you to move, but your lips instantly pressed against his forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so tired, but yet so much lighter. “I’m not.”

[k-l-ng]

Non-existent SVSSS Fanfic's summary N°1

Title : "Finding home"

(Any possible future addition to this AU will be found under the "finding home" tag)

Relationship : Ming Fan & Shen Jiu,

Shen Jiu & Shang Qinghua,

Shang Qinghua & Ming Fan,

Shen Jiu & Yue Qingyuan

Reincarnation, Hurt/Comfort, HE

In the modern world, some teachers and students of the Cang Qiong Middle School wake up with vague memories of a past life practicing cultivation. They recognize each other and start living in harmony, painting a heartwarming reunion.

Those who remain miserable are the same.

Ming Fan is glad to have his Shizun back. He knows that, this time too, Shizun will save him from a lifetime of abuse at the hands of his own parents. Shizun is busy now, but he’ll come very soon; he just has to endure a little bit. 

Shizun loves Luo Binghe, so of course, he’ll help his future husband first. He understands that Ning Yingying is also in a precarious situation, so it's natural that Shizun wants to help his other favorite disciple. 

So he waits, and waits. And waits.

Most of the staff seem to like each other better overnight. Only teacher Feng is still cold towards everyone, but it just seems like his default state, and he doesn’t share a past with his colleague. Besides teacher Yue and very tentatively, teacher Shang, no one tries to strike a friendship with him. Yet Ming Fan can’t help feeling drawn to him, and ultimately manages to find a savior in the man.

---

Feng Jiu, unlike his ex-fellow cultivators, has been reincarnated with another surname. He remembers his previous life as a Peak Lord ending abruptly because of a Qi deviation, remembers the impostor taking his body to make a fool of himself, remembers all the love he never got being poured on his replacement; remembers being forgotten, unmourned. Except, surprisingly, by the little rat-shidi, and, maybe unsurprisingly, by his head disciple.

A disciple who, while not knowing he’d died, mourned the side of "Shen Qingqiu" that had disappeared in the blink of an eye. A foolish disciple who'd seemed to partially understand his bitterness at the world -he probably did, considering-, and who, despite Shen Jiu's obvious distaste towards male disciples, still tried so desperately to gain his approval, his affection.

The foolish boy is now crouched on the sidewalk crying, pathetically trying to keep silent. Crying for a Shizun who's gone back home to his family with Luo Binghe for the holidays.

As his teacher, Feng Jiu thinks, he is much obligated to help anyway.

[endreal]

Y'all ever notice how bizarrely politicized lagomorphs in British children's stories seem to be? The titular hare in "Hare's Choice" (1988) is decidedly monarchic with - one could argue - some vague christological framing as a sacrificial savior at a key point in the story (divine right to rule, or inversion thereof?). By contrast the hares in the Redwall series (1986-2011) are largely (though with some exceptions) a warrior ethno-caste in service to the badger lords of salamandastron. Then of course there's the metaphorical elephant in the room that is Watership Down (1972) which is...well, if you've never read Watership Down I'm not sure I could do it justice for you in a one-sentence summary and if you HAVE read Watership Down then you probably already know exactly what I mean. And then there's one of the OG of British animal tale children's stories - Peter Rabbit. It's probably wildly inappropriate to do so (who knows? it's 2025 now.) but it's so tempting to draw parallels between Peter's adventures (and misadventures) and some of the prominent political anarchists of the same era - I have no evidence that Potter associated with or read their works but it's not difficult to see flashes of Bakunin, perhaps Kropotkin, and even Goldman in Peter Rabbit's motives and actions, especially in relation to the infamous farmer Mr. McGregor. For comparison, the most notable children's book animal tales I can remember from American authors were the Berenstain Bears and Little Critter (aptly named - what was that child? My best guess was always porcupine, but whatever the actual truth is it's no lie that he's a critter alright!) stories. A little bit older ages gets you Warrior Cats and, ultimately, Animorphs. But where were the American rabbits?

[stephforl1fe]

I had a dream last night where I lived in Poland and i was living in a cult where everyone worshiped wedding cake cookie from CRK and made sacrifices to her every day in the form of people and chocolate cake. For some reason the cult also took place in a school? and while I was in the middle of cult classes I get called to the office by the cult leader.

Turns out the leader of the cult was Damian Wayne. So there I am in front of cult leader Damian and he says to me that I’m needed to be the next sacrifice to their lord and savior wedding cake cookie, and I’m like “of course why not”

so it skips to me in another room with a bunch of other cult members and for some reason Lin-Manuel Miranda? And everyone was wearing pink robes except for Cult Leader Damian Wayne ™ and Lin-Manuel who were both wearing white, I think it was implied that they were married???

Anyways I’m surrounded by the cult as I’m chained to the ground and in my head I hear Misery Business by paramore play as I see wedding cake cookie grab me and float up into the sky with me then I’m pretty sure she drops me and then I woke up.

…is this my brains way of telling me I read too much fanfiction?

[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

Summary: Eddie is beginning to find solace in an unfamiliar face.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos, mentions of drugs, Y/N is described!

Tag list: @daisyridleyyyy @silky-luxe @bl00d-puppy @ttsbaby01 @kennedy-brooke @sadbitchfangirl @abzzz3 @josephquinnschesthair @aislinnclifton

A/N: OMG I was not expecting the amount of feedback I got from Chapter 1 thank you so so much!! Like in Chapter 1, different character perspectives will be marked with: --. I know y'all will like this chapter since Eddie's pov is in it :)

--

The days have seemed to be dragging out longer these past weeks for Eddie. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t jerk off, couldn’t play his guitar. Even the campaign had several hiccups because he couldn’t focus. He would think about possible reasons for this feeling: repeating senior year, not having a girlfriend, and not being able to secure a job. Out of all the reasons he had conjured in his head he seemed to find that the best definition for this feeling was loneliness. His parents were not in the picture and his uncle Wayne wasn’t exactly the best company. Don’t get him wrong he was a great guy and a better man than Eddie’s father ever was but Eddie wouldn’t consider him close to Wayne by any means.

‘86 was supposed to be Eddie’s year and he had begun to lose hope. 

Today was no different than any other day. Eddie had found himself stuck in trying to figure out tricks for his Hellfire campaign that would be able to mess up friends. His mind still couldn’t focus and he noticed himself repeating familiar tactics that he had done in the past. He rubbed his palms against his face, trying to drown out the laughter and conversation of his friends around him. 

“You okay, Eddie?” Dustin asked.

Suddenly, there was silence. Eddie placed his hands down and looked over at Dustin until a voice rang out.

“Hey, I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?”

It was such a sweet voice. Not an inkling of insincerity, pity, or ill intent. It seemed so warm. He had been wanting to hear a voice like that for a long time. 

He looked up to see her. Was he in a dream? Had he been looking at that picture of Demi Moore in the swimsuit he had cut out and pasted in his makeshift porn mag for too long? She looked so similar to her yet she adorned the clothes Eddie would wear except for the skirt, of course. Her hair was a dark brown, long and straight which went down to her mid-back. Her bangs were whispy and thinner than many of the other girls who had teased theirs beyond recognition. Her big brown eyes stared so kindly at Dustin as if she was seeing an old friend again. 

Eddie went stiff. His friends around him looked to her then back at Eddie then back at her. They were amazed to see their lord and savior Eddie Munson be so frigid around a girl. Normally, he was as boisterous as usual with a touch of chivalry for the ladies. But he was never noticeably nervous like he was now. 

Eddie wondered to himself; Was some divine being sending him this girl so he could get through his last senior year? Was she an angel? He needed to take advantage of her sitting at their table before she left. This could be his only chance to speak to his dream girl.

She had looked over at Eddie and he gulped. Her lips were so plump and red they were practically begging him to kiss her. Stop it, Eddie! Fuck, He needed to get laid. She seemed to be analyzing his face and he let her. He would let her do anything as long as he got to keep staring at those eyes. Her eyes quickly shifted over to Mike once he entered the table. He felt his body relax once her gaze had changed.

"Jesus, that line was long!"

Mike's exclamation had broken the silence and Hellfire erupted into an uproar of questions.

"What's your name?"

"So where are you from originally?"

"How are you liking it here?"

"Are you single?"

Eddie was silent, watching her like a hawk to see what information his friends could attain from her. But she didn't answer any of the questions, she just started to laugh.

"I'm sorry! I laugh when I'm overwhelmed." She smiled. "All of you are so sweet for wondering about me."

Well, Eddie wasn't expecting that response but he had a feeling she would continue to surprise him. Dustin's once bewildered face began to soften as everyone spoke. He still seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet but at ease nonetheless. Eddie could tell he was plotting something since Dustin was not one to stay silent at the lunch table.

"Oh!" Gareth seemed to remember something as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a Geometry textbook and began to flip through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Do any of you guys- Oh, sorry, I mean guys and lady- understand how to do this? I can't figure any of this out and if I fail another test, I'll fail the class."

"Hey man, I don't know anything about Geometry. I barely passed Geometry when I took it."

"Yeah dude, no one at this table would be the right person to ask."

"Can I see?"

Gareth stared wide-eyed at Y/N as she began to walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the question. Eddie had sat right beside Gareth and he couldn't be happier with their current seating arrangements.

She was so close to Gareth and he could tell that Gareth had stopped breathing the second he felt her warmth. They could both smell her; She smelled like clove cigarettes and vanilla. Suddenly, Eddie started to care about Geometry.

"Alright, lemme see here..." She leaned further into Gareth, her breasts accidentally touching his shoulder. Gareth's face began to turn bright red. Eddie swiftly moved the book over to his side of the table.

"Oh Gareth, this is super easy!" Eddie exclaimed. "All you have to do is- uh... umm..." Eddie flipped through the pages trying to understand the math his mind was beginning to read as a foreign language. His friends began to laugh at his confusion.

She put her hand on Eddie's shoulder and he felt a bolt of lightning crawl down his spine.

"Hey, you guys didn't know how to do it either." She scolded. Eddie's hands still rested on the book and she put one of her hands over his left hand. Her other hand she used to flip through the pages.

Eddie had to stop every muscle in his body from kissing her at that moment. He barely knew this girl, yet, he felt as if she was doing these things to get a rise out of him. Whether innocent or guilty of this, it was working. He imagined turning her face with his hand on her chin to face him. Tucking the piece of hair out of her face and feeling the softness of her lips. What did she taste like? Vanilla like her perfume? Clove like her cigarettes? Whatever it was he wanted to taste her, every inch of her.

He silently adjusted himself in his pants, trying to make sure no one had noticed. Thankfully, no one had. Eddie's presence had been upstaged by the girl, bending over the table to look at Gareth's Geometry book.

"Fuck baby, why don't you tutor me after school?"

A football player's voice rang out as he passed behind her. Before Eddie had the chance to get up and teach this douchebag a lesson, he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned to see her standing above said football player, Eddie couldn't give two shits about remembering the guy's name, her knuckles bruised and a red imprint forming on his face.

"What the fuck, bitch!"

She surprised him again.

--

A/N: sorry this was kinda short but I felt like this was a good place to end. Please lemme know if you have any suggestions and I will keep you guys updated on new chapters :)

[eldritch-spouse]

Krulu just subtly putting a piece of paper on the back of admins skirt that says "use me" and letting her go about her work unaware

[Fuck yeah, that's the shit.]

Guess who's bending you over first? Sybastian.

He's always the first to get into the break room at the start of a shift, so when he sees you walk in fresh with that note, he's being the opportunistic little shit he always is and bending you over the counter of that small kitchenette to stuff you with cock. You don't even know what's happening, but there's a sweet lulling mumur in the back of your mind telling you to let it happen and enjoy yourself. So you do.

By the time Grimbly walks in, Syb is close to finishing and only hurries up in case the bat's here to steal you from him. Naturally, the waiter's more than a bit scandalized, but he understands what's going on when he catches a flash of the note on your clothes. So, of course, he more than a little forcefully tugs the top of your outfit away so he can fondle your tits and go to town. He has the decency to apologize and smile sheepishly as he fucks himself between your breasts.

Eventually, news of what's happening spreads. And the first to hunt you down is obviously Santi. He's barelling through the floors and pumping out pheromones the moment he sees you, making the most out of the opportunity to fuck you stupid in front of clientele and make sure you're a drooling mess. He leaves sloppy kisses everywhere before letting you rest on the bar counter.

And Gallon picks you up swiftly, of course. You need a little break, how about he envelops you like a big warm blanket, and you don't have to think about anything for a while except how good it feels to have his cock and several tendrils inside you?

Fank-e's no fool, he's prying you out of Gallon with the force only a man of metal could sport. You get to hang off his head tubes while he grinds into you with an unshakable, merciless rhythm. When the video is saved, he lets you off with his cock detached, buzzing inside you.

Someway, somehow, you'll end up in Morell's kitchen, likely tugged inside when the cook sees you passing by. You don't even get to say a word, he's making you hang onto a bloody meat hook for dear life while he plows you from behind like he intends to put a child in you.

Your legs hurt by the time you make it to the shop, trying to actually get work done. Naturally, Nebul's more interested in making you model different toys for the clients currently present, including several ropes and tentacle toys. You get fingered nice and sweet for behaving.

Belo eventually catches you outside, and while he's upset that none of his coworkers are being decent to you, he guiltily begs for a quickie against the wall before fixing you up to the best of his ability.

Vinnel grabs you like a hawk. You're made to put on a stupid slutty and colorful dress, the note reattached to it, before he introduces you to his stage and audience. You leave bruised, cut, sore and coated in his strange black cum after he shoots a load on your face as the finishing act.

Patches eventually weasels you into his laboratory with gentle conversation, though once you're there, he uses vines to tie your ankles and wrists, taking advantage of you wriggling on the floor to drape over your body and fuck your sloppy hole, moaning about how gross it all is and how he doesn't mind being the last one because you look really cute and hot when you're totally disoriented and fuckdrunk.

You eventually manage to get yourself free and standing, trying to fix your mess of a look before heading to your Lord-Master's side. Krulu sits on his altar with a vaguely satisfied look of second-hand afterglow. You're praised heavily for your work thus far, but the higher claims you haven't dealt with everyone yet.

You understand what he's talking about when you're manually transported to the aquarium floor. And he tells you to come back after you've been to the garden as well.

Oh, the things you do for your savior.

[ducktoonsfanart]

The Three Caballeros as the Three Wise Men along with their nephews as shepherds visiting the Savior - Duckverse in History - My Version - Repost of my drawing - Quack Pack AU and Three Caballeros - Duckverse

Published on December 27, 2024.

Merry Christmas everyone! I'm not currently in a position to upload new drawings until I'm done, so I'll definitely upload some drawings I did back in January, but it's fitting for this holiday because this is the reason we celebrate Christmas, and it's about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. Of course, not only Christians celebrate Christmas, but it's mostly a Christian holiday. I'm also posting this on the occasion of the 80th anniversary of The Three Caballeros' first appearance.

 "And going into the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh.“(Matthew 2:11)

I haven’t done Three Caballeros for a long time, but since the survey showed me to draw Three Caballeros, it will be.

Yes, in the Bible, more precisely in the New Testament and the Gospel according to Matthew, three wise men (according to some three kings) who are supposedly astrologers and magicians, went to visit the Holy Land to bring gifts to the Savior, that is, Jesus Christ who was born in Bethlehem, in stable, swaddled in a manger by his mother Mary. The three wise men brought them gold, incense, and myrrh. And those wise men are called Gaspar (or Caspar), Melchior, and Balthasar. The symbolism of the three is very well known so I used that for our heroes the Three Caballeros to be in those roles. Except in the Bible, they are not mentioned anywhere else, so it is uncertain who is who. Donald is Gaspar and wears gold, Panchito is Melchior and wears myrrh and Jose is Balthazar who wears incense, at least in my version or how they play the part. And they take it to the Savior Jesus Christ. I drew them wearing traditional clothing as worn at the time of Jesus’ birth (1st century BC and 1st century AD) in Judea, in the Middle East. Donald is said to be from Persia, Panchito is from Yemen or Arabia, and Jose Carioca is from Ethiopia, which is where the three wise men supposedly came from.

Besides them, I also drew their nephews, Donald’s nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck and Jose’s nephews Zico and Zeca Carioca as shepherds, that is, they play the role of shepherds. Luke’s Gospel from the New Testament mentions that the angels told the shepherds to come and worship the Savior and the shepherds went to the Savior and worshiped him. So both Donald’s and Jose’s nephews will go and they are wearing shepherd’s clothing as worn at the time (yes even though they are teenagers and these versions are from my version of the Quack Pack, they are still wearing the clothing of Jesus’ time). There are also sheep and lambs from the Middle East accompanying them, and the wise men riding a camel and an elephant standing behind them. And there is the Angel Duck (to take from Donald’s Better Self who is Donald’s conscience and Donald’s guardian angel) who leads them to the manger where the Lord Jesus Christ is. Glory to God who was born and who came to save us from our sins! Amen.

 Once again I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year as well as a Happy Epiphany! And sorry about some things I did wrong in this drawing and just to say that I am a believer and I believe in God the Savior! And yes, I’m not the only one who drew the Three Caballeros as the Three Wise Men, there are already those drawings on the subject, I just did it in my own way.

I hope you like this drawing and feel free to like and reblog this! But please don't copy this or copy my ideas without my permission. Thank you! Merry Christmas to everyone! And happy 80th anniversary to The Three Caballeros and happy birthday to Panchito!

[classicanalyzer]

Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power Season 2 Premiere Thoughts

"I have walked through the dust and deserts of far-away lands, in search of an artist possessing the craft to save all Middle-Earth. A storm is coming, Celebrimbor. I can bring you the knowledge none other possesses. I can unlock your grandest abilities. And when our work is complete, never again will the world overlook you as the mere scion of Fëanor but forevermore revere you...The Lord of the Rings." Sauron/Annatar

Season 2 really improved on the aspects of S1 I found lacking. There are more connections to the lore of the Second Age and better writing in the stories from S1. The production design of this show has always looked amazing, but this season really nails it. The practical Orc designs is always great to see. What a great premiere.

Elven Kings Under the Sky

"Always, after a defeat... the shadow takes another shape and grows again. Morgoth is gone. Leaving us alone and disgraced. But today, a new age begins. Under me. Your new master. Sauron. And with a new age, I bring a new vision. A path to unconditional conquest. For I seek a new kind of power. Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world. One we shall use to enslave the peoples of Middle-earth to our very will. Many Orcs will die. But out of the chaos, we will forge a new and perfect order. No longer will we be hunted as the demons who broke Middle-earth, but rather worshipped as the saviors who finally healed it. By bringing its peoples together, to rule them all as one!" Sauron

I find it funny how Sauron was this out-of-touch wannabe ruler who nonetheless shows why he's feared as he killed a treasonous Orc. This Sauron is a player who didn't invest any points into charisma lmao.

It says a lot about a being when freaking Orcs (one of the most famous examples of corrupted evil mooks) revolt against Sauron. I really like how this show makes you emphasize the Orcs and how Adar was a caring ruler for the Orcs and wanted the best for them. This is especially compared to Sauron who just outright told them they must obey him and they're a race who are meant to be hated.

It's fascinating to see how much the prologue of S2 parallels the prologue of S1 between Sauron and Galadriel. And of course, Sauron chose selfishness just as Diarmid, the kind old man, telling him that he can choose to be good each day until he's good all day. It also shows how Sauron once again loves to lie and twist the truth.

I really love Elrond for understandably being the only one to distrust the rings. I also like the strained relationship between Galadriel and the rest of the Elves even further, except this time they have to work with her since she's the one who got them into this mess. Also, that beautiful shot (the screenshot for this episode's thoughts) is an amazing piece of visual storytelling. It conveys a sense of underlying sadness for Círdan that I can feel.

The Three Elven Rings are finally used (Gil-Galad is a great singer ngl) and we will have to see the greater ramifications and consequences of their use.

The Stranger's deadpan snarker humor is pretty funny to see. I'm also glad Poppy is a part of the duo now, she and Nori have a pretty wholesome dynamic.

The orchestral reprisal of Wandering Day (Warning in the Words) is mesmerizing. It's such a great payoff and a heartwarming reminder that while Sadoc is gone, he continues to help his fellow Harfoots in death.

Where the Stars are Strange

"You are wise to fear this power, Elrond. But do not let that fear blind you to the ways it can be used for good. For it is not your enemy, that bear these rings...But your most trusted friends. If you believe they have strayed, do not abandon them, but rather open their eyes and guide them...Before the darkness spreads across Middle-earth, and blinds us all." Círdan.

I really love the updated intro for this show as the grain of sand shifts to the music. But now we see red grain as the darkness of Mordor (the red sand at one point "erupting") and Sauron begins to spread. It really sets the stage for the dark times ahead for Middle-earth. The logo is now less shiny and more rusted.

The opening for this episode is so chilling with Celebrimbor's impending death. I just wonder if the show is going to adapt Sauron's brutal killing of Celebrimbor and show his corpse if they adapt the Siege of the Grey Havens.

Durin IV and Dísa continue to be one of the sweetest and wholesome couples in Middle-earth and this show. I love how they support each other at Durin's lowest point. Seeing Khazad-dûm's lights dim is so chilling and it just further sets the ground for the eventual Durin's Bane to come. When Dísa and the singers fail to communicate with the mountain, it really shows how the darkness is beginning seep in everywhere.

Círdan has a great speech about how despite the origins of something with the potential for evil, it can be used for good...but that they must ever be vigilant, not let fear dominate them, and watch over their friends to ensure they stay on the right path.

I find it funny how Elrond agrees to help out Galadriel...but puts himself in charge of the mission. It shows how far their friendship had fallen and Elrond's distrust in Galadriel's ability to resist Sauron.

The Rhûn theme absolutely slaps so hard. It really captures the wonders of the desert really well.

Sauron knows exactly how to use his injuries to make himself sympathetic. He's a clever evil bastard alright.

At this point, the Stranger has to be Gandalf. I wonder who the Dark Wizard is tho. I hope the Dweller Acolyte gets more to do in this season.

The reveal of Annatar, the definition of the devil in angel's clothing, was so well done. He really knows presentation alright by making his entrance the most flashy dramatic reveal ever lol. I felt legit chills when he did a title drop with the Rings theme playing forbiddingly. The whole scene felt like a Renaissance painting come to life and at that point, I totally got how Annatar basically had Celebrimbor at his fingertips. The whole Annatar name reveal was so satisfying to hear.

The Eagle and the Sceptre

"And yet...the grief of Númenor is sacred to me. Your pain, a prayer within these walls. I hear your sorrow, and your anger. I share it. We have bloodied and been bloodied. But know this... We will find our course. Should there be another among us who feels moved to speak...firstly ask yourself this, for whom do you cry out? For those we have already buried? For your kingdom? Or for yourself?" Míriel

Nothing bad should happen to Berek, one of the best characters of the show haha. Also, Isildur fighting against Shelob is pretty cool. It says a lot about how he longs to go back home now...though given the episode, it may seem like he might not be able to go back home.

I really love Valandil standing up for the Queen and he's becoming one of my favorite side characters of the show. He represents the soldiers who know what it was like in the battle compared to the politicians who use their suffering and the deaths of their peers for their own persona selfish agenda. I really hope he survives Númenor's downfall.

Some of the rhetoric of the pro-Pharazôn faction echoes the sentiment of people post-WW1 of the pointlessness and/or failures of the war. And one such latter group would go on to create one of the most monstrous regimes in human history, just like how Pharazôn's reign as King will become one of the most monstrous regimes in Middle-earth history.

Elendil's relationship with Eärien is going to be fascinating going forward as the two seem to be on opposing sides. It's ironic how in the show, one of Elendil's children began the downfall of Númenor while his other child caused Sauron to live onto the Third Age.

I never thought I would see a wholesome Orc family nor hear heavy metal in Middle-earth and you love to see it. I find it absolutely hilarious that the hill troll is voiced by Gil-Gilad's actor (I wonder if Gil-Gilad and the hill troll will fight each other...that would be so funny).

I absolutely love how Durin IV becomes the first character of this season to realize Annatar's untrustworthy nature because he knew that Elrond would never compliment him like that. The fact Durin IV knew that speaks a lot about their friendship.

I knew smth was fishy about Estrid but for a split moment, I thought maybe she was alright.

I know the death of Bronwyn is due to her actress Nazanin Boniadi stepping away from the show, and it's such a gut punch to see Arondir and Theo revert a bit from their character growth as they both grieve. You can feel that Arondir wants to help Theo but Arondir's reversion back to stoicism to cope and Theo's grieving prevents the two from bonding further.

The story of how Isildur's mother died and how she saved her son's life at the cost of her own...and how Isildur didn't tell anyone because of his own guilt. I really love how Theo emphasized this story given how his mother just died and all the way back in S1, Theo already felt guilty for how the Southlands became Mordor. Isildur's motivations for wanting to do something worthy are now revealed to be his idea to make up for his mother's sacrifice.

Never mess with Ents. Nuff said.

It took a rewatch but I find it funny that the Eagle, a sign of a bad omen in Númenor, looked like it was trying to say "No you idiots don't put Pharazôn into power!" and then left when it became clear Numenor chose its fate. The music especially is incredibly chilling for one simple reason: the main theme of Númenor is still the same. There's a minor key shift but it's still the same theme used for Pharazôn. This really spells the end of Númenor even before the Island will inevitably sink. The red of the future that Pharazôn will lead Númernor is one of blood and horrors.

[brenda-walsh-ministries]

No Moral Compass

We are living in a unique period in this earth’s history where people are encouraged to “be yourself,” “speak your truth,” and “do whatever you want.” If anyone objects, they are accused of committing a hate crime. It seems like everything is tolerated in today’s society–except, of course, if you are a Bible-believing Christian. More and more people are rejecting God, His Holy Word, and their need for a Savior. There’s a very real danger when people reject the Bible, for without instruction from God there is no moral compass–no right or wrong. Our whole world is facing a total moral collapse and it’s happening faster than we could possibly imagine. The apostle Paul tells us in 2 Timothy 3:1-9, “But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come. For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant, revilers, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy, unloving, irreconcilable, malicious gossips, without self-control, brutal, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to a form of godliness, although they have denied its power; avoid such men as these.” The wickedness in this world has reached an all-time high. For example, drugs, sex, wild parties, pornography, domestic violence, rape, and incest are prevalent. The truth is, you simply can not be lovers of sin and also be lovers of God. Scripture makes this very clear in Matthew 6:24: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.” Earthly pleasures are temporary; only what is done for Christ will last. But God won’t force you to give your heart to Him. He won’t make the decision for you–you must choose as instructed in Joshua 24:15: “But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve . . . But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” There is absolutely nothing that is worth missing out on eternity with Jesus–why not give your whole heart to Him today? Text: Romans 12:2, 1 John 2:15-17, James 4:4, Galatians 2:20

Bible Texts: Romans 12:2 KJV - And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what [is] that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. 1 John 2:15-17 KJV - Love not the world, neither the things [that are] in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that [is] in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. James 4:4 KJV - Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God? whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God. Galatians 2:20 KJV - I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.

[sapphic-woes]

Kingmaker - Female Eivor x Reader

A/N: I wrote this for no reason in like two hours sorry. Minors DNI

Word count: 1.2k. AO3 LINK

______

"They say the Queen had someone by her side when she first took Wessex back. Someone sworn to her flesh and bone."

You look up as you sweep the palace floor. The girls loved to chatter, but you couldn't blame them. There wasn't much else maids could do to pass the time. You weren't above joining in, but this was a topic you'd never heard before.

The queen was a person of reverence. She ruled righteously and was loved by all. However, she had sworn to never marry another. No matter what man or king came to win her heart, your queen stood firm…

"...because her heart already belongs to another. Her kingmaker." One girl whispers, dusting the walls.

"Are they dead?" Another asks empathetically, frowning at the thought of the queen mourning her dead lover.

"Apparently, the witan were against their love. My father said a plot was formed against them." The girl sweeping with you mutters. You perk up at that.

"A ploy?" Your question makes the girl dusting the walls (Was it Alfwood?) turn to look at you. 

"It was! My mother was in the crowd when it happened. She said the kingmaker always wore a hood, and their voice was hoarse. There, surrounded by the crowd, the witan raised their voices against a single person…

"How can you dare say you've stood with us, heathen? You are the enemy!" The head of the witan snarls, voice booming across the town square. It makes my mother jump, but the hooded figure in the midst of it all remains calm.

"Am I, Lord? The knights of Wessex know I have. I was with them from the Somerset marshes, to Edington, to all the battles that followed. Does that stand for nothing?" The hooded figure was right. My mother and everyone else knew Wessex would have fallen long ago if not for this person. So why were the witan against our savior staying?

"Yet you have tried to convert our Queen and make her worship your idols. I have seen it with my own eyes!" Another member of the witan cries, and the hooded figure pauses, as if stumped. 

The crowd fills with gasps. If the Queen turned away from God, surely Wessex would fall. My mother swallows nervously, glancing at the queen.

"She's heartbroken." Is what my mother said she thought the moment she did. She said the  young queen looked devastated.

The witan–

"Wait, devastated?" You interrupt much to everyone's annoyance. "Sorry, the queen is so stoic, and intimidating…I can't imagine her openly being sad…" Alfwood scoffs.

"Well of course, this was long before we were born. The queen now knows how to hide her emotions, but back then it was different. Anyways…"

The witan spewed insult after insult, and the crowd began to turn on the hooded figure–yet no one was interested in what the queen thought. Newly appointed, she had little power like she does now.

Her twisted expression of grief was clear as day. Surely, she did not want this. However, no one seemed to care, no one except…

"It's alright. We are bonded. You and I." Except for the hooded figure, who looked straight at the queen rather than anyone else.

"I do not apologize for following the faith of my lands. The gods have always guided me, and they shall continue to do so." Her words addressed to the witan cause a stir, yet somehow she remains focused on the queen, and her voice carries over all the other noise.

"You are the woman I could never be. Nor do I wish to be. But you are the only person who can lead this land. That is why I helped put you on the throne…because you are strong enough to stay, even when I'm gone." The queen's eyes shine, yet she doesn't cry.

"I have loved you. Despised you. Fought with and against you so many times over…" A light chuckle comes from the hooded figure. Their head twists up towards the queen, but my mother still can't see the entirety of the figure's face. She only catches vibrant blue eyes that gleam under the sun.

"But it was never less than an honor to serve you, my queen."

"…Then what happened? Did they die?" Alfwood shakes her head. 

"No, my mother said they were exiled from Wessex and never came back…but there are rumors." All the servant girls pause, including you, and Alfwood basks in the attention as she whispers.

"Like forbidden lovers, the kingmaker sneaks into the palace at night! Once a month, under the beautiful moon, with only heaven as their witness–"

"Girls! What did I say about slacking off on the job?" The head maid yells at the top of her lungs, and your little group immediately scatters. You scurry off to sweep another hall, thinking about the story you just heard.

"How romantic…" you whisper, focusing once again on your duties.

—

You arch your back with a soft groan. The head maid was so cruel, giving you extra work as punishment for gossiping on the job. Now you were off to put away the cleaning supplies, too lazy to light a candle as you walk the shadowy halls of the palace.

"...Please….the girls are already gossiping about it…getting caught will only add fuel to the fire–ah, Eivor!"  Your queen's voice makes you jump. What was going on? Why did she sound like that? Who was…oh.

You peek around the corner of the hallway, hands over your mouth. Your queen is pressed against her chamber's door, flushed and moaning as a hooded figure tenderly kisses her neck. Your eyes widen, blushing as you witness such intimacy…and in public nonetheless!

"Do they? Well then, why don't we give them some new material, hm?" A rough voice teasingly murmurs, and you queen laughs breathlessly. Your queen that you admired for her cool demeanor and poised manner was…smiling. She looked free, happy…and in love.

Could it be? 

The broom slips from your hand. The moment it hits the ground, blue eyes snap at you. You squeak, turning away quickly to dart down the way you came.

Blue eyes…a hoarse voice…a hooded figure…!!

— 

Eivor still stares at the end of the hallway, though you know she's just avoiding your gaze.

"...You're a greedy idiot." The Dane nods.

"I'm an opportunistic idiot. The child had no light with her, and she was as quiet as a mouse…" Her piercing gaze shifts back to you.

"...and I was focused on more important things." You can't help but smirk, wrapping your arms around Eivor's neck.

"That child will tell half the entire palace what she saw by tomorrow afternoon, and by night there will be about a hundred more rumors that follow." Eivor hums, lips tickling your jaw.

"My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to my queen?" You giggle as she peppers kisses across your body. Clumsily, you open the door of your chambers behind you, and the both of you stumble onto the bed.

"Then serve me, Eivor." You whisper as Eivor gently undresses you, gazing at the wetness between your legs. Her breaths are rugged, as are yours, and you reach up to caress the exile's face.

"Show me again why you're my kingmaker."

[kit-williams]

Hello✨ You have a fiction about an alpha legionnaire and a Rogue Trader. Can we also do something about a Rogue Trader, but with a Bloody Angel?❤

Vivienne Belleville - Rogue Trader Angelo Astico - Blood Angel Battle Brother

tw: Blood drinking, cannibalism? Does it count if a space marine eats a person? Obsession & Possession, sex

Rowena. Vivienne seethed as she saw her rival flaunting the Space Wolf by her side. A handsome gentleman in all regards but horribly brought down by the parasite on his arm. Of course, Vivienne played up the charm trying to lure him away but no Rowena must be giving him something worth his while if he was willing to stay with that creature with a write of passage.

Rowena was the center of envy at the party with that man candy on her arm. And the Space Wolf was just the perfect amount of clearly listening and clearly zoning out that he hardly cared about that damn woman's cackle! Vivienne was very jealous and tried her best to subtly try to get an Astartes to join her. However, it was much harder than she had expected. They joined on their whims or if there was a crusade that you were apart of, as Rowena had graciously explained.

Angelo was an actual angel as she and her retinue had run into trouble on a space hulk and suddenly this screaming marine all dressed in red with a chainsword appeared out of nowhere. And while everyone else was in awe... Vivienne knew she had finally found a man to flaunt to in front of Rowena.

------

Angelo had been stalking the rogue trader and her retinue when she stepped foot onto the space hulk. He wasn't interested in staying there like one of the renegade marines he had run into and both mutually agreed that fighting was hardly worth the energy. The mortals aboard the vessel were pleased by their savior and Angelo's decision to not fight. They would not be too sad to see him go.

He grinned under his helmet as the corners of his vision swam red as his eye lenses glowed their bright green. The teeth of his chainsword dug into the tender flesh and weakened armor. He felt his fangs ache as he saw the gore smeared upon his gauntlets. He turned around to see the mortals making the sign of the aquilia except the lady of the group. He regarded the grin on her face and the glint in her eyes and couldn't stop himself from smiling under his helm.

------

The pair hit it off quite well as Angelo had finally gotten off of the space hulk and Vivienne had her arm candy but now she just had to keep him around. For Angelo he was experiencing the reverse of the problem... how to insure he was kept around by this interesting little darling. Though his vision kept swimming red at the very edges and he was getting oh so very thirsty.

It was one cycle on the ship as it was "night" whenever the rogue trader had decided to go to sleep and the mood of the ship had shifted to something dour. Angelo had already licked his armor clean ages ago but he ran his tongue between the joints on his gauntlets. His ear twitched as he heard something in the vents.

The children of the lower decks he knew could be vent rats but this far up and right by the Rogue Trader's chambers. She did give him the code to her door... and as many times he had slipped in to observe her sleep a few times this would be a legitimate reason to go in. Just to make sure she was safe of course....

-----

Vivienne frowned in her sleep as her dream of being swept off her feet by Lord Montague declaring his undying love for her only for the dashing Biologist Magos Nex to then declare his love for her at the same time... the dream turned... crunchy.

She opened her eyes as she could hear the crunch now... the scraping of teeth on what she was assuming bone... a soft male moan as a wet noise assaulted her ears. She sat up and turned her bedside light on as she could see a mess of blonde half curled locks with blood on them. The crunching was coming from the mass of muscle crouched over something... Vivienne couldn't help herself crawl to the foot of her extravagant bed to see him crouched over the body of somebody.

She softly swallowed as she paled slightly... seeing how his hands were both red up to his elbows. Vivienne cleared her throat after swallowing her nervousness... she was a rogue trader after all she had seen worse. She watched Angelo's shoulders still as he raised his head and looked over at her with a wide bloody grin, the bone between his teeth snapping as she could see that the expensive carpet under the body was absolutely ruined.

"Lord Angelo... would you care to explain?" She gestures to the... half eaten body.

"An attempt on your life my dear lady." He says as he lazily licks his fingers clean though her eyes watch the drops of blood that run down his pectorals. Angelo had a bit of... fat on him and it looked utterly delicious to her. Sure she enjoyed her sharp edges but by the God Emperor she wanted to stuff her face into his chest. He seemed to catch her staring as he moved each pectoral muscle one their own and her eyes darted back to his own as he licked his fangs clean with a chuckle.

He pulls a finger out of his mouth with a pop, before grabbing her chin smearing some coagulating blood on her chin as he trills softly. He's no longer thirsty but does his Rogue Trader look like a snack and he watches her shiver under his heated gaze. "I had sensed something was wrong and took care of it trying my best not to wake you." Oh right... she had seen him eating someone... that never was good for mortals to see, "You didn't see anything unsavory my lady... did you?" His voice dipped in octave as he looked at her with a predatory gaze.

But what met his nose was not fear but arousal. That made something in Angelo's brain click a different way and he was upon her licking and kissing her carotid artery. Pressing his bloody tongue flat against that pulsing artery as she whimpered and mewled under him with that smell of arousal growing more and more. It had been quite a few years since he had been around company that he considered to be proper... running around with the renegade and the others on that hulk were driving him mad but here finally in good company... shame how he was let loose.

His bloody tongue moved down her body as Vivienne gasped and trembled getting enough of her senses back to slap him and nearly swooning at the cocky grin on his face. "What's the matter little shipmistress? Was that too much for you?" He coos gripping the expensive fabric of her night gown and just tearing it in half as he lets his tongue move over her breasts now.

"Oh Lord Angelo!" He said with fluttering breath.

He just grinned as he growled pushing a ring finger inside of her. Oh perhaps she was eager to get a man who wasn't a brute but unfortunately Angelo was still coming down from a blood lust high. And she let out a squeal of delight as she felt that deliciously dizzing burn of her walls being pushed open by his cock bullying its way inside of her.

For Angelo this was part of satisfying an urge he was feeling and well also fucking the ship mistress dumb so that he could finish his meal in peace. She arched her back off of the plush bed as she mewled. Her hips pushing back against his as it was a push and pull between them. It didn't take her long for Vivienne to let out a shriek of delight as her orgasm hit her and Angelo to keep thrusting into her to ride out her clenching orgasm. Saliva mixed with blood dripped onto her already bloody breasts before he hissed out as he came.

Angelo would have liked it far better to wine and dine the Rogue Trader and certainly last much longer but he was certain she would forgive him for being such a brute. He knelt over the body hooking his fingers into the top of their jaw as he heard Lord Captain Vivienne speak, "I'll... have someone take care of the body." She slurs as he chuckles.

"Worry not my lady I'll take care of it. I'll let someone know about the blood stain." He says dragging the body to his room to finish his meal. He is certain he will enjoy his time with Lady Vivienne

[straightasaaro]

PJO au I probably won’t work on

I have a bunch of PJO aus floating around in my head so here, internet, take a look at one. If you wanna make a fanfic off this, please ask permission!

Avatar the Last Airbender AU

Fire Lord Kronos has been waging a war on the world for decades now in pursuit of the avatar. The earth kingdom is firmly in his grip, the air nomads have been decimated and the southern water tribe is almost non existent. Only the north stands as the only opposition to Kronos with little pockets of rebellion growing in secret all over the world.

but Kronos will not stop until he had the avatar in captivity and destroys their spirit.

in ba sing Sei, a non bender girl sits in fake complacency. As the daughter of the leaders of the dai lee, she has seen her fair share of violence. Reyna Ramirez Arellano was born and shaped to be another weapon. Her parents turn a blind eye to when her older sister takes her to fighting rings and she’s bested benders of all kinds-except air of course. The fire lord’s sister-Venus-has been named Reyna’s godmother and trained Reyna in espionage and spy work.

Reyna turns the talents against her own parents, spying and gathering blackmail in the dark hall ways of the royal palace. She flees the city at 18, fighting and using every secret she knows to keep her disappearance a mystery.

people talk of the avatar still, desperate for hope. They talk of a weapon, a god, a savior.

but Reyna knows better. If the avatar was still alive, they’d made the right choice and kept hidden away. If they weren’t going to save her broken world, she would.

she has the money; she weasels her way to the eastern air temple. To her surprise, there are sky bison roaming the ruins.

She took one, named it Mrs. O’Leary after the sweet grandma who let her stay the night, and started traveling to the northern air temple. There was nothing there but dust and old scrolls so Reyna continued circling North. But it was getting stupid cold, so she dropped Mrs. O’Leary down on a deserted island and started snooping in the Northern Water Tribe. 

Reyna had created a plan at this point. Watch the world, catch every secret she could. Go to Fire Lord Kronos with all the intel and get close to him. Let him think she has come as a master spy who believes his bullshit “peaceful world” manifesto. Betray him, kill him, and give the crown to her godmother. 

But it’s a lot to break into one of the most secure cities in the world so Reyna tries to exploit the weaknesses of the younger-more inexperienced-water bender guards. One of them becomes her target-an orphan boy her age who everyone calls Seaweed Brain. Really, his name is Percy Jackson and he’s quite talented. And has a nice stash of furs in his home (which Reyna promptly breaks into). 

Reyna ambushes Percy on a patrol for a key ring but during the scuffle (where she disables his bending with chi blocking) he falls into the ice river. Without his bending, he’ll drown. 

And Reyna won’t get that mass key ring he has. 

So she begrudgingly saves his life. 

Percy feels indebted to her for saving his life and hands over the key ring. But when he finds out her mission is to destroy Fire Lord Kronos, he demands to work with her. The Fire Lord killed his mom and dad while they were fleeing the Southern Water Tribe. He wants revenge. 

“I’m not taking you with me.” 

“I will snitch.” 

~~~

Some months, a western air temple, a bunch more secrets, and a new found friendship and routine later; Reyna and Percy arrive at the Fire Nation. They’re planning a couple more heists of secrets before approaching Fire Lord Kronos. 

The very first one goes to hell. 

While going through the concierge’s office, two people slip in with the intent of stealing secrets written on their face. 

Jason Grace, a fire bending boy with the amazing ability to control lightning, and his best friend Annabeth Chase. The two members of the noble class had been planning their escape for months; hoping to find refugee with the pocket of rebellion brewing in their own capitol. Annabeth Chase had been trained by a Kyoshi warrior named Thalia who’d left her island to fight the fire lord. She’d been captured and sent to the boiling rock but Annabeth’s father and stepmom paid to have her transferred from the prison to their estate. Thalia was always under the watch of her private guard, Luke. Unfortunately, both died in a freak accident involving the testing of a new military gun. 

After a brief fight, Jason and Annabeth also demanded a ride with Percy and Reyna. 

“Absolutely n-“

~~~

Even more months later, a botched attempt of getting close to the fire lord that almost killed them all and landed them on wanted posters across the world, a bunch of heists and near misses, the southern air temple and more friends and allies; the four of them end up wandering the outskirts of the earth kingdom. The plan is to get back to Venus’s estate for refugee but the group takes a stop at the fighting rings. For fun. 

When a young girl steps up to the ring, their interest is piqued. Her eyes are the color of gold and her movements are measured and precise. Her opponent, a grown man, runs full charge at her. She can’t be more than 12 but she lifts her hand. A column of marble erupts from the ring and launches him across the arena. 

The crowd roars and more opponents run at her. She takes them each down, the announcer screaming that the winner is once again Miss Underground. A section of the stadium boos and the area brews with resentment. Suddenly, a knife is flying in the girl’s direction. 

Out of nowhere, a boy who could only be a couple years older than her, appears and catches it. He throws it back into the audience, striking someone. The people surge to attack the two kids but he lifts his arms. He’s pale and sickly looking but his movements are also measured and precise. He points a finger at the stage and it becomes lava. 

Percy, Annabeth, Jason and Reyna watch in awe as the two kids use their gifts to fend off hundreds of people. The sentiment in the air is clear-who are they? And would they be willing to join us? 

They were. Nico di Angelo and Hazel Levesque had heard of the Four Shadows who wreaked havoc on government standings and corrupt individuals. They’d love to destroy Fire Lord Kronos as well. 

It’s just . . . Reyna snaps the reins of Mrs. O’Leary and looks over her shoulder. Nico di Angelo is laughing with his sister and gesturing with his hands. Something prickles in her. A deep ancient power that feels like . . .

No. That’s impossible. She told herself and guided Mrs. O’Leary into the air. The Avatar is gone. Dead. 

There’s no way a sickly little kid is the savior this world has waited for. 

[makoheadrush]

I'm so stressed. Sick again....the sinus thing is just never-ending. And, it seems like the shutdown may happen, because the stupid Freedom Caucus - aka the Freedom Fuck-us - is railroading McCarthy into doing their bidding - all on behalf of their Lord and Savior Trump.

At work yesterday, we had our "potential shutdown preparation" which was rather tone-deaf. 100% of my office is 'excepted', meaning we work without pay until a budget is passed. Lots of questions came up, of course, but the bottom line, we were told is that it's "business as usual" in terms of work. Yeah, there's no "usual" about this, although seeing as this seems to happen almost every fucking year now, I guess it might seem "usual" to some. That pissed me off though. I want to hope this will be resolved soon and the shutdown won't happen, but there have been years when I've gone nearly a month without pay. It's not fair that we are treated as political pawns in this bullshit every year. Meanwhile, you can be damned sure Congress gets THEIR paycheck on time. Why not us peasants who are actually doing the work?

Also we're flooded here and my car is stranded at the top of the driveway. The driveway kind of dips down in the middle - it's kind of like a saucer, lol - and the water was up to my knees yesterday. Good times.

[yolowritter]

A perspective on Gideon Ofnir part 2

Follow up post to this ramble about Gideon. I stand by what I said last time. Gideon Ofnir is a tired old man who is clearly losing hope in the Tarnished, and the Two Fingers that are meant to guide them. Again, he is completely right in the regard that all current Tarnished staying at the Roundtable Hold are just waiting for a miraculous savior to sweep in and take the throne, and none of them embark on the journey themselves. Rogier has even lost Grace, possibly because of abandoning this goal, even if the exact mechanics of "gaining" and "losing" Grace are complicated. Alas, not the point. Gideon quite literally has only Nepheli that he can trust in, and he does in fact send her after Godrick the Grafted, the weakest of the Shardbearers. Make no mistake, this in itself is a show that he's done taking risks, or perhaps is following the mission half-heartedly by now. Nepheli is very clearly an accomplished warrior, since she managed to get inside Stormveil Castle and slay a Banished Knight inside of a cramped room (anybody who has fought them in tight spaces knows it's not easy). She is his strongest piece on the board, and Gideon sends her for the Shardbearers' weakest. There is a clear reason why none of the people present at the Radahn Festival are acting for or on behalf of Gideon. Blaidd is there for Ranni. Alexander is there to prove his own worth in battle, nevermind that he isn't Tarnished to begin with. Okina is possibly there on behalf of Mohg, since he already had the Rivers of Blood, which we know lore-wise he got after submitting to the Lord of Blood. Lionel is already dead and under Fia's control by this point, as we find his body in Leyndell, and Therolina is a puppet acting on Seluvis' orders. He even gives the Tarnished her ashes as part of his quest. Tragoth is following his own interests and travels the Lands Between to help his fellows, without ever going to Leyndell except to assist the Tarnished in defeating the Draconic Tree Sentinel (assuming he's summoned to help). Gideon literally has no more capable warriors at his side, no possible hope of ever defeating someone like Radahn.

That's why he sends Nepheli for Godrick, who is the weakest in all aspects. He's the only Demigod Gideon thinks even she has any chance of actually defeating. (Side note that the Radahn Festival must have already happened hundreds of times, due to the relevant Jerren dialogue, so even that is a failed strategy until the Tarnished shows up.) And what happens when the Tarnished returns to the Roundtable with Godrick's Great Rune? With or without Nepheli at their side, Gideon happly welcomes them, sounding proud to call the Tarnished a true member of the Hold. The player character becomes his new hope, that just maybe, if he keeps us on the straight and narrow, we might just end this Age of Fracture and stagnation.

Right after this, Gideon immediately launches into a whole discussion about the other Demigods. Those whose locations he knows of at least, and the list of targets that the Tarnished can hit. He's impressed by the fact that a Shardbearer has finally fallen and immediately urges this newcomer to keep going, offering knowledge and explicitly warning them to stay far away from the Capital until they've collected at least two Great Runes, and are strong enough to challenge Morgott. And yes, I know that the barrier at Leyndell's gate is an in-universe story beat possibly erected after Vyke got jailed, but that's not relevant to Gideon. Of course he has his own agenda, everyone in the Roundtable does apart from Roderika. Hewg is hopelessly smithing away and wants to be freed, Rogier is investigating Death, Fia wants to get as much vigor out of capable champions as possible, and D to hunt down the Undead.

Gideon is perplexed by mysteries. He admits that he can never know everything, and yet relentlessly tries to increase and expand his knowledge regardless. He does do this behind the Tarnished's back by taking magic from the Demigods they defeat, but consider for a moment that Gideon has no reason to trust the Tarnished with something so important just yet. Before Leyndell, the newcomer is a hope, yes, but one just as liable to fail as all the rest. Gideon is expanding his pocketbook of spells in case he ever needs them, and because why not? He's clearly got the power to wield all this magic, and the Two Fingers even deemed him worthy enough to learn Lord Divine Fortification, an incantion built to negate holy damage. Why would he recieve this knowledge if not for the Fingers intending him to challenge Radagon at some point?

And even in the cases where Gideon has the Tarnished do his dirty work, it's never a demand or a threat. He's passive, content to watch, and aside from Ensha (who explicitly acts on his own), has no intention to attack us so long as we don't end up being a threat to him. Don't stab me, I don't stab you. Pretty simple stuff. Gideon searches for knowledge, and while the whose fiasco with the village of albinaurics is absolutely unethical and cruel of him to do, it only serves to point out that he considers finding Miquella (and therefore possibly understanding one of the people that perplex him) more important than the lives of people who lore-wise are "widely considered impure and graceless". It's obviously wrong, but Gideon values a way out of this stagnation more than anything. Again, the Tarnished is never forced to find Latenna, not to mention that if they do while also eventually going to Ordina, a whole new generation of Albinaurics can be born. Gideon simply considers the Tarnished as a comrade of sorts, hence why they are trusted with Latenna's possible location. Hence why he then shares his secret thoughts about Mohg and Malenia. Gideon only wanted the Tarnished to prove they were worth it, and they have. Alright, I'm going to stop here and continue in a third and final post talking about why I think Gideon betrays and battles the Tarnished in the Ashen Capital. There is no 100% clear answer, but again these posts are just my two cents. See you all soon!