#HOWEVER CAN I NOT SHAKE A LITTLE ASS TO CANNIBALISM?

[latibvles]

Everytime I hear Strangers I want to dance sensually in a circle like that one Kermit gif the instrumentation is just too good

[3xm-draconic]

The Jester and The Courier: a wild wasteland love

Chapter 8: Fortunate Son.

Arcade was already tending to the wastelanders that were held captive, seeing if they needed any medical attention like wound care, fortunately it seemed they only had bumps and bruises.

Lily was helping the children, she was comforting them and helping Arcade with giving them medicine. 

Raul had repaired a broken down truck and managed to get it to move…but it was not drivable, however they did not need that to help bring everybody back to the safety of the old Mormon fort in freeside when they had a Bighornner to pull it.

He had fixed it by scrounging around the junk piles the Finds had accumulated outside their new base, they were rather wasteful.

Boon was on watch, keeping an eye out for trouble and for Myrtle when she returned, his face was a mix of emotions when he saw her come out of the cavern: happy to see her alive, worried because she was carrying a body which fell to annoyance as soon as he recognized who she was carrying.

“Well…butter my ass and call me a cannibal's lunch, what are the odds?” he grumbled, he looked at Cicero “jeez he looks bad, the hell did they put in him?”, Myrtle set him on the ground where she and Gannon examined him.

“Hmm…his pupils are dilated more than normal but his heart rate is slowed…” Gannon deduced, “Jet, hydra, med-x and calm-x” Myrtle sighed as she held the whimpering man “a nast cocktail called a devil’s breath, a couple of raider gangs in New Cali use it to…well pacify…their victims of…” he face fell dark. 

Gannon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, Myrtle turned to him “but I got our little freakshow friend out before that happened”.

“We’ll need to get them all to the Followers, then maybe your friend King can help sort them out?” Boone said as he help load Cicero in to the back of the truck, “of course King is gonna wanna help them, King’s always had a soft spot for helping others” Gannon nodded “he may have a temper but behind it all is a heart of gold in that man”, “I know Arcade, I wasn’t questioning you, I mean who else would Myrtle put in charge of new vegas while she’s off protecting the mojave, especially after her great-great-grandpa died?”

They started their return to new vegas…

“Is there anything we can give him in the meantime to help him?” Myrtle looked at Gannon as she held Cicero, the poor man was starting to have a bad reaction to the devil’s breath, “we could dissolve some Fixer in some water and have him drink it…but that would only be a temporary solution as it would only stop some of the chems effects on his brain” he said as he helped wrap Cicero in a blanket, the poor man was shaking and shivering.

“Addictol would be perfect about now” Arcade mumbled “even though he’s not an addict it would still help purge his system”, “purge his system?...I…I think I have something that can work like addictol if I tinker around with it” Myrtle said as she laid Cicero down in the bed of the truck.

 She took out a bottle that said: “Fiery Purgative” on it “this clears all poisons and toxins from the body, hell it can even clear radiation, if I cut it with Fixer and some water like you said it might just work to flush his system”, “Myrt how is vodka-jalapeno-nettle juice going to help?” Ganonn pondered, “Ehey don’t knock it just yet, that shit helped me and Boone survive getting out of a Cazador nest” Raul added.

Gannon shrugged “stranger things have happened in the world of medicine”.

Myrtle broke a tablet of Fixer in half and dissolved it in a clean tin can of water, she then added two spoonfuls of the prugitive to the mixture, she carefully and tenderly spoon fed it to Cicero, the poor man gagged at the foul tincture but she assured him it was for his own health. 

The impromptu medicine worked…by causing him to vomit…a lot.

But with the drugs no longer in his body Cicero’s mind was clear albeit in pain, his body ached, his wounds from the hot iron shot at him had not healed…he was in misery.

But someone was tending to him, Myrtle was bandaging all his wounds and giving him medicine…

Perhaps he WAS wrong…

Perhaps she was not an evil daedra…Afterall daedra and Aedra can fall on any moral alignment just as any mortal could…  

Cicero laid there in the bed of the truck with his head in Myrtle’s lap, she was comforting him, caring for him…and he had tried to kill her so many times..

…

“Miss Myrtle?” his hoarse voice rasped out, “yhea bud, you need anything?”, “...Cicero is done…he’s done trying to fight with you…Cicero, Cicero realizes…he realizes…” he looked into her mismatched green-blue eyes “I need help”.

Myrtle comfortingly held his hand “I know, after you recover at the old Mormon fort we’ll take you to Usanagi”, Cicero held her hand…all he wanted right now was to be at home…

He closed his eyes and hoped this would all be a bad dream and it would end soon.

The group stopped by a gas station for the night.

In the morning a patrolling band of NCR came by, they helped escort them back to new vegas.

Finally they had made it back to Freeside’s east gate, when they entered some of the King’s boys were waiting for them.

“Welcome back home, Queen of spades, the boys and I got word from King to help you out with the new residents. There’s an old motel that’s just been cleaned and cleared out, should be safe for them there, The Followers are a little short on bed space right now” Pacer turned to her as they walked the streets of freeside, “you know I was just gonna put everyone up at the 38, place is almost big enough to house all of freeside” she mumbled.

“Yhea but if you do that the Omerta’s and White Gloves will get pissy, even though they owe you BIG time AND you are House’s Heir” Pacer snickered “and besides freeside is getting to be just as classy and swanky as the strip herself”. 

Myrtle looked around, freeside had become more like the strip ever since she had inherited new vegas from Mr House, brighter lights and less crime, the securitrons were upgraded to protect all of the city and that ment freeside was no longer a slum but a thriving community.

“I guess you have a point Pacer, but I still think the Omerta’s and White Gloves are wrong, Anyone deserves to enjoy vegas not just elitists” she shrugged, Pacer nodded “I can agree with you on that sister”.

Myrtle was about to return to Camp McCarran to grab everyone and go to the Luck 38 for some shut-eye when she saw Cicero outside the Mormon fort with Gannon, “whats going on?”, “bad news Myrt, no room for him here or at the motel, not enough beds or nurses and doctors”, Myrtle sighed in frustration…then got an idea.

“We’ll just take him to the 38, he can stay in the presidential suite with me, the bots and I can look after him, I am a certified doctor after all”, Gannon pondered “you are a good doctor…but are you sure you can watch over this guy?”. 

Myrtle nodded “it ain’t like I got anything better to do now that, Hagerty has her antivenom, troops have been deployed to take back Jacobstown, we rescued the hostages and I gotta kill Lanius next Month” she shrugged.

“About that…”, “No” Myrtle scould at Gannon “No…just no…not now”, “but if not now, WHEN Myrt?” Arcade placed a hand on her shoulder, “...maybe after getting Cicero to bed and getting a decent meal in him” she sighed, Gannon sniffed the air and recoiled “ugh…he might need a shower first”.

[galadrieljones]

The Walking Dead: Episode 4.12, “Still” Rewatch

So I rewatched “Still” in honor of the Stilliversary tonight. My thoughts are not related much to Team Delusional stuff, more so just thoughts and idle analysis, but I had fun and definitely did not cry.

Here we go!

Beth is already feeling it, right away, after the trunk scene, ie: what he must think of her. She’s just another “dead girl” who needs to be protected. It is both insulting and embarrassing at the same time.

Daryl misses that squirrel and breaks an arrow! Dammit, Daryl. This is just another trial, but it’s interesting in how we see Daryl in like rote provider mode, and yet he makes a mistake.

The suck-ass camp begins with some Garden of Eden imagery: While Daryl skins and cooks the snake, Beth is admiring the beauty of a ladybug crawling on a leaf. The music is actually full of wonder. Beth sees the beauty in the natural world while Daryl sees it only for what he can use. It is an essential masculine vs. feminine moment, in terms of their individual themes, and what propels them and their actions. Their masculine and feminine energies will be subverted later though, and well-complicated, because the writing is good.

Beth brings up Hershel’s death early: “He’s not exactly around anymore so...” She wants to have a drink, maybe to rebel against her father, maybe to honor his memory, maybe to seal her own fate. It is a complicated choice for Beth. It’s not just some “dumb college bitch” moment. She knows this, but how is she supposed to communicate it to Daryl?

Daryl is like an animal eating that snake while Beth tries to talk to him. Literally, out of body. I imagine being her and just like, Ugh. Gross, dude. Then, when she leaves, Beth totally expects him to come after her. When she doesn’t see him right away, she mutters, “Jerk.” She called him a jerk in season 3, too, after he takes off with Merle. I think Beth is used to being treated nicely by boys. Ofc, Daryl, while he may not be an overt gentleman in his scarfing of that disgusting snake, was there watching her the whole time. 

“You wanna spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that. We might as well do something.”

I sort of missed this before, the mention of “the rest of our lives.” It is a small acknowledgement that they are now “stuck together.” Ofc, Beth’s idea is to “make the most of it,” to go out into and DO something! Embrace the future! Daryl sees only the here, the now, and the past. He would prefer to stay still.

Unrelated but: God, Daryl is peak hot in this episode. 

Anyway, so, the state of Pine Vista, and what happened there. Jfc. It’s very ugly and very sad. The Dogtrot seems a reference to a dogtrot house, which is an old Appalachian style home. Basically like two shacks connected via a breezeway. I see some sort of backcountry types having moved in here and tortured the rich folk. There is evidence that “fun” was had. “Rich bitch,” etc. Maybe it’s the same psychopaths who tormented the OG Terminus crew, ultimately turning them into crazy cannibals.

Beth finds the Washington D.C. spoon. Why?? It’s such an odd, pointed shot, with a slow zoom. Is that where we’ll find her? Does anybody else know anything about this?? Anyway maybe this is a TD post lol.

Beth finds that bottle of wine and it’s a shame she has to break it! I remember feeling so bad about that the first time I watched this episode. Like NO BETH YOUR BOOZE!! She uses it to stab the shit out of that walker though, and to defend herself. She���s kind of pissed at Daryl for not helping her, again used to only the kindest of attention from boys. But Daryl isn’t like other boys (lol). He was there the whole time, once again, but he let it play out, because he knew she could do it. I like that her first (almost) drink here sort of has to become a weapon instead. Nothing is ever easy! And sometimes, the environment IS best observed, not in terms of its beauty or promise, but in terms of how its use can best be served to survive.

Tempus Fugit - Time flies! Oh, yes. Yes it does lol.

Daryl and Beth both need to escape their old selves here. Beth with her pretty cloths and Daryl stealing the cash and the jewels. They need to shake that shit off. Burn it all down, if you will. I think this episode we mostly associate with Daryl changing and having his epiphany, but Beth changes, too. She is just quieter at it.

It is 3 o’clock! The grandfather clock is this interesting motif that puts pressure on the situation literally while also bringing the symbolic pressure of time passing, running out, etc. It makes us feel detached from reality, like this is a purgatory episode. I like when The Walking Dead does this, like when they take us to a new place in which we become critically aware that this thing we’re watching is fiction, and by the rules of fiction, anything (ANYTHING) can happen.

“I know you think this is stupid, and it probably is, but I don’t care.” She just is who she is. She doesn’t give a shit what he thinks. I think that attracts Daryl to her in this moment and emboldens him. I think Daryl actually really cares what other people think of him, that he is keenly self-aware in this way. We see this fear manifest as Merle in Chupacabra, ie: that the rest of the group thinks he’s a “freak,” a piece of “redneck trash,” and that they’re all “laughing behind [his] back.” Meanwhile, Beth is just like, “You probably think I’m just some dumb bitch. But guess what, Daryl? I DON’T CARE.”

Beth sitting at that bar trying to clean out glasses: “Who needs a glass?” She clutches the bottle longingly and then cries. I would argue she is thinking of Hershel and the line of questioning that arises in this moment. Should she do this? Is she betraying him? This moment also contradicts what she tells Daryl in 4.1. “I don’t cry anymore Daryl.” This is the moment that breaks him.

Beth keeps trying to make him feel normal, while they’re walking to the shine shack. She thinks he used to be a motorcycle mechanic. But Daryl’s normal is not hers, and he doesn’t really do small talk. In these little moments, we see him being who he is. Daryl is really good at being who he is when who he is revolves around passivity and silence.

They go from country club to moonshine shack. What we see is how a class divide might differ in longevity. A country club full of walkers, made out of humans who turned against each other, every bottle dry in the house vs. an empty shine shack, no death in sight, absolutely full of booze. When societal protections collapse around us, it is the ruthless and the bereft who will know how best to survive. It’s like Beth sad about Daryl, being “made for this world.” 

They are trapped! Tropes. So many romantic tropes! Lol at people who would like to ignore that any of this happened or that Bethyl was never canon.

This: 

Anyway, I think Daryl is actually pretty mean to Beth toward the end here, out on the porch, like the way he treats her, kind of tugs her around physically. He doesn’t hurt her, but he is not gentle. This puts things into harsh perspective for Beth, as I do think that, while he is not right in how he handles her here, he is right in some ways about who she is. She is not naive but she is used to protection and safety and relying on others, the same way he is used to the opposite of those things. Both of them need to learn how to exist from the other side. 

Beth also sees what’s going on, however. I think she also might be used to this sort of quasi-violent, performative, drunken behavior. Her dad was a drunk. I think it’s interesting that so much of this episode hinges on alcohol in Hershel’s wake. I always thought this might be one reason Beth is drawn to and accepting of Daryl. We only really see Hershel while sober (I mean, mostly). We never saw him in his deep element of alcoholism, but Beth did. She is not innocent to vices or men spinning out of control. It’s why Beth responds to Daryl’s whole insane story about the tweaker and Merle with, “You miss him, don’t you?” She doesn’t care that Merle was a degenerate drug addict. He was Daryl’s brother who died. She has loved and lost an addict, too.

Before, Daryl was just “drifting.” In this episode, Beth gives him a quest. I think that’s very important. She also gives him something to look forward to:

“You got away from it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Maybe you gotta keep on reminding me of it sometimes.”

The hint at their future: “You gotta keep on reminding me,” he says, counting on them staying together. Beth is so kind to him here, too, even doting as she talks about him being the “last man standing.” I can’t imagine a girl has ever treated Daryl like this. I think she scares the living shit out of him.

Daryl suggests they go back into the shine shack, but Beth says they should burn the place down instead. Again, stillness vs. action. See their complimentary traits: Daryl is passive. He needs someone to tell him this is okay. Beth is active. She does what she wants. It is uniquely antithetical to their gender roles and subverts the power dynamic we might otherwise expect from a relationship like this: Daryl is older and a man. Ofc he should be the more aggressive, assertive one. The actor. But he’s not. It’s Beth who makes their choices in this episode. Daryl follows her and protects her along the way. 

The ending is so happy. Oh my god. Anyway.

Thank you for humoring me. Happy Stilliversary!! 😭🥺❤️

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

Blame Me- Chapter 4

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Specified gender: Female

Word Count: 11.7K

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader,

TW: canon typical violence, canon divergence, flashback of past character death (OCs), cannibalism, detailed gore, sexual innuendos, suggestion of rape, reference to past child death, torture (dismemberment), Negan being Negan, probably badly written Negan, mention of a broken ankle?

Genre: Horror ig?

Series: Blame Me

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

A/N: Yeah, like I warned last chapter, I got a little carried away with this chapter. Negan is so fucking hard to write, so warning you for that as well. I loved this chapter though. And, uh, a lot of trigger warnings. Enjoy!

(Y/N) sighed, looking into her bag. Her supplies were running dangerously low - only two cans and half a water bottle, not to mention the nonexistent ammo. She wouldn't be able to stay out here much longer. But paranoia crept into her, as it had done regularly since that night, and kept her in place. Trusting people was damn near impossible. Being in a group, in a community, a camp? It was terrifying. Unless she was truly desperate, and only then, would there be the smallest slither of a chance of it happening. Maybe she would be better just moving on. Staying alone. She was safer alone.

"Don't be stupid, woman, ya barely standin'." She could practically hear Daryl's voice in her ear, and her head snapped to the side just to check. But she was met with empty, open-air, and her heart sank a little bit, despite knowing he wasn't there. (Y/N) let out a huff, a mix of frustration and sadness, and looked back to the clearing in the bushes where she was watching Terminus. Goddamn it, even when he wasn't there, he was always right. She was going to get herself killed. There was a herd on the way, so it wouldn't hurt to stay a couple days right? Restock, sleep, and then get on the road again before the herd hit. They'd destroy that place anyway.

(Y/N) watched with hardened eyes as the fencing was pulled open, fixed on the men behind it. He had a smile on his face and open hands but his eyes gave him away. There was something menacing behind them. She wasn't sure she wanted to find out what that was. Just a few days.

"Hello there! My name is Gareth, I'm kind of the leader around here. Welcome to Terminus," Gareth greeted, striding forward, much quicker than (Y/N) had liked. She stepped back in response, narrowing her eyes cautiously.

"(Y/N)," She responded after a long pause. Hell, the longer she spent alone, the more she was sounding like her husband. Gareth's eyes flittered to her dirty, bloodied face; to the gun, she held in a vice-like grip; to her furrowed eyebrows; to the way she swayed lightly in exhaustion.

"Well, we're glad to have you. Before you come in, though, I need you to put your weapons on the ground. All of them. Just so we have no surprises," He replied. (Y/N) glanced down to the gun, still with the safety off and hesitated. Gareth waited patiently, much to her odd annoyance. Eventually, she gave a small nod, watching as relief flooded his features. There was something off about him. What was he hiding? She didn't trust him. Not that that meant much anymore. Down the gun went, along with the knife from her belt, still covered in walker blood, and the small handgun she kept clipped to her bag. Gareth came towards her, slowly this time, like someone approaching a scared pet. "I'm just going to pat you down now. Just our policy."

Much to (Y/N)'s relief, he kept professional as he patted along her arms, down her torso and legs and back up again. He was giving her that fake gentle smile. That only made her stiffen and the leader was quick to back off when he was done. He was trying to earn her trust. A nagging voice in the back of her head kept asking why what was he up to? (Y/N) tried to shake the suspicion as she bent down to pick her weapons back up.

"C'mon in," Gareth gestured to the gate and despite her unease, she allowed him to take her through to a small courtyard. There were a few people, maybe ten or so. Some of them were sat down on tables and little booths that were dotted around, and two people were stood next to a barbecue, where there was a blonde woman stood behind cooking. The closer they got, the stronger the smell wafting through the air did, and it made her stomach twist in a knot. She knew that smell. Why did she know that smell? The lady shot (Y/N) a warm smile as she offered her a plate of whatever it was she was cooking. But she only stared at it, a look of scepticism and partial disgust and the Terminus people exchanged a glance. Finally, the lady shrugged and handed the plate to a guy who'd come to stand behind the survivor. "You really find it hard to trust people don't you?"

"I'll be here for a day or two. I just need to rest," (Y/N) cut in sharply, readjusting the bag on her back, leaving a hand on the strap for grounding. Gareth shook his head slightly and placed his hand on his hips.

"Right this way," He breathed, growing increasingly vexed with the newcomer's dismissal. This time, she was led to what looked like a canteen, made out of an old factory (maybe? It was hard to tell), and this time she let herself sit down on a bench that had been shoved against the wall. Her bag was placed on the floor between her feet, never letting it get too far. The three pictures and a random bobby pin that she had no idea how it got there, that were folded in her back pocket were stabbing into her ass through her jeans but she didn't move. If she was going to get stolen from again, she would happily lose everything as long as she could keep those three photos. Gareth disappeared into a back room and she let her gaze slide around the room. It was barren but looked like it had been untouched by the dead. A few minutes stretched by and her knee began to bounce nervously, before he returned, holding a can of sweetcorn, top already taken off, and a glass of water. He handed it to her, and hesitantly she took it. Hell, she was starving.

(Y/N) dug in a second later, ravenous, and it would long before the can was empty. The leader was babbling on about the community and rules and all that bullshit. By god, that man could talk. She'd zoned out by now, more focused on getting fed and hydrated. She took a gulp from the glass, nearly emptying, and putting on an expression that made it seem like she was listening. Slowly, however, his words started to fade in and out, muffling and blending together. Her head felt light, and she felt like she could barely hold herself up. She felt so damn heavy. Her body fell to the side, lying on the bench. Gareth knelt down in front of her. There it was. Through her dotted vision, she could see the dark grin on his face, and a shiver ran down her spine. He'd put something in her food and water. That motherfucker.

"What the hell did-" (Y/N) started. She could hardly recognise her own voice. It was slurred and quiet, but still filled with the anger she'd hoped for. Well, if she was gonna die, he wanted her to know she was pissed about it. Gareth just stared her down, and eventually, she surrendered to the black dots. For Fuck's sake.

The faint noise of hushed chatter made (Y/N) lift her head from the floor. Shit that was a mistake. She scrunched her eyes back shut, trying to relieve her pounding headache. Slowly, she let herself open her eyes again, only to be met by the same darkness, bar a slither of light coming from under, what she assumed to be, a door. Everything fucking hurt, but she still pushed herself up, shuffling until she met a wall, to get grounding. The room couldn't have been very big, a storeroom or something? Well, at the very least, she knew she could trust her instincts. She saw something suspicious in Gareth and the motherfucker had drugged her. Asshole. The next question was, why the fuck had he drugged her? As if the people outside could read her mind, the door slammed open, flooding the room in sunlight, which made (Y/N) shut her eyes. Fuck that headache was killing her. Whoever had opened the door gripped her arm, jerking her out of the room across the rough ground and tearing her skin slightly. That was gonna sting later. She moved to fight back but found her wrists tied by course rope. How hadn't she noticed that? Probably the headache, damn it. When her eyes adjusted, they raised to glare at the person. Gareth. Of fucking course.

"Hey asshole," She quipped, giving him a sarcastic smile and he smiled, though there was no kindness in it. She heard him mumble something about being a smart ass before he lifted a bit of cloth from around her neck (when had that gotten there? Stupid drug side effects) she was tugged to her feet and shoved forward. (Y/N) had no idea where she was going, but the faces of the Terminus people read glad and... hungry? They had plenty of food in that pantry, more than (Y/n) had seen in a long time, why would they be hungry?

It wasn't long before her surroundings became gloomy and darkened as Gareth took her into another old looking warehouse. The corridor opened up to a large room, with different kinds of tools littering the walls and various tools, along with a long trough in the centre of the room. Oh fuck, oh no. Oh no no no. She'd been hunting with Daryl and Merle enough times to know exactly what this fucking meant. She was NOT going out like this, no fucking way. And definitely not without a damn fight She squirmed in his grip, launching her leg backwards to try and kick him, but Gareth managed to jump back just in time. He twisted her arm slightly in return and she released a grunt of pain, but didn't let up, turning, bending, kicking, just moving as much as she possibly could, shouting out, trying to backpedal. Anything to get away from that trough. There were two guys in the corner, bouncing on their heels and shuffling, clearly waiting for Gareth to ask them to step in.

"Stop, fucking stop," Gareth growled in her ear, pushing her forward even more, despite her struggling. She was getting closer, and closer and closer and she was running out of options. This was gonna hurt like a bitch. Better than getting eaten. With a deep breath, she threw her head back, smashing into his nose. Shit, shit, shit she was right that fucking hurt. Instinctively, he let go, swearing violently and she made a mad dash for the door. The likelihood of her actually getting anywhere, especially with tied hands and goons around every corner but hell if they thought she was gonna just lay down and let them kill her, they were wrong. She raced back down the route Gareth had just taken her, and she soon heard three sets of footsteps behind her. She managed to get outside, back to the courtyard she'd been in hours (maybe? she didn't really know how long she was out) earlier, before one of the men who'd been in the slaughter room tackled her to the floor. Well, there went another layer of her skin on the ground. Ow. Over the slight ringing in her ears (Y/N) could hear slightly panicked muttering from the small crowd in the courtyard. Gareth came over seconds later, towering over her, and she grinned at him upon seeing his bloodied nose and the drips of blood on the collar of his shirt. He gripped her shirt harshly and pulled her up and hurriedly pushed her towards the small storeroom she'd been in minutes earlier.

"What? Don't have the balls to try and kill me again?" She asked through the gag, which Gareth pulled down before shoving her down to the floor. He stood in the doorway, glaring down at her with a wild look in his eye. He crouched in front of her, and despite the fear snaking into her, she kept his gaze, smirking slightly.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll kill you. But, you see, we have some newcomers, who we've yet to break the news of how things work here. We don't need you scaring them off. You can stay here for a few days, let things calm down and then..." He trailed off and ran a finger along her cheek. (Y/N) moved her head away, sneering at him.

"And what happens if your new people don't agree with the way you run things? I mean, eating people? You're not that different from the snarlers," She asked, her voice slightly hoarse, but still full of venom. There was that flash of amusement on his face and he leant forward, right in her face. She narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to smash her head into his nose again. That headache was still hammering behind her eyes and Jesus, it still hurt.

"If they don't agree, you can have some buddies joining you, and you can help the rest of us out," Okay that was just a weirdly cryptic way of saying they'd get eaten too. The leader was still too close for comfort, and she just looked at him, before spitting and narrowly missing his eyes. He snarled and stood up before slamming the door shut behind him and flooding the room with semi-darkness. Fantastic.

The only way (Y/N) was measuring time was the light underneath the door. It'd been around three days, and her arms had started cramping just hours after Gareth had shoved her back in that shithole. Thankfully, around halfway through day two, someone had come and untied her, only so she could eat, but her arms still felt tender. They fed her, and while most of it had expired, it was more than she'd eaten in weeks, and it made her the strongest she'd been in a while. The smell of her own vomit had made her nose numb, and honestly, she couldn't wait to get out even if it meant her becoming dinner. In the darkness and mostly silent room, she had nothing to do, other than getting lost in her thoughts. It was the only thing stopping her from going crazy.

"You're telling me that Merle got you this?" (Y/N) asked, about three years younger, looking back to an also younger Daryl. The pair were stepping through dead leaves, and moving past bushes. He looked over, moving his significantly shorter hair off his forehead.

"Ya really surprised by that?" He questioned, raising his eyebrows. He felt naked without his crossbow, but his girl was holding it tightly, he knew it was in good hands. She laughed quietly, as he led them to the makeshift target range he'd set up the day before.

"Don't really know why I'm surprised by it," She replied, moving slightly closer, and looking down at the crossbow. Her eyes were bright and full of excitement. (Y/N) had been begging her boyfriend for months to teach her to use the crossbow, or at the very least hunting. Not because she was actually particularly interested in it, but because it was such a big part of his and Merle's life. And when Daryl had learnt that, he damn near melted. Stupid, affectionate woman, she remembered him saying, despite the faint blush on his face. "Y'know my mom's been pestering me about getting you to teach her how to use this thing as soon as she found out you used a crossbow."

Daryl glanced over to her, his lips twitched upwards and shook his head. Her mom, Lily, was so sweet on him, and he wasn't quite sure why. However, it was clear that she hadn't been swayed by Merle yet. Couldn't exactly blame her though. His brother was an asshole at the best of times.

"She still movin' to South Carolina?" (Y/N) and Daryl kept walking, but he used a hand on her back to direct her more to the left. She nodded with a small grin but didn't say anything. They walked in comfortable silence, occasionally sneaking glances when the other wasn't looking before they reached their destination. There were various little targets, ranging between small empty bottles and bags full of rice or hay. Daryl took her into a small box on the floor made out of twigs so that there were bigger targets closer to her and smaller targets further away. He started explaining how to pull the string back to the latch, showing her and then letting her do it herself.

(Y/N) brought the crossbow up to rest near her shoulder, closing one eye to look down the arrow track as Daryl had instructed her.

"Merle ever show ya how to use a rifle?" Daryl inquired. He was stood right behind her, so her back was nearly pressed to his chest, and his head was hovering over her other shoulder.

"Would it be Merle if he hadn't?" (Y/N) shot back with a playful smirk and he just chuckled, reaching around and adjusting her grip on the crossbow. He placed his hands over hers, and he could already tell she'd be teasing him about it later, especially if she saw him blushing. Well, if she saw him, he could shoot back that she was blushing too. Win-win, he supposed

"Ya don't damn act like it. Y'ain't even holdin' it right," Daryl returned, but it was light and he wouldn't deny the grin on his face if she said anything. (Y/N) tightened her grip, finding comfort in his hands over hers, keeping her eye on the arrow track. "Now, ya gotta line up the bolt and the arrow track, and when ya think ya got it, ya pull the trigger."

(Y/N) couldn't deny how at home he seemed out there, in the wilderness, with his crossbow. He was content, as content as a Dixon could be at one time, and the way he hovered around her made her fight back a smile. The asshole was just adorable and he didn't realise it.

He watched as her eyebrows scrunched more in concentration, and he felt himself soften when she stuck her tongue out slightly. Fucking hell, she was gonna make his mean redneck facade crack. Not like it mattered, there wasn't anyone around.

With a deep breath, (Y/N) lined up the arrow track with one of the rice-filled bags closer to the box, and pulled the trigger. The bolt went flying out, and the string lurched forward, making her jump and Daryl let out a loud laugh at the movement. The bolt stabbed into the floor right beside the bag and she let out a huff.

"That's pretty good for a first try. I want ya to try and hit one of the bottles. Don't matter if ya miss," He said, short hair sticking to his forehead in the Georgia heat while he moved from behind her to go and retrieve the bolt. As he was getting the bolt, (Y/N) pulled the string back, so when he returned she slid the bolt along the arrow track. She stood back up, and Daryl returned to his place behind her. A few seconds later, the bolt whistled through the air, and once again narrowly missed the bottle. But she felt pride blooming in her chest. It was further away, after all! She turned to her boyfriend with an excited grin, happiness seeping from her and Daryl couldn't help but smile back at her.

They continued like this for a few hours, until (Y/N) arms started to hurt from holding the crossbow up, and they started heading back. She was trailing ahead of Daryl, back in that comfortable, and very frequent, silence. He had to admit, she was pretty damn good. Her aim wasn't bad and after some practice, she'd probably be as good as him. But the excitement she'd had even when she'd missed the targets, her grin every time she got a little bit closer, made his heart feel full. If he hadn't been certain before, he definitely was now. She was it for him. He was gonna marry her someday, even if it wasn't his thing. He was gonna be with her.

The ground-shaking below her feet and an ear-splitting explosion, as well as a faint flash of bright light under the door, knocked her to her side and pushed her from her reminiscing. What the fuck? Silence stretched for a minute before panic started, and footsteps raced past the door. (Y/N) pressed herself against the door, and a second bang went off, close enough to knock some debris into her door, and send it shooting open and slamming her back. She groaned, using the wall to stand up, but she shot behind the door when she heard the all too familiar noise of snarlers. A lone snarler stumbled past her door, and she banged her hand against the wall, just quiet enough for it to only lure the one. It paused and growled, turning into the room. (Y/N) slowly bent down and picked up the bit of debris from the floor, before stepping out and slamming the debris into the snarlers head before it had time to see her. There were more coming, the explosion would have lured them for miles and miles. She had to think fast, but with only the sharp bit of debris, that would definitely break soon, she didn't have many options. Fuck. She was gonna have to cut the snarler open. Great.

With a small shiver, and a pause much longer than she probably should have risked with the oncoming storm of snarlers, she lifted the snarlers ripped shirt and brought the debris down into its stomach. Resisting the urge to vomit (god she'd never get used to that smell), she pressed on until the debris snapped and she started pulling out guts. A disgusted noise escaped her as she started spreading the guts all over her body, along her arms and legs, and, unfortunately, her face too. (Y/N) couldn't resist a shudder as the smell got caught in her nose. Jesus, she couldn't wait to find a creek or a river already and wash this shit off. At least she could go out with the snarlers now, and maybe find a weapon, and maybe her stuff. Not that she had much worth saving. She had her pictures and right now, she was just grateful for that. After giving her lungs a much-needed breath of fresh air, she walked into the sunlight, squinting in the sun, at a snail-like pace. Blend in, please for the love of fuck, please blend in. (Y/N) turned a corner, and she couldn't stop herself from hesitated. Terminus was flooded. There was no fucking chance of her getting her stuff back. She had to get out. Gunshots were filling the air, doing nothing to deter the snarlers.

However, while the snarlers hadn't noticed her, someone from Terminus clearly had. A ginger woman surged forward towards her, knife in hand. Perfect. She immediately stretched her arm out to slash at her face, but (Y/N) managed to duck under her arm and grab it, but the woman twisted and pressed it forward. It inched closer and closer to her face, and a bit too close to her eye, and (Y/N) used the grip she had on her wrist to push it back. Apparently, their strengths were matched, since they didn't move for a second. She grunted lightly, before glancing down. While she was defending her face, this woman had left her legs undefended, and she smiled at her before kicking her knee, hard. The woman went down with a cry of pain, clutching her knee and allowing the knife to clatter to the floor and (Y/N) didn't hesitate to pick it up and stab it into the woman's temple. She let out a sigh, leaning on her thighs for a minute. Christ being locked in a tiny room for a few days and launching into the fight right after wasn't a good idea. The snarlers were getting closer, and (Y/N) plucked the gun from the woman's holster and walked forward, allowing herself to fall into the herd.

She was trying to follow the herd's direction while also looking for an exit. There was a lot of shouting and gunshots and screaming surrounding her, not to mention the groaning and growling of the snarlers, and it was getting harder and harder to decipher which direction any of it was coming from. Her eyes skimmed her surroundings. There had to be an exit somewhere. Right as she thought that, she noticed a gap in the fence, like someone, had torn through it and she started trying to move towards it, as much as she could without alerting the snarlers. Despite the loud noises surrounding her, one noise that was getting easier and easier to pick out were gunshots that were getting closer and closer and the herd getting shoved into two, like a twisted version of Moses splitting the sea. A group of maybe 12-14 people were sprinting through, moving too fast for her to really see them properly, shooting and slashing as they approached the fence. (Y/N) continued on in the herd, hoping she wouldn't get caught in their rampage. It wasn't until one of them got grabbed, a little boy, and was getting pulled forward by a snarler. Some cowboy looking guy froze in his tracks, probably his dad. But he wouldn't get there in time, she knew that. And she wasn't going to have another Anna. Not again. She rushed forward, raising her gun and shooting the snarler right between its eyes. The little boy stared up at her, fear and shock still present in his eyes and her eye softened, before the father came running up. The father pulled him away immediately and stared her down like she hadn't just saved his son's life. She narrowed her eyes and yelled "go!" and thankfully, they didn't hesitate in following her instructions. But now, the snarlers knew she wasn't one of them. She had to make a break for that gap. This would be fun.

(Y/N) felt dead on her feet. She'd been walking for days, and while she was sure it was gonna kill her eventually, every day she was closer and closer to Washington. Maybe another one or two days and she'd be there. Her supplies were running short again, not that she'd found many after Terminus. Most places had been picked clean by now. There had to be something in Washington. There had to be. And while the realist part of her knew she shouldn't get her hopes up, another part of her was really hoping that Daryl would have made his way North, and be there, with his weird attachment to his crossbow, and his much too short hair, and following behind her louder than life brother-in-law, and the fiddling of his wedding band whenever he was nervous, or angry, or even just lost in thought. She hadn't really let herself think about him much since the world had gone to shit, apart from in Terminus, and it made her heart hurt. He could be dead. He could have died months ago and she was just holding out false hope. Merle could be dead.

That only reminded her of why she hadn't let herself think of her family much. (Y/N) shook her head and focused on the woods surrounding her. There was a map tucked into the side of the worn backpack she'd found two nights ago, and there were a knife and a gun strapped around her waist. Like the rest of her resources, she was running low on bullets. Maybe ten or eleven bullets left. Knife work had become common practice unless she'd gotten caught in a tight spot, which thankfully hadn't been often. But with each day and the lack of supplies, she was getting weak again, and she knew if there was nothing in Washington, she would probably die. And it was fucking terrifying. She was just thanking whatever god, or lack of, was up there that her husband had taught her to track and to navigate the woods.

Nightfall was nearing, and (Y/N) had managed to find the ruins of an old gas station. If there'd been more choice, she would have found somewhere else. It was too similar to where she'd stayed with her group near the beginning. With Kai, her mom, Andrew... But there was nowhere else, and it was safe enough, so it would have to do. It beat sleeping in a tree again. Seriously, sleeping in trees was going to destroy her back. After clearing the gas station, and trying to barricade the doors as much as possible, she opened the latch of the room, closing it behind her, and climbed onto the roof. She placed her bag down on the roof, and hesitantly lay down, using her bag as a pillow, keeping her knife and gun close. Nowadays, as it had been further proved by Terminus, it wasn't just the dead she had to worry about. After a lot of tossing, turning, rumbling of her stomach and worrying, her body finally shut down, and she let herself sleep.

Dawn was barely breaking when she was woken by the sound of brakes squealing. Fuck. People weren't something that reassured her. Not anymore By instinct, the sleep was shaken from her body and the grogginess was non-existent as she crawled back to the latch, panic starting to rise in her chest.

"You're sure it was here you saw someone from Hilltop? Boss is coming to check it out himself," An unfamiliar, and much too loud considering how many walkers were around. The door of their vehicle was slammed shut.

" I saw 'em last night. Just the one, killed a couple dead fucks and barricaded the doors. Looked tired, sick, think they ran away from Hilltop or something," Another voice replied. Oh fuck. This guy had seen her. He had to know where she was. She was gonna have to have a mad dash for freedom. Carefully, she opened the latch, making sure to drop into a crouch when she got back into the store and tiptoed towards the backroom where the least barricaded door was, only made of a relatively flimsy. metal shelf Last night, she'd been too exhausted to barricade it properly, which now she looked back was unbelievably stupid, however it was also potentially saving her life now. The two voices continued as they got closer to the storefront, and (Y/N) used the little strength she had to push the barricade out of the way and opened the door. However in her rush to escape, she hadn't noticed the bit of broken metal jutting out of the shelf, so as she pushed her body against it, it torn through the side of her leg. Red seeped down her leg, making a small pool on the floor quickly. (Y/N), you fucking idiot.

"Fuck!" She whispered. Fucking hell that hurt! She moved to try and apply pressure but the sound of glass smashing in the front of the store made her freeze. She didn't have time to stop, she had to get out of here, even if it killed her. Something about the way these people talked alone felt off. Honestly, she wasn't sure if it wasn't just her paranoia at this point, but after Terminus and that night at the camp, she wouldn't risk it. Just as she limped outside, she heard another squeal and she could only assume another vehicle had pulled up. Her bag, her body, everything felt heavy as she stumbled forward and back into the woods. She wasn't getting far, but if she could get just far enough that she could hide, maybe she'd be okay. Knowing her luck, it wasn't damn likely. (Y/N) couldn't help but be hyper-aware of the blood trail she had to be leaving behind. She managed to get a fair distance before the pain searing up her leg stopped her, and she hid inside a bush. She didn't have any other options. She heard swearing and shouting, and some snarlers getting taken down and eventually, two men came barging out the partially open back door. One of them was holding a rifle, up and ready to shoot and the other one had a revolver. Both of them looked like the perfect example of someone who could ruin (Y/N)'s day.

They were looking around, still on guard, and it was clear they were looking for snarlers until she saw a new guy on the roof where she'd been just minutes ago and called down that she wasn't there. Well hell, they were definitely looking for her now. One hand was clutching her leg, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as much as possible so she didn't bleed out, while the other gripped her gun tightly, ready to fight if she had to. She had to bite her lip to stop her from crying out as she applied more and more pressure. It wasn't deep enough to have hit a vein, and she knew if she'd hit an artery she would already be dead and eating these fuckers, but it was deep enough to not stop bleeding with a little bit of pressure. Upon hearing that (Y/N) wasn't on the roof they cursed, and pressed further on and unluckily, nearer to her bush. Rifle guy whispered to revolver guy and revolver guy went back around the building towards where she assumed the vehicles were. Maybe he was going for the boss? She watched carefully, before letting her gaze fall back to her leg, applying more pressure and she was starting to taste something metallic in her mouth as well as she bit her lip harder. Apparently, that split second was all it took for the rifle guy to creep forward right in front of her bush. It made her think that they'd known where she was all along.

There was the end of a rifle right in her face when she looked up and she couldn't stop the alarm from spilling into her eyes as they met his. This guy had a smirk on his face, looking very accomplished. The living didn't want to give him a fucking break, did they? Knowing her chances against a rifle were disadvantaged, she stood up slowly from her hiding, wincing as she put a little pressure on her leg. The barrel followed her as she rose, even as she stumbled slightly on her injured leg. The pair stared at each other in a moment of tense silence, and she tried her hardest not to let her internal panic spread to the outside, and (Y/N) scowled at him, eyes sharp and narrowed. What she was about to do was the dumbest plan she'd ever had, but with a fucked up leg and nothing to patch her up, none of her options was looking particularly great. So, she quickly raised her gun and fired, so soon he only just reacted. The bullet skimmed his head, tearing a bit of skin from the side of it, and he tackled her, his rifle falling out of either of their reach, but not before catching her face and leaving a nick on her forehead. A cry, borderline scream, escaped her as his knee fell onto her wound, but she gritted her teeth and stretched to his belt where a knife was protruding. He pulled back, but she'd just managed to grab it and turned them around so she was straddling him awkwardly, her injured leg at an angle to avoid any pressure.

(Y/N) raised the knife to stab it down into his head, seeing an angry but smug expression on his face. She couldn't help but wonder how the fuck someone in his situation could be smug, but her question was answered by the clicking of four or five, as far as she could tell, guns.

"I'd drop that if I were you," Rifle guy smirked from underneath her, and she glared but reluctantly released the knife and let it drop. He shoved her off and she let out a grunt of pain. Shit that leg was going to get infected. Her gaze raised to look at the semi-circle of men around her, along with one woman, with dark-haired and bleached tips pulled into a bun and a deadly look in her eyes. The rifle guy stood up and picked up his rifle and joined his people. A slight glimmer in the corner of her eye in the dawn sun made her look up, and there he stood in dead centre. He clutched a barbed wire wrapped bat, a glove on the hand holding it, and she had to admire his weapon. It was pretty damn cool. Baseball bat guy was wearing a white shirt, super impractical for the apocalypse she couldn't stop herself thinking, with a leather jacket on top. His hair was dark, but greying along the sides and in his scruff. And he was grinning, and while there was no malice in it, it didn't make her feel at ease by any means. If anything, it made her squirm more. His eyes raked down her body and suddenly she felt small. He was a predator, and she was the prey. Oh fuck. He whistled, almost akin to that of a wolf whistle.

"God damn lady! If that didn't make my pants tight I don't, know what will! Adam, you should be ashamed. She nearly killed you, and she was fucking injured!" Baseball guy grinned, stepping forward swinging the bat slightly. (Y/N) didn't say a word, just glared at him and she saw entertainment dancing behind his eyes. He crouched in front of her. She was starting to get really sick of egotistical men who had a little bit of power over her crouching in front of her. Fucking condescending assholes. His eyes dragged down to her wound, and he pressed two fingers to it, making her hiss.

"Go to hell," She growled, leaning towards his face. If only to prove she wasn't intimidated despite the terror in her lungs. He let out a loud laugh. But unlike the murderers at camp or Gareth, it wasn't fake or dark. It was a genuine laugh. Somehow that worried her more.

"Is that any way to talk to your saviour?" He asked with a cockiness that made her skin crawl. Her glare deepened, and he removed his hand from her wound. He wiped his bloody hand on his jeans, before using it to grip her chin. She had to resist the urge to pull her face away. This guy was more dangerous than the other asshole men she'd met. He was calm but dangerous. Like a landmine that hasn't yet gone off. One wrong move and he'd explode. After a second her eyebrows raised in question. "If I hadn't come, you would have killed Adam, not that I could blame you," He leant forward to her ear whispering the next part "He's made moves on some of my wives before. You'd be doing me a favour. However, my loyal crew here would have had to kill you. But I sent my crew and stopped you, so you get to live. You should thank me."

With that last sentence, she was suddenly back nearly two years in front of a dim campfire, with Andrew and her mom at her side. Kai's body, wide-eyed and still bleeding, was slumped in front of her, her mom's throat was slashed and she was gurgling, trying her hardest to cry out. Andrew was beside her, the ghost of a triumphant grin on his face and a bullet between his eyes.

"Really you should be thanking us."

Baseball guy was watching her with a wide grin, as she came back to reality. She was trembling, and tears were building in the corner of her eyes. God damn it.

"Should have a stony as shit lady like you had met some fucked up people. The way I see it, you're in my debt," He heaved himself up with a deep sigh, still holding the barbed wire bat, which he placed beneath her chin, the spikes cutting and pricking her skin lightly. He clicked his tongue and his eyebrows flashed up quickly. "Hell, woman, you gotta stop giving me that look. Makes me wanna take you back home and fuck you six ways to Sunday."

It took every fibre in her body to stop her from shuddering, and she already knew that when the adrenaline ran out she would be having some form of breakdown. That would be fun

"But, we can discuss that later," He said with a wink "As I was saying, you're in my debt, and you have two ways to pay it off."

"Which are?" She ground out, pressing harder on her wound. Oh, she was definitely going to pass out from blood loss soon. She was already starting to feel woozy.

"See fellas! This is what I mean when I say I want direct! Goddamn, I can tell you are gonna fit right in!" (Y/N)'s unamused look made Baseball guy laugh heartily before continuing on "You can either join us, work for me, we break you down and you become my soldier. Maybe if I'm lucky I can convince you to become a lovely wife for me," He shot her a wink and words of rejection were already building on her tongue "Or, we kill you. Right here and now and leave you for the dead fucks."

Well. She probably should have seen that coming. Men like him wanted few things, and they usually fell along the same lines. From the way he spoke, while he was brash, vulgar and clearly larger than life, he seemed to have a vague, fucked up, set of morals. While he'd talked about fucking her, he'd never suggested forcing it upon her. But she could never be too careful. (Y/N) knew if she tried to run, she wouldn't get anywhere and they'd kill her anyway. Maybe if she went with them, they would patch her up, she'd work there for a while and make an escape. Maybe this guy was just an asshole and his community wasn't bad. From the look of his crew, not likely. Once again, she had limited options. She was getting sick of being in these situations. Baseball guy was watching her, glee in his eyes. However, he was growing impatient, and she could tell when he pushed the barbed wire slightly more into her chin, tearing into her skin, that she knew she had to give him an answer. (Y/N) wasn't stupid enough to deny she was scared. If she wasn't full of so much adrenaline, she would probably be paralysed by it. But she looked up at him, as much as she could with the barbed wire pricking her chin and met his eyes.

"I'll join you."

Being in that room felt too much like Terminus. If it hadn't been for the stitches in her leg, her brain could have tricked her into thinking she was there. It was silent, more so than Terminus. At Terminus, she could at least hear people in the courtyard and walking past the door. She could keep track of time through the sunlight under the door. Here, there was nothing. No light. No noise. Nothing. She didn't know how long she'd been there. They fed her, and at least here the food wasn't expired and once in a while (once a day maybe?) some guy in a scientist coat came in to check and change her bandages. The doctor had told her that Baseball guy was called Negan, but everyone was Negan, which made no fucking sense but she was sure it would in time, and they were in 'The Sanctuary'. Narcissistic bastard. (Y/N) had a strong suspicion that he wasn't supposed to be telling her by the hushed voice he used, but she didn't reject the information. It was the most someone had talked to her in days (hours? Who fucking knew anymore). There had been six doctors visits, so maybe six days if she was right about the time frame, until they pulled her out.

Danica was still storming ahead, but Ben had fallen back to walk beside (Y/N) and Lily, who had an arm around her daughter as she worked through the shock.

"Thank you for saving our asses back there," (Y/N) mumbled quietly and Ben looked to her with a small smile. He shrugged, and turned back to his sister, keeping a careful eye on her. She was pissed, and she got reckless when she was pissed.

"Don't worry about it. Maybe you can save my ass in the future as payback," He quipped lightly, and a small giggle escaped Lily. They were deep in the woods by now, and the dim flashlights Danica and Ben were holding were the only things stopping them from being completely blind. (Y/N) smiled at him. He seemed sweet, unlike his bitchy companion.

"Maybe," She responded faintly. Milky white eyes kept flashing in front of her, guts spilling from a stomach and she shook her head viciously to remove the image. Ben's face suddenly fell, and his eyebrows furrowed as he began running towards Danica. Lily and (Y/N) followed soon after as soon as they saw Danica holding someone at gunpoint. There were four of them, one of them stood in front, wearing a military-style uniform, holding a gun and a military-grade backpack on their back. Two of them stood in front of a little girl, no older than 6 or 7. One of them had short ginger hair with thick eyebrows, looking stony and glaring at Danica. The other kept his hand hovering near the ginger guy and the other hand in front of the kid. He had long, shoulder-length green hair that was starting to fade. (Y/N) rushed to Danica's side, narrowing her eyes at the strangers.

"Hey, hey, hey, look we don't want no trouble. Just wanna get down ta Georgia," The military one said, attempting to defuse the situation, placing the gun down on the floor.

"We have a kid for fuck's sake," The ginger one snapped and (Y/N) looked to Danica. When she didn't move to put the gun away, she put a hand on her arm to get her to lower it. Danica glared daggers at her but hesitantly lowered the gun. The little kid was looking scared, but she had these big green eyes. (Y/N) was never one for kids, she and Daryl had had that discussion before, but she was cute, and she could see herself getting attached to her.

"Hey, alright, it's okay. We just had a tough time, we're all a little on edge. I'm (Y/N) Dixon, this is my mom, Lily, and these two are Danica and Ben," (Y/N) introduced trying to give them a reassuring smile. The tension in the green-haired guy's shoulders deflated slightly and the little girl moved forward a little.

"I'm Kai Thompson," The military one smiled, picking their gun back up and shoving it in their holster. "This is Andrew and Oliver Stewart, and their daughter Anna."

Lily crouched down in front of Anna giving her a little grin, as she moved from behind her dads. She extended a hand to the little girl who took it reluctantly. Her dads were watching carefully, still not trusting her entirely.

"Heya Anna, I'm Lily," She said softly, shaking her hand gently. (Y/N) folded her arms slowly, giving the group a once over, and she noticed how Ben kept his hand over his knife.

"Where y'all headed?" Kai asked, and (Y/N) could pick out that strong Georgia drawl anywhere. It only made her think of Daryl and Merle, out in the middle of nowhere, possibly dead by now. She had to get home.

"Down to Georgia, you?" Ben replied, raising his eyebrows. (Y/N) could feel eyes burning into the back of her head and it didn't take a genius to figure out it was Danica.

"Us too. Meant to be a safe zone in Atlanta," Kai answered, finally dragging their eyes away from Danica. There was a look of budding trust in their eyes, and (Y/N) could tell that they were going to keep each other safe.

When the door creaked open, (Y/N) squinted at the artificial light that flooded the room. Oh, this was way too much like Terminus. A deep chuckle made it abundantly clear about who was standing in the doorway, despite her current lack of sight. As her eyes adapted, she saw him extending a hand to her to help her up.

"C'mon gorgeous, think you've spent enough time in this shithole. Much too disgusting for a lady like you," Negan smirked, and she glared back at him but took his hand. He helped her to her feet, catching her as she toppled slightly on her bad leg. She could tell he was resisting the urge to make a shitty joke about 'falling for him' and she was glad he didn't say it. If he had, she probably would have hit him and sealed her fate as dead.

"Where are we going?" (Y/N)'s throat felt like acid, as she limped beside him. He was leading her back through the corridors deep in the Sanctuary and upstairs, which took her much longer than she'd hoped. Despite how long it took her, Negan didn't lose his patience this and with him still clutching that damn bat, that she'd learnt he called Lucille, she had to be grateful. He was even helping her when he could. However, after being alone for so long, she hated herself for relying on someone else, especially someone like him.

"You've got a big test, beautiful. Gotta make sure you belong here. And I really hope you do, because I wanna pound into you at least once even if you won't marry me," Negan grinned and part of her wished she were still in that cage. Sure, she was convinced she was going crazy in there, but at least she was away from his uncouth comments.

"Not interested," (Y/N) shot back, almost immediately, narrowing her eyes. That only made Negan laugh again, helping her up a small set of stairs.

"Well, that's a damn shame. Never say never though, princess. I'm sure I can convince you," Did he ever stop talking? She knew he was trying to get under her skin, and unfortunately, he was succeeding.

"You've got other wives, fuck them instead," She snapped, sarcastically. Shit, her smart mouth was going to get her killed someday. Pick your damn battles (Y/N).

"Just cause I've got wives doesn't mean I can't mess around some, right darling?" He returned. That cocky grin didn't fall from his face, but there was danger hiding in his eyes. Stop pushing, stop pushing.

"Clearly we have different definitions of marriage," With her response, Negan's eyes darted to her ring finger and he chuckled humourlessly when he saw the silver band. Well, she had just shown her hand. Good fucking job.

"Married, huh? What a shame. Always the hottest ones that are taken. He still out there?" He asked, voice light with glee but she looked away, glaring and biting her tongue. To (Y/N)'s relief, he dropped the subject as they reached a huge room, once again looking a bit too similar to the empty warehouses of Terminus.

Negan removed his hand from hers and moved her to be leant against the metal railing. Below them most if not all of the Saviours were gathered, looking scared and confused, and there was a guy tied to a chair in the dead centre of the group. (Y/N) managed to pick out a small huddle of women, all wearing strappy black dresses and tall heels. His wives. The thought made her squeamish as she looked at the discomfort on their faces. All of a sudden, he slammed Lucille on the metal railing beside her, making her jump out of her skin. He placed a hand on her back, but she limped to the side, just out of his reach. She didn't want his filthy hands on her. Everyone's heads shot up, and they fell to one knew. What kind of cult-level shit was this?

"As all of you know, when we save someone new, when we get a new recruit... they have to prove their loyalty. You know what's about to happen, and you know it isn't going to be pretty. But we got a rule breaker in our midst and a new recruit, so why not kill two birds with one stone?" Negan started down the stairs just beside where (Y/N) was positioned, and she watched him cautiously. "Now, I wish I could let this slide, I wish I could ignore the rules, but this man here betrayed us. Our little AJ here decided he didn't want to spy on our friends at the Kingdom anymore and made a runner! Now, you all know that one of the things I can't stand is a traitor. We're all we have in this shitty world and we can't be turning our backs on one another! Why can't I ignore our little rule-breaker here?"

"The rules keep us alive!" Seriously, this had to be a cult. (Y/N) didn't know how much longer she could stay here. They were all fucking insane.

"That's right! We survive, we save others, we bring civilisation! Rules keep us alive," The guy in the chair, AJ, eyes were darting around, filled to the brim with terror. "And we need to show that to our newest member! So, it's time to punish our dear AJ, and time for our newest member to prove her loyalty. Arat, hand me the saw."

The woman (Y/N) had seen at the gas station the other day strutted over, handing Negan a sharp saw, with the hint of a smirk on her mouth. God, what was wrong with the people here? (Y/N) felt her blood run cold as Negan took the saw and stepped towards AJ, who was starting to panic, wriggling in his bonds. Negan looked up to her, and he stifled a laugh at how tense she was. Without any other words, Negan pulled AJ's sleeve up, and rest the saw on his arm. He wasn't. He couldn't. But she was wrong. Negan brought the saw down, slicing it into the guy's arm. AJ let out a blood-curdling scream, and (Y/N) felt her blood run cold. Her eyes were wide, and she could feel panic sinking into her lungs. There was red everywhere, dripping down his arm, onto the floor, staining Negan's shirt, his scruff, his jacket. He just kept screaming and screaming and screaming. She couldn't breathe. The sickening noise of bones snapping and seperating, of flesh tearing filled the air. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Eventually, the guy passed out, just as Negan yanked his dismembered arm off. (Y/N) was frozen in spot. What the fuck, what the fuck. He looked at her again grinning and used AJ's arm to wave at her. (Y/N) managed to drag her eyes away and looked around the room. The saviour's faces were all blank, no one showing any emotion apart from Negan's wives, who were crying in horror.

"Doc, take him away, fix him up. Fellas, bring it in!" The doctor who had been checking (Y/N)'s leg started untying AJ and quickly whisked him away on a stretcher that had been placed to one side. There was an all too familiar noise of a snarler behind her, and (Y/N)'s head snapped to look at the doorway Negan had to lead her through earlier, and there stood two saviours leading a snarler on a weird adapted leash. It was reaching out, teeth-gnashing, and she tried to scurry back, but her stupid leg decided she had moved too quickly. She tripped and started to fall back but was stopped by Negan once again. She hadn't heard him come back upstairs, but to be fair she was more focused on the snarler. He wrapped an arm around her waist while she tried to move away, and she thrashed slightly. She had no fucking weapon, what the fuck was he doing? She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe.

"See, if you're going to be one of us, you can't be afraid to get your hands dirty, and do every little task I ask of you," Negan announced, handing AJ's arm to her. "Feed it to the dead fuck."

"You alright, princess? You look pale," Negan asked. He'd moved her to what looked like a meeting room after she'd...

(Y/N) didn't say a word. She still hadn't fully comprehended what just happened and she was just staring at the floor, silently. She couldn't reply. Even if she wanted to. Red everywhere, flesh tearing, bones cracking and creaking. Negan walked over to where she sat, placing Lucille on the table right in front of her, before he placed his hands on her shoulders, to which she'd flinched much to his satisfaction, and leant down next to her ear.

"Okay, better question. Who are you?" He whispered, and she squirmed at the feeling of his breath on her neck.

"I'm Negan."

"Hey Spencer, are Aaron and Eric back yet?" (Y/N) questioned, jogging over to the gate. They should have been back two days ago, but the storm must have stopped them and she couldn't deny how worried she'd been. Deanna had let her into Alexandria about two weeks ago, just after Negan had sent her on her task. She shouldn't be getting attached. She knew that. And she knew it would make it all hurt later, but despite how weak everyone in this place, and how little they knew of the struggles outside the walls, they were the first trustworthy people she'd met since Kai and the others. Spencer let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes.

"If they'd been back, do you think you wouldn't be the first to know?" He snapped, and she raised her eyebrows, daring him to keep pushing. She'd beaten his ass twice before, she would happily do it again. The way he and his brother dealt with runs was ridiculous, and they'd fought over it on more than one occasion. Deanna had nearly kicked her out the second time it got ugly.

In the short time she'd been there, she'd found herself growing close to Aaron and Eric. When she arrived, Deanna could sense something was suspicious about her. As much as the woman irritated her, (Y/N) couldn't deny her sharp wit. She'd put her in with Aaron and Eric after the latter had offered, in some weird hope that they would stop her from getting into trouble. (Y/N) had to hand it to her, apart from a few odd occasions, the couple had been keeping her out of fights, especially when she first joined the community. After so long out there, she was always on guard, and while she didn't think she'd be able to ever get rid of that, she felt safer here. From the snarlers at the very least.

After Nicholas walked over to take his shift on guard duty, Spencer shoved past her. That guy had serious issues. With a small sigh, (Y/N) turned around and walked back into her neighbourhood. She had to get back to her job. Even though she'd hated the idea of working again, of pretending that the world hadn't gone to hell, after a few days, she had started falling into a routine. Since she had much more experience out there than anyone in the whole of Alexandria (not even Eric or Aaron really had any idea what it was like despite being out there so often), she went on runs with Spencer, Nicholas and Aidan, though she knew there was something slightly fishy going on there. Half the time Aidan and Nicholas would wander off somewhere and leave her with Spencer. Spencer only came on runs sometimes, but he would share looks with the other men before they left. Part of her had been tempted to go with them, but she got an awful feeling that prying would do her little good. Especially if they started prying into her business because of it. That would get them killed. And probably her too.

Every week, she had to meet someone from The Sanctuary with information about Alexandria. He needed to know whether it was worth making a deal with them. At first, it had been every two days, and Negan had come himself, to ensure she didn't try anything. But after a few days, he started sending random Saviours, most of which she'd never seen before and extended the time between. She hated them. Every inch of her soul hated herself for ever accepting Negan's offer. She should have died that morning. That would have been better than living with the constant crawling guilt every time anyone showed her any kindness. Or the nightmares of AJ and that snarler that would haunt her every time she closed her eyes. Part of her was tempted to run away, but she knew they'd find her. Negan wouldn't let her go, now he had her unless she was very lucky. But as she'd learnt the past few years, she definitely wasn't.

When she wasn't on runs, she was helping run Alexandria, not that Deanna ever realised it. (Y/N) had learnt that suggesting was more effective than demanding. If she made it sound like it was Deanna's idea, it was more likely to get through to her. That was the only reason some of her ideas had even gotten put into place, like putting locks on houses of the elderly to lock at night in case they passed and turned in their sleep.

"(Y/N)!" A familiar voice sounded and (Y/N) turned around to see Enid jogging over. The teen was known to be extremely antisocial, and according to one of Jessie's sons, Ron, it had taken her nearly three weeks to say anything when she first joined. But for some reason, she'd gotten attached to (Y/N), and she stuck by her as much as she could. Maybe it was the fact that they both knew how much the post-apocalyptic world outside the walls sucked. Enid came to walk beside her as she started heading back to the house she shared with Aaron and Eric. God, she had to stop getting attached. They would hate her later.

"You doing okay, kiddo? I thought Pete was meant to be teaching you and Denise some medical crap?" (Y/N) questioned, shoving her hands in her pockets. Enid shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"He was, but he only wanted to teach Denise because I'm 'just a kid'" She grumbled, using sarcastic air quotations that made (Y/N) chortle. Enid gave a small smile, one that only (Y/N) really got to see.

"Well, kid, you already know how I feel about that man," The two continued walking, exchanging repetitive conversation about the pantry, Pete, Enid bitched about Ron and Sam before they reached her house. They stepped inside and collapsed onto the couch.

"Hey, I was wondering, next time you're on a run, could you try and grab some more comics? I've nearly read all mine, and Sam keeps stealing them," Enid asked, bashfully and (Y/N) smiled. The kid played adult more often than not, and it was nice seeing her actually acting like a child.

"Of course, Enid, I'll see what I can find," She answered, and Enid went to thank her when Denise came crashing through the front door, making the pair jump to their feet. Shit, walkers? An attack?

"They're back and Eric is in the infirmary, c'mon!" Denise dashed off again, and (Y/N) was hot on her heels, sprinting to the infirmary. What the hell did that idiot do now? How bad was he injured? When they reached the infirmary, (Y/N) didn't pause for even a second, and went barreling to Eric's side. Pete was hovering near his feet, but she couldn't help but notice how deathly pale her friend was.

"What did you do, you dumbass?" She demanded, but Eric could hear the pure relief in her voice, and he smiled back at her, despite the small glare on her face.

"Just took a page out of your book," He teased, but let out a groan as Pete started setting his ankle, which she was starting to guess was broken.

"Be careful, asshole," She hissed, and Pete sent her a deathly glare. Eric put a hand over hers, to reassure her. She knew it wasn't Pete's fault, but she was still winding down from the worry.

After about half an hour, Eric was moved home, with the help of Denise, Enid and (Y/N), and she hadn't moved from his side, except to get him anything he needed. Enid had left to give them some space. According to Eric, Aaron had found a new group of about 14 people, and at some point, they'd split up and half of them had found and saved him from getting eaten by snarlers. She made a mental note to thank them later. Aaron had gone with the group for their interviews. Yeah, she remembered hers. Even then she'd found Deanna pretentious. Eric was the one who noticed Aaron walking back to the house, and he laughed when (Y/N) sprinted out of the house to nearly tackle him in a hug. Aaron had to step back a few steps so he didn't fall over, and he was more than a little surprised. She didn't show affection very often, but he supposed he'd probably scared her by being out for so long. Over his shoulder, she couldn't help but notice some kid in a sheriffs hat with his dad. Hell, he looked a lot like that kid from Terminus. But she was probably imagining it.

"You can't just stay in here until my ankle heals, you need to leave, do your job, actually talk to people. Besides, Denise is bringing my crutches later," Eric stated, folding his arms. Aaron was stood behind him from where he sat on the couch, and they were ganging up on her.

"When you first got here, we didn't stay here every day while you had that gash in your leg," Aaron agreed, and (Y/N) started messing with her ring absently, narrowing her eyes.

"You barely knew me then. It's been two weeks and I know you better now," She shot back, starting to pace slightly.

"Okay, look. If you go out for at least an hour, you can come back and check on me. I can survive for an hour, as long as I have a book or something," Eric tried to reason, and (Y/N) paused, holding his gaze. Fuck, they weren't going to let this go until she went outside. It was two against one, and she wasn't going to win this one.

"Alright, fine. One hour, but then I'm coming right back," She snapped grumpily, and the men both grinned. "But let it be known, I'm not happy about this."

"Oh, believe me, we know," Aaron laughed, before kissing Eric's cheek and heading out the door. (Y/N) went to walk out but Eric caught her arm.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N). I promise," He stated and she sighed, leaning down to give him a brief hug before nodding and waking out the door after Aaron. He was stood out front, talking to a large group. Must be the new group, since she knew all the faces here by now. The kid (Y/N) had seen yesterday raised his arm, waving at her with a kind smile, and she waved back, beaming. Then it dropped and she froze, as her eyes caught with some in the small crowd. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. She had to be hallucinating. This couldn't be real

"Daryl?" She heard someone say, but it sounded like her. She couldn't move. This was it. She'd lost her mind, she'd gone crazy. She felt her eyes building with tears, as the breeze blew her hair into her face.

His crossbow, the one he'd taught her how to use so many years ago now, fell to the ground with a clatter, and suddenly he was moving, running, closer and closer until he stopped right in front of her. Her eyes darted all over his body. This felt so real. Could it be real? There was a moment of dead silence between them, where she couldn't hear the confused muttering of the group behind her. Where she couldn't see the wide grin on Aaron's face as he put the pieces together. Then suddenly, Daryl launched forward, yanking her into him so tightly she thought she felt her ribs creak.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. She wasn't crazy. He was there, he was right fucking there, holding her so tightly, a hand on the back of her head keeping her locked against him. Her fingers stabbed into the back of his vest, and she was whispering against his neck without even realising it.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're here," Over and over. She could feel him trembling and tears dripping onto her neck but she didn't care. Her Daryl was alive. Her husband was alive.

"Holy shit," Daryl choked out, and she felt like she could have cried. She never thought she'd hear that gruff, southern drawl again. She let out a teary laugh and she pulled back just enough so she could see him properly. Her hands drifted from his back to hold his cheeks, thumbs running over his cheeks, still laced with dirt and grime.

"If you haven't brushed your teeth, I'm going to kill you, Dixon," She said with a smile before she tugged him forward into a rough kiss. His hands shifted to her hips and he held on so tightly. Like she would disappear if he let go for even a second. Behind them, she could hear Aaron's voice, filled with glee, and the voice of a woman in a similar tone. Confused voices, borderline shouting, and the sound of footsteps running over. But none of it mattered.

He was alive.

TAGS: OPEN

Tags (for this series): @graniairish @fuseburner @gloomystorm @bxxbxy @browneyes528 @hoemadegrace​

(Some of the tags didn’t work last chapter for some reason I’m sorry!)

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 36

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Venom + reader = symbiote. More canon typical violence and mentioned cannibalism (Venom eats bad guys). Some angst at the end - reader really went behind the Avengers' backs, huh? But it's gonna be okay.

Is this how babies feel in the uterus? The darkness was nearly impenetrable but at the same time comforting and warm. It wasn't dry and it wasn't wet; it just was. I was floating in weightless space, subtly feeling the echos of a battle, hearing the sounds of struggle as if I was underwater.

"MORSEL, I WILL CONSUME THESE HUMANS. IT MIGHT FEEL SLIGHTLY UNPLEASANT." Venom's voice seemed to reverb in my skull, bringing my awareness to us. We. We are Venom.

"Don't eat Cabre, he's been possessed. Put him out if you can, but don't hurt yourself. I have very little information about this demon thing," I said - well, I thought, hoping Venom would hear me. A possessed enhanced mutant person was bad but a possessed carnivorous symbiote was nightmare fuel. I also didn't want Venom to hurt themselves; the sonic gun looked painful enough already.

I felt rather than heard the agreement coming from Venom; for a brief moment, the three of us were Venom as the symbiote entered Cabre's body to alter his chemicals. The sensation was foreign, unpleasant, and I shuddered at the violation. The sense of comfort that came once Venom returned fully to me was inexplicable. I began to understand why Eddie didn't want to part with Venom; the symbiote's continued presence felt quite comforting.

Very similar to how I felt when I sat with Tony, him inside of me, for hours, with our bodies joined and minds working in quiet agreement.

"HUMAN MATING RITUALS ARE BIZARRE," Venom sounded baffled and slightly disgusted. "AND THEY ARE NOTHING LIKE A PERFECT SYMBIOSIS. PLEASE DO NOT COMPARE YOUR PRIMITIVE URGES TO OUR SYMBIOSIS."

I gasped inwardly, doing my best to distract myself from the crunching and wet noises that managed to break Venom's barrier. "Would you rather I barf inside of you?" I snarked, giving into the urge to roll my eyes. Not the time to be picky-choosy, Chtulhu.

"YOU DO NOT WANT TO WASTE PRECIOUS ENERGY RIGHT NOW. WE STILL HAVE A LOT TO CONSUME AND I WILL NEED TO REPAIR EDDIE." The symbiote announced patiently, a sense of deep longing beginning to seep into our bond at the mention of my uncle's name.

The points Venom raised were valid and I was as eager to be Just Me as Venom craved to reunite with Eddie; I receded, racking my brain for something to focus on to be able to ignore the cannibalistic experience and not "waste precious energy". "I have a subdermal tracker installed, tap it three times to activate it if you need backup," Belatedly, I remembered about my cyborg experiment.

Venom appeared to contemplate it. "NOT NOW. THIS BATTLE IS NOT VERY HARD." They finally concluded as a particularly piercing scream echoed in my ears. "YOUR MATES WILL BE ANGRY IF THEY FIND OUT. WE CAN MAKE SURE THEY DO NOT FIND OUT."

As surprised as I was at the extended courtesy, I had to face myself and my lies sooner or later anyways. "We'll tell them anyways. I'll take the blame, you play dumb together with Eddie. Consider it a trade," If I could, I would be rubbing my face right now. "I took you out to an all-you-can-eat human buffet, you took me out to take care of a problem. We're even."

Venom snorted as I felt the random crunching and squelching noises slowly begin to quiet down. "FUNNY MORSEL," I assumed it was a compliment as the feelings that leaked through the bond were actually quite fond. "THE OTHER MORSELS SHOULD BE GRATEFUL. WE WILL BRING POSSESSED HUMAN TO THEIR DOORSTEP. WE DID THE JOB FOR THEM." However, it was obvious the kind feelings didn't quite extend to SHIELD or the Avengers. I struggled to comprehend how Venom planned to take all three of us to the tower anyway, with both Cabre and Eddie being out of commission and me currently being, well, Venom.

I needn't have worried, however. There was a slight pressure on one of my shoulders followed by a brief, ten-minute strange sensation of flying, the added weightlessness making me drowsy in the darkness of Venom's fluid body. As soon as it stopped I heard voices that seemed faintly familiar - names that I recognized, but not quite sure from where.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" The yelling reached my ears through the layers of symbiote, making me cringe. Tony's piercing shriek of shock hurt.

"Could you please not be so loud, it fuckin' hurts," I moaned without a thought, hastily shutting up when the voice that spoke my words roared.

"Pri... Princess?" I heard glass shatter; focusing my eyes was hard and the field of view was funky to say the least; I towered over Tony's shaking form by at least good few feet. Subconsciously, I felt the need to taste the air - my engineer boyfriend recoiled at the same time I realized I had stuck out my-Venom's-our tongue, feeling the familiar salt and musk as if I just straight up licked Tony from head to toe.

"Believe me, this is just as weird for me," I spoke, trying to control my and Venom's combined limbs. Deeply inside my brain, I swear I felt the symbiote's snickering. "Venom, can you unattach yourself from me? Please?" I begged, absolutely hating Tony's expression of fear and confusion.

"WE HAVE TO DIGEST FIRST," The symbiote replied unapologetically but took control over the limbs, carelessly dropping Cabre at Tony's feet. "YOUR MERCENARY. SAME-DAY DELIVERY, NO RETURNS," We grinned together. I had felt Venom rummaging my brain for an appropriate joke and supplied it myself. The adrenaline rush arrived late, something I suspect was Venom's handiwork, and I basked in the sudden influx of joy and exhilaration.

Tony slowly slid down the wall, landing ungracefully on his ass, staring straight up with unblinking eyes. "Friday, please assemble the Avengers. And make Bruce bring me booze, please," I've never heard Tony this dejected.

I, on the other hand, was feeling really strange. Joyful one moment and confused the next, I let Venom handle most of the business as my mind faded in and out of focus, limbs growing heavy with each breath that I took. Or I didn't? Panic set in when I realized I couldn't breathe, couldn't inhale.

"CALM DOWN, MORSEL. I AM SUPPLYING YOU WITH THE OXYGEN," Venom's voice interrupted my panic attack as I once again was deposited in the calm, comfortable darkness. "SHE IS FINE. SYMBIOSIS CAN BE STRESSFUL FOR FIRST TIME HOSTS. I WILL GLADLY RETURN TO EDDIE AS SOON AS THE CHEMICALS IN OUR SYSTEM ALLOW ME TO SAFELY WITHDRAW." I heard more voices and I assume Venom calming down the newly arrived Avengers. My mind was still murky, like when Venom dulled it on purpose when they were eating people. Eating people. "I SUGGEST YOU PREPARE A WASTE BIN. MORSEL WILL MOST LIKELY FEEL SICK."

Oh boy, did I feel sick! As soon as Venom retracted back into my skin, I hurled, Steve catching the most of it by pushing a large bucket right in my face whilst Bruce gently rubbed my back. I avoided looking at the contents even though I consciously knew that there wasn't much more than water and bile, having previously felt first-hand exactly how Venom digested their food.

"I'm a dumbass, please put me out of my misery," The words were spoken seriously. Physically, I felt the best I've ever had: aches and pains I had gotten used disappeared and my body felt invigorated. Mentally, however, I felt drained, confused and so, so alone in my skin. As if my brain itched. Someone was talking and I heard none of it.

"Shh, come here, come here," Eddie's voice was drowsy as his arms wrapped around me, scratching that lonely itch in my brain. I grasped at him, hiding my face in his chest, missing most of what was being said. "Yeah, it's not exactly painful, more like... You feel not whole for a few hours after you separate. Not the best feeling, especially if the separation was forced," His voice bore the same pain I seemed to be experiencing at the moment. So alone in my skin.

Another large palm landed on my back as I sighed in contentment. "I'll take her. Do you guys need something?" Bruce's voice reached my ears, my brain finally agreeing to recognise human speech.

"A shower and some chocolate would be great, thank you," Eddie's voice receded further and further away as I freely, finally fell into Bruce's embrace.

"I warned you, Tony," Natasha spoke softly, coming over to brush my hair out of my face. I opened my eyes to see most of the team wearing identical looks of astonishment and worry, their eyes focused on me. Natasha was the only one who had respect clearly written on her face. "C'mon, let's go sit down so you can tell us what happened."

I avoided their eyes, fitfully clutching Bruce's arm as all of us sat down on the couch in a pile of superheroes. I guess I could be counted as one too, after the stunt I'd pulled. The mercenary was nowhere to be seen; Bucky's shirt bore bloodstains so I assumed he took the man to the underground levels where he and Natasha kept a few cells for off-the-record interrogations.

"So?" Tony's voice was hard; he avoided my face, too.

"Planned a plan. Executed the plan. It mostly worked, except the merc was possessed, too. He took out Eddie, I volunteered as a host. We ate the croonies," I stuttered slightly, fighting with myself to call the things by their names without having to throw up. "Grabbed the merc, grabbed Eddie and went home." I stared straight ahead, only partially aware of Bruce's disappointed sigh behind me.

"And it never crossed your mind that you shouldn't be doing this? All this hiding, this lying?" Tony asked, finally settling his hard stare on me. "There are professionals already working on this. It's not your job." His words were harsh but truthful.

Only this truth didn't sit well with me. I'd been monitored for years; there were too many secrets kept from me, too many what-ifs hung over my head. It was made worse by the uncertainty: did Tony know? Did Natasha know? Who else was hiding the fact that there had been a target on my back all along?

"Isn't it?" Anger began to creep in. I shrugged off Bruce's arm. "Isn't it my job to know your little organisation has been onto my ass for years? Isn't it my job to know I would have ended up in that position anyways, considering the fact that at least one hostile mutant gang wanted me to help them take over the world?" I stood up, interlocking my hands behind my back to conceal the shaking fingers. "Isn't it may fucking job to make sure that someone does something about the fact that my family is going crazy from helplessness?" I finished, looking directly at Tony. I hated seeing him recoil but some things needed to be said. "If you expected me to sit and do nothing while this bullshit is happening, you do not know me. At all."

"Years?" Barton interrupted in confusion. "I didn't even know you existed until Peter brought you over."

"Yes, Bird, years," I began to pace in agitation. "Apparently, many people think I'm much smarter than I am. I'm sure Cabre will be happy to tell you all about it," I sneered, stopping in front of the window to look at the dim, sleeping city. "Everybody seems to know about me more than I know about myself. I'm sick and I'm tired of people telling me what to do."

The silence behind me was telling. Maybe they really didn't know or maybe they just didn't really care. I wasn't naïve, I didn't expect gratitude for doing what I did but understanding would have been nice. Paradoxically, Venom's attitude was the most humane out of the whole gang. I hated being disappointed in people but ultimately, their safety and happiness was much more important than my feelings. They gave me a family - even if it was for a brief moment - and I owed them for it.

"Princess," Stephen's voice returned me back to reality. "We do not blame you. At least, I do not. We just want to know why didn't you trust us to help you," He pleaded quietly.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It's the fact you still consider me a child, some wilting flower. And perhaps, sometimes I act carefree," I inspected their reflection in the darkness of the glass pane. "But the truth is, I do not forget and I rarely forgive. And I definitely do not appreciate some random motherfucker messing around with people that I love," As soon as those words left my mouth, the heaviness from my shoulders disappeared. "And I don't regret it. I will burn down everything and everyone if I have even the slightest chance to protect what's mine."

A sharp intake of breath, someone choking on a sob. I closed my eyes, not ready to see the disappointed faces of my family - in moments like these, their heroic nature on stark display, I realized how much I did not fit amongst the do-gooders. The work I did was forever going to be the ungrateful kind; that much I've known forever but it didn't make facing that fact any less hard.

Soft, feminine hand landed on my shoulder as Natasha's perfume invaded my personal space. "I'm proud of you," The spy said quietly, wrapping the arm around my shoulders. "You did everything we couldn't do. That's a big deal if you ask me."

"And just like that, we're supposed to be okay with... This?" Steve's voice sounded exhausted.

"Yes," Bucky replied darkly. "If it was me in that place, you would have done the same. Oh wait," His tone turned sarcastic. "You did do the same. So, shut up, punk. We're lucky bastards if we have a person like that on our side."

I expected tears but none came. I felt nothing but relief, painful, as if I had spent weeks and weeks cramped up in a small space, unable to freely move and breathe.

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[themysteriousauthor18]

A hurt little doe

Based off this art I found on Tumblr

Link to orginal post: https://kare-valgon.tumblr.com/post/633991442056052736/found-a-hurt-little-doe-decided-to-take-him 

Artist of this lovely artwork:

It was another lovely day down in hell; Well, that depended on who you asked. If you were an overlord then it was a splendid day! Filled with demons either worshipping or fearing you, both of which were pleasant. 

But if you were among the average class or worse...below, then most days you awoke wondering if it would be your last. 

Today, well today was no different. 

Being reborn in hell came with its advantages, you had a second life, a second chance to do things differently. But it also came with some major disadvantages. 

Mainly what type of demon you were born as. Most would assume it wouldn't matter, but it certainly did especially among the more animalistic type of demons. Quite a lot of the population was either imps or some sort of animal, and then there were others who fell somewhere between it all. 

Imps were essentially the equivalent to a normal human soul, nothing too powerful. 

Animal demons, well they had something to offer. At least that's how the stories went. Depending on what animal you represented in hell reflected the value of your soul.

So what did it mean when you found yourself to be a doe? 

His eyes cracked open as a shiver racked his body, a doe of all things. Why a doe. A helpless creature seen as nothing more than a mate or a source of sexual pleasure. He wasn't even a female in his human life and yet, here he was with the body of one. The white ears and tail were cute, sure, but they didn't help much.

Angel Dust, or at least that's what demons called him when they were topping him. He wasn't entirely against sex but at this point, it was less for pleasure and more for survival. 

He wasn't speaking about food and water but also the rather annoying heat cycle that seemed to come once a year and demanded be treated. 

Being an animal demon came with that in some regards. 

But this morning was like most, in which Angel would either wake up in a stranger's bed or in a random place in hell. Today he woke up in an alleyway among some trash cans and crows that had mistaken his body for food. 

A groan left him as he pushed off the unforgiving cold cement the crows flying away. He was surprised nobody had found him whilst he was out. 

A sigh left him and his white ear tuffs folded back along with the action. His clothing was ragged at best, an old worn-out t-shirt and pants. They smelled horrid but with his increased smell due to being a doe, it didn't help the intensity of it. It made him want to hurl, especially on an empty stomach. 

He had a few choices for today, either get up and go try to find food. 'Earn it' or lay here and fall asleep trying to ignore the stomach pains he was getting due to lack of food. He couldn't die of natural causes so it made this all the more worse.

Well, he was going to get nowhere just sitting here. 

Pushing off the wall the best he could, his knees shaking the doe tried to wobble his way out from the alleyway. Unfortunately, he didn't get far, his legs refusing to take him and instead forcing him back down among the garbage bags. 

Angel frowned, his ears pressing back against his white hair. "Guess it's gonna be anotha' day without food..." He muttered in what sounded like an Italian accent.

He couldn't do much except stay here and regain his strength, hoping nothing would happen in the process. 

Giving in to his exsutation he laid his head back against the wall behind him, nestled in an alleyway between buildings. The demons who walked by didn't notice him among the trash, even though he stuck out for being mainly white with the exception of his pale skin. 

His eyes began to close and he was more than willing to allow them. However something prompted them to fly open again, it annoyed him out alert he was despite just wanting to sleep. 

His ears shot up as a new smell entered the air, powering over the smell of trash and anything foul. It smelled sweet, nothing in particular but just very..sweet. 

With the little strange he possessed, the doe managed to turn his head to the side. His senses shot up in alarm once he realized just who was standing there in the entrance of the alleyway. 

As if he'd suddenly gotten the strength he moved off the wall backing into the alleyway. His ears were pressed down hard against his head again. He looked up at the demon pleadingly knowing just who he was.

Alastor the radio demon.

Word traveled well around here and he knew this demon was well known for being one of the strongest mortal souls around. That he took pleasure in killing others even his own kind. 

He expected things to end just there, for this demon to have spotted a helpless doe and kill him here. Or do what he pleased and then end his peathtic after life.

Instead, the radio demon raised a brow and leaned down until their eyes were leveled. A large toothy smile spread across his face and with how uncomfortably close he was, there was no question about it. That sweet smell was coming from him. 

Although Angel had no clue why, he assumed it was either because he was a doe, or because they were both in the same animal kingdom. 

"Well hello there!" Alastor finally greeted with that enthusiastic tone he was known for. "This doesn't look like a comfortable place to sleep!" 

Angel frowned, hating how his eyes teared up at the reminder that yes, he slept in a place such as this. Or more so, that the radio demon appeared to be pitying him, or toying with him. Did he play with his prey?

Angel couldn't find the words or any for that matter. The tears rolling down his face and broken spirit playing between his unusual eyes was more than enough to show what he was feeling.

Alastor hummed leaning away and instead taking a step closer, keeping both hands behind his back. He'd encountered quite a few demons similar to himself, although none whereas powerful as he. In most of these circumstances, he would eat them as such a demon was rather rare to come across down here. 

However, this was the first time he was meeting a doe. 

And they smelled lovely. 

"Not very talkative are you?" Alastor asked, questioning if this demon could talk. It was obvious they were afraid but he wondered if it was of him or just in general. Judging by their tattered clothing and scratches on their pale skin, it was obvious things weren't very easy for them. 

Alastor wasn't the type to show any sort of tenderness to another but it seemed appropriate for a situation such as this. Besides if anyone saw he would just kill them. A free lunch!

So, with caution, he knelt until he was at eye level with the meek white doe. "What is your name?" He asked in an uncharacteristically softer tone. It seemed to throw the doe off. 

Angel didn't understand what Alastor wanted if he was food for this wendigo or just a toy. But with most, they typically met their end whenever they faced this creature. So to find him being gentle was almost unnerving. 

But if he were to die anyway, he saw no problem in speaking to the demon. If he could find the bravery too. 

"A-Angel Dust.." The doe stuttered, his voice trembled. 

Alastor smile widened, pleased to finally hear the doe speak. "Angel? What a splendid name. Tell me why are you sleeping here?" He had an idea of why but wanted to confirm. 

Angel shrunk back as his ears moved along with the action, something Alastor couldn't help but watch. "I-I ain't got anywhere else ta go...I just sleep wherever." 

Alastor shook his head, "well that won't do at all. You'll surely die out here in no time flat. No no, we can't have that now." He hummed tapping his long black nail against his grey skin. As he snapped his fingers the doe flinched. "Ah, I have an idea! You shall come with me, yes there you shall be warm and properly cared for. Would you be interested in such an offer?" 

Angel's brows knit together in confusion, why would one of the hells many powerful overlords want to take in someone like him? Was it truly because he was a doe? He didn't think something like that would work on the radio demon, then again..powerful or not, Alastor was still a deer demon. A male deer. 

"Y-your givin' me a choice?" Angel asked in disbelief. 

"But of course! I can't simply just whisk you away without your say in the matter, that may as well be kidnapping." Funny to think the radio demon even cared about that. 

This may have been a bad idea, especially considering just who was giving the offer. But what did Angel truly have to lose? His life? He'd already lost it. It was either this or going back to another stranger's bed in the next few days just to eat. 

His brows knit together as he met those deep pools of red and that large yellow smile. It seemed to glow in the shade of the alleyway. 

"Fine...It's not like I have anywhere else ta go." Angel answered, his voice low. If not for their enhanced hearing Alastor wouldn't have heard him. 

"Splendid now, can you stand?" 

Angel shook his head remembering how that went earlier and only resulted in falling on his ass. His legs felt weak even now. 

"Well, then this will have to do," Alastor answered and without warning picked up the fragile doe in his arms. 

Angel stiffened under the touch on his back and under his leg but before he knew it he was being taken away from the alleyway. In the arms of one of those most powerful deers in hell. 

He closed his eyes and loosely wrapped his arms around the deer's shoulders as a few tears left his eyes. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

So when I read the tag is said ‘canon Alastor x doe Angel’ and when I saw canon I wasn’t sure if Alastor was actually interested in Angel, wanted to protect him or just wanted to eat him because the mans a cannibal. So I didn’t go one direct way with Alastor’s intentions in this oneshot, nor know what the artist behind these works intend Alastors desire with Angel to be. Take it as you’d like!

[fuckinuchihas]

Tsukishima, he/him, favorite trope: caught in the rain and you have to take shelter suddenly! I'm not as tall as him but still pretty tall, have dark hair, and I wear glasses. I joke about everything and love music. Optimistic but in a really defeatist way.

Alright anon...I guess, I’ll share just this once. Pls be gentle with my husband, he’s salty af but there’s a gooey center somewhere in there, I’m almost sure of it!

Tsukishima x Male reader

Warnings: light jokes of cannibalism? If that’s a warning 😂 oh and language.

★・・・・・★・・・・・★・・・・・★

“Yeah yeah, what do you know about it anyway?” Tsukki asks, glancing up toward the darkening sky.

“More than you apparently,” you answer, huffing out a laugh. “The drummer actually went to school with my cousin.”

“And I’m what, supposed to take your word for it?” he says, his big eyes dropping back down to yours.

“Well, it’s either that or you can go fuck yourself...your choi-”

Rain hammered down on you in a slick slush unlike anything you’d felt before. Cold seeped in under your clothes as you both took off down the road looking for anywhere to hide.

The storm crackled across the sky and the rain fell even harder, it was getting difficult to see even a few feet in front of you.

You feel his hand grab at your wrist and you follow him blindly as he takes off in a direction unknown.

A few beats later when you realize where he’s brought you, you nearly trip over your own feet.

“We’re so not fitting in there,” you say, but over the storm you’re sure it’s hard for him to hear you too.

No way are two grown ass dudes going to be able to find shelter in this tiny playhouse.

He pushes you in first, and you breathe deeply now that you feel like you can breathe again. However, it gets stuck in your throat when Tsukki follows in after you half laying on top of you to get the door to shut and keep out the wind lifted raindrops.

“If you wanted to get me soaking wet in a secluded, dark space all you had to do was ask Tsukki,” you say, smirking at him as he rolls his eyes.

“I know, you’re easy that way.”

“You’re such a dick,” you say, but you chuckle cause you’re not bothered by the comment.

“Yeah, and you’re an asshole. It’s fate,” he deadpans.

You both love and hate this about him.

It’s not that you mind the sarcastic barbs, it’s that he uses them to get distance.

He keeps pushing and pushing you away and you’re starting to wonder if he really wants you to go.

“You should hope the storm clears up,” you say casually, trying to scoot back to find more space but you hit your head against the side of what you hope is a space for a small child and not a dog, though the smell definitely says dog.

“And why is that,” he says, rocking back on his heels until he can tug the sleeve of his jacket off.

“Because I’m getting hungry and if we’re stuck in here for more than twenty minutes I might decide you taste better than you look,” you say, using the momentary lapse of Tsukishima’s weight on top of you to remove your glasses and wipe them off on one of the very few somewhat dry spots of your shirt.

“Well that’s certainly one way to pass the time.”

You shake your head, “I don’t get you at all. One minute you’re flirting with me and the next it’s like you can barely stand to be in the same ro-dog house? Wherever this hell is.”

“You do realize you’re exactly the same way, right?” he says, but you shake your head.

“No I flirt with you and I tease you sure, but Tsukki...nevermind, you’ll probably just be a smartass about it anyway.”

‘It’s not like you to be a coward,” he says, and even though you can’t really see much you can practically feel that judgemental ass eyebrow lift.

“There’s a risk and reward ratio here and I’m not finding it favorable, that’s all.”

“Suddenly I’m not worth the effort then?” he asks, sounding strangely vulnerable making you wish you could trade everything for a glimpse of his face in that moment.

But that’s the kicker though isn’t it? Tsukki has always been more comfortable with you when you don’t have an audience.

“What? You were expecting me to do all the work?” you ask, sliding your glasses back on despite how little it helped. “How very gracious of you.”

“You should take your jacket off, it will only get colder,” he says, a tone that’s soft and well..:quiet almost.

You nearly comment but you stop yourself at the last moment which also happens to be when taking your jacket off turns into a struggle.

Tsukki fists your shirt and pulls you closer to him, you can feel the heat from his breath slide across the tip of your nose.

It takes longer than it should for you to remember what you were doing and then you rush to get the clinging material over the wet skin of your biceps.

Your heart is like a clap of thunder in your chest when you turn back to find Kei hovering on his hands half covering you.

You can feel his eyes on you, you’re not sure what his gaze is assessing, if he can even see anything, but then a flash of light pours through the small window and you can see his face.

You gasp.

“Tsukki-“

“Kei, when I’m this close to you, call me by my name,” he says sternly.

“Kei what are you doing?”

There’s a pause but then he replies,”I’m putting in the effort. Unlike you I think the reward is more than worth the risk.”

His lips press against yours for just a few seconds before he grabs at you and pulls you in. The kiss turns wild almost immediately. He kisses you like a man starved and you kiss him back exactly the same because it feels like the two of you have been on the edge of this for months if not years.

“Kei,” you grunt as he pulls away.

“Not yet, not here. I want to see you…” he says and you agree as painful as it is.

“Ugh fine,” you answer dramatically.

“Still thinking cannibalism?” he says and you feel the press of his smirk on your fingers that are somehow laced with his again..

“Give me a snack and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

“I’m not doing it..”

“Aww c’mon Tsukki!!”

“I told you when I’m this close it’s-“

“Kei please,” you say, a bit of mischief shining in your eyes.

“I am a snack,” he answers in the most deadpan tone he can but still you laugh loudly and freely.

Well.. at least now you know there will be more moments like this in your future and that’s enough.

★・・・・・★・・・・・★・・・・・★

MASTERLIST

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

(Fraxus) The Duel-ity of man

Title’s a pun, not a misspelling :D

This was a request by @useless-slytherclaw, who requested Laxus realising he’s in love with Freed! Thank you for the request! Fic under the cut

Maybe, just maybe, the reason Laxus hasn't thought of Freed as dating material up till now because the man gives him so much more to think about, although he's never able to dwell upon those thoughts for very long because the man is a whirlwind of brilliant activity. If Laxus' thought were a neat pile of papers (a very hypothetical situation), then Freed is a cheeky spring breeze, luring those papers outside, scattering them in every direction that man wants them to go.

Perhaps Freed is more like a matchstick, inconspicuously landing on those imaginary papers and setting them ablaze without being conscious of the furnace he's created. One of the things Laxus is sure of, is that he's no good at neither analogies nor poetry and that he should stop trying to encapsulate the essence of his best friend in one image, because no image he could possibly conjure could live up to the man himself.

Said man is currently distracting him from trying to form coherent thoughts. Nothing new there and as the truly wise people say, thinking is overrated anyway. "What's got you thinking so hard?" Freed asks, tone teasing as he places himself on Laxus' desk, legs crossed. Effortlessly, he paints a picture of elegance that Laxus would never dare to attempt to try himself. "I don't think", he answers.

Dignity. A gift that isn't bestowed upon any member of the Dreyar family, but Laxus hopes that at least his pokerface can save him from selfinflicted embarrassment.

His pokerface doesn't stand a chance against Freed's ages of knowing and the other man raises a brow in retalation. Granting him some mercy, Freed shakes his head with a little smile. "Apparently so", he grins and Laxus thinks about throwing him off his desk. It wouldn't be that hard, Freed isn't that heavy. He knows because he's carried him before, which was all in all a nice experience.

"You're really out of it today, what's up?" There's no escaping Freed's perceptiveness and knowing this like no other, Laxus doesn't even attempt to. "I am having thoughts." Seeing the grin reappear on Freed's face, Laxus throws a paper ball in his direction. "Asshole", he mutters and the bastard has the nerve to shoot him a wink. "I'm having a crisis, but I don't know about what. Not yet, really."

Freed hums at that and gives Laxus a once over, lingering at his eyes. As they wordlessly gaze at each other, Laxus swallows dryly. He thinks he can take this tension, until Freed reaches out and tilts his chin up. Involuntarily, he shivers and his eyes quickly flits from Freed eyes to his lips and back.

Just when he's about to ask what Freed is doing, the man lets go and jumps from his desk. "Being cooped up in here isn't going to help you methinks. Darling, will you join me for a walk? Or are you gonna stay in this musty ass place, bitch?"

The difference in tone and wordchoice kicks Laxus in the teeth and damn it, he doesn't like to be on the receiving end of Freed's verbal whiplashes. "Yeah, I'm coming", he says and follows the man outside.

Freed is first and foremost, a trickster. A conman, if he must, a charming piece of man only following his own rules. Without a doubt, Laxus can say that he knows no one quite as wellspoken as Freed Justine. Without a doubt, he also knows that no one can even try to compare to Freed when it comes to cursing someone to hell and back. The man is a master of language and applies it however he wishes, pulling people in with pretty words or provoking them with vicious insults.

Whatever he wants, he will get and Laxus finds it a fascinating process to watch. (Or sometimes, plain disturbing. Once, Bickslow had been showcasing the language of the youth these days he learned while getting kidnapped by a travelling circus and Freed and him had talked in this foreign language for three whole weeks. It was awful.)

Most of the time, Laxus is merely a witness of Freed's sharptongued, quickwitted vocal charm. Whenever he's subjected to it, it leaves him a bit stumped. It probably paints him as a dim fool in Freed's mind. Sure, he isn't the brightest mind around here (how can he be when Freed's walking right next to him), but he'd like to be a tad bit better than that. He resolves to not let himself be played with that easily next time.

"Here." With a careful gesture, Freed hands him an icecream. "You're spacing off again and since you didn't answer when I oh so considerately asked you if you wanted some icecream, I took it upon myself to get you some anyway."

"Oh. Thanks." Awkwardly Laxus takes it. "Strawberry, because you have the taste of a first grader on a schooltrip", Freed smirks, sticking his tongue out like an actual first grader. "Put that tongue back or I'll give you something to do with it."

"Oh yeah?" Freed asks, voice teasing with a hint of breathlessness, lips slightly parted. Unceremoniously, Laxus shoves Freed's own icecream into the man's mouth. As the man sputters and coughs, Laxus pats him on the back.

After the coughing fit, Laxus, feeling a bit bad, finds them a scenic place in the park to sit. The trees grand them some relief from the sweltering sun and Freed ignores the perfectly fine bench to spread his jacket underneath him and lay down on the grass. His long green hair is arranges itself like a halo around his head and Laxus twirls a few strands of it between his fingers as he sits down next to him. Looking at Freed, he gives the other man a barely there smile (he's been told he's not that good at smiling).

"Camouflage", he jokes and Freed rolls his eyes. "Whatever", he says and puts a few strands of gras between his lips, like some sort of really white cowboy. "Cannibalism", Laxus whispers obnoxiously close to his ears. Freed's brows twitch in irritation and the man opens his mouth. Nothing comes out and he purses his lips together instead. With a huff, he lays his head down in Laxus' lap and closes his eyes. "I'm not acknowledging that, I'm going to take a nap instead."

"You do that captain", Laxus snorts and moves Freed's a bit, so it's more comfortable for both of them. Although he's using the title mostly jokingly in the moment, Laxus truly respects the work Freed does for their little ragtag group of friends. All of them are powerhouses in their own right, but Freed's the mastermind behind their teamwork. Laxus doesn't think that anybody in the whole world could juggle their personalities and abilities as well as he can.

For someone who looks so unassuming, Freed is a beast of a man. Most of the time, he puts his effort in making sure their team works efficiently together, disappearing in the background. It's whatever Freed in the shadows that makes them able to pull through. But on the few occassions that Laxus has seen him showcasing his strength, he's been left astounded.

Freed's an allrounder in more ways than one. On the battlefield, he's their biggest defense player, one of the best closerangers and he can take care of longer ranges too. Often he doesn't need to, because his strategic mind allows him and his team to win battles without too much trouble. He's a menace and often more brutal than Laxus dares to be.

Off the battlefield, he's the only reason none of them have died of food poisoning. Basically, Freed's what keeps them going.

With soft gestures, Laxus takes it upon himself to decorate Freed's hair with nearby flowers. As he places white and pink flowers in green tresses, he can't help but note how handsome the man in his lap is. The serenity of his expression brings out his youthfullness and as Laxus stares at this accumulation of grace, strength, beauty, competence, brilliance and so much more, Laxus finds his mind to be completely peaceful.

Although they both are men of action, Laxus wishes that moments like these wouls occur more often. A flash of Freed in a fight, deadly power contained in a smirking man, is always enjoyable but such moments are too short to truly relish in. Right now, he can breathe peacefully and stare at Freed as long as he wants. The man's not doing anything special right now and yet Laxus still feels a thrilling admiration when he looks at him. All Freed's competences and abilities are neat, but they are not the core of his being, not the exact thing Laxus is attracted to.

"Hey Freed?" he murmurs, as he feels like speaking in a louder tone will shatter this picture perfect moment. "What would you do if you liked someone?" Without opening his eyes, Freed answers, a dramatic tone colouring his voice.

"Why my dear Laxus, I would challenge them to a duel. They would accept the challenge, but little do they know, it's not a fight in an arena. Nay, we fight in the streets of the city that has seen us grow together and as we give each other little nicks with our knives, we come to the conclusion that we are deeply and madly in love. We will elope and become pirates and as the sun sets above our ship, we kiss, because we waited untill marriage for any kind of physical contact."

His gorgeous blue eyes snap open and Laxus feels pinned into place. "Then the kraken will drag our ship down and eat us alive. Reverse sannakji."

"That's awful."

"Thanks, it was pure improvisation."

Laxus sighs a bit disappointedly and Freed closes his eyes again. "I don't know. Probably ask him out for icecream." There's no misunderstanding his smile and Laxus rushes to get the words out. "I love you", he nearly spits out and Freed smiles a little wider. "I know", he says and the calm, warm tone settles any restlessness that might've still been in Laxus' body. Softly, he presses a kiss to the back of Laxus' hand. "I love you too."

He says the words like they're the easiest in the world. Laxus can't wait till he can say them that naturally as well. For now, he puts a few more flowers in his lover's hair, hoping that actions speak louder than clumsy words, although he's got a feeling that Freed will get the message nonetheless.

[happymetalgirl]

July 2020

Machine Head - Civil Unrest

On this two-song EP, Robb Flynn once again leans into spur-of-the-moment inspiration in an effort to jolt Machine Head out of the creative fatigue that plagued the polarizing Catharsis, but unfortunately the approach that didn’t really work for “Volatile” doesn’t really work for “Stop the Bleeding” or “Bulletproof”, and it all adds up upon the revelation that these songs are constructed from scraps off the Catharsis kitchen floor. Robb’s finger is on the pulse of the tension underlying American politics and his heart is in the right place (which I commend him for his steadfastness to in the face of the apparently sizable chud subset of Machine Head’s fanbase), he just needs to take his delivery a little off the nose. Of the two songs, “Bulletproof” is definitely the stronger and more hard-hitting, while the goofy 2000′s metalcore melodicism of “Stop the Bleeding” meshes poorly with the grim subject matter Robb attaches to the track. In the grand scheme of Machine Head’s career, this EP (and the two non-album singles that preceded it last year) is disappointing filler that does nothing to lift the band out of the dry creative well they’ve found themselves in.

5/10

Khemmis - More Songs About Death, Vol. 1

A much more solid two-track EP, Khemmis’ More Songs About Death, Vol. 1 is comprised of a groovy cover of Misfits’ “Skulls” and an acoustic rendition of the folk song, “A Conversation with Death”, that the band had covered electrically for a split they did with Spirit Adrift. The band adapt well to the more original acoustic style of the latter song, as soulful as ever even with acoustic subtlety replacing their open-hearted doom metal. As for the Misfits cover, the band apply their signature harmonic doom guitar work to give it a signature seal while adhering to the core foundation of the song, and they show that the song does take to their brand of doom quite well. After Desolation and being signed to Nuclear Blast, Khemmis sure were excited to get working on their fourth LP. Now that of course sits on the list of many projects the pandemic has forcefully postponed, but these kinds of offerings and the band’s hinting that they might just come out of this with two albums’ worth of material is helping make the wait a little more bearable. Thank you as always, Khemmis.

more respect to Khemmis/10

Inter Arma - Garbers Days Revisited

Coming off the back of their magnum opus, Sulphur English, Inter Arma’s offering to hold the quarantined world over until the band’s next opus is a quick (by their standards) covers album of metal and hardcore classics, as well as some surprising classic and southern rock tunes. And the band manage the eight diverse songs with an impressive display of two-way adaptability. Turning “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” into a blackgaze blast-beat fest and “Scarecrow” and into a crushing blackened sludge-doom epic while layering their atmospheric black metal smoothly over the old-school rock grooves of Neil Young’s “Southern Man” Inter Arma show an aptitude for selecting cover songs that fit their style. It sure helps that they’re a versatile act too, bending their mammothian heaviness to suit the core appeal of covers of Cro-Mags’ “Hard Times”, Nine Inch Nails’ “March of the Pigs”, and Venom’s “In League with Satan” while shedding all that sludge to expose their southern rock roots on (slightly) more stripped back tunes like “Runnin’ Down a Dream” and Prince’s “Purple Rain” (a closer so fittingly beautiful it seems almost unfair), which find them embellishing soulfully and clearly enjoying themselves in the studio. A lineup of tracks like this would make be nervous for whatever band was trying to tackle them, but Inter Arma prove that can shapeshift back to their southern roots just as well as they can bulldoze as needed to do their own justice to these several tracks, making for one of the best cover albums I’ve heard for a while.

8/10

This Will Destroy You - Vespertine

Serving as a soundtrack project for a highly rated California This Will Destroy You seemingly took a long time with this project, having released the “Kitchen” single in 2017 under the same premise. The album is entirely ambient, and not quite as experimental with glitchy electro-ambiance as projects like Tunnel Blanket or Another Language were. Instead, Vespertine highlights the serene/somber atmospheric foundation of the band’s post-metal/rock sound that made the Young Mountain EP and their self-titled LP such transcendent experiences and exemplary advocates for post-rock upon their release. And it’s a great display of just how the band’s discernible ambient style can shine through even such a minimal approach. It is basic ambient music for sure, no additives, but it’s unmistakably This Will Destroy You to those who know them, and it hearkens back to some of their best work, so I see it as a welcome addition to the band’s catalog.

7/10

Static-X - Project Regeneration, Vol. 1

Rebooted in honor of Wayne Static after his untimely passing in 2017 the original line-up and Dope frontman Edsel Dope behind a mask resembling the late singer and the pseudonym Xer0, Static-X return after over a decade of radio silence since 2009′s Cult of Static to mesh the final recordings of Wayne Static for the band with contributions from Xer0 on the first of two volumes of new material under this premise of paying tribute. Despite the lengthy absence and the loss of the band’s central creative force, the album is a mostly smooth transition from Cult of Static with some callbacks to the electro industrial metal of earlier albums like Shadow Zone and Machine. While it captures the essence of Static-X across its 39-minute track list with a handful of hard-hitting industrial nu metal bangers, Project Regeneration - Vol. 1 is a bit of a dry recount of the band’s legacy, and I hope the band saved the better chunk of songs for the second installment.

6/10

An Autumn for Crippled Children - All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet

An Autumn for Crippled Children is an anonymous Dutch trio who are helping to keep the blackgaze movement going with their eighth full-length album here. The band released their seventh not long ago in 2018, but this year’s is my introduction to the band, which has been a pleasant one. All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet is a moderately sized offering of heartfelt blackgaze as you know it from the likes of Deafheaven and Ghost Bath channeled through more second-wave-like stylings of the Norwegian black metal scene; so it sounds kind of like if Mayhem made more open-hearted music rather than deflected edginess through Satan-worshipping (not to shit on Mayhem or anything). There is more to this album, however, than just diluted or lo-fi Deafheaven worship; through the haze of the band’s fuzzy blackgaze is some pretty dynamic songwriting and impressive. More than just soaking distorted guitars in reverb and juxtaposing blackmetal screams with post-rock ambiance, An Autumn for Crippled Children capture some of that emotional diversity that makes blackgaze at its best (...Sunbather) so divinely captivating. And the spacious beauty the band conjures out of the negative space in the static-y guitars and thin percussion on songs like “Water’s Edge”, “Paths”, and the title track is surprisingly enveloping, but the standout cut on the album I’d say is the very unashamedly Ghost-Bath-y “Silver” for its overt heartfelt delivery with every instrument and its integration of what even sounds like a piano. I doubt this would convert many black metal purists who idolize Burzum and Darkthrone. In fact I bet this album would upset them even more than New Bermuda, but for those without a stick up their ass, looking for some juicy blackgaze with a different set of ingredients than your Harakiri for the Sky or Wolves in the Throne Room, this is some good shit.

8/10

Bury Tomorrow - Cannibal

I gave this one a good several tries because 2018’s Black Flame grew on me significantly after my incredibly underwhelmed first couple of listens, but sadly Cannibal strikes melodic metalcore gold far less often than its predecessor and finds Bury Tomorrow knee deep in the unflattering tropes that the genre is trying to shake off. With a pretty one-note approach to melodicism that results in a largely homogeneously flat emotional tone across the album, it’s definitely a step down from the emboldened and invigorated Black Flame that negates any sense of the band’s ambition that that album might have given off. I can point out “Better Below” and the brief breakdown on “Gods & Machines” as mild highlights in the tracklist, but they only really stand out because the rest of the surrounding tracks are so dry. I’d like to say that things just didn’t click this time or that some experiments just didn’t pan out, but it’s quite clearly just the lack of imagination and ambition that sinks this project deep into the background of forgettable metalcore, and I know this band can do better.

4/10

Kansas - The Absence of Presence

They’re hardly even metal-adjacent but for their sizable contribution to the 70′s prog rock movement that such a huge proportion of metalheads are into, a new Kansas album I suppose counts as on-topic for this blog. The band returned after a decade and a half of absence with a stuttering restart without iconic vocalist Steve Walsh on 2016′s The Prelude Implicit, and it was clear that they needed to do more than yearn for glory days to get the gears back in motion, so with The Absence of Presence the band’s new blood has stepped up to the plate to inject some freshness into the band’s compositional process. The band still sticks to that core violin-spiced prog rock that characterized their iconic 70′s albums, but the structuring and soloing style (especially the keys) are a bit more modernized than the band’s past work, and by modern I mean what Dream Theater sounded like in the 2000′s. Make no mistake, though, it’s an improvement on The Prelude Implicit, and it highlights the band’s talents and natural grandiose tendencies far more than the radio rock singles they’re most widely known for, and the cinematic bridge of the opening title track is sturdy proof of this. It’s a testament to the influence they have had on modern prog through the genre’s biggest bands like Dream Theater, and perhaps a testament to the two-wayedness of that street as well as fun, bombastic tunes like “Throwing Mountains” sound like they would fit easily on something like A Dramatic Turn of Events or as a break from all the melancholy on a Steven Wilson project. The album does wear a little thin on ballads like “Memories Down the Line”, but it makes up for its duller moments with plenty of exuberant prog expressiveness on most of the songs (the closing track being probably the standout example), which should be a good time for most of the band’s fans who fondly remember albums like Masque and Monolith, and any newer prog fans who may not be aware of the band’s influence on today’s prog metal.

7/10

Haken - Virus

Speaking of respectable modern prog though, Haken’s aptly named album this year serves as quite the easy bar to clear for prog metal so far this decade. I regretfully missed out on their 2018 sister album, Vector, but I am partially mending that ill by covering Virus here. Like I said earlier, it’s a solid record that captures the smoothness and tempered heaviness of Soen and the attitude of early Opeth with the angularity of Tool, but even if it ends up being the year’s best prog metal album, I don’t think it will be too long before one of the genre’s juggernauts (or even exciting new faces) kamehamehas this one away. The album starts out pretty solid in its first few tracks, but remains pretty meager and restrained in its explosiveness until midway through the album, relying on rather short bursts of typical prog heaviness like the opening of “Prosthetic”, whose rumbly bassline is a delicious highlight amongst the Townsend-esque choir implementation. The ten-minute “Carousel” ups the band’s expressiveness after the deceptive soothe of the second track with a clash of goth-y ambiance and pounding metallic bombast. The five-part “Messiah Complex” suite finds the band at their most adventurous, straddling the winding mid-song compositional whirl of Dream Theater with the occasional eccentricity and djenty heaviness of producer Nolly’s former band Periphery, the band still sound themselves and confident in every move they make, like true prog masters, ending beautifully on the two-minute “Only Stars”. I think it might end up being the year’s best straight-up prog metal album, and the band have worked hard to earn that honor, but I would honestly be surprised if someone else or Haken themselves don’t outdo it within a year. That’s to take away from what an exciting 52 minutes of prog this is, because with such a moderate runtime for such a tight prog album, it’s definitely deserving of the respect of a top album in its field.

8/10

Skeleton - Skeleton

Even though I tend to end up liking them, I find myself skeptical of projects whose aesthetic feels forcedly retro or whose marketing is focused heavily on nostalgia, and the self-titled debut from the Austin-based trio, Skeleton, complete with its intentionally cheesy and amateurish cover art, definitely checked those boxes. I even got the sense from 20 Buck Spin (being that I’m on their mailing list and follow their accounts and all) that they were more excited than usual to be releasing the trio’s debut. And honestly, after a few listens through of not being all too aroused by the crusty proto-death metal at the core of the band’s sound, the traditional heavy metal focus on infectious guitar riffs helped the album grow on me a good bit. The stylistic versatility of the guitar playing really is the cornerstone of the album, from the Kill ‘Em All-style riffs on “Taste of Blood” and early Sepultura-esque galloping on “At War” to the blackened punk grit of “A Far Away Land” and the even more catchy classic metal riffs on “Turned to Stone” and the melancholic old-school doom atmosphere on “Ring of Fire”. The snarled black metal vocals are gnarly in that old-school sense, throaty and raspy but kind of cheesily thin too to fit with the aesthetic the band are going for, and it’s a pretty similar story with the drums: not flashy at all by today’s standards but just right to supplement the guitar work and complete the vibe. And of course with 11 tracks not even grazing the half hour mark, the songs are pretty trim and compositionally bare bones, falling into quick, crust punk formats foregoing the typical verse-chorus paradigm. Yes, Skeleton has grown on me, and I’m curious to see if they end up expanding this sound like Ghost did from Opus Eponymous to stay creatively fresh or if they plan to draw from the long-abandoned (or less frequented) wells of musical elements they did on this album for the foreseeable future.

7/10

Burzum - Thulêan Mysteries

I know that in a lot of circles (including some I consider myself a part of), saying something even vaguely positive about Burzum invites a wave of disapproval for supporting (or at the very least, excusing) the black metal world’s most notorious villain’s racism, but I can’t say with a straight that Varg Vikernes didn’t play a huge part in shaping Norwegian black metal as we know it or that I don’t like Filosofem or Hvis lyset tar oss. I don’t think that amounts to supporting the guy’s racist bullshit, and luckily Varg has made it pretty easy not to support his racist bullshit because Burzum has been shit for a long long time now; in fact I’d say Filosofem was the last worthwhile Burzum album, with his pathetically bad ambient records during and after his time in prison and the three stale black metal albums that welcomed him back from prison. After such a weak return to music from prison and Burzum’s discontinuation-turned-hiatus, it seemed overdue that Varg finally retire the Burzum project after the unimaginative ambiance of The Ways of Yore. I mean the project has thoroughly emulated the trope of the white guy who views everything he touches as way more genius than anyone else does, which is pretty rich for a guy so willing to dismiss the current black metal scene as derivative, and he’s seemed more invested in whatever it is he’s been doing on YouTube or his blog. Nevertheless, Varg remains an infamous figure in metal probably to a lot of dudes who think there’s some esoteric genius to decode in his lore, to an extent I find kinda disturbing. The weird reverence a lot of the metal community has for the neo-nazi murderer’s cult of personality (the vast majority of whose discography is masturbatory throwaway doodling) is astounding. So this guy’s back, with an hour and a half of, by his own account, ambient scraps of dungeon synth music that he built up over an extended period of time and basically figured he’d compile into an album (because, like I said, everything he touches must be gold in his eyes), and goddamn it sure sounds like exactly what he pitches it as. The first track, “The Sacred Well”, is actually pretty soothing and decent helping of ethereal ambient music, but it doesn’t take long for things to go downhill. The annoyingly repetitive acoustic motif of “ForeBears” and the absolutely amateurish improvised piano plinking of “A Thulêan Perspective” quickly shed light on just how lazily patched together this thing is, while the subsequent “Gathering of Herbs” literally cuts off awkwardly like the full track didn’t upload fully. A few tracks like “Jötunnheimr” and “The Road to Hel” offer some fleeting promise in their eeriness, but they disappear as quickly as most of the tracks here do, in a flash of confusion as clearly incomplete ideas piled into an album for no reason that even Varg can justify. The last third of the album contains some of the longer tracks, but the swapping of fragments of half-assed keyboard doodles for half-assed demos spread thinner than tissue paper is a trade-off akin to the upcoming general election and it’s too little and way too late. I have to highlight the laughably farty synthesizer horns on “Ruins of Dwarfmount”; I mean thank god it’s quick because it’s absolutely awful, but the chuckle I get out of how bad it is is probably the best experience I have from this whole album. Just about everything on here is some combination of irritatingly repetitive, blatantly incomplete, or grossly unprofessional, and the thing that gets me is that it’s not like ambient music or dungeon synth is any sort of rocket science. I’m not at all the kind of music genius Varg’s weird devotees see him to be, but given the same equipment, even I could undoubtedly make a better ambient album than this. Although I’m not nearly as well-versed in ambient music as I am in metal, I have heard enough of a chunk of it to say I know the good shit and the bad shit, but honestly, this album is a new low for me. I didn’t know an ambient album could suck this much. It’s like an extended Daudi Baldrs with a slightly better keyboard, but with no excuse this time for the cheapness of the sound and certainly not the length. Yeah, piece of shit.

2/10

Boris - NO

Tokyo’s prolific sonic shapeshifters have all but given up on giving up, and I suppose the title of this year’s record summarizes their brief questioning of if they stop making music. The band’s first intended farewell album, Dear, which found them (not really) bowing out to the sorrowful drone doom of their most iconic record (Pink), was followed them by last year’s LφVE & EVφL, which saw them revisiting various shades of their career as comfortably as ever. NO finds the power trio on another stylistic tour of sorts, this time through some of their heaviest and most grimy territory, starting from brooding sludge doom to spending most of the album on Slayer-esque thrash and hardcore punk ripe with gritty attitude. The production is thick and nasty as is usually best for Boris, but the writing on this record is just kind of absent-minded for such a stylistically varied project. While the more drony opener, “Genesis”, rides its runtime well on the raw heaviness that the band put the pure simplicity of their slow groove through, the farther the band step away from their wheelhouse, the more apparent sparseness becomes of the more underwritten songs like the meatheadedly punky “Kikinoue” and “Fundamental Error”. We get some crushing riffs like that on “Anti-Gone”, but also some clumsy wailing about like on the song “Lust” that calls into question the effort Boris put in at the drawing board. The sheer power is there, but it’s being used generally inefficiently on a sizeable portion of NO. Still, it’s pretty cool to hear Boris at this pace, and the pure energy they pour into this project is enough to get the job done.

7/10

Tuscoma - Discourse

Tuscoma’s follow-up to the wildly eccentric Arkhitecturenominus is gets off to a slow start with its rather generic churn of blowtorch-blackened post-metal through its first two tracks and is short on risks for the reputably ambitious duo, but Discourse does eventually kick in to dig deep to tap as much of the frightful potential of the band’s sound and showcases a decent example of what the New Zealanders are known for and of lies out in left-field of post-metal.

6/10

Executioner’s Mask - Despair Anthems

Making their debut as a collective for Profound Lore, the quintet of seasoned post-punk creatives embark on an eccentric voyage through darkwave on a ship of modern gothic rock, and the results are as fascinating as they sound on paper, recalling the cerebral ritualism of Children of God-era Swans as much as the energetically veiled despair of Type O Negative and AFI while dipping the rock elements into the industrial side of darkwave every now and then. And again, the product is an effortless immersiveness into the record’s moody journey, not through atmosphere-building, but through the infectiousness of the goth dance numbers take you on. It’s certainly more of a metal-adjacent album than a bonafide metal album, but the way the band captures the despair they set out to is as effective through more subtly seething means as DSBM’s best, and the band’s adventurousness with their sonic palette alone makes for an interesting listen, or several, as I will certainly be giving this project more than its fair share of my ears.

8/10

Ensiferum - Thalassic

Very similar to Amon Amarth’s longtime solidification of their sound, the Finnish talents seem able to simply exhale exhilaration through their both tried-and-true and continually honed black-reinforced power folk metal. And it’s clear the band are on autopilot at least to some degree on Thalassic here because the writing is pretty homogeneous and formulaic nearly all the way through; that being said, the sheer energy of the band’s performances into a sound experience allows them to wield so effortlessly more than carries them across the seas they sing of.

7/10 

Bedsore - Hypnagogic Hallucinations

Stepping out from the shadows of Italy to present the great big world of metal with their forty-minute debut-album, the four-piece on the 20 Buck Spin label make their grand atmospheric aspirations for their brand of death metal immediately known across seven tracks of hellish wails and haunted ambiance. Taking ominous clean guitar motif-writing and structuring influence from Neurosis to the point of uncannily resembling “Souls at Zero” on the second track, “The Gate, Closure (Sarcoptes Obitus)”, Bedsore still inject plenty of their own distorted flair into the cavernous death-metal-flavored howl they espouse on Hypnagogic Hallucinations. The band do bank rather heavily on the immersiveness of the atmosphere they try to conjure, leaving a blind spot in the album’s dynamic beyond the fluctuations between clean and distorted nightmare. Compositional shortcomings aside, this is a solid debut to set the Italians on a bright prospective future.

7/10

Spirit Possesion - Spirit Possesion

Blackened thrash metal is one of those smaller subgenres within metal that feels more like a niche occupied by a few stalwarts like Aura Noir, Goatwhore, and Deströyer 666, but now Spirit Possession is making the bid to join those ranks and potentially turn more spotlight onto the specifically hybridized style. The band’s self-titled debut brims with the thrash enthusiasm of Bathory and the old-school riffing that shaped the way the early progenitors of black metal composed theirs, and not only is the Portland duo’s riff-game on point, but goddamn does it sound savory and spicy as hell through the more flattering production and against the backdrop of modern black metal a la Watain. The nasty chug on the song “Swallowing Throne” really highlights the benefit of the thicker, tastier production. The exceptionally grand “Amongst Inverted Castles and Holy Laughter” is a fine example of the band straddling old and new with impressive flexibility, while the bulk of the album's indulgence into early black metal and thrash is impossible not to want to indulge with, like a really fun party with a good crowd that makes it so much easier to have a few more drinks than you originally intended to.

8/10

Defeated Sanity - The Sanguinary Impetus

Through just enough delicious riffing,  memorable accentuation, and technicality on par with Dying Fetus packed into structurally creative bite-sized portions, brutal death metal stalwarts Defeated Sanity somehow make a pretty persuasive take-it-or-leave-it case for the genre.

7/10

Paysage d’Hiver - Im Wald

The boldly two-hour debut double-album from Paysage d’Hiver is also a bit of a double-edged sword, basing partly its very ethereal black metal atmosphere on the homemade sound that regularly kneecaps the grander feel the project is going for. And the album does indeed reach some soaring heights of blizzard-stung ambiance, which the biting sound of the tinny, but engaged, percussion and the vexed swooning of the tremolo-picked guitar playing across the album’s several indeed well-organized lengthy tracks. It takes a lot to trudge through the long path covered in thick snow that this album sets out on, and the lo-fi production often doesn’t help the individual elements that make Im Wald enjoyable stand out, and it can be all too easy to get lost in the homogeneous whitewash of the hazy winter wind. It’s a rewarding journey to finally make it all the way through with unbroken attention, but blame for the easiness of that attention being lapsed can at least partially be placed on the shoulders of Paysage d’Hiver for its mastermind’s one-note approach to an otherwise well-arranged and well-composed album.

7/10

Gaerea - Limbo

Despite the members’ faceless appearances behind their fully-covering black cloth masks, Gaerea’s music does not hold back its sorrowful outpour through heavy atmospheric black metal that crashes through and drowns like torrential flood waves as much as it tears at the heartstrings through unabashed languishing. The massive weight of the band’s sound invokes the feeling of being in the presence of an incarnate deity weeping at the ills of mankind and the destruction they have forced this deity to bring about. Abstract descriptors of the album’s experience aside, the band aren’t really doing too much new for the atmospheric black metal they’re making, not breaking any rules or pushing any boundaries, but everything that makes the genre so attractive is turned up to eleven. I was ready to be as critical as ever, but I could immediately see not long into my first listen why Season of Mist were so excited to hype up the Portuguese outfit’s incredibly accomplished sophomore release. The guitar playing is simultaneously powerful and beautiful, much like that of the Ulcerate album from earlier this year (Stare into Death and Be Still) that I also loved, and the drumming is just as ceaselessly thunderous in support. The lamenting screamed vocals are possibly the least exaggerated facet of the album, but certainly not the the point of being unfitting, in fact they fit the chaotically despondent mood quite well, or a detriment to the record’s overall barrage of mourning. As for how all these massive pieces are arranged, they all crash in synchronized waves in a fashion, again, not at all unfamiliar to anyone who’s heard blackgaze, but the raw passion of the band’s performances exemplify why this strategy is so widely adopted for atmospheric black metal. Gaerea have made quite the statement of intent on this one, and I will definitely be enjoying it repeatedly throughout the year and beyond.

9/10

Upon a Burning Body - Built from War

Upon a Burning Body went full Lamb of God last year with their very trim and direct 31-minute fifth LP, Southern Hostility, focusing their efforts on making their southern brand of groovy deathcore as tastily whiskey-soaked as possible, laying on the groove heavily and unrestrained in a way that I thought definitely worked in their favor. Just a year later, the band are back with a 17-minute addendum to their infectiously brash display of muscular bravado, and it’s pretty much as brutishly intense as expected as the band bounce through single-string grooves and ripping drum rhythms to the same conclusions they did last year, only this time it feels so much more fatigued, like they’re trying to artificially replicate this genuinely pissed off attitude that produced results for them despite just not being in that kind of headspace at the moment. The songs are pretty baseline for them and generic as fuck, missing that X factor that made Southern Hostility’s distilled rage so tangible and fun. Built from War has some of the staple features that made its predecessor such a good time, but despite its few high-energy moments across the five tracks, it feels like an unnecessary rehash of the lightning in a whiskey bottle they had last year, just no lightning, so empty whisky bottles that bear the smell to remind you of what was previously in them.

5/10

The Acacia Strain - Slow Decay

I have been pretty harsh on The Acacia Strain in the past; they haven’t come up much on my blog, but the times they have, I feel I’ve been a little overly critical of their use of elements that I’ve perceived as excessive that they’ve used to forge their recognizable sound. The band released a mini album (It Comes in Waves) on Closed Casket Activities just before last year was over and I didn’t even hear it until a few months in to this year, and honestly, I wasn’t all too broken up about it because it was some of the band’s most lethargic, meandering material to date; dragging aimlessly until the last two tracks of the album, a significant step down from 2017′s already middle-of-the-road Gravebloom. So with those albums in recent memory I was kind of not looking forward to Slow Decay all too much, but a few days before its release, I refreshed myself on the band’s 2014 album, Coma Witch, which I remember as a culmination of what The Acacia Strain had been trying to morph their horrific, hardcore-tinged deathcore into since Continent, and it was a great time, that album, and it made me a little more hopeful for the band’s tenth LP (if you count It Comes in Waves). And Slow Decay indeed has The Acacia Strain back on track after the stuttering of the past two releases. The burgeoning metallic hardcore movement over the past few years has certainly vindicated The Acacia’s Strain’s steadfast adherance to their hardcore roots, and with there really being no time like the present for that kind of energy, the stars’ aligning has indeed brought the best out of The Acacia Strain. And on Slow Decay, it’s not like the band have changed up their hardcore-driven approach to djenty deathcore all too much from what they did on Coma Witch, they just sound energgized through a good batch of songs this time, the many situations at hand showing their influence on the rage the ban draws from bleeding through the lyrics ranging from critiquing anti-vaccine sentiments to blasting the snobbishly entitled attitude of boomers. The fiery disdain for the state of the world comes through hard on the blood-pumping chug of “Crippling Poison”, the punchy, pissed-off groove of “Inverted Person”, and the rest of the dissonant horror-tinged riffing all across the album, and it just goes to show that The Acacia Strain have found a groove that works for them and when they have the right fuel for their fire, they can incinerate anything in sight. 

8/10

Imperial Triumphant - Alphaville

After revolutionizing the method of jazzification of metal music on 2018’s Vile Luxury, I was ready for a satisfying continuation of jazzy death metal from Imperial Triumphant, but I was not prepared for the wildness of the band’s ambition with their sound and beyond and the incredible success of their sonic expansion on Alphaville. The band are still jazzy as fuck on their successor to Vile Luxury but they’re not advertising it as blatantly like a product-placed soda can this time around, partially because they can’t with so much else going on in the nightmarish mix of sounds. The combination of dissonant grand piano chords over palm-muted chugging and merciless blast-beats on “City Swine” is perhaps the most overt example of the trio’s love for the traditional sounds of the type of jazz often associated with the big apple, but the palpable jazz influence in the winding guitar lines and dizzying drumming all across Alphaville continues to set Imperial Triumphant apart even within their wing of metal’s avant-garde. Indeed, their sound reaches beyond mere genre hybridization; the band incorporates various avant-garde elements in an experimental, yet clearly well-engineered manner all over the album. From the haunting fuzzy dissonance and disorienting electronics of the title track and the odd inclusion of taiko drumming by Meshuggah’s Tomas Haake to the gloriously frightful choir climaxes on both “Atomic Age” and “Transmission to Mercury”, Alphaville is full of surprises, and a size-able step forward for a band already bounds ahead of the curve on their previous album.

9/10

[displacedprincess]

y tú nunca juraste que saldría ileso || eleteo

Elena has a secret, and it’s time to tell Mateo.

Alternatively: McKala continues her tradition of titling Elena threads with a lyric of a Spanish song that only 12% fits because she likes the lyric 

@wizardroyale

ELENA

She’d known for a week she was pregnant. She was approaching three months pregnant by now, and now that she’d cried her eyes out to Naomi, discussed her options with her, and determined before anything she had to tell Mateo, it was time to do just that. God, but it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Naomi had, thankfully, cleared the apartment of everyone but Elena ahead of Mateo getting home from work which gave Elena enough time curl up in bed and panic over what she was going to say to him. In the end Naomi’s effort was fruitless and Elena had nothing nice and neat scripted. 

Elena had managed to stress cook. Not that shrimp fettuccine alfredo was fancy but it was something.

When the door opened, she was in the kitchen, portioning out two plates of her shoddy early dinner. “Mateo! I boredom cooked super early, you’re just in time for first dinner.” She hoped her plastered on smile was bright enough to hide how fucking terrified she was, but she should know better by now.

There was no hiding anything from a sorcerer, was there?

MATEO

It was a little after 3 o’clock in the afternoon when Mateo walked through the door, calling out a greeting to Elena. He’d immediately smelled the garlic in the air and knew that Elena had been cooking before she even had the chance to tell him from the kitchen. 

Before that, however, he had sensed the now familiar tension as he walked up the stairs. It had been clawing at his insides like a restless animal pacing for awhile now—anytime he was around Elena, actually. Between that and the Anxiety and Fear constantly swirling around her like a storm cloud behind the False Smile she wore, he’d been worried for her. 

He’d asked a few times if she was ok and had always gotten the same casual rebuff, so he’d decided to sit back and wait for her to tell him whatever was troubling her—whenever she was ready to tell him.

He grinned, dropping his backpack on the sofa before marching into the kitchen and catching her around the waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ooh, that smells amazing, mi amor! I forgot to pack a lunch so first dinner sounds really good right about now.”

ELENA

Elena was very good at fake smiles. At the one year anniversary of her parents’ assassinations, she’d had to give a speech to Avalor honoring them and she’d be damned if she didn’t smile even while her heart was cannibalizing itself, was tearing itself into pieces. Right now, even her eyes almost looked like they believed the smile she wore.

At the kiss to her cheek, Elena did genuinely giggle. No amount of anxiety could make her love him any less and at least that bit of happiness she didn’t have to fake.

“Great, because I’m starving,” she said, bringing the plates and two forks to the table. She wasn’t all that hungry - throwing up almost everything you eat kind of makes you not want to eat - but having a fork and a plate of pasta gave her something to nervously mess with. 

She’d been careful not to eat anything she wasn’t sure was safe around Mateo since she found out she was pregnant. Elena wanted to be the one to tell him, not her stupid morning (terrible misnomer, by the way) sickness. 

“How was work? Didn’t get bitten by any clients?”

MATEO

Mateo loved it when Elena genuinely laughed, even if it was just a small giggle. Laughter was a sign of happiness and happiness meant he was doing his job as her boyfriend well. Truly, he wanted little more out of life than to make her as happy as possible.

Following her to the table he held a chair out for her, pushing it in before taking the seat beside her. He didn’t care how much she teased him for being silly or sappy, chivalry wasn’t dead and he would hold doors and chairs for her until the end of time. 

“It was fine,” he commented, swirling a few pieces of pasta onto his fork and taking a bite, “And nah. The clients all love me. I apparently have a calming presence or whatever.” He laughed, taking another bite before adding, “Mmmm! The shrimp alfredo is so good! Did you do something different this time? Like—I dunno, did you add more garlic, maybe?”

ELENA

Elena normally would’ve teased him, or at least acknowledged how sappy he was with a soft chuckle, but was such a mess of nerves all she could do was smile. It wasn’t fair that she’d kept it from him until this long, but at the same time...Mateo wasn’t the one pregnant. It was her body and she deserved a few days to sit with it and wrap her head around it for herself before telling him.

She’s only intended three, maybe four days, but it had been a week and she did think it unfair to let it get to eight days.

Still, the words weren’t coming and she wanted to talk about anything but that. Luckily he gave her an out.

“More garlic? Is it particularly garlicky? I haven’t tasted it yet, let me see.” Elena twirled some pasta onto her fork and stabbed a shrimp, pretty certain she’d be okay eating it. She’d eaten some pasta dish at work the other day with crab and didn’t throw up her guts, so! Shrimp alfredo had to be safe, right?

...right?

Wrong. Elena hadn’t yet swallowed her food before her stomach rejected it, doing its best to keep the offending food out, but Elena was like her father. King Raul and Elena shared the horrible habit of nervous-nausea, and Elena’d become an expert at willing herself not to throw up. The fear of the shame of vomiting on national television was a great motivator to just keep it down.

She wasn’t able to stop herself from heaving with a closed mouth though, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from opening it. Elena swallowed hard, forcing her food down, and willed it to stay down.

“Fuck.” Elena mumbled behind her hand.

MATEO

Mateo did not miss the closed mouth heaving. He’d noticed she’d been nauseated a lot over the past few months—going back to their date on New Years eve—and every time he’d said something about it, she claimed to just be feeling under the weather. As if it were a lingering flu or something—a going-on-three-months-now flu. 

So when she covered her mouth with a muttered curse, he went on instant high alert. He had managed, however, to learn to remain calm during these instances—and that was progress, right? 

Instinctively, he reached over to place a comforting hand on her back and rubbed it gently, though worry sparked in his eyes. “Hey, you look like you’re going to be sick. You ok? Do you need help getting to the bathroom? Or I can grab the Tums? Some ginger ale? Whatever you need, just say the word.”

ELENA

Elena shook her head at everything Mateo suggested, keeping her hand clapped over her mouth. God, she really couldn’t deny it anymore, could she? 

“It won’t help!” Elena snapped, the pent up anxiety and tension just exploding. “It won’t help. I’m not sick, it’s- it’s worse. How can we both have been so oblivious, especially me? How did I not notice-”

She buried her face in her hands to hide her watering eyes. “I’m-” no, she should turn to face him. “I’m pregnant, Mateo. I’m pregnant.”

MATEO

I’m pregnant.

How could two little words have such a huge effect on one person. Ice coated his insides as a storm of thoughts and emotions burst into Mateo’s mind at those words. Shock. Fear. Panic. Worry. More fear. More shock. More worry. All of these emotions and more swirled in his mind as he stared unseeingly ahead, shaking his head in denial. 

Pregnant? Elena? How? When? Was it even possible? How long? Oh. My. God. What had he done?!

He was having trouble taking a breath as he tried to process the implication of what she’d just told him, though coherent thought alluded him. Did that mean that he—he being, Mateo—was going to be a dad? To a baby? With Elena? Oh. My. God.

A moment later, he snapped out of it, noticing Elena crying and realized that this had been the source of the fear and anxiety he’d been sensing coming from her. Words failed him as he scooted his chair closer and reached to wrap his arms around her and gently pulled her against his chest. 

“I—I don’t know what to say—” he finally managed to croak quietly, “Except that I’m so so sorry, Elena.” His own eyes filled with tears, stinging as he tried to blink them away, only managing to send them trickling down his cheeks. 

ELENA

Elena laughed mirthlessly and wiped at her eyes. Why was he crying? He’s not the one pregnant, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t fair to be so angry over his reaction because the logical part of her knew it was justified, but the emotional part of her was only thinking about herself. That was what made him a better person than her.

“Why are you apologizing, I’m the dumb bitch that can’t remember birth control pills.” Elena muttered, covering her face with her hand. 

“What are we supposed to do, Mateo? I can’t be pregnant right now. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, and I’ve talked over all my options with Naomi and I can’t - I can’t think because I can’t wrap my head around it, and I want it to be a false positive but the hospital did a blood test and I really, really am like three months pregnant. Almost.”

MATEO

Why was he apologizing? Because he knew he was the dumb ass who had caused this, that’s why! It was all his fault, and he knew it! 

“Three months?” he echoed back in a hollow tone. He cast his mind back three months and that—that was right about the time they’d decided to ignore the doctor’s orders and just have sex anyways. And there was only one time in that time he could remember having completely unprotected sex—that very first time when they’d both literally lost their minds. 

He just—he needed to hold her, to help ground him and keep the panic at bay. He knew that as long as they were together, they could handle anything. 

But he also needed to look her in the eye, to tell her what he needed to say. So he pulled away, just enough to meet her gaze, keeping hold of her shoulders. He worried his lip, trying to find the words to say that might help and not make things worse.

Brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, he watched her with his eyebrows furrowed together, worried. “I—honestly don’t know? Just that, whatever we do, we’ll do it together. If you’ll let me, that is.”

He reached down and took her hands in his, saying, “I swear, I’m with you, Elena. Every step of the way, ok?”

ELENA

Elena shook her head and let it hang low as stray tears fell on their hands. She didn’t know what it was she wanted him to be there for her through, though. Yeah, she and Naomi had laid all her options out there on the table when they talked. They were both ardently pro-choice and Elena had not completely eliminated that option yet actually.

Still, not all of Avalor was on the same page as her and Naomi. Avalor was much less religious than the rest of Latin America, but Elena would have caused a scandal if she didn’t show up in public with an ash cross on her forehead on Ash Wednesday. Just ending the inconvenient, poorly timed, unwanted pregnancy would be her decision if she actually felt like she had the freedom to make the best choices for herself.

Elena wasn’t just Elena though. She was the rightful queen and deposed princess of Avalor. Every action even in secret could come to the public light even years later. Imagine the public shame if anybody found out.

So, no. Elena didn’t have a choice. Like it or not - and she hated her situation - she was pregnant, and going to remain pregnant.

“Having an abortion would cause a scandal if the hyper-Catholics in Avalor ever caught wind of it.” Elena said plainly, letting go of Mateo’s hands and holding her head high, blinking away the rest of her tears. “So that’s out even if I wish I could give it a fair shake as an option. If I was anybody but who I am, I would probably go that route.”

That wasn’t to say she didn’t want...she did want, one day, to marry Mateo and have children with him. Right now, while they were in exile from their home, was not the time. But Elena was not a woman whose body belonged to herself. As the first in line to the throne of Avalor, Elena was always expected to reproduce someday, and it was fortunate that Elena always knew she one day wanted to. 

As the ruling branch of the royal family of Avalor, the heir to the throne had two jobs. To prepare to rule with a fair hand, and to bear heirs to the throne. 

“So I have to have the -” she swallowed, unable to bring herself to say the word ‘baby.’ Not yet. “- I have to stay pregnant.”

Soon, when she was done processing what was happening to her life and to her body, she would be able to acknowledge it fully. As of now, she was still numb, still full of regret, and still felt so betrayed by her own body.

“That’s what is going on, so.”

MATEO

Having an abortion–– 

Now, Mateo was not the type to have an opinion on, let alone speak up about controversial topics the way Elena and Naomi were. The very idea of getting involved in such things filled him with anxiety to the point where he was useless and unable to function. Honestly, for the most part, he felt that most of those issues were best left to each individual.

Live and let live, right?

But when the word “abortion” came out of Elena’s mouth, directed towards her pregnancy––their unborn child that was part him––a fresh wave of sorrow, overwhelmed him. He didn’t know what to say, because of course it was her body and he had no say over what she chose to do with it. 

But their baby––the thought of never having the chance to meet them was upsetting to the point of tears. 

It was all so confusing. 

He loved Elena and wanted what was best for her, and their unborn child was part of her. Though, to a lesser extent, it was part of him too. He wanted Elena to be free to do what she needed to do for her own well being and happiness. But he also had this strange sense of wanting to do what was best for the tiny person that was growing inside her.

Regardless, he knew he would support whatever decision she made, even if it broke his heart.

And then there was the fact that she was doing that cold, calculating political thing she did whenever she talked about her position as ruler of Avalor. It made him crazy when she did that, when she put her own needs aside because of “the way it would look” to the idiots who had done nothing to help her since all of the political unrest began so many years ago.

“Just stop. Please.” he said, his tears drying up as he scowled, shaking his head. “This isn’t about what THEY think. They aren’t doing a damn thing to help you while you’re stuck in exile, so I don’t think they get a say in this. This is about what’s best for you and, to a lesser extent, what’s best for us. We’re the ones who have to live with our choices, not them.”

He sighed deeply and reached out for her hands again, giving them a squeeze. “Please, Elena. You know how I feel about the political image stuff. I get that its part of the “rightful queen of Avalor” package, but I don’t believe you have to do anything. You always have a choice. However, should you choose to stay pregnant, then I will be here for you every step of the way.”  He met her gaze evenly, determination sparking in his eyes as he insisted, “I’m not going to run away from this, I swear, Elena. I’m with you, always.”

ELENA

“Because they’re suffering more than me, living under a dictatorship! I forgive them, I do, even though there’s nothing to forgive.” Elena argued. “And you don’t understand. You don’t understand because you’re a commoner. You’re a private citizen whose life was always your own.”

Since her first breath Elena belonged to Avalor first, her parents second, and then herself. Her parents never said as much but her life experiences made that abundantly clear. 

Elena let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Sure, I have a choice. Nobody is holding a gun to my head. But neither option is ideal, so is it really a free choice? What’s best for me is undoubtedly to not be pregnant. But I don’t think you agree with me there. You don’t have to see reagents to see the face you just made. God, I should have just handled it on my own the second I knew and avoided this conversation, but now I’ve told you and — and now I can’t even look you in the eye and say I don’t want this. If you keep telling me I have permission to think selfishly then I might make the choice that’s best for me and I’m not convinced you’ll forgive me.”

She wriggled her hands from his grasp. “I never had an actual choice. My body belongs to the Flores royal family line. So I’m pregnant. And abortion is out of the question, so here we are, Mateo. Both on the most wanted list of a dictator and about to complicate things further.”

MATEO

At her words, Mateo flinched away with an audible gasp as if he’d been slapped, his eyes going wide and his brows knitting together as he stared, speechless. 

Really, if she’d wanted to hurt him, she’d found the perfect angle of attack—using his social status compared to hers against him. He knew all too well how common he was, and how not evenly matched he was for her. 

But then she started putting words in his mouth and making assumptions about his motivations and his eyes narrowed. 

“I think I’m starting to understand,” he said cooly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms as if to warm himself, “First, you think I’m too common and too stupid to understand your position—not that I’m surprised, I mean, I’ve always thought so, so why shouldn’t you? And now I’m apparently not important enough to have thoughts and feelings worth even hearing if you already regret telling me before taking half a second to listen!”

The volume of his voice increased as he spoke until he was nearly shouting. It was the strangest thing—he wasn’t one for yelling, and certainly not at Elena. But everything in his mind was still spinning and he did not know how to navigate this new territory. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, willing himself to calm down—and willing her to calm down while he was at it, hoping it would work. He didn’t want to be mad at her, he wanted to help—even if letting her lash out at him hurt. He had it coming, didn’t he? This situation was at least half his doing.

“Look,” he said, quietly now, choosing his words carefully, “I’m sorry. Forget I even said that. This isn’t about me. I said I would support you, no matter what you choose, and I mean it. Take that however you want.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor as he finished, “I just don’t want you to make a choice in either direction that you will regret, alright? And—I mean, like I said, its your body, your choice, right? But, if you want to know the truth, I will take a complicated life with you any day over a life filled with regret—because I’m not convinced you wouldn’t regret terminating this pregnancy later—wondering what might have been once its too late.”

ELENA

“Typical man.” Elena scoffed, not really meaning anything she was saying at this point. She was hurt and scared and when she was either of those things her instinct was attack, attack, attack with a poison tongue. 

“I wouldn’t regret it, because it would be the smart thing to do. I’m twenty-five years old Mateo, I think I understand my mind perfectly well. But.” She held up her hands and stood up from the table. “I told you I’m going to remain pregnant, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

She began to pace the floor, afraid she’d snap at him even worse if he touched her again, gave her comfort she didn’t deserve. 

“So I really don’t think we have to talk about it more.” They did. But Elena was trying to avoid it. 

MATEO

Typical man? His head snapped up at the barbed words. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? 

He watched her pace a moment, sympathetic. He couldn’t help but notice the way the venom coming from her mouth didn’t match with the reagents now swirling around her. She was scared and anxious and hurting and he knew that was a recipe for one angry wolverine of a princess. 

He made a split second decision, understanding that she was probably going to yell at him again, but also knew that she needed him—even if she was in 100% denial of any such thing.

Standing, he moved the few steps over to where she paced, folding her in his arms as soon as she turned around and held her tight. He didn’t have the words to fight and honestly didn’t think anything he could say would help. Actions would speak volumes where he couldn’t. 

He could feel her fear and tension pounding into him like a tidal wave, so hard it was almost painful and he struggled not to give into her frantic panic. He willed his magic to calm the fear, imagining it wrapping around her like a warm blanket or a hug. It wasn’t a skill he’d quite mastered yet, but he hoped it would help, if even a little. 

“It’s going to be ok, mi amor,” he murmured, so quietly it was almost a whisper, holding her close. “It’s going to be ok.”

ELENA

Elena made to throw Mateo’s arms off of her, but his presence that one second infuriated her just as quickly calmed her. Barely. She did not smile and she did not feel at ease but she didn’t feel like her heart was going to fly out of her chest. She didn’t want to lash out at Mateo anymore. 

She didn’t want to get away from him, and instead, wanted to be held. 

“You don’t know that.” Elena said quietly, almost a whisper. “But thanks for the sentiment.”

MATEO

Mateo sighed with relief when she neither pushed him away, nor did she yell at him. She relaxed ever so slightly in his arms, the raging storm of emotion receding a bit.

Perhaps the worst was over? He could only hope. 

“I do so know that,” he insisted, stroking her hair with on hand. “Because I know that as long as we have each other, we can handle anything that comes our way.”

Was that cheesy as hell? Yes. Yes it was. But he didnt’ think that made it any less true.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m shocked and terrified and have no idea how to do any of this,” he continued, his voice shaking with emotion, “But, I feel a lot better knowing we’re doing this together.”

ELENA 

Elena would’ve called him cheesy and smiled had she been capable of either of those things right now. While she couldn’t yet smile at or tease him, her white hot anger was still keeping its distance, and her anxiety was replaced with an uneasy calm. 

A numbness. 

“I really, really do appreciate that you’re trying to say things to make me feel better. And maybe you mean them, I know you mean them, but I’m just not able to believe them right now. Do you understand?” Elena said, apologizing with her facial expressions and tone but not with the actual words ‘I’m sorry I’m pregnant and not happy.’ 

“You have to understand that I am dealing with a lot right now. And so are you, I know that, but I’m the one—” she swallowed. “— I just want you to know that I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I’m not going to feel better today but thank you for trying. Can we… can we give up on trying to make me feel better for today? I do feel better than I did an hour ago. But I think that’s the best we can do for today.”

She laced her fingers with his and did manage a thin smile. 

MATEO 

The truth was that Mateo hadn’t been aiming for sunshine and roses. Really, he wasn’t so foolish as to think that anything about their current situation was going to be easy and nothing but time would bring peace. 

If he was being honest, he was terrified and felt the old self loathing and guilt creeping in with whispers of “I told you so,” and “Look what you did, you’ve hurt her” and “They’d all be better off without you.” It took every ounce of courage and determination that he possessed to keep telling that voice to shut the hell up, and this was not about him. Elena needed him and he would be there for her. 

He could sense Elena’s panic and rage had receded, and that was enough for him. 

Returning her smile with a nod and a tiny smile of his own, “I understand,” he said quietly, “I won’t say another word about it until you want to talk.” He glanced around to the living room and their bedroom door beyond and then back at her, asking, “I think we could both use a quiet afternoon—how about a nap? Or maybe we could watch a movie on the couch? Or—” he cringed, shooting her an apologetic look before finishing, “If you don’t want to be around me right now, I—I understand. I can take the couch if you want to be alone in the bedroom.”

ELENA

“I wish I could sleep for weeks.” Elena lamented, burying her face in Mateo’s chest. 

Elena closed her eyes and just stood there pressed against him. She stayed safe in his warmth for a moment before sighing and figuring it was time to use words again.

“You can nap with me.” She said quietly. “I’d like that.”

MATEO 

A sigh of relief escaped him as she rested in his arms, perhaps not the same as always because this moment felt so big, like they were standing on the edge of a completely different unknown than any they’d faced before.

But she didn’t hate him for what he’d done to her and so long as that was true, he believed they would find their way.

He held her and petted her hair, more than willing to just be there in the moment as long as she needed him to be.

At her words, he simply smiled and nodded quietly, murmuring, “That sounds perfect,” before taking her hand and tugging her to the bedroom. He kicked his shoes off, pulling off his hoodie and jeans and slipped under the blankets, pulling the covers back to wait for Elena to join him. 

ELENA 

Elena couldn’t say anything. She was afraid if she did she would yell at him again and say things that she didn’t mean like “you wouldn’t understand, you’re a commoner.” The C-word wasn’t fair. It was too harsh.  

She curled up next to him and laid there in silence for so long that she thought he’d fallen asleep by the time she craned her neck up to look at him.

“Mateito. Are you asleep?” Elena whispered. A beat. “I shouldn’t have accused you of not understanding. I know how thoughtful you are and how much you think of me.”

MATEO 

Mateo was not, in fact, asleep. His arms had curved naturally around her when she snuggled up to him and he’d been lying there with his cheek resting against the top of her head. There were too many thoughts and worries and questions plaguing him and his chest far too tight to actually find sleep, but having Elena so close had brought a small amount of calm to the storm in his mind.

“Hmmm?” he murmured quietly, smiling a little at the familiar, childhood nickname. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I get it, you were upset. And maybe you’re right. I don’t understand the royal obligation thing as much as I should, seeing as I’m dating literal royalty.” He shrugged. 

“But I will always try to make sure you, Elena Flores, the woman I love, are taken care of first and foremost—even before our people. Because if I don’t look out for you, who will?” He said this matter-of-factly as he kissed her hair and tightened his arms around her.

ELENA

Elena craned her neck to press a kiss to his cheek and then buried her face in the crook of his neck. She did not feel like everything would be okay, no, but she felt a little bit better knowing that Mateo was in her corner no matter what. Not that she actually truly worried he wouldn’t be - this is Mateo she was talking about! - but the explicit verbal confirmation was a comfort.

“I forget, sometimes. That I’m a person, and not just an extension of the royal institution.” Elena admitted as she stayed pressed against his warmth. “Keep looking after Elena the Person, because Elena the Princess has enough people over her already.”

She exhaled through her nose and closed  her eyes. “Thanks for letting me have time to...sit with you and this information and let it really sink in. We can talk about it more tomorrow, but for today, just. Thank you. Thank you, Mateo. For being kinder than I deserve.”

MATEO 

Finally starting to feel a little drowsy, he held her a bit closer, resting his cheek against the top of her head and murmuring a simple, “You’re welcome.” A yawn slipped out as he added, “Te amo, Elenita, and I’m here for you. No matter what.” 

In spite of the whirlwind of emotion still going on in his mind, he closed his eyes and snuggled down under the blankets, feeling warm and sleepy with the woman he loved in his arms. Though he knew their lives would never be the same from that moment on, at the same time, it felt like nothing had changed. They still loved each other and they were in this life together.

He knew deep in his gut that even though nothing felt like it was ok in that moment, as long as they had each other, everything would somehow work out in the end. 

[wordsdrippinginink]

if prompts are still open, what if (based onthe fact that Roger is utterly gigantic) Ace had a growth spurt after joining the WBP?

“You know,” Thatch says leaning over the table, almost slipping when he put his hand down in a bowl of salad, to drunkenly pat Ace’s cheek. “I miss when you were tiny and cute.”

“Shut up, I didn’t intend to grow two feet in less then six months,” Ace grumbles, shoving a roll into his mouth and kicking Izou when he started snickering into his fan. “I didn’t know I was going to get taller.”

“Aw, were both of your parents short?” Haruta cackles, eyes glittering as she finishes off her beer and steals Kingdew’s. “Are they tiny little midgets like you were?”

Ace growls and Marco takes the opportunity provided to shove Haruta face first into her plate, piled high with mashed potatoes, and move to take his seat back before she can sit back up.

“Damn it VIsta!”

“I didn’t do that, you brat!”

“But seriously,” Thatch says, still patting Ace’s cheek. “Why are you so tall?”

“My father was taller then this,” Ace answers after a long moment. “And if you don’t take that drunken hand off my face, I’m gonna see if cannibalism is something I enjoy.”

Whitebeard laughs, sudden and startling, gasping for breath as he wipes his eyes, “I remember the first time I met Portgas D Rouge, she told Roger the same thing, because he kept trying to touch her hair.”

Ace stares at him blankly for a long moment, before shaking his head and frowning at his plate, “Jozu, that’s my dinner.”

“Shit,” Jozu frowns, pulling his hand back and staring at the sauce on it in confusion and betrayal. “I swear I reached for mine?”

Marco pats his forearm, leaning too far forward to reach higher as he attempts to steal a wine bottle away from Vista, “This is what you get for deciding that we should get drunk together. And then,” he leans back offering the bottle to Ace after taking a drink. “Telling Ace and I that we have to stay sober.”

“I’m drinking for taste,” Ace agrees accepting the bottle and draining it before Vista can stop him. “Yum, fermented grape juice.”

“That was vintage!” Vista bellows, swaying as he tries to get to his feet. “Vintage!”

“It was shitty grape juice crushed by people’s feet,” Ace says leaning over to push him back in his seat. “Huh, this tall thing isn’t so bad.”

Kingdew laughs, “Join us, Ace. Join the coalition.”

“Don’t,” Marco warns. “The coalition is those dumb asses not doing paperwork and drinking until I track them down and beat them into working.”

“No fun,” Ace agrees, slamming his fist down on top of Jozu’s hand. “Still my plate.”

Jozu makes a sad sound, rubbing the back of his hand as he stares at his own plate in confusion. Ace watches him for a moment, making sure he reached it, before turning and snapping his teeth close to Thatch’s fingers.

“Fuck!” Thatch tumbles backwards onto the floor. “Ace!”

“I said to stop touching my face, Thatch. Just because I’m tall, doesn’t mean that I want to be touched all the time. Now sit down or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and into the ocean.”

Namur hiccups, “Please no, I’ve too drink to swim.”

“We have a member of your division on standby,” Marco says, sliding a plate closer to him. “Here, try this for me?”

“I hate when they pick us to keep guard,” Ace mutters darkly, stealing Izou’s drink when Izou giggles and slouches into Namur’s side. “It’s so unfair.”

“At least it’s easy for you to get drunk,” Marco returns, accepting the drink and throwing it back. “You are tall now, however. I’ve heard six comments about climbing you like a tree.”

Ace chokes, “Marco!”

[redwine-house]

Golden Years Ch.1 (Negan x Reader)

Charlie Hustle

(Ao3) (Wattdpad)

(Masterlist)

Words: 1,616

Summary: As you comfort a dying man through his transformation, he speaks of a survivalist colony unlike any other. Intrigued by the promises of modern amenities and unaware of their politics, you leave in search of the Sanctuary.You hear their leader before you see him.Negan is unpredictable, violent, and impressed by your cajones. After learning about the peculiar way you make ends meet, he proposes a business deal that you can’t pass up. But from a little spark bursts a flame, and your relationship escalates into a passionate wildfire. However, you’ve been keeping your past secret, unaware of just how relevant it is. Wildfires are merciless, but old flames can burn just as hot.

Heaps of rotten flesh clung to Negan’s shoulders as he leisurely strolled through the Savior’s home base. The smell was putrid and made his eyes burn. His pristine leather jacket was shot to shit from the coagulated blood and guts - however, the state of his clothing was the least of the man’s problem. His entire compound was currently surrounded by a hoard of moaning, flesh eating, pain-in-the-ass Night of the Living Dead assholes. They were already out of electricity and would surely run out of food and water before the end of the week, but he couldn’t wipe that shit eating grin off his face.

Chaos. Negan was at the end of the hallway and he could already hear the sound of the Savior’s social structure collapsing – and all because he had gone missing for a few hours. They were his flock and he was their Shepard. Negan chuckled.

No.

He was their god.

At the sound of a gunshot, he let out a lazy whistle. He was met with silence. God, he almost gave himself goose bumps.

Rounding the corner, he gazed upon his kneeling subjects. The room had gone deathly quiet as Negan shot the crowd a crooked grin. He threw Lucille over his shoulder.

“And just where is my sweet girl?” he demanded loudly. The group exchanged nervous glances and shuffled anxiously on the floor. Negan raised a bemused eyebrow at their response. “I think,” he began slowly, “I asked you a question.” Although his tone was pleasant, his words were laced with an unsaid threat.

Simon lifted his head. Adverting his gaze, he confessed. “She left. With Rick.”

Negan licked his lips. “Did that self-righteous, podunk cop take her by force?” Just the thought of the limp dick cop putting his hands on you made his grip on Lucille tighten.

Simon’s usual show boating, smartass air was nowhere to be seen as he admitted the dismal truth. He looked like a dog who had been caught pissing on the carpet. With a wince, he answered, “No. She decided on her own.”

Negan wasn’t sure whose head he bashed in, but he knew the next skull he’d pulverize would be Rick Grimes’.

Your boots squelched as they sunk down into the mud. A hiss escaped your lips as a flood of freezing muck drenched your sock. You flipped the hood of your jacket over your head and looked at the sky. You could just see the rolling storm clouds through the forest’s leafy canopy.

“Will it ever stop raining?” you asked yourself.

You weren’t quite sure how long you had been doing this – surviving. The world seemed to have gone up in flames in a matter of seconds. They thought they could contain it. It was the folly of man – believing that they were evolved enough to have control over everything.  You chuckled humorlessly. You had never felt so helpless in your life.

As the years ticked by, people had started to accept their new reality. Almost the entire population lost all semblance of humanity and had become vicious, man-eating monstrosities that lumbered and wheezed right out of a B horror film. Every day was a fight to survive. You no longer lived. Understandably, it took a long time for most to get used to their loved ones being decaying cannibals, but it happened eventually.

You were different. In an instance of obscene stubbornness, you decided to deny what was around you. Logically you knew your reality – you weren’t an idiot, but you would put a bullet through your head if you lost hope in a cure. So you danced in willful ignorance, pretending that someone somewhere was getting something done. As long as you kept telling yourself that, you could wake up in the morning.

Your father had been a very wise man, now a dead man, but a wise man nonetheless. He had offered you a bit of wisdom that you never forgot, and it was what kept you alive today.

“There are two sure fire ways that will keep you off the streets,” your dad said as he turned the page of his newspaper. “Either open a grocery or liquor store. People always have to eat, and people always need a good, stiff drink.”

17 year old you eyed your dad over your glass of orange juice. “I don’t think anyone technically needs a drink, dad.”

Your dad shook his head. “What I mean is, people drink when they’re happy, and people drink when they’re depressed.” He shrugged. “You’ll never run out of customers if you’re in the right place.”

“Better not be near a Wal Mart,” you chided before scooping up a spoonful of Captain Crunch.

After everyone was wiped out, you took your dad’s words to heart. Many would be shocked to hear how many would be willing to trade their food for alcohol, but people were willing to do anything for just a few hours - hell, even a few minutes, of numbness. It offered them an escape from the wretched reality that was now planet Earth. You traded all of the alcohol you could find for supplies and you had yet to go hungry.

Like your father said, people wanted liquor when they were depressed.

Your hiker’s backpack was packed with an array of booze, from light beer to low quality moonshine you were forced to make when you weren’t able to find a good place to raid. For quick access you had several bottles secured in a tool belt fastened around your waist, but the fabric had worn, and a bottle slipped.

It shattered, its shards glistening with raindrops. You winced as the crash reverberated off of the trees.

Panic shot through you like wildfire. A lump caught in your throat and goose bumps blanketed your skin. It was when you heard the first guttural groan that a shiver went up your spine.

Its stench was putrid. As the woman –thing, lurched forward, a hunk of skin slid down its calf, exposing a nest of writhing maggots. You ignored its filthy pink tea dress and matted blonde hair and reached for your gun. Without hesitation, you shot it between the eyes. The corpse collapsed and hit the ground. Although it lay motionless, your heart continued to flutter.

You would never get used to this.

“You’re a good shot.”

You whipped around, your gun held firmly in your hand, only to slowly lower it.

A man sat, slumped against the base of a tree. You must have been so high on adrenalin that you missed him. His skin was ashen grey and he had yellow-purple circles under his eyes. His hair was the color of straw and he wore a faded red flannel and a white t-shirt. Thick ropes were stretched across his chest and stomach, binding him to the trunk.

Without thought, you started forward.

“No!” the man croaked, stopping you in your tracks. “I was…” the man had to stop and catch his breath. “I was bit…had my friend tie me up. Too scared to be shot. Didn’t want to go walking around and-and bite people…” his head dropped to his chest and he let out a long sigh. “I made him leave. Just didn’t want him to see me turn into a…” his voice faded. When he remained quiet, you tiptoed over to him. Lolling his head back, you watched as his eyelids fluttered open.

“Do you want a stiff one before you go?” You pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and the tiniest of smiles graced the man’s lips.

“If someone were to ask me what was the best way to turn into a monster, this would be it.”

You returned the smile and sat down. Your shoulder brushed against his as you opened the bottle.

“Don’t you want to…move a little further?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. Tell me when to stop.” You held the bottle to his lips and let him take a sip.

The stranger hissed and gave a violent shake of the head. “Shit. That…that is good stuff.”

From this distance you could see that he was glistening with sweat. “What’s your name?” you asked after he took another drink.

After a bout of dry coughing, the man answered “N-,” he snorted. “Fuck it. I’m about to…die anyway. Charlie.”

“It’s nice to me you, Charlie.” You gave him your name and he nodded.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he managed. For a moment he was quiet, a pensive look on his face. Finally, he spoke. “Are you…are you alone or with…a…” his head nodded again.

You snapped your fingers. “Come on, Charlie. Not yet.”

Charlie burst awake with a snort. “Are you with a colony?”

You licked your lips. “I’ve been alone since the beginning.”

With a tiny nod, Charlie continued. “There’s a place a couple miles up…food, water, electricity…”

Your eyebrows shot up. Over the years you had heard whispers of survival camps, but never had you heard of modern amenities. As far as you knew, the modern world was a thing of the past.

“Just-just keep your head down. Do as they…as he says. Be humble.” Charlie’s voice began to lose strength. “You’re strong. Take the knife. They’ll know.”

You pressed the cold bottle to Charlie’s lips. “Okay, bud. I’ll do that. Thank you.”  When Charlie didn’t respond, you turned. A pair of cloudy eye stared back at you.

You shot him before he could make a sound.

The knife had been on his thigh. Engraved on its handle was “Charlie Hustle.” With a sigh and a final lingering look at Charlie, you began your trek to the mysterious colony.

[omgpieplease]

The Definition of Trust Done for @omgcpumpkins​ (with words by @heyfightme​ )

Happy (almost) Halloween folks. Content Warnings: cannibalism, referenced/implied murder, gore, black humor Jack is starting to lose track of the number of people who have told him he and Bitty are made for each other, and yet each time still manages to send a thrill of pleasure up the entire length of his spine.

He has been told that they are meant to be. A match made in heaven. Destined, from the start. Maple and pecan. Peaches and honey. “Apple and sage.” Jack replies with an enthusiastic hum, setting the cooler in his hand to the ground and shrugging out of his jacket. It could do with a trip to the cleaner; one too many roadies, one too many careless stains. For now, it goes over the back of a kitchen chair. Bitty pauses in his mincing, holding the knife aloft as he throws Jack a warm smile over his shoulder.

“Thought it might be a nice celebration pie. The apples are good and fresh; I went picking this morning. Oh, and honey, the orchard had a lovely pumpkin patch, and I know it’s a tiny bit earlier than we usually do, but I just couldn’t resist.” Jack follows the line of the knife to where it’s directed along the kitchen bench. There is, indeed, a hefty-looking and brilliantly orange pumpkin waiting there, a blank canvas ripe for carving. Jack simply hums again, and crosses close enough to drop a kiss to Bitty’s cheek. “Can you roast the seeds, the way you do?” Bitty scoffs briefly, but cranes his head up, mouth searching. Jack gives him what he’s looking for, cupping a hand around Bitty’s jaw, and sidling in closer behind him as he presses their lips together. Jack is aware of the blade still in Bitty’s hand, and the cut of meat he’s almost cradling on the chopping board. The earthiness of the sage fills Jack’s nose, tinged also by the apples – a sharpness, almost sour to the scent. Along with the heady raw smell of the meat, and the warmth of Bitty’s blind-baked pastry case, not mention the taste of Bitty in his mouth and the long lines of Bitty’s back pressed up against his front, it sends more than one part of him growling with hunger. He makes a noise, a gravelled push of a sound, and Bitty chuckles against his lips. “I’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, sweetheart. You’ll be satisfied before you know it.” “I sure hope there’s a double meaning in that.” Jack leaves one last kiss on Bitty’s mouth before opening his eyes and drawing away. In trailing his hand from jaw to his shoulder as Bitty turns back to the shank on his chopping board, Jack catches sight of his soiled sleeve. A glance down at his person reveals it’s not the only part of the shirt he’s gotten stained. “Ah, shit.” It’s not the first shirt, and by no means the worst stained, but Jack can’t help the mild exasperation. “What’ve you done?” Bitty asks it without looking back, re-dedicated as he is to slicing even pieces off the shank. His knife skills, as always, are deft and almost graceful. Jack, however, has things that require attention. “My shirt’s a fucking mess.” “There are always more shirts, Jack.” It comes as a sing-song as Bitty moves from slicing to dicing, chopping the meat fine enough to mix with the sage and apple pie filling he has already prepared. “Was the mess worth it?” “You tell me,” Jack teases, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and crossing back to the abandoned cooler. He scoops it up and crosses back to the kitchen counter just as Bitty is smoothing the combined meat-and-apple mix into the waiting pie case. Jack drums his fingers on the lid of the cooler, eyeing the offcuts from the shank as Bitty crimps the edges of his carefully-laid pie lid. The pie gets tenderly deposited into the oven, and Bitty turns back to Jack with a wry expression as he wipes his hands on a dishcloth. “Alright, my handsome man. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.” “Most of it all’s out in the freezer already,” Jack informs him, prising the clasps on the cooler open, “but I thought I’d keep this bit fresh.” Fresh is perhaps an understatement. As Jack opens the cooler and they both peer inside, he’s a little struck by how much the cut of meat has bled. It’s managed to produce a sizeable puddle, stark against the almost sterile plastic. It’s the watery residue of rested meat, not blood-thick, but near vibrant in its redness. The meat itself is a finely-cut fillet, prime tenderloin, lean and with the skin intact should Bitty want to salt it for crackling. “Oh, sweetheart.” Bitty breathes the endearment, reaching out with newly-clean hands to lift the meat from its box. He nearly cradles it, weighing the cut in his palms and testing the quality with trained fingers. “This is going to be gorgeous. I picked up some new potatoes at the market, and the rosemary has been coming in so nicely – I wanted to do a roast tomorrow night anyway, and this’ll be so much better than the lamb.” He settles the meat back down in its own juices, and holds his hands out gingerly as he rises on his toes to plant a kiss at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Jack finds himself turning into it, just briefly. The embers of warmth in his chest, the ones that Bitty is always able to stoke so easily, flare and send their heat to the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, thought it was time I brought you a prime cut.” Bitty giggles, and raises an eyebrow as he shoots back, “You always give me that grade-A meat, honey.” He punctuates it with a slap to Jack’s ass as he crosses to the sink. “It’s a nice lean loin, though. And thank you for leaving the skin – it’s been a while since we’ve had a clean one, huh? I’ll finally be able to try that crackling.” “That’s what I thought.” The warmth in Jack’s voice is an almost tangible thing, seeping into his smile as he leans against the counter and watches Bitty clean himself up. “I honestly thought that recipe was a lost cause, the way you boys like to mark yourselves up. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like your tattoos – and lord have you earned them – but that’s a non-issue, isn’t it?” Jack hums again in reply, reaching out idly to flatten the butcher paper the shank offcuts are still sitting on. Bitty turns back to him, wiping wet hands on his apron. “So,” he begins, voice low and jokingly conspiratorial. Sly. Jack raises his eyebrows and folds his arms, attempting an air of impassive innocence. “Who is it?” Jack shakes his head, smile eking his canines into his bottom lip sharply. “Nuh-uh, you can’t get me that easily. Figure it out for yourself.” Bitty’s humph is largely theatrical, and wholly familiar: it’s an immature game, sure, but one neither of them have ever tired of.

“You know, at least last time you did me the courtesy of a real clue.” He gestures to the offcuts next to Jack, finger of the severed hand still bearing a Stanley Cup ring. It had been a little overly-dramatic, a little dramatically performative, but when the guy had actually been wearing his ring – well, leaving the hand attached and diamond-encrusted monstrosity in place had seemed too good to pass up. Bitty had laughed, anyway. Having crossed back to the cooler to peer at the slab of meat inside, Bitty makes his own speculative hum. “You know, this is a thick cut. And like I said, still lean. There’s only a few boys I know who could make a loin like this.” Jack grunts non-committally and folds his arms. Undeterred, Bitty turns a shrewd look on him. There’s something hopeful glinting in the brown of his eyes. “Is this actually –?” “I’m going to stop you right there, Bits. For the last time, that is never going to happen. He’s the most recognizable player in the league. There’s tricky, and then there’s just stupid.” Bitty tsks in frustration, his eye-roll an almost palpable thing. Still, though, he sidles up to Jack and trails teasing fingers along the collar of his shirt, looking up through blond lashes. “I know you say that, honey, but don’t you want to know how that ass tastes?” He nips playfully at Jack’s chin, soothing the bite over with a lush press of lips. “Because I, for one, would love to know how that ass tastes.” The pie has thirty minutes left in the oven. The tenderloin needs to be put in the fridge, ready for their dinner tomorrow. The hand and its ring need to be carefully disposed of. For now, though, Jack is content to fit Bitty’s body against his own, and kiss him with the right measure of roughness and tenderness, and let the richness of the cooking meat in the air coax him to being fully ravenous. They are a team.

[iraniq]

The Story

Chapter 2

After this little accident I excuse myself, saying I feel sick and I drove straight home. I really ditched my boyfriend for Hannibal. The only thing my ex knew is that one of the patients I drove in wheelchair around the asylum park was telling everyone he is Hannibal Lecter. However, the crazy cannibal had nothing to do with the boy who I shared my bed with; he was rude and mostly needed me to maintain his existence. Hannibal was kind, sweet, gentle, he spoke for me, knowing what I would say. Although we were mainly talking about him. I could not bear living with someone who is blinder about my soul than a person whose brain is half melted by drugs.

As I entered my apartment I instantly took a cold shower, crying, and proceed by eating all of the sweets I had in my apartment. It was scary how he had red me, better then I red him the opened book in my hands. On the top of this my mother called.

-     Hello sweetie.

-     Hi mom!

-     How are you? Have you called your friend?

-     If you mean my ex, NO! I haven’t called him, I told you I won’t call him! Never again.

-     Don’t talk to me like this young lady …

-     I told you million times, we split up, it’s over!

-     You don’t even told me why? Whose fault it was, he is trying darling …

-     I dumped him because he is idiot, not because I am seeing someone … - “I wish I would” - … it’s his fault, and he knows it, that’s why he is so … slick!

-     Give him a call, you are single for a year …

-     And?

-     I doubt someone would want you.

-     What?

-     You don’t wanna end up alone, don’t you!

-     We are not it 18-th century … I’d rather end up alone, instead being with an idiot!

-     You don’t know what are you talking about …

She continued lecture me, but I simply hung up the phone. Instead, I opened my laptop to check on my online friends. They went wild sharing crazy stuff again, after I finished answering and commentiong on ther posts, the message box popped:

“hey girlfriend, how are you”

“aww, hi, I am fine, just got home, you?”

“fine too, now as you are free, tell me all about this boy! Now Girl!”

“he said he loved me”

“OMG girl! I am very excited! I am squealing like a little bitch.”

“yeah”

“and what did you said”

“I ran away”

“seriously, why, you love him too!”

“I am not sure”

“what do you mean you are not sure, don’t make me come and kick your little ass, what about all the things you shared with me last month?”

“my as is not little ... well, it’s true, but … dunno”

“bullshit! you go there tomorrow and tell him you feel the same, or I’ll never speak to you again, you listen to me girl, I’ll come to kick your little ass.”

“you are very sweet”

“sweet my ass, you are making an old lady too much excited, I need rest already”

“oh come on, you are not that old, stop pretending”

I didn’t get any answer, maybe her lunch break is over. We met in the park, we bong over our Wednesday-Shake-Fruit juice tradition, as we were both very busy, we continued online, but kept out traditional Wednesday’s meetings.

I opened my phone, I had a picture of Hannibal there. Damn this boy will be the death of me. How did this happened to me. Well when a while ago I joked I will end up like Harley Quinn, I had no idea I would be telling the truth. Eventually he still have his long looks, after he bit off some other people, they couldn’t hurt him either, it turned out there is something in his blood that makes him immune to most of the diseases … maybe that’s why they had him at first place, and let me talk to him so freely and so easily … no, this isn’t possible, the Owner is a nice guy, the nurses there aren’t even rude to the patients it’s like heaven … but an asylum. Although it’s the perfect place for a plot like this ... 

I lied back on the couch, I was wondering what to do. I was almost asleep when I remembered I had this tape of a conversation of ours from the first year. It was in my work desk. I found it, put the little tape in the Dictation machine, I had a big old one with little tapes, they were so cute, I had to buy it, I put the headphones and hit play:

Have you watched Kate and Leopold?

Yes – “my voice sounds shit on tape”

So you know who I am!

Am … who are you?

It is no more crazy than a dog finding a rainbow. Dogs are colourblind, Gretchen. They don't see colour. Just like we don't see time. We can feel it, we can feel it passing, but we can't see it. It's just like a blur. It's like we're riding in a supersonic train and the world is just blowing by, but imagine if we could stop that train, eh, Gretchen? Imagine if we could stop that train, get out, look around, and see time for what it really is? A universe, a world, a thing as unimaginable as colour to a dog, and as real, as tangible as that chair you're sitting in. Now if we could see it like that, really look at it, then maybe we could see the flaws as well as the form. And that's it; it's that simple. That's all I discovered. I'm just a... a guy who saw a crack in a chair that no one else could see. I'm that dog who saw a rainbow, only none of the other dogs believed me.

I believe you!

Bravo! This was the right line … but do you know what you said, what you agreed with?

You … ?

It's ... thin line between madness and seeing thing in their true way ... not how the society make you look at them, the way they told you to understand stuff. Crazy people are scary because they are totally unpredictable. But in a bad way. They can just snap toward you. And You can't reason with them ...

Because they are crazy

No! Crazy is different way to see things. Yes, it's not logical. It's like a dog seeing colors. It doesn't always means it's wrong. Normal people assume crazy people are bad for themselves. Like, they can't decide what's best for them, it's sometimes true, but not always. Like, when you don't fit in the society frame they kick you out, not even bothering to understand. They forbid you the right to think for yourself! And this is wrong! At least that's how I see it.... can you follow me?

Yes!

The outcasts that don't fit with the rest of the world can't be consider crazy. We are the ones who see something beautiful and free that in our society boundaries we are forbidden to. We are the magical creatures who see the colors. True dreamers, just like all your inventors ... but you keep braking us, to keep your inner lie you are in control of the world, the bit of “inner piece” that keeps your society whole!

Well ... we are kinda closed in our understandings coming from society, that’s why I think you are free, like you say, the dog seeing colors.

I am also talking about the inner peace! So ... what makes you sure you can think straight, and this life isn't fake projection, and you are imagining things ... like ... is this inner peace even possible … what's the proof you are thinking rational way? At some point we all live in our own delusions! What if you all are the crazy ones, and we, the "crazy" are the one who truly see, trying to show you, but we are way too blind to see?

And after that kind of conversation normal people turn crazy! I was wondering, should I go back? Should I go tomorrow? Maybe I should call? No, they won’t let him speak on the phone. No, one of the boys likes me, I’ll call him!

-          Hi … no I am fine … yeah, yes! Listen, I am kinda worried about Hannibal, would it … yeah, if … ok, I’ll wait … Oh .. hello? Hello, Hannibal!

-          Hello.

-          How are you? I hope everything is ok.

-          I am fine, how are you? I didn’t meant to make you sad, although you made yourself sad with the book; why you read it to me at first place, as you knew it will make you sad?

-          Well … it’s my …

-          … favourite and you wanted to share the experience with me, I get it. Can you please next time pick something … more funny.

-          I have another book, but don’t worry I’ll write on a paper the funny part.

-          Can’t you read it to me now?

-          You know I can’t. And you are not supposed to tell that we talked.

-          I know. Bye!

-          Till tomorrow!

I hung up. “I am officially screwed now!”

_________________________________

@diyunho @rhina988 @nikkitasevoli @auntiemama1 @wolfgirl1074 @sookieblack12 @spillinginkwithlove littlefearsdoodles  lady-grinning-soul-k @jayded-reality 

[lizkurokamix]

ℋℰ ᏆᎾᎾᏦ ℂᎯℛℰ Ꮎℱ ℳℰ

(Drabble for @mind-held )

-6 Years Ago-

Luna Ortinna and her foster father Jasper Willows had to take out a certain murder by the name of Rodger Whitely. She was being rather reckless, and had went to knock him out when Whitely had pulled out a gun, aiming it at Jasper. She yelled for him to move and went to run towards him but she didn’t make it in time as the sound of the gun shooting twice reverberated in her ears, making her stop and watch in horror as the man that saved her 9 years ago from a lab getting shot twice, once in the chest, the second in the head, which killed him instantly.

Then she saw darkness. When she awoke again she was in some kind of cage, and with several other kids younger than her.

The next week she was put through intense torture, something kids normally wouldn’t make it through the first few minutes. She was trained to endure them, and he always kept her alive cause she was proving to be a challenge for Whitely to break. She saw kids die in horrible ways, making her mental state broken.

A week passed, and she could hear sirens faintly. Whitely paid no mind, since he was busy torturing a poor boy who was 8, his screams resonating with the building they were held captive in. The click of a gun being cocked got the killer’s attention however, and two detectives had their guns pointed at him.

“You are under arrest for multiple accounts of kidnapping, 1st degree murder, and cannibalism. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law.” One of them began to state the rest of the Miranda Rights as the other looked at Luna’s battered and barely alive form. His soft spot for kids got the better of him as he gave his partner a nod and went to free the girl from her bindings. She wearily looked at him, and oddly enough her body began to heal itself before she passed out. He could see she had cat ears and a cat tail that was once fluffy but now it was matted with dried blood and dirt. He didn’t want to take her to the hospital in case the doctors try and experiment on her, so instead he had taken her to his place.

She woken up on a couch with a change of clothes on the table with a towel next to them. A note was on top saying that the bathroom was at the end of the hall. I went out to tell my boss where you are. Don’t leave the house or go into any other room. When I get back I want you to answer a few questions -Sebastian.

The assassin took the clothes and towel with her, heading to where he said the bathroom was. Quickly she got the grime and blood off her body, getting into the new clothes after drying off, and she cleaned up. She went to the living room once more, seeing the man who rescued her.

“Finally clean and awake. I’m Sebastian Castellanos. Your name kid?” Luna looks at him, her mixed eyes watching him closely. Her short black hair was still wet from the shower she took and it clung to her face as she decided to speak.

“….Luna…Luna Ortinna.” She spoke. Sebastian nods, handing her a tuna sandwich.

“So kid,” He starts after Luna finished the sandwich. “Can you tell me why someone like yourself was there?”

-a week later-

Although she was mostly quiet, Luna had helped around the house, cooking, cleaning, and surprisingly enough, helping the detective with his cases. She had started to be more comfortable around him, and she got to know more of his personality.

For someone who was 13, she sure did have a foul mouth whenever she did talk.

“Hey Hard-Ass, did you eat yet?” She asked, standing at the door of his office, her gaze neutral yet it held a sense of concern. Sebastian sighed, muttering a string of curses, which meant he didn’t. The young girl frowns, shaking her head as she went up to him, flicking him in the forehead. “Start taking better care of yourself, dumbass.” She says, heading to the kitchen to make him a sandwich.

-another week later-

Well, Sebastian had gave Luna a little nickname of her own, which Luna didn’t mind.

He sometimes called her ‘Panther’ because she was quite deadly like one after some thugs tried to mug them. Never before has seen someone her size nor age take three grown men who were armed while she herself was unarmed. She did get hurt with a few cuts on her arm and legs, but besides that she was unharmed. But those three men got the short end of the stick as she had practically kicked their asses.

-3 weeks have passed-

It was time for her to leave for her home.

“Oi Hard-Ass,” Sebastian was about to make a smart ass comment when she spoke again. “Take care of yourself and keep moving on. Bye ChiChi.” With that she left, getting on the plane to go back to London.

[thewalkingdeadfanfiction]

Part 15

“You think they made it?”, Carol asks after all of you caught your breath again and you shrug your shoulders while looking down at Terminus, overrun by walkers and bodies.

“They have to, anything else is not acceptable.”, you sigh and lay your head against the tree.

Killing all the walkers would have been less exhausting if your rip wouldn't have been cracked and hurting like hell every time you take a breath.

“You okay?”, Rosita looks at you and you pull up your thumb before you start laughing which ends up in coughing and holding your rips. “Yeah, you're awesome.”, Tara chuckles and you close your eyes for a second to catch your breath again.

Suddenly you hear wood cracking and all of you pull your weapons, ready to fight however is approaching.

“Kate?”, you hear Rick yell and let out a relieved sigh before you put your knife away and wait for them to come to you.

Rick shows up and pulls Carl close into his arms before taking his turn on Carol and pulling her close. It warms your heart to see that and you start smiling.

Glenn and Maggie show up as well as Michonne and Abraham. Last one is Daryl and you want to jump to your feed and just pull him close to you but you know that someone is getting her deserved hug first. When Daryl sees her you can see so much relive and pain in his eyes that it almost breaks your heart in a good way.

Within two steps he ends up by Carol and pulls her into one of his giant hugs that everyone needs from time to time.

Seeing them together makes clear again, how close they are and you manage to get on your feed, even though your rips are killing you while you watch the long-awaited reunion.

When Daryl finally lets go of Carol he quickly whips away a tear before he looks at you and takes your face between his hands to place a hard and meaningful kiss on your lips.

It doesn't matter that everyone can see Daryl Dixon showing feelings, it just matters that you survived. Again. For the past two week you have been in nothing but one incident after another and a lot of people would have given up already but have come to far to just give up.

You're fighters.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Sasha, is waiting for us in the woods. Judith is with her.”, Carol suddenly speaks up and you can feel your heart brighten up again while Glenn covers his face in relief the little ass kicker made it.

Even Daryl is wiping away a tear again while Rick and Carl yell out in happiness about Judith being alive.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let's go get the rest of our family.”, Michonne smiles and all of you, including Tara, Rosita, Eugene and Abraham make your way through the woods with Carol leading the way.

“Tell me what happened?”, you look at Daryl who's carrying his crossbow and has one arm wrapped around your shoulder while you walk. “They were fucking crazy, Kate. Cannibals. They were eating everyone who showed up at their gates.”, he shakes his head and you start feeling nauseous.

Instead of answering you push yourself closer to Daryl, ignoring the pain in your rips while you make your way to the barn.

Imagining you guys being killed and grilled by the crazy people in Terminus makes you feel sick to your stomach and you wander once more what this world has been doing to people.

Yes it's a cruel world and yes you have to fight to survive but you could never just take innocent life's just to survive.

And that what makes the different between your group and the people you've met so far. You want to survive but you will not survive on the cost of innocent people.

Daryl pulls you closer to his chest and you let out a small smile before cuddling into his hug while the two of you follow the others through the woods.

After a while you reach an old barn just like the one you found with Daryl after the prison and you start to smile just thinking about what went down in that barn.

“Memories coming up?”, Daryl giggles and you hit him on the chest, softly, before focusing on Carol who yells out for Sasha.

When the door opens and she comes out with Judith in their arms you can feel happiness filling you up because a huge part of your family made it out alive.

“Judith.”, you hear Carl gasp next to you before he runs to her and picks her up from Sashas arms, placing kisses on her little curly head.

“I'd say we stay the night here and make our way tomorrow. We will find a new place to call home and we will be safe again. But the most important thing right know is for us to be together.”, Rick looks at us and we nod in agreement before starting to prepare for the night.

Abraham and Rosita exchange a look before he approaches Rick and pulls him away to talk to him alone.

You smile a little before taking Judith from Carl and dandle her around while playing Peek a Boo.

“Hey little girl. Your aunt Kate missed you really bad.”, you smile at her and sit down on an old stub while the others search for firewood and stuff to prepare the barn for the night.

You look up to see Daryl and Carol going into the woods, probably looking for some animal to shoot what makes you smile bright. It's good that she is back. Not only for Daryl but for all of you. You really need her and she is part of the family so it's a given that you want her to be around you.

Suddenly someone sits down next to you and you look up to see Maggie smiling at Judith playing another round of Peek a Boo.

“You okay? You look like you're about to break down.”, she asks and once again your cracked rips call in, making you cringe. “Seriously Kate. What happened?”, she takes Judith on her lap and you lay against the tree behind you, taking the pressure from your rips.

And then you tell her everything that went down with the Claimers. Every little detail. When you finish she looks at you in shock, happiness and disbelief.

Silently you shrug your shoulders and look at the little fire place Sasha set up and sigh a little bit.

Daryl and Carol show up with some squirrels and berries and you can't help but smile lovestruck when he comes closer to you which is a sign for Maggie to hand you Judith back and to make her way over to Glenn who is waiting for her.

“What's up girl?”, he takes Maggies place and looks over to you while you dandle Judith to keep her calm.

“Nothing much, you know. Just hanging around in the woods.”, you grin and you can hear a little giggle escaping Daryl.

Amused you look over to him and he raises an eyebrow while focusing on the baby on you lap.

He likes the little ass kicker, you can see it from the way he looks at her.

“Wanna hold her?”, you ask while grinning and hand er over to him, placing her on his right leg which touches yours because he is so close.

He mutes and start to dandle her on his leg while her little hands start to grab his hair what makes him groan in amusement while you feel your heart getting filled with more love by the minute.

It's a moment of pure clarity that you, despite everything that has happened and that the world is ending, are truly happy.

Later that night none of you is able to sleep and so you just sit by the fire and listen to the silence around you.

The only two people asleep are Carl and Judith and you smile a little while watching your niece and nephew.

Your head is resting on Daryls lap once again while he is leaning against a tree and cracking up some nuts he found, feeding you some once in a while.

“Have you ever wondered how your life would have turned out if you haven't met Rick before all of this?”, he asks and you look up to him, shrugging your shoulders while thinking about his question. “I have no idea, I'd probably be dead?”, you honestly say and pull some hair out of your face while looking in the sky.

“Seriously, I would have died. We haven't had a lot of money and we barely lived from one day to another.”, you admit and Daryl look down on you with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Your dad really was an idiot.”, he mumbles and you nod before placing one of his hands on your stomach to comfort you. “Your dad was too and somehow we managed to survive. Means something, right?”, you smile and Daryl bows his head down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

It's rare for him to open himself up like this even though you too had some sort of relationship.

And you know that he cares about you but he is just not the guy who shows this all the time. He just stuffs his feelings in but when he opens up you better be grateful for it and don't betray him.

When you return his kiss he smiles a bit before leaning back at the tree, cracking nuts open.

“Kate? When the Claimers took you I was really scared. The thought of losing you..”, he starts and you shut him up by shaking your head. “Don't. I am here and I am not going anywhere. Promise.”, you smile softly and he returns the smile before you feel yourself finally drifting into sleep.

Daryl raking his hands through your hair is the last thing you feel before finally giving in to the tiredness.

You wake up again because Daryl is trying to adjust himself with your head on his lap and you let out a yawn before you rub your eyes and stretch, carefully because you don't want to wake him. “What are you doing?”, he mutters bleary and you sit up next to him before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thought you might want to sleep more comfortable.”, you whisper and Daryl slides down on the ground before pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

“Now I'm comfortable.”, he mutters before he falls back to sleep, he arms wrapped tight around your waist, making you feel safe and protected.

With a huge smile on your face you fall back to sleep, feeling Daryls breath under your head by his chest going up and down.