#to curb stomp chuck and fix the world

[mlp-natural]

yall ready for this post canon supernatural (where i have chosen to resolve plots i didnt like off screen, aka the empty, chuck, and billie being evil for NO REASON-) that lives in my head? Good! I will make note of what i made end differently if I feel like it but whatever everyone is living in MY supernatural pony crossover

anyway part 1

[omegatheunknown]

AEW ALL OUT 2021

In which, not to get ahead of myself here, AEW puts on one of the best major wrestling shows in several years*, following the simple yet effective principle of giving the people what they want and sending everyone home happy and hungry for more.

- The incredibly 'Nitro' ending of the go-home Dynamite, which ran a little long on the 'heels beat everyone up and strut around like assholes almost too in desperate need of comeuppance' bit, short of garbage raining into the ring, did actually increase the heat for both promoted matches. Again, not rocket science, but executed perfectly. Catharsis was on the card, and catharsis went over several times Sunday. - Again, it's time to move on from the Casino theme, shuffling the deck and drawing suits really only detracted from the Battle Royale and seemingly always throws the production crew a curve. If they haven't hammered it by now, it's not going to happen. - Bit unhappy about the PAC/Andrade situation, but still over the moon with Andrade's promo style and Chavito being unhelpful at best.

*Pre-Card

Best Friends and Jurassic Express v The Hardy Family Office and The Hybrid 2 (**) - Not usually much to say about a loaded-up multiteam boondoggle, particularly when the show has yet to begin, but there were some moments worth sitting up to take notice -- there's a lot of talent in the ring, even if Jack Evans/Angelico aren't going to be more than mid-level mooks, little matchups with guys like Luchasaurus and Chuck Taylor are opportunities for innovative/weird spots. - Really this match exists to show-off Jungle Boy, play his theme song twice, and work him in to the aforementioned spots. I don't rightly know what Jungle Jack's ceiling is, but it sort of feels like he's plateauing, at least this version of himself. - Dan Lambert thing is interesting in that it doesn't seem to easily lead to something obvious... I mean who are Scorp and Ethan Page feuding with by proxy here, the concept of contemporary professional wrestling? Orange Cassidy and Kenny Omega?

*Main Card

Miro (C) v Eddie Kingston for the TNT Championship (***1/2) - 'Redeem Deez Nuts' T-shirts now available -- and made immediately redundant now that Miro has graciously redeemed Eddie's nuts. - Imagine looking at Miro, listening to Miro talk, and not really being able to figure out this guy is money. Also imagine panicking when he took a little while to find his groove in AEW. 'The Redeemer' is both entertaining and terrifying, and this match delivered heavily on the promise of two big fellas smacking together repeatedly. - Not only does Eddie's arsenal of power moves target Miro's neck, he may also be quite difficult to put in the full reclined camel clutch. Or he'd quite literally snap in half. It didn't come to that. - Weird heel turn by Bryce's attention span and the overall weirdness of the finish is all that kept this from being an excellent match, otherwise this was a tremendous curtain jerker and started off a dangerously fun run of pure adrenaline.

Jon Moxley v Satoshi Kojima (****) - The stakes were nebulous, the build was abrupt, yet this was a fantastic match and tremendous showcase for an underappreciated great who has been more or less just toiling for a bunch of years as a NJPW Dad. Same deal for Nagata, and I assume Tenzan is the same, Taka Michinoku even -- let's see it. - I have to assume the Cozy Lariat might have put Mox down, but Kojima otherwise played the hits (Koji Cutter, Piledriver, Brainbustaaaa) in a big way and Moxley once again proved he's become a very well-rounded wrestler who can match the intensity of just about any former IWGP champion. - More to the point-- KAZE NI NARE -- out of nowhere, too. Or out of nowhere to those not paying attention to the whereabouts of Minoru Suzuki (Right, he's just over here to fight Daniel Garcia and not Mox?), which I guess is to my own peril. Wow, though. Surprise Number 1- a complete surprise, and a welcome one. Let's have it.

Dr Britt Baker, DMD (C) v Kris Statlander for the AEW Women's Championship (****) - I love Kris and her best friends but she didn't have a prayer of dethroning Britt. She got one promo, several weeks ago, and though she did make a meal of Hayter and Rebel, the chase has been abrupt and not given much discussion, other than Mark Henry and whomever else acknowledging what is extremely evident -- Statlander is stronger than she looks, and she looks really strong. They've got her doing Cesaro-level 'modify your grip while holding your opponent's entire weight' nonsense, and it's amazing and scary. - Even with the reign of the good doctor not being credibly threatened, this was an excellent match that demonstrated the continued growth of the competitors in the women's division, even as it underlined that their storylines remain undercooked and perfunctory: Orange Cassidy whipping off his shades to urge Stat to get up was a beautiful moment. Britt's Panama Sunrise, also, too sweet. Statlander eating shit on her 451 and her pendulum moonsault was properly brutal, as were Britt's curb stomps. Really great match between these two. - Again, if they had bothered to write anything into this story, such as Kris' alien physiology making her immune to the lockjaw or something... actually, maybe that's a terrible idea. it's an idea. Undefeated challenger is defeated, on to the next for Dr Britt. Statlander and OC should tag against some of the boys.

The Young Bucks (C) v The Lucha Bros for the AEW World Tag Team Championship(*****+) - Can't not mention the insane entrance lined up for Fenix and Penta. It was bewildering, it was enchanting, it was aggressive, it was hype. It also reminded everybody how very badly we all wanted the Lucha Bros to win. The crowd has been setting new peaks with their volume since Punk showed up, but things were absolutely thunderous and ecstatic at the end of this match. Absolutely valid response. I yelled on the couch. - Nick's facial hair was a bigger tell that it was time for the Bucks to lose than anything else about this build. There's literally nowhere to go from there -- they've done the hair, the bandanas, the kicks, the animal print, the dangly earrings -- peak visual heel for this time and place. - Sincerely thought this was going to be too much of a full sprint spot-fest (the PWG-esque circle of trading blows is not really 'my thing') but even so they kept finding gears, and ramping and ramping and adding blood and brutality along the way. Even a bit of levity, with the tacked up sneaker, followed by the sincerity of Penta throwing himself in harm's way to protect his brother. Immense match, I think you'd have to go back to the Bucks vs the Addiction and MCMGs Ladder War to find a more thrilling tag team gimmick match. - If there's a single flaw to be found it's in the production not really settling on wide angles for simultaneous action at the start of the match. They figured it out. - Rey Fenix is the best luchador in the world.

Women's Casino Battle Royale (**1/2) - If nothing else, this really shows off that they now have a surplus of women's wrestlers who deserve time to hang in the ring. Unsurprisingly, the match picked right up when Thunder Rosa and then Jamie Hayter got to the ring, with additional props to Tay Conti and Jade Cargill, who was dumped rather unceremoniously given her general booking... - Okay, there was something else. Welcome to the rechristened Ruby Soho, who I've not seen a lot of outside of her extremely limited showcase in WWE, but she has so many friends in the back and in the industry and that's never for nothing, not in wrestling, anyway. Intrigued to see where she fits, and if the women ever get more than a match per show. - Touched on this in the preamble but this was the roughest part of the night for the home viewer, just weird decisions on cutting away from various entrances to show... nothing in particular happening. Also while the commitment to not-kayfabing the countdown clock is... admirable? It makes the pacing hinky. - Almost everyone who got new gear for tonight was looking like the white ranger -- Nyla, Swole, Bunny, someone I'm missing. Except Anna Jay, whose stars and glitter gear looked great.

MJF v Chris Jericho for the fate of Jericho's in-ring career (***) - MJF's unauthorized homage to Y2J's entrance: good. Fozzy's guitarist going off tempo with the instrumental Judas: weak, and would've been sad if this were the end for Jericho. Especially as the build has felt... muted, somehow. - Props to the commentary for continuing to feed the red herring of 'in AEW,' as a caveat to stipulation, it did feel like... a remote possibility that MJF would win. - Credit to Aubrey for calling this one down the middle and not putting the fix in for her friend Jericho, and I guess the Dusty finish will give MJF plenty to gripe about. - MJF wrestles with a pure heel style, holds, chops, blocks, and Jericho is fifty years old, so the level of wrestling on exhibition in these matches is well beside the point. It was solid to good, and I was fighting burn out from the first half of the card's level of excitement.

CM Punk v Darby Allin (***1/2) - There are a couple benefits of Darby as a dance partner, and it's certainly better than having to watch Punk return against like, QT Marshall or Shawn Spears. Darby does make everyone look slow, but he can also be tossed around, and this raises his profile even in defeat, obviously. That said, the stakes here are... meta, at best, in that we want to see the man look good and justify the hype. It's a weird thing to root for. He certainly does look good. (Tights? Tights!) - It's fun to theorize about actually booking an angle where Punk is rusty and needs to regain his prowess, and maybe he'll stumble, but maybe the most we get out of that angle is hitting the GTS a little close to the ropes so Darby falls right out of the ring, in what was, for me, the spot that justified this whole match. - Sting's proud step-dad aura is still a hell of a thing, I really liked the end of the match kudos all around. - Match was good, hard to hang my emotions on. I wasn't watching WWE when Punk was in WWE. Definitely feeding off the excitement of others a bit here, and he sure can talk. I'd like to see him cultivate a stable, certainly.

Paul Wight v QT Marshall (n/r) - ...popcorn match? QT Marshall is like the anti-Daniel Garcia in that while his prominence and presence is just as inexplicable, I don't want it to continue, and he doesn't justify it in the process. - Match was two minutes longer than it needed to be.

Kenny Omega (c) v Christian Cage for the AEW World Championship (****1/2) - Crowd was both burnt out and more or less waiting for the post-match angle. Which I get. it's hard to cruise to the main event and having seen all the different things we've already seen on this card, even a singular performer like Kenny Omega and a legend with whom he (surprisingly? fittingly?) has superb chemistry with in Christian Cage were up against it to deliver something memorable. - Context dependent, I can definitely see rating this below their Rampage match, especially since... I mean Christian isn't winning the AEW title off Kenny at this or probably any other event. - But! It was really good! It was very good! They really do match-up well, and Kenny's v-trigger has rarely looked more devastating than when it knocks Christian flat. Christian got cut open in a novel and initially worrying way, and Kenny followed up a botched moonsault with a harder version of the same move off a rail, but it was a really great match and it deserved more energy than was available.

Post-Show - Calling back and inverting the end of Dynamite, The Elite strut about the ring, slightly less stoked than they were on Wednesday, but with the Bucks smiling through the pain, and Jungle Boy once again subjected to violence for his misguided heroism, Kenny 'not much a promo' Omega lays down a killer line about nobody being fit to challenge him who isn't unavailable, already tired or dead. - The Undertaker ADAM COLE, BAY BAY as Surprise #3 was a minor stroke of brilliance, and a fun swerve because while it's exciting to see him, his appearance at this point in the narrative does nothing to solve the problem of The Elite beating up Christian and Jungle Boy. Unless he's still sore about his unsolved murder, which he isn't. Storytime with Adam Cole is back and it's beautiful. Also Jungle Boy died for this. - Okay. But. Just. Okay. CM Punk and Bryan Danielson are All Elite. They will hopefully tag together. Bryan will head to NJPW, almost definitely. Minoru Suzuki just walked in and started slugging on Mox. The Forbidden Door is wide open. Will Kenny Omega one day return to Wrestle Kingdom? There are so many possibilities and they are all very exciting. This was a phenomenal show and it didn't have Hangman Page, Cody Rhodes, FTR, Santana and Ortiz, PAC, Andrade, Sammy Guevara, Team Taz, and the rest.

- Wrestling is good, actually. Imagine watching like five hours of wrestling and loving wrestling at the end of it.

*What competes- WK11, Dominion 2018, 2019, DoN 2019, 2021.. All-In, probably. Wrestlemania 30. A few Takeovers. Kris Wolf's retirement show...

[originaldetectivesheep]

Tales of the Missing 23 - A Sausage Party

It's a well-known fact of life that the best of intentions can sometimes have the worst of consequences; what is somewhat less obvious is that the reverse is sometimes true as well, and the best outcomes can come from the worst and strangest sources.

A Sausage Party

The starless sky was as black as the bottom of a thirty-foot well, but the high old bricks piled up in and over the narrow streets, and the maze of the North End back of Hanover Street still burned like a baking pizza oven.  It was past one, maybe past two, for all the flaring blaze of lights out of Rico's 24-Hour Pastry cared, and Jeff was in absolute pieces sitting down under the A/C drip, feet way down off the old high corner curbstones, leaning near as putting his head through the caution-cone marked pickup full of vinyl siding and old furniture parked illegally down the alley.  The heat.  The late.  Beers and craft beers and canned Gansetts watching the game and more beers and old Scotch and cigars down under Breccia's and the heat that didn't quit, no water, and way in back of that was what got them out here in the first place – what all that beer and whiskey and bros bros bros was trying to forget.

Lionel chewed on his lip.  This was bad.  Dude had to rally.  You go out with the guys, try to forget and shed that off and make a new start, you take some damage, naturally, but there was damage and there was damage and this was real bad.  You didn't get a fresh start poured into an Uber off a North End curb where you busted so bad you didn't eat your cannoli.  He had to keep this going – Matt and Yang and Pete were all out, Will like batmanned while they were in the pastry shop, and Sam and Jhon'd ducked out after the game, handshakes and daps and keep-your-chin-ups before the night even really began.  It was only him and Jeff left – him and Jeff and Will but where the hell was Will even dude wasn't answering his texts – so as far as fixing this got, it was really only him.

Lionel sat down next to Jeff, sliding his cannoli box on over next to him.  "Hey," he said.  "Hey, man; Jeff, let's pick it up.  Let's go back over Breccia's; we can sit upstairs and not choke on cigars, take another glass of that Aberlour and finish tonight off good, aight?  We had a good time, right, man?  This isn't the kind of night that ends with a pastry box getting dripped off the roof."  Something splashed down on the plastic as if to make a point, but Jeff still shook his head.

"No – it's no good.  I – I can't stop thinking about her – all these girls we seen and you and Matt talked up, I kept seeing her face.  No good – ashes, ashes in my mouth.  I'm not going to be right again." This was worse than drunk, and this wasn't something that was going to get fixed by just eating the damn cannoli.

Lionel took a deep breath, in and out, lips pursed like he was blowing a ring of smoke into the still, baking air.  De profundis.  Preach it – might as well.  "Jeff, it is not about her, and it is not about any her; it is about you, and getting you to where you can get your head up out of the gutter and see again.  Jeff right now you are down, like we are down, in this maze of brick-oven streets and deep-cut cobbles and we cannot see the moon and stars up above our heads, but that ain't mean we cannot get up onnatoppa these buildings and make ourselves a new vista, cannot do the work and make the climb and reach the mountaintop.  But worse than that right now Jeff you are not looking up; your eyes are down in the street-grate mulch of depression and self-pity and you think, just because you washed down here with cigarette butts and people's Dunkin Donuts cups, that you belong there, that you got to fill your eyes with the world around you because it is the world around you, right now, like that's permanent.

"But Jeff I'm telling you that you are meant for more than this!  You been to the mountaintop, and you can get there again!  Roll up, man, roll over – just because you down in the gutter don't mean you don't got the right to look up at the stars!  Look up, and if you ain't see them, you know they're there – you can get yourself up, up where you can!  This place right now ain't all of it!  How you're feeling now, you ain't gonna feel forever!  Look up!  Maybe not right up under here right now, yeah, because I ain't positive it's water dripping out of that A/C thing, but inside!  Stand up!  Look up! You're free, now, man – you're free to pick out your own way!

"There's no such thing as love at first sight – we're grown, you know that the same as I do.  Don't worry about that – don't worry that you don't find some crazy meet-cute out of the movies.  Alls you got to do is get it right, do it right: one step at a time, take care of yourself, keep swiping right, start small, be smart, stay real.  You can do this, man.  I know you can.  Ain't I known you forever?  Come on, Jeff – how're you gonna not believe in yourself when everyone else is believing?" Jeff had his head  up, half up, now, bleary-eyed but like he was getting it, half getting it, and Lionel stared deep into his eyes until he nodded back, deep breath catching in his throat that wasn't a sob, and wavered himself up to his feet, one hand on the truck fender.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Lionel said, standing up and trying to flick the liquid off the top of the cannoli box without burning his hand.  "You're all right – we're gonna be all right.  Now just eat your cannoli and we can –" – and someone screamed from over the other side of the light-spilling pastry-shop door.

"Ginks! Keergs!  Weirdos!  Fuck off and take your smiley whale with you, you Vines hobos!"  She was an angel, a vision with honey-browned legs going all the way up to jeans shorts cut off right short of where they wouldn't be legal outside a Miami rap video, a killer angel with her blonde ponytail floating over a military-green DuckTours crew shirt, brandishing what looked like shit for real man a hot dog at a bunch of scared golf-visor preps.  "You fart-huffing tonsil burps!  That's it, fuck off!  But you ain't gonna not get what's coming to you, meatlords!  Take that!"  She threw the hot dog, and from the face of the guy it hit, limpid meat water splattering his immaculate pink polo, you'd think he was about to aneurysm and volcano blood out his ears like a burst water main.

Jeff was past Lionel with the slightest push of his hand even though shit, the first thing you know living in the city is do not get involved when someone flips out and starts throwing meat at people, and hands up in front, pacifying, unarmed, he took a wavering step towards the girl.  "Take that!  And that!  Eat flaming pork asshole death, chowderboys!"  She had, shit, she had a whole pack of hot dogs who the hell carries around hot dogs in case they need to throw them at people, Jesus, and slurpy meat sticks were flying out of her hands, shedding water like firework rounds in a bullet hell, and whoever the fuck those people were, whatever the fuck they'd done to her, they were running in confusion, sobbing threats and fevered screams and the angry howls of car horns as they fell through blind corners into traffic, desperately trying to get away.  "Yaaah! Yaah!  That's right, failpogos!  Get the FUCK out!"

"Hey," Jeff said, hands up, only now getting her attention, "are you all right?  What's wrong – what did –"

Her green eyes blazed a broadside, and it looked like all Jeff's white-knighting was getting him was a target swap.  "WHAT? Since when is this your beeswax, fuckhorse?  Get tubed!"  She wound up, plastic crunched together in a spinning sidearm softball fist, and she was out of hot dogs but not out of hot dog package, and it blew and expanded and flaffed, the last nitrate dregs spreading as the wet plastic blew out before it made contact, a soft, stinking plotch dead into the middle of Jeff's shirt.  She gave him the finger with both hands as he stood there, brain completely pranged, then spun on her heel and stomped off up the cobbled streets and into the night.

Mechanically, Jeff started unbuttoning his shirt to throw it in the gutter where he'd been sitting; it'd been full of cigar smoke anyway and now it was covered in hot dog water and this late shirtless dudes walking out of the North End attracted zero comment.  "Yeah, I guess that's me learned," he said, pulling it off, careful to not get any more crap on his hands than there already was.  "I thought I could do something, maybe make something out of it, but when a chick – or really, shit, anybody – is chucking hot dogs at people, you got to leave well enough alone, right?  Right?  Lionel?" He looked up, and Lionel was staring past him, up the road where she'd gone, barely conscious of the cannoli box still in his hands. "Lionel?"

Lionel shook his head.  "Oh.  Shit.  Sorry, my bad.  I was just thinking – thinking about her."

"What? The girl who was throwing hot dogs?  Why?  Do you know her?"

He shook his head again.  "No.  But – I got to.  I think I'm in love."

"What."

Lionel shook his head again.  "You know I said it doesn't happen, but I think I got that thunderbolt the old guys talk about round here.  One look and bam, man, that's it.  I want to know her.  I want to help her – that lady needs love, and the love of Jesus Christ.  And better sausages.  And I wanna be the one who gives her all of that." He was still looking up the street, damn near on misty-eyes, and for the first time that night, Jeff smiled, smiled for real smiled, and his laughter banked and bounced and echoed up off the bricks and out into the wide dark sky.

further Tales of the Missing ...

[drcloyd]

31 for daryl/jesus

the prompt is “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” it deviated a little (and got a little longer than i was intending) but here it is! as for anyone who else that sent me a prompt, i haven’t forgotten you! 

It’d been almost six months since he and Paul called it quits.

At the time, he’d been spitting – mad enough to watch Paul stalk out gates of Alexandria and not give a damn. Honestly, now, he wasn’t even sure what they’d been arguin’ about in the first place, only that he’d rather chew off his own damn tongue than be the one t’apologize.

Eventually, the silence between them had moved past stubborn pride and into the sort of stalemate where it just seemed impossible to bridge it. So. Daryl shoved all the thoughts of their brief relationship to the very back of his mind, buried it nice and good, beneath the other thoughts his mind had no business touching (the sound of Paul’s laugh when he thought Daryl said something funny, that glint in his eye when he started spouting that philosophical bullshit – how he’d make sure to clock Daryl’s reaction, the way he felt pressed against him after Paul came back from a run, too tired to even take his damn boots off).

And he went on.

Sure, he saw him, sometimes. They mighta had more than a couple communities now, but the group of survivors still wasn’t staggering. There was still Maggie to see at Hilltop, the supply run frequent between the two communities. So, yeah, he saw him. He didn’t look long, eyes jack rabbiting off him like they’d catch on fire if he landed on him for more than two seconds, but he saw enough.

Saw him with Kal, shoulders pressed together as they walked back to the RV to grab more produce to unload.

Saw him with Al – one of them Saviors they hadn’t put down after the War, smirking at him with that dumb, stupid smirk he had, while said something that was no doubt sarcastic, Daryl too far away to make it out.

Then, once with some blond guy from The Kingdom, his hand lingering a few seconds too long on the man’s arm.

Wasn’t no reason for him to be jealous, though that didn’t stop the feeling from burnin’ in the pit of his stomach, hot and welling. He ignored it though, cos eventually it’d have to go away right? He and Paul had their shot and it’d blown up in their goddamn faces so there wasn’t no point moping about it.

It’d go away.

Daryl didn’t go on a whole lotta scavengin’ missions no more – his talents were more served toward huntin’ – but Gracie was sick (a few sniffles, nothin’ major, but the poor thing was miserable) and Aaron wanted to stay back with her.

He didn’t begrudge him that, least not until the car from the Hilltop pulled up t’the gates and he realized who was in the fuckin’ driving seat.

Paul.

Daryl felt like someone had jabbed a rusty fork into his chest, though it was less painful than it was annoying and he had to take a breath to keep from stomping past the car and out into the woods.

For his part, Paul looked just as surprised to see him stalking toward the car, big ol’ eyes all wide.

“I thought Aaron was –“ he started, as Daryl yanked the back door open and tossed his crossbow inside, slamming it shut with a little more force than necessary.

“He’s busy,” Daryl said shortly, and that seemed to answer that.

He climbed into the passenger seat, slouching down until his knees could touch the dashboard, staring through the windshield.

“Great.” Daryl didn’t look over but he could hear how sharp the word was could only imagine what Paul’s face looked like now.

“Look – Daryl,” Paul started and Daryl could see him turning to face him from the corner of his eye. He stuck the side of his thumb in his mouth, chewed at it a bit, refusing to look over.

“Best get goin’, got lotta ground t’cover,” he said, and his tone, at least, wasn’t any more abrasive than usual. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t. There was no reason t’be. They were over and done and he was willin’ to behave like an adult so long as Paul was.

There was silence for a beat or two, and then the car was backing up, turning around, and heading back down the road. Daryl stared at the scenery, which was a whole lotta nothin’, empty pavement disappearin’ beneath the car, the exact same as all the other empty pavement in front of it.

If he looked (and he wasn’t) he could see Paul’s hand on the wheel, grip sure, and he didn’t know why he wasn’t wearin’ his gloves. Probably had them in his pockets or something. Anyway, he didn’t give a shit.

Eventually, Paul asked him to get the map out of the glove box and Daryl did so without comment. They were just gonna hit a few stores about fifty miles away. Somebody from another community had mentioned going to the strip mall before the world went to shit, said it was remote enough that it might still have a few things left. At the very least, there’d been a veterinarian’s clinic there and some of the drugs could be used for humans, if needed.

Daryl pointed it out on the map, keeping his eyes fixed on the map and nowhere else, and the miles piled on. By the time they made it to the strip, Daryl was fighting the urge to open the door and chuck himself out, just to get away from the silence that was only broken when he grunted out a direction.

Wasn’t like they’d had long-drawn out conversations on car rides that often when they were.... before. Most of the times it was spent in companionable silence, classic rock flickering from the speakers (Paul knew all the words to every song, every single goddamn one). Once, Paul had held his hand over the center console.

That all didn’t mean shit.

After too many more miles, Paul pulled into the parking lot – half deserted, the cars left near rusted out and empty – and drove the car right up against the curb. The line of shops had dusty windows, but none of them were broken.

A good sign.

Daryl got out, retrieved his crossbow from the back and slung it over his shoulder. “Work our way down the line?” Daryl asked, gruffly, squinting against the afternoon sun as he looked over the car at Paul.

He wanted to pick a shop and clear it on his own, but he wasn’t in dying on this trip just to steer clear of Paul. He could handle himself with a few walkers just fine, but if there were more than that cooped up in one of these places he’d be shit out of luck.

“Okay,” Paul said, pulling his leather gloves out of his pocket and putting them on.

Daryl headed toward the nearest storefront and slipped his bowie knife from his pocket, used the grip to knock a few solid times against the glass.

And then he waited. He leaned back against the glass, gaze slipping over Paul and away.

One minute, then two, and there wasn’t so much as a peep. Daryl gave another knock – but before he’d finished Paul was moving past toward the door, giving it a yank. It was locked.

That’d never stopped Paul before and Daryl watched, despite himself, as Paul picked the lock in less than handful of seconds.

The whole place was clear, and they managed a pretty decent haul from it – mostly self-care supplies like shampoos and soaps, but there were also cotton balls and antiseptic, and make up, though Daryl didn’t know why anyone gave a shit about that anymore.

The rest of the stores went much the same way – despite well, everything, he and Paul still made a decent team, clearing the buildings without much need for conversation – but they weren’t ignoring each other. At least, not in relation to clearing the buildings – hand signals and looks conveying more than words.

The car was almost full by the time they were done, with just the vet clinic left to hit.

That one was locked too, but Paul got in there as easy as the rest and Daryl eased in behind him. It was just a small shop, the waiting room with two exam clinics behind the counter in the back, a hallway leading to the recovery area and a store room Daryl was bettin’ they kept all the medical supplies.

“Jesus,” Daryl said, and he could see the flinch run through Paul’s shoulders – the name felt weird comin’ out of his mouth anyway, but he couldn’t take it back.

“I’ll go first,” he said, lifting his crossbow slightly.

Better he take anything out with a bolt than let Paul get handsy with them knives of his.

Paul eyed him for a long moment before he sighed and made an exaggerated ‘go ahead’ sweeping motion with his arm. Daryl rolled his eyes, headed down the hallway.

As soon as he opened the door the smell hit him and he had to take a minute, head turning against his shoulder. It was old and faded, but the room smelled like death and Daryl could see the outlines of bones and fur in the cages, gleaming white in the dimness. There was somebody – somebody human. Their decayed corpse was slumped over on the ground, near an open cage, one skeletal hand resting inside. Daryl aimed, shot off an arrow, went in to retrieve it. Then he came out, blocking Paul’s big blue eyes as he strained to see over his shoulder.

“Nothin’ there,” he said to Paul’s questioning look.

“Daryl I’m not some sensitive –“

Daryl huffed an explosive sigh, glared at him. “Go ahead and look if you want, Jesus Christ, ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of animal corpses.”

He could see the way Paul’s lips went white, beneath his beard, the way he’d sometimes do when he wanted to stay calm but was about two seconds away from making some comment that would make Daryl flip his lid.  

Daryl pushed past him to storeroom, which Paul had gotten open while he’d been busy. It was lined with pill bottles, sterile supplies, the whole nine yards.

Fucking jack pot.

He shrugged his bag off his shoulder, started putting stuff in, ignoring Paul when started to do the same.

It was two minutes of golden silence, then Paul had to go and open his trap.

“So we never did talk about....us. About what happened.”

Daryl grunted, enough to say that he didn’t plan on starting today.

“It’s been what – six months?”

Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t been keepin’ track,” he said, though that was bullshit. He wasn’t countin’ days or anything pathetic like that, but he had a rough idea. He knew.

“Look,” Paul said, stepping right up in his space, trapping him toward the back corner. The only light was some weak tendrils filtering in from a grimy window on the other wall. Daryl could still see him though, see the look on his face. That we’re going to have this conversation and there’s nothing you can do about it set to his jaw. “I’ve given you space. I’ve given you plenty of time. You can at least talk to me.”

“Ain’t got a lot to talk about,” he said, trying to reach around him to shove some sterile gauze in his bag.

Paul grabbed his arm at the elbow, ignore the warning look that flashed in Daryl’s eyes.

“Daryl. We were good. We had one fight and that was it. You were gone.”

He could feel his face getting hot. He fucking hated talking about this shit.

“Didn’t go nowhere,” he bit out.

Paul looked exasperated. “I tried to talk to you –“ he said, and Daryl opened his mouth to protest because he’d never come to him. “No – I did – you were always out when I came over, or I’d see you out and about and you’d be gone before I could get to you.”

Daryl frowned – wasn’t how he remembered it. Sure, he’d been huntin’ more and more since they’d split, but that was only because it helped him blow off steam. And they needed it, with the communities growing like they were. And he’d only ever left when he saw Paul because he’d been all over those other guys.

“You seemed plenty occupied enough,” Daryl bit up, then immediately wished he could swallow his words. He wasn’t gonna get into this, it didn’t matter.

“Occu – Daryl, come on.” Paul said, those big blue eyes of his wide and disbelieving.

“What?” Daryl said, chin tilting defiantly as he eyed him. “Saw you with Kal, whats his face from The Kingdom.” He left off the Savior because that was a can of worms best left unopened.

“Daryl that’s – I went two months before I figured out that that was it. The end, of us. Because you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Y’didn’t try so hard, did ya?” Daryl asked, feelin’ cornered and caged. “Bet ya just couldn’t wat t’get done with me so ya could try them on, huh?” he asked, feeling cruel and unable to stop it.

Paul went white.

“Shut the fuck up, Daryl,” he said, voice unsteady and Daryl blinked at the glossy sheen to his eyes. “Yeah, alright, I kissed them, okay? I kissed Kal and I kissed Al and I kissed Daniel.  I did, but I was only ever imagining that they were you!”

He felt like he’d been slapped, head jerking as the words echoed round his head. Paul had let go of his arm, looking shamefaced and sad. Daryl’s chest gave a violent, brutal ache, his throat tightening until he was afraid he would choke.

Paul turned to walk away and Daryl reached out, quick as a snake and yanked him back, shoving him against the shelf as he kissed him. It wasn’t sweet, or nice, it was teeth and pressure and making up for every single day they hadn’t been able to do this.

“Like that?” he panted, mouth burning, nose aching where it mashed up against Paul’s face. “That what you were imagining?” he rasped, but it came out all vulnerable like, less a flirty question than an honest, raw plea for an answer.

“Yeah,” came Paul’s breathless reply, forehead pressed against his. “Daryl I’m –“ he started, and Daryl couldn’t stand to hear Paul’s voice sound like that anymore, so he kissed him, and he kissed him.

And he kissed him some more.

[feverhalo]

@taylor-tut said: FMA PROMPTS?! YES. Okay, so what about something where Ed and roy have to go on a mission together and the evening before, Ed starts to feel sick. He tells Roy, but he doesn't believe him and thinks he's trying to get out of the mission. He chalks Ed's listlessness and lack of focus up to a hissy fit. But eventually Ed is like "I cant--it's hard to think" while they're talking and roy realizes that he's burning up, and worse, they're in a motel with no air conditioning and it's hot as hell.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE FMA PROMPTS. I have like 4 on the go and still tried to do this one short’n’sweet but it got longish and ????

Thank you so much for the prompt! It was really fun to get to sit down and see something from start to finish again. I hope its enjoyable!

“Are you sure we can’t put the mission off for like, another week or two? C’mon Mustang,” Ed said holding his hands apart. “Al and I have to fix up where we’re staying and take back all these books before Winry gets here-”

“You really should just keep on top of your responsibilities. Honestly, by now the military’s schedule in your life should be making some difference. Its been how many years?” Mustang leaned back in his chair with crossed arms. Beside him, Havoc reached across the table to grab a copy of the next day’s itinerary.

“Says you,” Ed snorted harshly through his nose, “you’re name is more synonymous with ‘procrastination’ than any other word I’ve ever heard. Seriously, Winry’ll kill me if she gets here and its a mess.”

“More so than ‘bastard’?” Mustang slapped at Havoc’s arm and the man’s laughter lapsed into a rough hacking cough.

“Don’t encourage him. Fullmetal, this mission is unavoidable. I’ve had direct paperwork handed to me from General Grumman,” Roy smacked the back of his hand at the reports he held, “These rebel attacks can’t keep going this way.”

“So surprise them in a week. Make them think they got away with it, then wreck their shit. I don’t see what is so damn hard about changing the day.”

“Suck it up, Ed. No way, no how is Mustang going to be able to change it. The General kicked his ass in a match last week, so he- OW!”

“That’s quite enough, Havoc. Take your notes and go pick up something for the office, on my tab.” Mustang waved Havoc on.

“Alright,” Havoc pulled out a smoke as he walked past Ed. He gave Ed a solid nudge, “I know everyone’s go-to orders but yours, want anything special Ed? The Boss is paying.”

“I don’t care, whatever is fine.” Ed folded his automail hand under his chin as he stared down at his papers. He sighed through his nose and shut his eyes, eyebrows scrunching together. Havoc slapped his palm on the top of Ed’s head and gave him a gentle shove.

“Alright, geeze don’t work too hard, you’re putting me to shame.” Havoc gave a half-assed salute and left, “See ya .”

  --------

“Memorized it yet?” Ed groused, chin on the table inches away from his unopened take-out.

“Have you?” Mustang snarked, “Or are you still hoping I’ll let you slack off?”

“Oh yeah, committed it to memory,” Ed sneered. “Stupid ass idea, they’ll be expecting us. It’s a straight retaliatory action- its insulting. Jump, boy, jump.”

“You’re getting it,” Mustang shook his head at Ed, who dropped his forehead to the table and snarked under his breath into the wood.

“Can I go now? This is stupid, we’re just going there to hand their asses to them and get rocks thrown at us, again.”

“Finish the briefing, and finish your dinner. Honestly- boy genius, smart enough to transmute without a circle. And you still need to be told to eat your vegetables.” Mustang nudged Ed’s food towards him. “Its boring, but its procedure. Trust me, it’s a lot less fun with every other Colonel out there.”

“I don’t want it, I just want to go.” Ed whined, but pushed himself off the table anyway. He opened the container and poked at his food. “Can we just put it off a couple days? I really don’t…“

“Don’t what, Fullmetal?” Mustang sighed. The rest of the office had broken into their mission groupings and were going over the details, and he and Ed were to be the main attacking force come the next day. Ed fidgeted under the silence; he pushed his bangs off his face and let his eyes dart around. After a few false starts, Ed finally answered.

“I really don’t feel right,” he finally mumbled leaning across the desk as much as he could. He kept his eyes down. “Not- not about it being a stupid military tantrum response, just- just in general.”

“Right,” Mustang kept his stare level with Ed’s despite the young man’s desperate attempt to hide between his own shoulders. His voice was flat as he continued, “Tomorrow. Eleven A.M.- go get yourself sorted for it. Break up all those ‘things’ you an Alphonse need to do, I’m sure he can deal with some chores and Miss Rockbell for the few days we’ll be gone.”

“Huh?”

“Go on,” Mustang was leafing through his papers with little interest. He flicked his eyes up and lifted Ed’s takeout to hold it out to him. “I’m not dealing with your tantrum while I have to plan.”

“F-fine,” Ed glared as he snatched the box from Mustang and stomped away.

“Eleven A.M. sharp; you show up late, I’m putting you in charge of garbage disposal for the entire floor.” Mustang didn’t even blink as Ed slammed the door behind him.

 ---------------

 “Eleven-twenty-three, Fullmetal,” Ed slammed the car door after he sat down. “What did I say last night?”

“Shut up and just drive, okay?” Ed stomped his foot and gestured out the front windscreen, “Go! Drive! If its such a big hurry, go.”

“You’re really testing me,” Mustang threw the car into gear. The tires squealed as they lurched forward and sped off.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed slunk down in his seat and planted his feet on the passenger-side dash. He crossed his arms and plonked his forehead against the window to watch the city speed by.

“Punctuality is a core value in the military. How many times do I need to spell it out,” Mustang slapped the steering wheel with each sentence, “Are you trying to embarrass me? Make out our team as a joke? You went to the briefing, and were nearly half an hour late to the mission start.”

Ed snarked quietly, mocking Mustang’s rant while the Colonel dragged his hand down his face.

“I am not a babysitter. Do you hear me? I am not dealing with you being a brat. Curb your attitude before we get there.” From the edge of his vision Roy saw Ed roll his eyes and scooch further down into his seat.

“Sorry, geeze.” Ed mumbled, his words barely louder than the engine’s noise.

 --------------------------

 “…Damn brat. He shows up late and throws a fit.” Ed stretched as the conversation nearby flitted into his awareness. “The delay wasn’t too bad. We’re just a few blocks away now, at a payphone. You’re set?... And Havoc’s group? Good.”

Ed stretched his neck to let him look out the window. The sun hung low in the sky; a mess of oranges and purples bleeding between the buildings. Mustang stood a few feet away with the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

“Hey,” Mustang half turned at Ed’s voice. “Hey, are we there now? ‘wanna get out n stretch.”

“A few more blocks,” Mustang turned back to the phone, “Yeah that’s him now. See you tomorrow.”

Roy made his way back into the car. Ed groaned, all his muscles were locked up from sleeping in the car and his ports ached fiercely from inactivity. He gave a longing look to the sidewalk as the car rumbled to life, but couldn’t find it in him to ask to get out now.

‘Just a few more blocks, right?’ Ed shut his eyes as the car drove. The lingering haze of sleep and zooming scenery made his head spin. He hoped tomorrow morning would be smoother than the mess this morning, and nap, had been. The world was still askew when Mustang parked the car, but the freedom to stretch and walk off some of the aching held more power than the dizziness.

“You aren’t even listening, are you?” Ed startled and whirled around. “I’ll take that as a no. I’ll go over it, again, once we’re checked in.”

The check-in process was easy enough. Ed stared at a spot on the floor, zoned out until Mustang gave him a light push forward towards their room. The far corner of the first-floor hallway, a square little room with small windows high up on the cream walls.

Ed chucked his bag on top of one of the hand-stitched quilt covered twin beds in the room. Mustang dropped his to the top of the dresser and turned to Ed. He found Ed laying with his head hanging upside-down off the bed staring at him and picking idly at his bag beside him.

“Theres been some construction that is going to complicate the mission. Why it wasn’t in our intel is beyond me. It may drag it out a day or two more,” Ed huffed and rolled onto his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. “We’re going to meet earlier tomorrow to try and plan around it. I’m- really at a loss. The one main road is out due to flooding from that last attack, and now the other is under construction. For now, we need to figure out what to do about that.”

“Mmmh.”

“Focus, Fullmetal.” Ed lifted his eyes to glare at Roy. Mustang leaned back with his arms crossed loosely. “I’m banking on more than just your ability to fight here.”

“I can’t-” Ed dropped his head to the bed again and stared at Mustang sidelong.

“Can’t?” Roy stood up from his lazy lean against the dresser. His brows furrowed and he sighed, “The longer you ‘can’t’ the longer the mission will be. I’m trying to work it out-I don’t want to waste the time or resources either.”

“No, not like that. Everything just-” Ed squinted and waved his flesh hand in a strange little wiggle. He let his hand fall and silence stole the room for a short moment.

“I don’t feel right.” Ed finally said in a small voice. “I can’t… I can’t see straight, let alone think.”

Mustang dropped his shoulders and stepped towards where Ed was laying. He dropped to a crouch beside the blond. Looking closer, Ed’s eyes were glassy and dark despite all the sleep on the drive over. He looked almost greasy with a thin layer of sweat- not entirely unwarranted in the summer heat- across his tense brow. Mustang reached forward to help pull Edward up to a sitting position. Ed groaned but pushed himself up with little prodding.

“What now? I am listening, I’m laying down but I’m listening.” Roy bit the tip of the finger on his left glove and slipped it off while steadying Ed with his right. Ed complained to himself until he noticed Mustang’s hand in his peripheral and flinched away. “What are you doing?”

“Sit still for a second,” He pressed his palm to Ed’s forehead only to have it pushed away immediately with the mismatched pair of Ed’s hands. “Fullmetal, so help me- if you’ve got a fever I need to know how bad it is.”

“I-I-!” Ed stammered and backed up. Ed pressed the back of his fingers to his own cheek. “One second. I’m just- I’m tired. I don’t know, do I have a fever?”

“Yeah,” Roy pressed his palm to Ed’s forehead again. Ed let his hand drop to hold on to the edge of the bed and leaned forward. Mustang shifted to crouch on his one knee on the floor and moved his hand to the Ed’s cheek, and finally to the back of his neck. Ed’s face and neck were damp with sweat and the head was constant Roy frowned, “Damn. And here I thought you were just being a brat to annoy me. Wait here.”

Mustang stood up and Ed slouched further. Ed shrugged his shoulders as a chill washed over him and pulled his legs back onto the bed. Mustang shut the door behind him as he left and Ed laid down on his side.

Ed curled into himself; using his bag as a pillow he shuddered through another chill with his eyes scrunched closed. He let them drift open slowly and took in the swirling mess of the surroundings. When his vision stopped twisting, the room and modest decoration focused. He let out a groan of frustration. Everything ached and his head felt so slow and useless.

“Back. Here,” Roy opened the door to Ed curled up tight on the bed in the smallest ball he seemed to be able to manage. He stood there; casual shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows with extra towels draped over one arm and a glass of water in hand. Ed rolled to glare at the Colonel before pushing himself up again.

“I really thought you’d get yourself ready for bed, or at least move your things while I was out.” Mustang watched Ed’s back rise and fall for a few moments before he put down his armload of items. He shook his head, lifted the phone off the small writing desk in the room, and dialed out to the number Riza had provided on their last call.

Ed tuned him out. He shut his eyes and focused on his misery. His ports continued to protest the lack of movement, and he felt the blanket beneath him trap the heat from his body. The room was stagnant and warm and uncomfortable. Mustang’s stupid voice whispered in the background and the electric lights buzzed a low, irritating hum.

“…have to reschedule, its unavoidable…”

Ed shuddered though another chill. He groaned out loud; his fever must have gotten worse since that morning.

“…got to be at least 102. No, he wouldn’t…”

He groped behind him for the edge of the stitched-square quilt and pulled it over himself. He tugged it up over his head and put his hand over his ear to block Mustang out. His body pulsed in time with his heart, and as uncomfortable as it was it couldn’t keep him from falling asleep.

 ------------------------

 “I’ll be owing him favors for years, I know. I really don’t know what else to do. I’ll have to reschedule, it’s unavoidable.” Mustang heard Ed move around and grumble to himself.

“Is it really that bad, sir? Everything seemed fine this morning.” Riza’s voice crackled over the phone line.

“He’s got a fever, its got to be at least 102.”

“You’ve checked?”

“No, he wouldn’t have let me even if I could. He’s burning, its got to be around there.” He watched Ed’s hand slide across the thin quilt. The boy got a hold of one of the seams on the blanket and tugged it over himself. Roy pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his forehead. “I’ve got to go. Let the others know.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Mustang hung up the phone and turned to watch the lump that was Ed. He turned back to the desk and dialed out to a secure line to Grummun’s office.

 -------------

 Roy finally stretched up from the desk; a number of promises he’d rather not make, a rehashing a few of Edward’s points from the day before on stalling the mission, and a conversation far too long at this hour of the night with the eccentric General bought some time.

Mustang walked over to where Ed snored beneath the blanket and pulled it down to the boy’s shoulder. Ed’s hair was a frizzed mess and his face was now flushed red. Roy pressed the back of his hand to Ed’s cheek again only to shake his head at the heat. He grabbed a towel from the pile of what he had brought back and stepped into the bathroom to wet it.

Mustang flicked the lights off when he came back into the main room. He took a seat on the free bed and leaned over to smooth the wet towel across Ed’s burning forehead.

“What am I going to do with you,” he leaned his head in the palm of his hand. “Should be half delirious from fever and still giving better ideas than half the military…”

Ed shuddered under the blanket and rolled to his back. The movement knocked the blanket askew and left Ed half covered with his stomach bared to the warmth of the night. Roy tugged on the hem of the boy’s shirt with a quiet laugh to himself before tuning in for the night as well.