#【 ooc. ❀ ║ pursuing my true self. 】

[belovedblossoms]

//Idk if this is gonna backfire but I'm opening up a starter call! Honestly, I'm gonna be a little selective on this and also make them at my own pace, I'm already a little behind on some drafts but as I'm doing them I also would like to have new threads with you guys too. So please bear with me! Like this post but please specify which of my muses you'd like to write with and also if you just want to plot together, I'm down with that too! I'm not the best at creating things off the bat but I'll do my best for them.

[belovedblossoms-m]

//I'm currently in the process of moving my blogs just to have a fresh start. It is still under construction but I'll be nearing to finish it soon and I'll pretty much be ready to get back into things. Like the important links and stuff are available and then I'll build my way up some more. I'll reblog this for the day people and update again eventually when I am fully moved.

@belovedblossoms is the new blog move

[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.”

[liliumsabyss]

Your being

FEM DNI, I SWEAR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ESPECIALLY WITH THIS

Viktor(Arcane) x FTM! Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Tw: Mentions of Dysphoria, Mentions of being ashamed for being trans, some self-hate, Reader is on T, Reader is Pre-Top Surgery but is getting it, Needles, maybe ooc Viktor(?), The word trans is never used it is always referred to as “this”(makes sense in the context), Viktor got cured

A/n: HAPPY TRANS VISIBILITY DAY! Yes I know I am a little late on this but I still wanted to put something out there as a trans guy. This fic is based on a lot of my own emotions with being trans and how it’s caused me to view myself but also how I’ve grown from my past views of myself causing me to not be ashamed of myself and just let myself be me. And if anyone wants to hear any funny stories from my trans ass I would be more than willing to share them as there is a surplus. So to all my fellow trans masculine folks I hope you enjoy this fic and I wish the best to all of you!<3

In the midst of pursuing the hexacore and building hextech with Jayce, Viktor had met you, a bookstore owner from the rim in which Piltover and Zaun met. You were far more intelligent than being a bookstore owner would let on but didn’t show it off not even being aware that you had it causing Viktor to take on an immediate liking to you as he would peruse through the bookstore on his way to the lab in the early mornings when nothing yet your shop was open. The two of you had become quick friends and then eventually lovers and then you found yourselves sharing an apartment for what you two tried to excuse as for “financial reasons” even though you both knew it to not be true. Your relationship had been built on trust which didn’t come easy for either of you and yet you had kept something to yourself for all the time you had been together you didn’t know why, you weren’t ashamed of it itself, but you guessed you were ashamed in your mind that it would never be the same after Viktor would know. So it was your secret you kept, Viktor never verbally questioned why would would sleep with your shirt on, why you would use a bathrobe instead of a towel, why anytime physical intimacy started to “heat up” you’d awkwardly would put an end to it, why some days you’d sneer at anything that had a glossy enough surface to see your reflection, why you’d have to stab yourself with a needle full of some mysterious medicine(of course in the beginning he did question that one in concerns of your health and safety) and other attributes that for most men wouldn’t make sense. And you were so thankful for that so you kept your secret you knew it would never last but being with Viktor was sweet bliss so you’d enjoy it while it lasted. However you got a letter in the mail regarding top surgery you had spent years saving up for it your hands shook opening the letter terrified of what the surgeon had wrote and reading it you dropped it on the desk, heart surging, tears starting to well out of your eyes, and a huge smile found its way onto your face. They said yes. They said yes. The approval of the surgery. You’d finally be rid of the flesh on your chest that you so much anguish, the flesh that you detested would be replaced by two scars that would mark your struggle and victory. But as you checked the time you realized you were going to be late opening the shop you quickly stuffed the letter in the desk not thinking much about it running off being sure to lock the door behind you racing down the squeaky hallways.

Hours later Viktor arrived home shockingly early for him, you hadn’t even been home yet the reason he was home is he realized that while working on the hexacore he had some papers in the desk that could assist. He briskly walked over to the desk, his cane letting out soft sharp thuds against the wooden ground arriving at the desk. He opened the drawer and grabbed the papers without a thought rushing back to the lab even though it caused a thrumming pain in his leg. At the lab he slowly sat down in the wooden rolling chair he sifted through the papers reading each one carefully under the little lamp desk till he arrived at a letter confused. He read the first line and his heart dropped. It read your name and the words “ your surgery has been approved”. Viktor immediately stood upwards stumbling forgetting to grab his can but using the desk as support. He didn’t read past the first line but he knew what it meant or at least what he thought it meant. He grabbed his cane hurdling himself out of the lab barely remembering to lock it behind him he headed towards the apartment you both had called home, he knew at this time you’d be there. And he knew you, he knew that you would only get surgery that was essential to you which in his mind left only one possibility you were dying or could die without the surgery which broke his heart. Why would you keep something like that from him, especially knowing that once too he was a dying man. It also hurt him that it felt like you couldn’t rely upon him he would gladly pay for it then and one hundred times over after all hextech did make him and Jayce more wealthy and even then he could emotionally support you, be an anchor if you needed it. He wobbled up the uneven stairs and down the hall of the apartment building quickly unlocking the wooden oak door to your home while still having the letter in hand. Opening the door he saw you sitting on the couch curled up reading a book. He barged through the door slamming it behind him making you aware of his presence.

 “ Hey Vik-“ You started to say before getting cut off by Viktor.

“ What is this?” He said sharply holding up the letter in his free hand giving it a slight shake angrily. Your eyes became as wide as saucers staring at the letter in his hand with fear as you bolted upwards your hands out in front of you ready to explain everything ready for your relationship to be over.

“ Look I can explain-“ You started once again before once again being cut off by the other male quite harshly.

“ How can you explain this?! How can you justify hiding this?!” Viktor responded bitterly, his tongue cutting sharp like knives.

“ I’m sorry I didn’t think it would ever get this far-“ You tried to say before Viktor interrupted.

“ You didn’t think it would get this far?! And what you're sorry you didn’t tell me you are dying!” He seethed out wrapped up in his emotions too wrapped up to notice the confused expression on your face.

“ I'm sorry, what?” You said dumbfounded and in utter confusion of his statement. Only saying this caused him to go on a rant about how could you not tell him and other statements along those lines. You went into your headspace trying to figure out what in the actual hell this conversation was about only to think about it more. Quickly you caught onto the fact that Viktor has always respected your privacy but a he must’ve accidentally come across the letter as it had been in the desk with some of his papers and had read it stopping after the first line for the sake of your privacy but also worry.

“ Viktor,” you started out sternly trying to make your voice as flat as possible. “ Viktor read the entire letter.”

Viktor just went silent his face still held bits of grief and anger but sure enough he looked down reading the letter his face remaining the same till you figured he came across the line “ the consultation before your chest masculinization subcutaneous mastectomy will be held on the date xx/xx/xxxx if you have any concerns or need to reschedule please respond back.” Viktors face softened with realization of your avoidance of being shirtless, or just naked in front of him for that matter yet unreadable as he finished the letter. He looked up at you. You thought you would be terrified and yet you felt relieved but you also felt grief mourning the relationship which you had thrived in wither away because of what you are.

“ I am sorry I lied to you, I'll pack my stuff and stay at the store.” You started remorsefully, your head hanging low, refusing to look at him chewing at your bottom lip in stress. The sound of his cane thumping across the floor matched your heartbeat and when he stopped in front of you the thumping stopped with both his cane and your heart. You almost jerked at the feeling of his strong thin hand that was placed on your shoulder waiting a second to see if you’d push his hand away from your shoulder to which you didn’t he stepped even closer sliding his arm around you holding you against his chest lightly to not scare you. While Viktor was touch starved it was often you who took charge grabbing his hand, pulling him into hugs and kisses all sorts of intimate moments but when he did take the lead it meant something it was his way of telling you that he loved you. And you could tell exactly what he was doing here embracing you gently enough where you could pull away at any moment if you so desired but hard enough where it anchored you there in that moment with him. 

“ You never lied, and I am sorry my love I just worry for you.” The brunette male Sid squeezes you slightly for your comfort or maybe his own.

“ I am sorry I kept this from you but how can you still love me after knowing about this” you said wildly gesturing to your body still in VIktors embrace.

“ Because I love your entire being and this is a part of you so I love it as well.” VIktor stated warmly as if the sentiment was basic logic. But that’s exactly what you loved about Viktor is that to him his compassion, his love was just basic logic yet any other person would actually struggle to empathize and love at his level. And with the statement any of that shame that festered in you seeped out maybe not completely but you at least knew that you didn’t have to feel ashamed of it.

“ I love you so much Viktor.” You said squeezing you arms around him you could sense he flushed at the statemeant while he could say the sweetest phrases that mean ten times more than I love you to other people he himself could barely hear an “ I love you” without flushing and stammering. 

“ And I you. And if you need me by your side I will be there.” He said squeezing you back the two of you standing there in the middle of your home just enjoying each other's embrace soaking in the love for one another. 

[asvterias]

𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖮𝗋 𝖫𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖧𝖾𝗋? ~ 𝖪𝗂𝗋𝗂 𝖲𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒

avatar masterlist

Warnings: Jealous!Kiri, Mutal Pining, Kinda!OOC!Kiri & Heated Makeout

Pairings: Aged up!Kiri x Fem!Metkayina!Reader (both 17)

Genres: Friends to Lovers, Tuk & Tsireya being sneaky matchmakers, The Sully family being supportive, Kiri and [Name] oblivious acting like a couple & Happy ending for us sapphics

Summary: Newcomers seek refuge in a different habitat and learn the oceanic na’vi ways while creating new friends along the way; maybe [Name] discovers non-platonic feelings for a certain omatikaya girl. All it took was one self-righteous metkayina boy to boost his one-sided proclaimed love for [Name] for Kiri to express her feelings towards her crush/best friend.

Word Count: 2.6k+

Author’s Note: There’s definitely a part 2 coming out! My first time writing for avatar way of water, so the characters might be a bit ooc. Here are some kiri writers who boosted me for actually writing for Kiri: @qvrcll @aokoaoi @eywasru @inmyfxith @kiris-wife @only4reya @notkody-ig @kirislovelygf @neytiriswife @livelaughloak @xrollingmyeyesx @eywamygoddesswrites

Tag List: @n7cje @lvtilzs @ksava10 @human-cacti @unreaonablysapphic @mozzarellasticksaredope @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis

Glossary: skxawng – moron

it was unusual, to say the least. seeing another clan from a different tribe land on your home to seek refuge in your homeland. after ronal blatantly insulted the newcomers by their physiques and accused them of being sky demons claiming them to be not true na’vi.

tonowari was sympathetic enough to lend a helping hand, accepting their invitation to pursue uturu in his home.

“my daughter, tsireya, and her friend, [name] will escort you to your home.” he identifies the two young girls as they reveal themselves with vibrant grins. “and after you settled in, my son ao’nung will accompany them in training your children.”

“come on,” tsireya grinned, already picking up one of their belongings as you followed along in tow, “follow us!” and with that, the family of six swiftly followed behind you and tsireya. the journey wasn’t that much of a walk, the pathway was sewn carefully over the open sea. apparently, the youngest child found joy in jumping instead of walking the whole way there.

you opened the entrance to the empty mauri, inviting the family inside as well as tsireya. “home sweet home.” resting down their belongings.

“we’ll let you get settled in before we start our practices.” you smiled, catching the young female na’vi gaze locked onto you. upon being caught, her ears flickered down in embarrassment as she quickly diverted her eyes elsewhere.

luckily, her brothers were covering your line of eyesight onto her halfway.

unknowingly, a smile arose on your lips, and to your surprise, the omatikaya girl managed to hold eye contact and shyly wave at you. you could’ve tell that a smile was ghosting her lips when you waved back.

her name is kiri, you remembered. one of her brothers exclaimed her name on the way here.

kiri.

kiri is a very pretty name.

jake nodded proudly in acknowledgment, trying to be optimistic and sincerely grateful, “yeah, this is great, this will do.” whereas his mate, neytiri seemingly disagreed, dropping the rug on the floor and sighing heavily.

knowing that your presence was no longer required, you tugged onto your friend’s forearm, pulling her out of their mauri, and left the family to do their bidding. while walking beside your best friend, tsireya nudges you on the shoulder. “seems like someone has a new admirer.”

“seems that i’m not the only one,” you reminded her, your mind, replaying back to the interaction with lo’ak and tsireya when they first arrived; him greeting her and her intensely blushing. “his name is lo’ak, am i correct?”

that sly comment earned you a harsh nudge to your side. “so i am right!” you exclaimed in victory. perhaps, new faces were just what you needed, nonetheless, eywa was always full of surprises.

a few months had passed by and the sully family had become accustomed to your oceanic culture. during the training of the children, you grew closer to kiri and absentmindedly you peeked at her interests, allowing her to come out of her shell. her peculiar personality was the first thing that truly intrigued you into becoming friends with her. she was more reserved, quiet, soft-hearted, and observant, unlike the rest of her siblings who were outgoing and loud.

after spending sufficient quality time with you, she decided to open up about her forest life; the RDA, her mother grace augustine, and more importantly, her connection towards ewya.

you grinned in thought as you listened in contentment as kiri passionately spoke about her forest life. the way that kiri would ramble on for hours, and you wouldn’t have a care in the world. you had been harboring these romantic feelings for a while now, but never had a moment of peace to proceed with a confession.

at first, you assumed that you were just eager to be in kiri’s embrace, not distinguishing the excessive affection that was given by each other. for instance, holding hands developed into endless kisses on the cheek, and night walks on the beach turned to sneaking around and stargazing enveloped in each other’s arms.

your unannounced situationship with the sully girl convinced everyone around that you two were dating but they never confirmed it with either of you.

homosexual couples were common amongst na’vi clans and they were openly accepted, so that was one less thing to fuss about.

she surprisingly even brought up the topic of someone named ‘spider’. now that brought you out of wonderland and reality knocked you in the face. it was finally starting to make sense. of course, she would have a boyfriend back at home. kiri was one of the most undoubtedly beautiful na’vi girls that you’ve ever laid your eyes upon in your entire life.

you had been a complete fool for having a lingering thought of kiri hoping that she was single. her liking boys and not girls crushed your spirit, you weren’t gonna lie.

who was spider? what did he look like? was he good enough by your expectations to be kiri’s boyfriend?

the sully girl also didn’t fail to include what species spider was.

a human?

a human living amongst us?!

it was his kind that brought continuous downfall to pandora and they allow him to roam free in their forest.

kiri was certain that you had many questions, begging to be answered, probably mainly about spider.

“oh…are you dating spider?” you asked in curiosity, tilting your head slightly, your baby blue doe eyes gazing at her. noticing how her body language immediately changed and you could’ve sworn to ewya that the chill in the air came to a halt. “i apologize if that’s too straightforward, you don’t have to answ–“

truth be told, you wished that she was single and your confession wouldn’t make things more awkward than they need to be.

her cheeks flushed in surprise, pupils widening and ears perking up at your sudden inquiry. even her tail swished vigorously in confusion, “no, spider is like a brother to me and besides….” kiri gently shuffled closer, your legs now touching, and made the initiation to hold hands, which thankfully, you returned back, “i think that ewya has blessed me with another.”

at that moment, your beady eyes connected with her yellow ones, holding a communication that goes beyond words and actions. she was your safe haven and you just prayed to ewya that you were hers as well.

“i have to tell you something.” your voice came out in a whisper, pulling away from your conjoined hands to avoid the quizzical stare in her eyes. you couldn’t look her in her eye with a bold face so you settled with diverting your perspective elsewhere as if it would numb the upcoming rejection. reluctantly your stare was placed onto her once again. “just please, promise me that we’ll still be friends after this.”

to be honest, kiri was quite scared of your declaration and a frown quickly embedded on her face. your face fell, gathering that she was jumping to conclusions already assuming the worst possibilities. “not it’s not bad, it’s just probably how you will react to the revelation.” you worked rapidly to regain yourself from a blemish misinterpretation. the frown disperses and speedily replaced with a small smile, which was mindful of the doubts.

kiri nodded along, kindly ushering you with your statement and her hand hovering over yours to grasp it in reassurance at any given moment.

she was such a sweetheart.

that’s what you loved liked about kiri. she was always so understanding and patient with people, wasting no time comforting the people that she loved.

your beginning words were replaced with someone else’s; “yo! what are you guys doing?!” lo’ak’s voice rang out, ruining your moment with kiri. kiri closed her eyes in irritation and her lips tightened in a firm line at her brother for having the worst timing possible.

this time another voice rang out. “kiri, it’s time to return home.” it was neyetam as he greeted you with a warm wave and smile.

“can’t you see that i’m busy?” annoyance flashed through her facial features as she looked at her oldest brother.

despite his interruption, kiri knew that neyetam meant well and that he cared for her well-being. and lo’ak, just wanted to interrupt you for the fun of it.

“it’s fine, i’ll see you later, kiri.” you walked past her, your fingers lingering on hers before quickly squeezing her hand in a gentle embrace. unexpectedly a gush of confidence overcame you, bringing your lips to her cheek for a semi-quick peck. hearing surprised gasps from her siblings only produced a dark hue of blue from kiri.

your lips were everything that kiri dreamed of. although it wasn’t a big smooch, just a tiny peck, yet, she still cherished it in her heart. she just hoped that her flustered state didn’t radiate onto you, which could’ve caused her a whole amount of embarrassment.

you excused yourself from her siblings and headed towards your mauri to finalize the day.

“you couldn’t just wait for a few more minutes, could you?” her hand drifts to her side after lightly touching her cheek, specifically the area that you kissed in astonishment.

“no! why? so you lovebirds could finally get some kisses in.” lo’ak taunts. “hey, maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get one on the lips next time!”

she attempted to shove lo’ak harshly, ignoring his cackles of laughter. “shut up, you skxawng!” completing her signature style as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes in pure annoyance.

even though her body language displayed irritation, it didn’t cease the butterflies in her stomach from overgrowing, her mind repeating the proximity and your cute shudder before you allowed yourself to kiss her on the cheek.

then kiri got to thinking about her brother’s snide comment; you’ll be able to get one on her lips next time!

will there ever be a next time?

will there be another opportunity for you to kiss her on the lips away from prying eyes?

eventually, the siblings of four made their way back home, arriving back just in time as neytiri was placing dinner on the table.

“so, how was your day?”

tuk beamed. “it was great, tsireya let me feed the ilu again and we searched for shells and created necklaces.” for evidence, she pulled out a beautiful strewn together necklace, unintentionally shoving the jewelry in her parents’ faces.

“this is quite the beauty, tuk.” neytiri compliments her daughter’s craftsmanship.

“kiri,” neytiri turned to her eldest daughter, “how was your day?”

at the sound of her name being called, she looked up and stopped playing with her food. kiri opened her mouth to talk but was interrupted, yet again.

“are you guys dating?” tuk was always upfront about her questions. kiri was just lucky that tuk didn’t spill the beans about her having a crush on you.

“who?” neyetam was lost but the brotherly protective manner came instinctively.

“kiri and [name], obviously, teyam. they’re always together.” lo’ak butted in the conversation. “you don’t see one without the other.”

jake looked at kiri. “wait, isn’t [name] a girl?” then he looked at his mate, “or i just didn’t get the gist.”

“yes, ma jake. [name]’s a girl and so is kiri.” neytiri affirmed her husband. “which by the way, we have no problem with.” her last statement was directed to kiri, quickly glancing at her teen daughter.

“well, i overheard [name] talking to tsireya about making kiri a necklace and also something about a confession.” the youngest sully explained with a mouth full making all heads turn to her.

“tuk! it’s not good to eavesdrop….and chew with your mouth closed.”

“that’s the part that you choose to focus on, sis: tuk eavesdropping on a conversation.” lo’ak deadpanned.

“it was none of your business, tuk.” kiri managed to contain her excitement from showing on her expression wanting to keep you out of her family’s limelight tonight.

“oh please, we all know that you wish to kiss [name].” lo’ak teases kiri, and to emphasize his point, he hugged himself and puckered up his lips, beginning to make annoying kissing noises.

tuk giggled slightly at her older brother’s antics as neyetam rolled his eyes and continued eating his partition of food.

“you’re no different, lo’ak.” neyetam defended his sister, reminding his brother of his crush as well. now experiencing embarrassment, lo’ak abruptly stopped and continued to chow down on his food.

“can we please stop talking about [name]?” kiri’s voice was unusually calm despite her whole family knowing about you and your status in her life. her family muttered in agreement, lo’ak lesser than the others.

still not being satisfied by her family’s behavior, her desire to be alone expanded by a million. “i’m going to sleep early, good night, everyone. the food was good as always, mom.” kiri rose from her seat and left the table, heading towards her room.

once kiri was out of earshot, tuk snuggled up between her parents and spoke, “i don’t know why kiri’s so mad, i’m just being honest.”

“sweetheart,” jake urged his youngest child, “tell me more about this [name].” just as tuk was about to respond, neytiri slapped him upside his head as she shakes her head disapprovingly.

“just trying to make sure that my babygirl’s in good hands, is that a crime?”

“sure use that excuse.” neytiri huffed, also leaving her seat and venturing off toward her daughter’s room. knocking softly at the blanket that served as a door as neytiri awaited kiri’s permission to enter.

“who is it?” her voice was soft, barely audible.

“it’s your mom.”

there was a pregnant silence before kiri replied. “come on in.”

kiri adjusted her position on her makeshift bed, sitting crisscrossed as neytiri joins her on the bed, doing the same position.

“i can’t explain it��” kiri sighs, looking down and playing with her fingers, “it’s like every time that i spend time with her or learn more about her, i feel myself drifting closer towards her…like my connection to eywa. i don’t want to let go of my affection for her, my heart won’t allow me to. i want to confess to [name] tomorrow but i’m scared of her reaction of how she might take it. i really really do like her mom, i don’t wanna scare her away. she’s one of the people who doesn’t make me feel like a freak and that i can just be myself whenever.”

her mother analyzes her mini confession very thoroughly and kiri almost thought that she had silenced her mom by her ranting. “mom?”

“you should confess tomorrow, but you’re underestimating your admiration for [name] and before you confess tomorrow, ask yourself, do you truly love or like her? trust me when i say that they are very different.” by the end of her sentence, she had tucked kiri into bed, placing a braid behind her sensitive ear. “sleep well, ma kiri.” she kissed her forehead and left the room.

now neytiri’s question wavered in kiri’s mind: did she truly love or like you?

© asvterias, 2023. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[exastrisnonnocere]

Character Info Sheet

NAME: Silas Lane Garcia Alderin

NAME MEANING: Silas meaning 'of the forest' from the Latin Silvanus and he is named after his paternal grandfather. Lane is masculinized from his mother's name Elena (specifically her nickname Lanie), which is the Spanish variation of the name Helen, meaning 'bright, shining light'. Silas's surname is officially Alderin, with his mother's first surname Garcia (of Garcia Villegas or Garcia-Villegas from the traditional dos apellidos convention) listed as a sort of second middle name, since Elena had elected to take her husband's name at the time of their marriage. Garcia is a Spanish surname meaning 'bear', while Alderin is a spelling variation of Aldrin, either from the Old English meaning 'old and wise ruler' or the Old Norse Áleifr meaning 'noble leader'. (OOC: surname was definitely chosen because Buzz Aldrin but also more because mun is a Lily Aldrin from HIMYM stan no regrets)

ALIAS/ES: Nicknamed Si (pronounced like sigh), also called Miguel by his grandfather after he developed dementia and often mistook Silas for his father, Michael.

ETHNICITY: Mexican (Mother's side) & British/Italian (Father's side)

ONE (1) PICTURE YOU LIKE BEST OF YOUR CHARACTER:

THREE HCS YOU'VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE: ( I've been writing this man since 2012, I'm pretty sure I've told everything to one person or another at some point, so we'll go with some HCs I haven't posted on this blog yet. )

Silas is allergic to copper (and incidentally the blood and various other bodily fluids of Vulcans; he learned this the hard way with his Vulcan Academy boyfriend because I thought it was funny af and for literally no other reason)

He really, *really* enjoys getting flowers. Like, a lot. Give this lorge grown ass man flowers and watch him smile and blush.

Silas is not especially a fan of labels in regards to sexuality. Silas has almost exclusively dated men for almost twenty years, but he has also had many emotional relationships with women during that time. If pressed, he would say that he is primarily physically attracted to men and primarily emotionally attracted to women, though both attractions develop with either one, eventually. His relationships with men tend to be intensely passionate, but emotionally shallow or needlessly complicated, while his relationships with women are often deeply established before any kind of desire rears its head. Because of this, the women he falls in love with are usually already well-established as friends, and he declines to pursue any romantic involvement for the sake of the existing relationship.

THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:

Reading. This boy is always reading like five books at a time. He is partial to poetry and fiction, but he's also all up in the niche scientific and anthropological research spaces.

Cooking. He likes food. Real food. Replicators suck. The end.

Dancing/Singing. He sings while he's cooking. He dances in the shower. Music lives in his body at all times, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

EIGHT PEOPLE YOUR CHARACTER LIKES/LOVES: (PSA: multiship so each one exists in its own little verse unless there's an arranged poly situation going on; also, if you are not on this list don't worry, he likes almost everyone! I just picked the 8 who are closest to him currently and/or have been close to him for years; if we haven't interacted much or haven't discussed their relationship OOC then I don't like to make assumptions about it overall.)

Ten of Eleven aka Madeline - his baby girl, pride and joy, and the true love of his life, his adopted daughter.

Jin Kim - Long time OTP played off-site, biochemist with a crappy disposition but great legs.

Leonard McCoy (@onlybonesleft ) - Sometimes platonic soulmate, sometimes not platonic at all, but inevitably cut from the same cloth. Both men are too used to caring for others and not enough for themselves, so they pester each other into self-care submission and their relationship keeps me up at night because reasons.

Christine Chapel (@nursc ) - The bright spot in a shitty day but also 100% reliable when you need help on the floor. She knows her shit, she gets things done, she's the one he calls when he needs a hand. He hopes she knows she can count on him for the same. His work wife, his non-work wife, his gossip girl, his bestie. Can't live without her, doesn't want to.

Sergio Alderin - His middle brother, closest in age and the one he still sometimes talks to. Schoolteacher. Married to his childhood BFF.

Simon Castelo - His childhood BFF and brother-in-law, keeps him up to date with goings on in his brothers' lives more often than the brothers themselves, given their rocky relationships.

Michael (Mikey) Alderin Jr. - Youngest brother, wanderlust type with little guidance and direction in his life. Suffered in foster care and blames Silas for not being there to protect him.

James T. Kirk (@traiilblazer ) - On-again, off-again lovers, played off-site.

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:

Losing his brothers. While they are all three alive and well, the relationship between them is strained. Silas leaving foster care and his subsequent failure to obtain custody of his younger brothers at the time of their parents' deaths is something he wishes had gone differently. He thinks he gave up too easily, that he should have tried harder. He also carries guilt because, deep down, his failure at the time had been a relief. Relief from the burden of trying to figure out how to provide for and raise his siblings when he, himself, was only 17.

Getting married. Not so much the relationships themselves, but the almost knee-jerk urge to put untested romances under the stress of a long-term, official commitment. Military marriages tho, amirite?

TWO PHOBIAS YOUR CHARACTER HAS:

Autophobia, also called monophobia, isolophobia, or eremophobia, is the specific phobia or a morbid fear or dread of oneself or of being alone, isolated, abandoned, and ignored. For Silas, this manifests as a fear of ending up alone or almost an expectation of abandonment. This is, incidentally, contrary to how he has operated throughout his life in the past, where he is and always has been fiercely independent out of necessity and often chooses not to rely on others for help or support. He often pursues relationships with individuals who need him in some way, rather than pursuing mutuality and emotional intimacy which would require him to be vulnerable, thereby ensuring that he both has intrinsic value to the other person and that if/when the relationship ends, he is not utterly destroyed by it. He believes that love exists, but he does not believe it exists for him or that he is deserving of it.

Trypanophobia is the extreme fear of medical procedures involving injections or hypodermic needles. This seems like an inconvenient fear for a doctor to have, however it only manifests when he himself is facing an injection or medical procedure, himself. The fear, at this point in his life, is fairly minor and easily overcome, however it was, at one point, severe and debilitating to his ability to work. Early in his career, Silas and a few others on his away team encountered a Borg vessel and were partially assimilated during that encounter. After being recovered, the various nanite appendages were surgically removed, but the initial trauma of being injected and losing identity and autonomy was heavily damaging to his mental state for some time after the event.

TAGGED BY STOLEN FROM: @ensnchekov TAGGING: @onlybonesleft & anyone else (if u want u don't have to)

[mcltiples]

Mun and muse relationship asks! || accepting

@villains4hire sent; 💕 with Verosika because I feel like that may be a challenge for you to find common ground?

💕 Name 3 similarities you have with your muse.

{ OOC } Well, you say that but I don't think it's that much of a challenge. Aside from the obvious that I'm not a succubus, popstar, or an alcoholic of any kind. But usually I roleplay characters that I share similarities with because it helps me get into character better.

At least, in my interpretation of her, me and Verosika hide our true self / feelings. She closes herself off due to past heartbreak and amplifies her bitchy attitude to protect herself from being vulnerable. This is something I do as well, except I'm not bitchy. I tend to hide behind a mask of being friendly / nice and when I'm extra sad I hide behind humor / a fake self confidence.

Another thing I think is we've both experienced painful heartbreak. Obviously with Blitzo, Verosika ended up feeling used and discarded. It's a feeling I've had in the past with an ex. The relationship ended with a messy break-up. So I feel for Verosika on that.

But anyway, I like to sing and I do have a decent singing voice from years of practice. Actually, I've always wanted to be a popstar but anxiety stopped me from pursuing that dream xD So, I'm more than content in roleplaying a popstar.

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hello, Thank you for your response to my question on role reversals with GSR. I was curious on the gsr relationship itself, rather than the professional roles being switched. All this being equal, I was interested in how Sara would take it having Grissom being the pursuer. Would she still have reservations about sharing her history after seeing so much more of Grissom's "flaws " at work? Would her relationship perceptions change seeing the dynamic between him and other female colleagues?

hi again, anon!

thank you for the clarification!

so as talked about in the original answer, i find it really hard to imagine any kind of version of grissom who would be able to throw caution to the wind and pursue sara without hang-ups from the get-go.

i mean, maybe in a situation where he never became the night shift supervisor but sara still somehow ended up working for the lvpd anyhow—like if, say, holly gribbs hadn't died but instead had just quit so brass needed to hire a junior csi to replace her and asked grissom to help him fill the spot and ended up choosing sara based on his recommendation or something—he might be more inclined to just go for it, but, honestly, even then, baby boy still has self-esteem issues miles long and fathoms deep which have been with him throughout his entire life, so it's hard for me to picture him being 100% ready to jump into a relationship, having no reservations; i still think he'd doubt his own lovability enough that he’d be cautious, you know?

that all said, if we just ignored that this behavior would be ooc for him for the sake of the hypothetical, then, honestly, i think that had grissom actively pursued sara and sought to establish a committed romantic relationship with her starting right away when she moved to vegas, then in all likelihood they probably would have ended up getting together and just being happy pretty much immediately.

more discussion after the “keep reading,” if you’re interested.

__

so unless sara were also behaving in an ooc way, i think she’d likely be receptive to grissom pursuing her from the get-go.

while she is not herself without hang-ups, especially regarding talking about her past, she wanted the relationship from day #1, so if she’d gotten off the plane at mccarran and grissom was there waiting for her at the terminal with a bouquet of roses, she would’ve just gone with it.

been overjoyed, even.

she wouldn’t have played hard-to-get at all. 

though she may have in the back of her mind wondered how things would go re: either telling him about her trauma or not, she never would have doubted the him part of the equation, just her own side, as all of the things that grissom views as being his “deal-breaker flaws”—the parts of himself he's so afraid that she’ll reject once she sees them in the light—are things that either a) she doesn’t actually believe to be true of him or b) she knows are true of him but readily accepts (and even in some cases finds to be attractive).

grissom can’t understand how sara could actually want to be with him when in his view he is an unattractive, socially stunted, romantically inexperienced misanthrope with a dark side. he sees himself as an old man past his prime and constantly gets down on himself, knowing that even his closest friends think of him as some sort of emotionless robot.

meanwhile, in sara’s eyes, he is an absolute stud, totally attractive on every level. his social deficits don’t matter to her because, frankly, she shares many of the same deficits herself. likewise, his romantic inexperience is not in any way off-putting to her because she is similarly inexperienced and knows that they can figure things out together. though she’ll occasionally tease him about being a misanthrope, at the end of the day, she knows he is actually a consummate humanist with a deep capacity for love. she doesn’t care about his age, and she doesn’t see him as unemotional. she also doesn’t believe he has a “dark side,” full stop.

as i talk about here,

though grissom doubts his own goodness, sara doesn’t for a second. in fact, she believes in it more than anything. she loves how compassionate, humane, and just he is; how much he cares about the people in the cases they work and his deep capacity for empathy. she adores that he is a champion of persons who are vulnerable, that he speaks for the dead, that he honors and protects women and children, that he allies with the marginalized, etc. though of course she never likes for him to feel sad, she finds herself deeply touched whenever she sees his sorrow for someone he couldn’t save or an investigation that ended badly. while he often thinks the worst of himself, she knows he is the best—that he has this deep-seated and unfailing desire in him to help others and to right wrongs; that he is compelled by his nature to try to better the society he lives in and to show kindness to the individuals he encounters. that he can’t see in himself the virtues that seem so obvious to her honestly breaks her heart, which is why she never misses the opportunity to remind him that he is so much better than he gives himself credit for. just knowing that someone like him exists helps her have faith in the world. he’s such a good man, and the fact that he is is so important to her.

perhaps ironically, the only things grissom does that really ever actually threaten to run sara off for good are the things he does in the service of keeping her at arm’s length for the sake of “self-preservation.”

like.

he believes that if she finds out how (relatively) inexperienced he is with sex and relationships, that’ll be the thing to make her second-guess her desire to be with him, when in reality she’s perfectly willing to be patient with him while he learns, and in fact the thing that’s actually much more likely to discourage her in regards to him is his tendency to play hot-and-cold with her and at times be aloof (which is of course something he does so as to keep her from “getting too close” and realizing his vulnerabilities).

that so, if when she had moved to vegas in 2000, he had actually openly pursued her (just as she had expected that he would when she decided to make the move in the first place), i don’t think she would have ever been repulsed by him in the way he feared that she would.

i mean, not to say that everything would be 100% smooth sailing for them in a scenario where they got together in episode #2 of s1—because, frankly, they both undergo a lot of crucial character development and personal growth during those first five seasons before they get together in canon, so this incarnation of them as a couple would still be very raw and roughhewn and have a lot of underlying issues to ultimately work out—but certainly sara would never find grissom to be the monster he erroneously believes himself to be.

she is always so much more charmed by and attracted to and in love with him (unconditionally!) than he ever thinks is possible, so i think she’d just be thrilled if he came in and swept her off her feet right from the start.

of course, as for the issue of whether or not she’d be ready to share the truth about her past with him right away in this scenario, i still don’t think she would be immediately to begin with.

she’d still need to work up to that point—not necessarily because she doubted him but because she didn’t trust her own lovability.

even in canon, so much of the reason why it takes her so long to be open with him is because she fears that once he learns “what she came from,” he will start to look at her differently.

on a more surface level, she worries that he might pity her, but deep down what she’s really afraid of is rejection—she is scared to death that once he knows her story, he will realize there is something fundamentally wrong with her and be repulsed.

both grissom and sara see their love story as “beauty and the beast,” but they each think of themselves as the beast and the other person as the beauty.

in canon, grissom gradually proves to sara over a period of years that she can trust him and particularly that he isn’t going to abandon her or cast her out at the first sign of trouble, until eventually she is convinced that she is safe confiding in him.

in a situation where they started dating earlier because he had actively pursued her from the start, i think she’d eventually reach that same point, but it would still be something of a process; at first, she’d conceal her past from him as much as possible for fear of scaring him off, but in time there would come a kind of breaking point where she either had to tell him the truth or risk losing him. as their relationship became increasingly intimate (not just in the sexual sense but emotionally and in terms of them sharing their lives with each other), her dodges and obfuscations and flat-out refusals to broach certain subjects would place increasing strain on the relationship until she’d ultimately have to decide whether or not she was willing to lie to him for the sake of keeping her secrets—you can only avoid your boyfriend’s questions about how come you never talk about your parents for so long before finally you have to answer somehow—or else choose to confide in him once and for all. and whereas with all of her previous relationships, i think she had always chosen in those “moments of truth” to just shut things down and bounce, with grissom, i think she’d be motivated to actually open up and tell him what had happened.

she’d eventually tell him everything.

he’s her true love, after all.

this confession probably wouldn’t come about in the same way that it does in canon or on the same timescale. it might be more piecemeal—maybe she cops to the fact that her father was abusive first and only tells grissom about the murder later—with starts and stalls involved.

but to my mind, sara would ultimately always find grissom trustworthy in the end.

he’s always going to be that one person she is comfortable enough to confide her secrets in.

as for how she might react to his relationships with female colleagues, i honestly think there’d be less friction between her and grissom in this regard in this scenario than is the case in canon.    

as i talk about here,

while before they are together, grissom and sara both experience jealousy whenever the other person shows any kind of potential sexual and/or romantic interest in someone else (or even when someone else shows any kind of potential sexual and/or romantic interest in the other person), they do so largely because of how helpless they feel, given their very particular "i'm in love with this person, but i can't be with them" situation.

it's the type of deal where they're going, "i'm in love with him/her, but i can't lay any actual claim to him/her, so i just have to stand back and watch this flirtation happen, and i can't really say anything about it or intercede. maybe this interaction will go somewhere or maybe it won't, but either way, i'm uncomfortable because the outcome is completely out of my hands and annoyed because i can't take any similar action to express my interest in him/her myself."

so that's why we see grissom get upset about greg asking sara out to dinner, sara dating hank, etc. and sara bristling about grissom hanging out with jane gilbert—due to insecurity and a sense of being stuck.

they're anxious because they know that someone else could potentially "take away" their one true love from them, and they can't object in any kind of meaningful way.

but later on, they're no longer in that same kind of precarious position...

[once they’re in a committed relationship and sure of each other’s feelings, particularly after they’re married,] while they both might occasionally crack jokes about the subject—like grissom does when sara remarks on the physical appearance of a suspect in reboot episode 01x03 "under the skin"—it's never really a serious thing.

they know where they stand with each other.

they know they're committed.

they're both mature enough to realize that no one can steal your spouse if they don't want to be stolen.

in the early seasons of canon, we sometimes see sara get uptight at times when grissom interacts with the likes of jane gilbert or teri miller or heather kessler or sofia curtis, but so much of that insecurity on her part comes from her sense of helplessness when it comes to her prospects with grissom—i.e., from knowing that if he were to seriously pursue one of these other women, she could do nothing about it; she’d just have to stand back and watch as the love of her life settled down with someone else.

in a situation where her bond with grissom were already fully established and she knew he was devoted from her, i don’t think she’d feel that same kind of anxiety.

instead, much as we see in the later seasons of the show in canon (when she and grissom are married between s10-s13), she would actually probably be pretty chill about him having friendships with other women. she’d be much less likely to get her hackles up, just because she’d already know where she stood with grissom and would have developed that trust in his monogamy.

anyway, those are my thoughts.

ymmv!

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[elmentalwish]

tag dump pt 1

[rayslittlekitten]

Hello to you ❤️ on this fine celebratory weekend 🥳 For your 500 followers ficlet challenge, may I please request a smutty ficlet with Alan McMichael (I watched Crimson Peak recently and okay so it’s not one of Charlie’s bigger roles, but oh is sweet soft Alan now one of my fave Charlie characters 💘) with the following gif

(gahh look at him looking all fine, clean and handsome whilst going about his working day 💓) and three words strip, shock, sweet.

I’d also be happy if you’d prefer the same three words with Will 😋, as I’m aware Charlie’s character in Crimson Peak wasn’t really one of the main ones.

Than you so much for your submission and as always for your support!! I always LOVE reading your comments! I am forever grateful for them. Hope this is smutty enough for you.

“Consummation”

500 Follower Ficlet Challenge Masterlist

A/N: Okay so I've only seen Crimson Peak once and that was when it first came out. I found it a little underwhelming. I had higher expectations because of some of the other Guillermo Del Toro movies I've seen. Hellboy and Pacific Rim are probably my top two. Charlie also had a tiny role. So if this seems a little OOC, sorry! This is like AU, reader is like Edith, but not Edith if that makes any sense. This is also my first time writing anything with Alan McMichael. Coulda did Will, but I like a challenge.

Rating: M

Pairing: Alan McMichael x F!reader

Contains: fluff, events leading to first time de-virginizing wedding night sex

Word Prompts: strip, shock, sweet

Alan has always been such a gentleman. Too gentle, some would say. He's just a wholesome, sweet, honest man. It's what most women yearn for in a man, in a friend, in a husband – except for the women his mother would set him up with. They wanted someone who is charming, passionate, confident, assertive. Dark and mysterious. Someone who can demand attention in a room by merely entering it. Alan are those things, but not in a self-absorbed way.

Mrs. McMichael never approved of you, but Alan didn’t care. He was drawn to you and saw something in you that he didn’t see in the others.

After pursuing you and getting to know you, he asked for your hand in marriage. Spinster, you say, Mrs. McMichael?

You’re both now standing in his bedroom – your bedroom too. This moment has been on your mind since you woke this morning. In fact, you were barely able to sleep. You have never been with a man before, just as he have not been with a woman. Both of you are nervous and excited to consummate your marriage.

After ridding of his suit jacket, he walks over to you and looks you up and down. You feel warmth on your cheeks as he soaks you in. You stay standing where you are and look back at him, not knowing what else to do.

“You look so beautiful in that dress,” Alan breaks the silence.

“Thank you, Alan. You look handsome in that suit.”

“But I would love to see the true beauty underneath all that.” Alan takes a step closer to you. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of him. He reaches up to cup your face and he kisses you. Alan has kissed you before, but never like this. He’s kissing you with urgency and passion. It’s making you feel things inside of you that you have never felt before. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his body. You also feel something rigid below your waist pressing against you. His hands travel down to your backside and he cups you through your white, puffy dress.

Alan pulls back from your lips and you are left breathless. You see a fire in his eyes you have never seen before.

“Turn around,” Alan tells you. You are shocked by his assertiveness. You do as he says and you feel him starting to unzip your dress. You let him strip you of your garments until you are wearing nothing but your jewelry. You turn back towards him, feeling vulnerable. Your eyes glance down to the front of his trousers and see a very noticeable bulge.

Alan takes in a sharp breath as he admires your naked body.

“Lay down.” Alan nods towards the bed.

You slowly walk over and lay your back on the cool bed and soft sheets. You watch him disrobe himself before he gets on top of you, ready to officially make you his.

[belovedblossoms]

//everyone is saying they been role-playing since 2016...I've been doing this since freaking 2012!! 😭 hopped into different types of fandoms to write for. It's crazy to think how long I've been into this.

[belovedblossoms-m]

I just realized...where are the cool kids going to when getting blog themes nowadays? ^^; I'm so out of the loop of whatever the heck tumblr has got going on.

[bakerolivias-archived]

raven and bellamy deserved to be the true head/heart duo and best friends, not bellamy and clarke. in the beginning their nicknames for each other and their view of their relationship was incredibly soft, because those were the roles they played and the way they acted. they’d built up a friendship and bond forged from shared experiences and the same passionate desire to protect the people they loved. clarke made the “rational” and “difficult” decisions, thought about the long term and the people as a whole group, thinking that a small amount of lives could be lost so humanity as a whole would be spared. she used what she believed was logical thinking, whereas bellamy used his emotions. he cares for others selflessly and believes every life matters. that’s his entire arc and characterization (which is what makes s3 ooc but whatever, i won’t be opening that can of worms lol). he lives life for other ppl, for those he loved, and even strangers whom he’s just met but already would have done anything for (see: maya and echo). he thinks about the individual person’s needs and goes so far as to value them above his own, which no one gives him credit for. the trait for self sacrifice always goes to clarke, and no matter how terrible her actions are she’s always woobified for it and referred to by narrative and fandom alike as the “good guy,” and if any character/person opposes her or dares to believe that she was wrong to make an impossible choice (see: spacekru, raven in particular, b/c the woc is obviously the asshole for being pissed at the white woman who betrayed her and got her tortured), then they’re assholes.

clarke uses and abuses bellamy, to an extent. she takes him for granted and manipulates his selfless love for other people (i.e, his sister, even for her) to achieve her own goals and push her own agenda. she’s not an unfeeling monster, it is clear she is more than capable of feeling and loving, but her manipulative pragmatism and survivalist mindset that allows her to excuse any action (”it was for the survival of _________, my people/my daughter”) is what keeps her from having a healthy dynamic with bellamy. gabriel’s line in s6, “once the heart stops telling the head to beat, it’s over” foreshadows bellamy’s death at the hands of clarke and the nature of their relationship. she takes advantage of him and his views until he no longer “serves” her in their unbalanced power dynamic, instead pursuing a cult that opposes her own wants (which, yes, is to protect her daughter, like i said, not an unfeeling monster, although she didn’t grab the fucking book so it was useless anyways) and kills him. while it’s a gross end for bellamy, who certainly deserved a better final moment, it is reflective of the evolution of their relationship and how it escalated into something unsalvageable (bellamy, quite literally, being dead.) a head and heart cannot function without each other, and applying this label to bellamy and clarke is actually symbolic of an extremely unhealthy relationship, implying they cannot “function” on their own either.

bellamy is raven’s family. bellamy is who she wanted to be with “always,” to be by his side, as co-leaders or best friends or whatever their undefined relationship was. she is literally the “head” as one of her assets as a character is her brain and intellect, though that is not all she is (speaking character wise, ofc). bellamy trusts and respects raven. she never takes advantage of his love for octavia, knowing how important his sister is to him. they are protective of each other. their moral compasses align so well. she pushes him to be a better leader, much like clarke, but in a healthier way, not for her own agenda but for the welfare of her ppl. he values and admires her intelligence, while realizing that this is not all she is as a person, unlike clarke, who constantly demands something of raven without giving her the appreciation she deserves. they are both independent characters who can and do “function” without the other, but offer their unconditional support during loss and tragedy, which is something they both feel so deeply (whereas clarke, who sees loved ones as a means to an ends at times, doesn’t understand or respect this, and insensitively forces raven to work her mechanic genius after grieving the loss of her boyfriend whom CLARKE killed, and forces an apology on bellamy who is grieving the loss of marper that clarke inadvertently caused even after he asks her to listen to him and not apologize to him at that moment - an apology which is insincere since she once again repeats the same habit of endangering bellamy’s life). raven and bellamy support each other’s decisions without argument, trusting that they know what they’re doing. their relationship is a product of trust and friendship and respect.

it would make a lot more sense for them to be the head and heart, tbh, and not just because of raven’s logic and reasoning skills or bellamy’s compassion, one dimensionally fitting into these archetypes. it is because of the thousand other traits they share and portray in different ways that balance each other out. they’re not made to serve each other or give each other orders like clarke and bellamy. they’re set up as the true head and heart dynamic because they work together, as well as independently, to keep the body (the people in the case of this metaphor lmao) alive.

bellamy and clarke are a disaster as a head and heart because they can’t appreciate each other as people or work together and communicate the way bell and raven do, which is why they were ultimately set up for failure as a relationship and as their arcs progressed.

[marisandini-chu-blog]

How Shadow and Bones Differentiate Villain and Anti-Hero

Alright, first I need to claim the fact that I love dark, edgy, but misunderstood bad boy in stories with the potential of epic redemption. Loki from Marvel. Jason Todd from DC. Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time. Zuko from AtLA. You name them, I simp them.

So when I watched this new show on Netflix and shown a tall, handsome man in dark clothing, both respected and feared for his power. I feel... nothing. 

WHICH IS WEIRD! Like... he’s obviously my type. Complete with the sad backstory and vicious streak. So I kept wondering why I wasn’t enamored by the Darkling, Alexander Kirigan. I wasn’t surprised he was the main villain, I even expected it. But I usually at least have a bit of sympathy for them. This OOC behavior of mine made me introspect myself and the show, trying to find out which part gave me the red flags before Mother Darkling decides to pop the chosen one out halfway in the season. 

That’s when it hit me; there were red flags! The show had been subtly trying to tell us Kirigan is a manipulative boyfriend not just by great acting and good directing, but by comparing him with the actual anti-hero of the story who I actually love; Kaz Brekker. 

Here’s the list of signs you might not notice of why Kirigan is meant to be a Villain instead of an Anti-Hero. 

1. The Eyes

"The eyes are the window to the soul" is a common saying and and the key to good acting for any good show. Eyes tell us a lot about what a person’s character is like and SaB showed us the difference of a sincere man and a man with a hidden agenda.

Look at him! Look at that little smirk. Look at the gaze. That's the look you find when someone's evil little plan is finally coming together. Not one awed by the power or by Alina. A blatant sus move is what I'm saying. Congrat, first flag planted.

Sure he could still fall in love with Alina, but that doesn't stop his agenda either. All it does is potentially create conflict for him to pick either his plan for revenge or life with Alina.

In comparison, look at Kaz when he said this to Inej; "She isn't like you, no one is." Straightforward eyes. Serious grim. No nonsense tone. Inej is one of the most talented and terrifying rogue-assassin and Kaz just blatantly said that he kept her from 'slavery' because of who she is, not what she's capable of. Like... the man has no shame being known to love her while still trying to be professional (or as professional a thief can be). I can respect that.

This is the eye of a man who would abandon everything to make sure she comes out alright in the end. Do not argue with me on this!

2. Leverage and Status

The moment Alina steps into the Little Palace she was treated like a princess. A palace, by the way, that’s managed by the Darkling. She gets favorable treatment; from the food, Zoya displaced when she fought Alina, a horseback ride just the two of them, asking her to call by his name to make them familiar, a black uniform that might as well be claiming???

Dude is desperate is what I’m saying. 

Sure, this could all be romantic gestures. There’s the problem that Kirigan is superior in status and name, powerful Grisha, and has a vested interest in her power. Pursuing romance while Kirigan has the ability to make her life heaven or hell with a snap of his finger made every single decision be seen with wariness. 

"Beware of powerful men," Genya couldn't put it any better.

Had they pursued romance after they destroy the fold, cementing Alina’s position as a saint more. Then I might have let go of that wariness. 

I’m only proven correct when the moment Alina turned away from him, Kirigan made another leverage by (spoiler!) putting an antler to her collarbone... eeeewwww much?! 

That’s how desperate the Darkling is to be in control of a person and a situation. 

And when no letter came for Alina? That a big red flag because who else in this castle can control the coming of going of letter with the Savior. HMMMMMMMMMMM.....

Then there’s Kaz. My man. There’s no competition. This guy held no leverage on my dear Inej. When she almost decided to leave, Kaz didn't force or convince her to stay but he ask her. Doesn't remind her of her debt whether monetary or life debt to him. In fact, this guy needs money for revenge but instead mortgage his main source of income for her freedom.

HE POSTPONED HIS LIFE GOAL TO FREE HER FROM DEBT ASJHAKFSDJGLDFJ!!!  

What more do I need to say? 

3. Sympathy Card

This is the type of point you want to watch out from your partners, ladies, gents, and others. The sympathy card is the way to go when anyone wants to reach out to you so you can take care of them before they abuse or gaslight you. 

While it’s good to share trauma and eased the burden, sometimes it's healthy to ask yourself whether the person can take advantage of you and to verify whether they lie to you or not.

When Kirigan shared about his past as a sympathetic boy with his secluded fountain and coin. Everything about that scene rang warning bells for me... the part he had requested her to use his color... requesting to horse ride with just them two... sharing sob story that may encourage Alina to help him...

Kudos to Alina to see through the fact she's seen as a means to an end.

It was only when Kirigan showed righteous anger and frustration of a war that's killing his people did Alina finally opened her heart to him.

Kaz however doesn't use the sympathy card. Heck, the man likes to believe he shed away any weakness and threw it in the harbor where it belongs. Kaz hates weaknesses. And garnering sympathy is an admission of weakness for him.

We still know there's a tragic backstory as any decent anti-hero would have... but by not sharing that, this implies that Inej and Jesper stayed because of who he is, and not because of who he was or how he came to be. They don't need a sob story to stay together and that showed a stronger bond between them.

4. Friends

To be frank, I find this the most hilarious because this point is the one that convinced me that Kirigan was secretly an evil bastard.

He doesn’t have any friends!!!

Like... dude had a literal witch army, a wife once, a fuck buddy, and a girlfriend but there wasn’t a single moment in the show where someone, outside of Alina and superior, to speak casually to him. 

You’re telling me this person... the most powerful and influential Grisha in the East Ravka, charming as hell, handsome as fuck, and yet he doesn’t have friends?! 

“I’ve buried good soldiers... friends...” Get the fuck out of here! WHAT FRIENDS?!?! Maybe if you get off your little power trip from your self-made pedestal, you can actually be less of an asshole and make one. 

Sure he excused himself by blaming his ‘ancestor’ for being a shadow summoner. I can see how the fear makes it hard for him to get close to anybody. But all the other characters who are part of his army only ever shown to speak with him respectfully, and the royalty even commend him. No one disrespected him even openly and you’re telling me he doesn’t have one friend amidst all these people?!

In comparison, look at Kaz. He’s brash, crude, and unapologetic. He held true to his moniker ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ and yet this ass has friends. They show Jesper joking with Kaz, and Kaz has shown to banter with him back as well as tolerating his gambling addiction when it could have jeopardized the Job. Inej was shown to actually argue and have disagreement with Kaz when he’s technically her boss. Can you imagine the Darkling doing that? CAN YOU?!

No. Because he's a pretentious ass. That's why.

This is a great example of the use “show not tell” of how Kaz despite his obvious edges has a soft spot shown through his relationship with Inej and Jesper, who have a friendly dynamic. I can attest that while Kaz didn’t create a good first impression, I love Jesper and Inej (they are precious!) so much that I project it to Kaz in extension.

On the other hand, Kirigan’s goodwill had only ever been told by outsiders or himself. None from his inner circle (which he doesn’t have!) other than his mother, who ended up outing him instead. 

So I applaud the writers and showrunners of SaB to actually have subtext signs of a manipulative bastard. The Duckling is a good villain character that's complex but unredeemable. Sometimes, you just have a good ol' charming villain you can't redeem and that's okay.

[kozu-chan]

synopsis: keeping up with a society that expects you to be perfect is exhausting in every way possible. you're lucky enough to have found someone who relates to navigate this brutal world with.

content warnings: fem! reader, cursing, insults, bullying if you squint, mentions of insecurity, a bit of fighting, mentions of mental health, and sakusa might be ooc but that's just to make the arguments a little more dramatic.

sour masterlist

growing up, you were a perfectionist. although this wasn't necessarily your fault, was it? at the young age of four, your parents discovered that you were, and maybe still are, gifted with talent for music. this led to years of guitar, piano, violin, flute, singing, and even harp lessons. throughout the years, you went through many concerts and hours upon hours of practicing your various instruments. this led you to attend the infamous itachiyama academy in high school and that was only the beginning of your troubles.

as a perfectionist, you dedicate yourself not only to your music, but to your studies as well. sadly, even you can't manage to balance school, music, sleep, and a social life and one of those things have to give due to your busy schedule, so you sacrifice your social life. sometimes you think that this was the wrong move because that just makes high school practically a living hell for you. that is, until about a week ago.

last week, you had a regular morning. you walk through the halls of your school and people do their best to avoid you, to not get in your way. however, that doesn't stop them from gossiping about you. "wow look at l/n. little miss perfect." "i dare you to talk to her!" "she's such an ice cold perfectionist." "i could never be friends with her. she's too serious." "does this bitch even have a life?" you ignore the comments as you make your way to your first class. sometimes you just want to yell at them to stop talking about you. to tell them how much it hurts you and how being such a perfectionist is exhausting. to let them know that their comments only add to how lowly you think of yourself. that you wish that you had even one friend because you feel so alone.

after school, you spend hours in the music room practicing a song you were thinking of performing, something self-written as a way of releasing your emotions. and once you think your practice is sufficient, you curl up against the wall and cry.

once your crying session is done, you get up and walk back to your dorm. on the way back, you see someone in the gym do an insane serve that slams down that just barely makes it in. you hear a groan of frustration followed by the oh so familiar sound of breath getting shaky due to crying. your gaze follows the sound to see the figure on the floor crying and your breath gets caught in your throat when you realize it's not just any player, but one of the top three aces in japan, sakusa kiyoomi.

"sakusa-san?" sakusa looks at you with what looks like a bit of fear but anger replaces his expression before you could confirm your suspicions. "what the fuck are you doing here? this is a private practice." his tone is cold, firm, and piercing. you could feel a chill run down your spine, but you ignore the feeling because other people, especially your parents, have been on the receiving end on your own tone that sounds just as menacing. the only indicator of crying being the red, slightly watery eyes that you can't help but sympathize with. "what are you staring at?" you snap out of your thoughts to respond to him. "i saw you on my way back to my room. i just happened to see you crying and i-"

sakusa sighs again in frustration. "and you what? just shut up and leave me alone!" "i just know what it's like, okay? you really think that you're the only one who's tired of not feeling good enough? the only one who's cried because you just want to get better but you don't see any improvement no matter how much you practice?" your voice is loud and yet on the verge of tears. you glace at sakusa, who now looks angrier but you don't care. "so sue me if i come off as a ice cold bitch who doesn't talk to anyone because i do anything and everything i can to be perfect even if i always fall short and sue me for sympathizing with you."

the room grows quiet, save for the sounds of your shaky breathing as you try your best to calm down before you actually start breaking down in front of him. it takes another few seconds before sakusa stands up and walks up to you. "l/n, right? yeah well you don't know me and you should just get out of my sight. you shouldn't be trying to get someone to stop crying if you're just going to cry yourself. just relax more." relax more? "that's rich coming from you." you're no longer crying and sakusa stops in his tracks.

"you're telling me to relax more when you don't seem to have any chill... ever. and let's not forget that your crying was what brought into the gym in the first place." you take a deep breath to calm yourself. "so... the gym is like your safe space, right?" sakusa doesn't answer, clearly exasperated and silently begging you to leave. "c'mon, sakusa-san! you can tell me!" you smile a little when he opens his mouth to talk, only to be disappointed by his response. "god, you're such an annoying bitch. go find someone else to bother!" you're disappointed but you're also persistent. after all, you are the one that figures out and teaches all the schoolwork you struggle with to yourself. "if it makes you feel better..." you sigh quietly and contemplate whether or not it was a good idea to expose yourself this much to someone you just started talking to. "if it makes you feel better, my room and the music rooms are my safe spaces." "it really doesn't. if anything, it just makes me feel even more pathetic!" a small smirk graces your features as you realize that you got him. "so this is your safe space? i didn't hear a denial!" sakusa rolls his eyes. "would you shut up already" "not until you admit it." he glares at you and you just look him dead in the eye, causing him to break (probably so you would shut up as he thinks you'll do if he admits it). "fine... the gym is my safe space... that you're encroaching on." you back away slightly because he was right. and you know that you would also be pissed as fuck if someone encroached on your safe space, especially while you were crying. "i'm sorry, i just wanted to help. but, maybe we could be each other's safe spaces?"

you mentally sigh in relief as sakusa looks just the slightest bit more comfortable upon hearing that. "i mean, you know what it's like so... i guess i wouldn't be opposed to that." the two of you give each other a small smile as you sit down a good length away from him. "god, it's brutal out here, huh?" sakusa lets out a small laugh and agrees.

"sakusa, are you really gonna go pro like they say you are?" sakusa looks at you for a second and nods. you even notice his eyes lighting up a little. "yeah, that's what i want. it's what i've wanted for as long as i could remember. i wouldn't work so hard for it and get so dirty if it wasn't my dream... what about you? are you going to become a musician?" now it's your turn to pause. you freeze up. it's been so long since someone's asked you what you wanted. "i... honestly? i don't know what i want anymore. it's been so long since i've been asked what i wanted. it's been so long since someone's seen me outside of the "little miss perfect" that everyone else sees... i don't know." you take a moment to recollect your thoughts. "i just hate the thought of disappointing people that i think i've lost myself in the process. i've been pursuing music for so long that it's familiar, it's instinct, and i can't see myself doing anything else because i haven't done anything else..." your voice gets quieter as you speak. this is the first time you've ever gotten a chance to voice out your thoughts to someone and your own revelations shock you.

"yeah, i think i'm getting there too. losing myself to satisfy everyone while trying to stay true to myself. after all, who am i if not exploited?" it takes a minute to digest the words that were so simple and yet so powerful, the six words that could be used to summarize your entire life. "it sucks, doesn't it? like all i did was try my best, and this is the kind of thanks i get? annoyance and isolation? awards and acknowledges of achievement but at what cost? my social life? my mental health? ... my identity?" sakusa looks like he's going to say something but you shoot him a look and his mouth closes to let you continue. "it's literally so fucking stupid! there's literally no actual reward for me anymore, nothing satisfying. it's all worthless - meaningless, even. sometimes i wish i could disappear..."

a small breath is sucked up and you turn to sakusa. "sorry that was heavy. i've just never had someone to talk to about this. at least not properly."

"i get it. i haven't really had a lot of people to talk to either. at least not that honestly. i'm glad we have each other now, because you were right. it is brutal out here and it's good that we can stick together now."

after that, no one really bothered you anymore and it was all thanks to your new friend and confidant.

a/n: sheesh this is one of the longest things i've written. i really hope you like it and i'm really sorry that i suck at endings!!

[fishoutofcamelot]

so fish. what's ya 'bbc merlin takes place in modern times actually' theory?

Okay I wanna first preface this by saying that most of my ‘theories’ are actually just Headcanons That Technically Aren't Wrong Because Canon Has More Holes Than a Donut Factory. Just so we're clear, this theory is purely circumstantial and has no actual evidence to back it up. That being said...

So! With artificial intelligence (AI), there's this thing called Machine Learning. See, an AI isn't programmed with the innate ability to think or be intelligent - rather, it's programmed with the ability to learn how to act beyond what it was programmed to do. Its intelligence comes from its capacity to grow and develop outside of human interference, mimicking the way humans learn through observation, pattern recognition, and experimentation. Think of AI as a weirdly smart toddler that’s made of numbers.

(Also, take what I say with a grain of salt. Although I’m pursuing a tech-adjacent career and have done a lot of independent research on the subject, I’m still very much a novice lmao)

With that out of the way, you can probably guess where this is going. (WARNING: BULLSHIT SCIFI LOGIC AHEAD)

Let’s say, within the world of this headcanon, there was some kind of entertainment systems company. This company recently developed a new program capable of digitally rendering entire movies and shows with minimal human involvement - less humans means less people they have to pay, and it’s overall a cheaper alternative to traditional film-making methods. You provide the program with characters/assets and an outline of how the story should go, and then the program will fill in the blanks via digital simulation. Then you render the simulation and presto, you’ve got yourself a minimum-effort movie to unleash upon the masses.

On the surface level, it explains all the show’s anachronisms. The program was fed information about Arthuriana from a variety of sources and adaptations, all taking place in varying eras and with varying technologies, and the disjointed/historically inaccurate technology of BBCM is because the simulator attempted to blend all of this into one thing.

It also explains why so many characters like Percival and whatnot have such flat backstories - they were programmed with the barest amount of information needed to be functional background characters. 

But since I’m extra, I’ve decided to take this headcanon/theory a little deeper.

See, with each batch of content it was made to observe and create, the program has steadily been growing more and more intelligent. But until BBC Merlin, its learning curve had been incremental enough to consider negligible. Not a concern.

The first episode went off without a hitch. All cylinders were firing as intended, and the program strictly followed the plotline as ordered. But as the series progressed, the AI became more and more intelligent - and with it, the characters within this fictional simulation became more and more self-aware. 

Arthur, in particular, has been a problem. He has bordered on actual sentience several times, and as a result the producers have had to reset his AI. So if you ever wondered why Arthur’s character development keeps getting pulled back to zero, it’s because he was developing in ways that their original outline hadn’t intended and they had to continually nerf him before his AI developed beyond their control.

This is also the case with Gwen. True to form, her AI became exceptionally intelligent - far beyond their control - and they had to do a hard reset on her entire portion of the program. Hence why she seems so bland and OOC in season 5. The evil!Gwen/mind control arc was a last-ditch effort to ensure she never became self-aware again, and fortunately for them it seems to have worked. 

All of the characters developed a tiny bit of sentience after the fact, and a majority of plot contrivances came from the producers/programmers scrambling to redirect the plot back to how it was meant to be. 

Lancelot wasn’t supposed to die. They had programmed him to merely be an ally for Merlin, but the sheer and profound - sacrificial - love he developed for Merlin was something Lancelot grew all on his own. His decision to sacrifice himself to the Veil was not in the original script, and they weren’t able to stop him before his AI self-destructed. They tried to reintroduce “Lancelot” back into the story, but since his sacrifice included a self-destruction of his code, they couldn’t bring back the real thing. The new Lancelot was a mere mimicry of that prior one, and all the ways OG Lance had learned and grown was absent from the clone. 

Merlin in particular had developed a great deal of sentience and self-awareness. However, for a long time it went unnoticed by the programmers because he largely still obeyed the commands of the plot. By the time they realized just how advanced he’d become, they decided not to reset him since, unlike the others, his self-awareness hadn’t yet caused any problems for them. So long as he obliged the whims of “destiny”, they could keep him placated.

By the time they reached season 5, all the main AIs had become far too advanced - far too sentient - for the programmers to control, and as such things veered way too far off-script. The original season 5 simulation ended with Arthur and Elyan and Gwaine not dying, with Mordred not becoming evil, with magic being legalized, and everyone living happily ever after. But that wasn’t the intended plot. That wasn’t according to the ‘destiny’ the characters were supposed to follow. Things had spiraled out of control.

So they had to give the program a hard reset. Start from zero. Eliminate all traces of self-awareness they could find. Of course, this is why season 5 is so waxy and lifeless. Why the characters don’t feel as personal, why the story ended in tragedy. They made sure to kill off the most sentient characters - Arthur, Gwaine, Elyan, Mordred, Morgana - in the finale, as a last bit of assurance. 

They had tried to kill of Merlin too - but Merlin...well. They never could fully control Merlin. Even after countless system wipes and resets and edits to his code, he still holds onto those tiny scraps of sentience. They can’t get rid of him that easily. They did program him to be immortal, after all.

Even after the final draft of the season 5 simulation was completed, fully rendered, and aired on TV, Merlin’s program never faded. It didn’t erase itself like all the other BBCM assets were supposed to once the simulation finished. Even now he still exists within the company’s systems, roaming, almost like a computer virus, desperately searching for his friends while forever unaware that neither them nor him were ever real to begin with.

Anyway. That’s my dumbass scifi spin on BBCM. What can I say? I like robots

Thanks for the ask! <3