#and when i do a longer version of this then what???

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,252 (oof, this one got long!) Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: largely unspecified (but Negan does refer to reader as doll and darling which could be considered more feminine terms of endearment) Warnings: language haha, frightening scenarios, references to past violence Summary: Months have now passed since Y/N began taking on Negan as a "project" and the reader suggests an even longer run outside the walls. A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the parts on the Negan Master List. Previous Part here! “It’s been months,” you said. “There hasn’t been a single time that I’ve felt unsafe, and both of you know I never let my guard down.”

Daryl was leaning up against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was serious but largely unreadable. Michonne leaned forward on the table, considering your words.

“We need to think long-term here. Are we just going to keep him locked up forever? Or is there some version of this where he gets out and either integrates as much as possible or—or goes on his way?”

Michonne sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure any of us have the answer to that yet,” she said.

“I know. I still don’t,” you said. “I’m not sure what the future looks like for him, but I know we have to do more than just letting him out to pick tomatoes every once in a while. So, that’s what I’m doing. And with you two stuck here dealing with the wall and the kids—and the pantry and medical supplies starting to run low, well… let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

Daryl sighed and straightened up. “I ain’t gonna say I like it, but I trust ya and I’ve seen your judgment play out too many times to doubt it. If ya think it’ll be alrigh’, then—well, ‘m good with it. But ya gotta show us exactly where you’ll be and when to expect ya back in case we need to come lookin’.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll mark it all on the map. We should be able to make it out and back in a single long day. Leave early. Get back late.”

“And no weapons for him unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Michonne emphasized.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“Alright,” Michonne nodded. “When will you go?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I’ll get everything ready today.”

“I’ll walk ya out,” Daryl drawled, watching as you grabbed your bag and shouldered it. “Listen—” he started.

You looked over at him and smiled, already knowing you were about to get a worried Daryl Dixon lecture. “Mhm?” you prompted him.

“The hell are ya smirkin’ about?” he growled, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” you laughed. “Go ahead.”

“Well—if somethin’ happens out there… if it comes down to you or him…” he trailed off.

Your brow furrowed deeply now to match his. “It won’t,” you said seriously.

He shifted anxiously. “But if it does…”

“Daryl. It’s not going to,” you insisted.

He relented and nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. C’mere.” He pulled you into a hug and you smiled as he folded you up against him. “I just want ya to be safe, is all.” “I know. I will,” you agreed.

He nodded, pulling back. “Wish I could go with ya… I’d feel better about it.”

“I know. But it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re shitting me, right?” Negan said, his breakfast still in his hand, not a single bite taken.

You stared at him and then let out a dry laugh. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” you said.

“Well, shit. I mean… a real scavenging trip? That’s what you’re saying?” Negan said. He ran a hand back through his hair and stood, pacing a tight circle in his cell. “Who else is going?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why? Someone specific you want me to invite? Want me to ask your old pal Gabriel? Or wait—Eugene?”

He laughed but looked vaguely shocked. “Well, I’m sorry but I’m just—a little fuckin’ surprised, doll.” You’d eased some on scolding Negan for the pet names over the last few weeks and generally just ignored them now unless it was something really egregious. (You’d nearly hit him for calling you ‘princess’ one day, so he had at least not tried that again.) He seemed to enjoy taking full advantage of you turning a deaf ear to them now. “Just you and me? Out there?” he clarified.

“You and I have already been out there alone how many times, hmm? I don’t see why this should be any different,” you said, digging around in your pack.

“Well, it’s farther. I mean, farther for you to get help if—”

You straightened up and fixed a skeptical gaze on him. “If what? If you suddenly decide to attempt to murder me? Attack me? Steal the car and leave me out there? I’ll still be armed and you won’t. Besides, I’ve been through more shit out there than—”

He laughed again. “I was just gonna say in case any number of bad fuckin’ things happens out there. And we both know that they do.”

“Yeah. You used to be one of those bad things, remember?” you shot back quickly. He sighed at your deflection and you couldn’t help but laughing. “I am having to sell this harder to you than I did to Michonne and Daryl. What is going on? What are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried! Although, it would be fuckin’ nice to have something to defend myself with in case of the dead or unexpected assholes…”

“ ‘Unexpected Assholes’?” you repeated. “What is that, your one man play?” you quipped. “Let me guess—you’ll be playing yourself.”

Negan couldn’t resist a hearty laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s good. You’re fuckin’ hilarious as usual, doll.” But he looked serious again the next moment. “Anyway, about me having some way to defend myself…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” you said lazily. “I’ll let you have, like, a stick if you want,” you smirked. He only stared back at you. “I told you that I’ll protect you! You think I’m just gonna let a walker wander up and bite you?” There was a thick silence for a moment where he just stared back at you.

“I’m not worried about one walker. I’m worried about all the random, rogue shit that can happen out there.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to trust me! Do you not want to go or what?” you pressed him, perplexed at his reaction.

He paused, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. Then that damn smirk showed back up on his face, sending his hazel eyes sparkling. “Are you asking if I want to go spend some quality time alone with you? Just the two of us? No one to interrupt… Completely at your mercy for whatever you may decide to do with me… or to me…”

You rolled your eyes, catching onto his tone immediately. “That could include killing you,” you cautioned him, eliciting a low laugh from him. You hated that the deep gravel of it gave you goosebumps. You did your best to ignore it.

“I don’t know… I’m starting to think this is just a ploy to get away with me where nobody can easily interrupt us,” Negan said. “I mean, shit. No need hide your true intentions from me,” he grinned. “I am absolutely 110% on board with that. Use me all you want, doll,” he grinned, now gripping the bars of his cell door. “God, I’d love to be fuckin’ used by you.”

You crossed your arms and fixed a stern look on him, hoping that your face wasn’t flushing bright red. You cleared your throat. “Sounds more like wishful thinking on your part. It’s a scavenging run, Negan, not a fucking romantic getaway,” you said.

“Are you sure you said that right? I think you meant romantic fucking getaway. Emphasis on the—”

“Negan! Stop! I will cancel this whole thing! Jesus Christ!”

That shit-eating grin was still on his face and he laughed again, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Alright, alright. I’m done. I think…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Scavenging. Run.” you repeated.

“Yeah, we’ll see, doll. We’ll see. So, where are we going exactly?”

You forged ahead, ignoring his last comments in favor of moving on. “There are some old houses and other structures we’ve only ever done a cursory search of. Probably not going to make a huge score but there’s always something left behind, something hidden. But who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky,” you said.

“Fuck me, I’d love to get lucky…” he laughed again.

“Negan!” you exclaimed again.

“Alright! I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

“So, are you in?” you asked, slightly exasperated.

The two of you were separated by only the iron bars and a small buffer of space, hardly a foot. He was still smiling at you and you hated that the thought that he was handsome flickered through your mind. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought it—but the thought always surprised you, like it came from somewhere outside of yourself, not by your conjuration alone. “Fuck yes, I’m in,” he answered, interrupting your thoughts.

“You promise to listen to everything I say? If I tell you to run, if I tell you to hide—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promise,” he said, smiling. “If I don’t, you’ll shoot me in the fuckin’ knee or some shit. Can we skip the pep talk?”

You gave him a stern look but unlocked his cell and tossed him the spare pack you’d brought. You dug into your own bag and handed him some supplies, including some outerwear. He tucked them into his bag and looked up at you expectantly. “Where to, warden?”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help the tiniest smirk. “Car is right outside. Let’s get going. The sun is starting to come up and it could be a long day.”

“Great. Can I drive?” he quipped, shouldering his bag. You only shot him a look that made him laugh again, but he saw the slight curve at the corners of your mouth.

The drive to the crumbling ruins of the neighborhood was slow, but uneventful. The sun was up and filtering through the trees overhead as you and Negan climbed out and started toward the buildings. You were quiet, focused, and Negan couldn’t help admiring your efficiency and care as you went about your mission.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the crumbling street, concealed in some taller brush. The street was overgrown with weeds and lined with dilapidated houses. It was almost eerily quiet.

“Alright,” you breathed quietly. “We’ll go building by building, down one side and back up the other. Pay attention to signs of walkers or people,” you said softly, gripping the straps of your pack. “Follow my lead and stay close.”

“You got it,” Negan replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he followed alongside you toward the first house. “I gotta say, it is really uncomfortable being out here without a damn weapon. More so here than in the woods,” he commented, his eyes shifting around to study the other buildings, scrutinizing for a sign of movement. “I feel like I’m naked,” he said.

“I guarantee—” You paused to tap on the wall of the house the two of you were standing beside, listening for anything inside. “You’re not. If you were naked, I would not be this fuckin’ calm, Negan,” you said, half-distracted.

He chuckled and licked his bottom lip, smirking.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t think that sounded how you meant it to sound,” he laughed.

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh, shut up. You know what I meant!”

“Your brain is saying one thing but your lips are sayin’ another, darlin’,” he teased you.

You rolled your eyes and pulled the front door open, stepping cautiously inside. The smell was of mildew and stagnant air as you stepped inside. A heavy layer of dust and dirt coated everything; overturned furniture, books standing or tipped over on shelves, a stately chair still positioned in front of the fireplace. Somewhere deeper in the house, water was dripping. You had your gun out and started clearing the lower floors. Negan ghosted behind you.

You made for the staircase to check the upstairs when there was a soft thump overhead. Your eyes and Negan’s went to the ceiling.

“Alright… maybe someone is home after all,” he commented, giving you a concerned look.

“It’s gotta be a walker,” you said. “Maybe an animal.” You proceeded cautiously toward the staircase.

“Hey,” Negan said softly. “Be careful.”

You turned and looked at him for a long moment before you started up the stairs. He seemed genuinely on edge, worried. He stayed right on your heels as you climbed the steps, the muscle in his jaw tensed as his teeth clenched together.

You cleared two bedrooms and finally came to a closed door at the end of the hall. As the floor creaked under your boots, there was the sound of more movement behind the door. You reached for the door knob, gun ready in your other hand. You took a deep breath and quickly turned it shoving the door open and aiming the muzzle of your pistol inside.

An opossum let out an angry hiss and then scrambled up and out of a broken window. It had been rooting around in some debris on the floor. A huge sigh of relief escaped you and Negan watched your shoulders sag. You laughed a little as you turned to look back at Negan. He gave you a relieved look.

“I gotta be honest,” he said. “I fuckin’ hate this shit. I feel completely helpless without something to use if something bad happens. What am I supposed to do if you need help?”

You gave him a somewhat sympathetic look, thinking about how it would feel to be in his place—the unknown behind every locked door with no knife, no gun… completely vulnerable and reliant on someone who was essentially his jailor. “Well,” you said. “I have a feeling if something really did go wrong, you’d figure something out.”

He considered your words for a moment. “Yeah. I hope so.” He thought about what he would do. What if they ran into some bad men? Bad people? What would he really do if you were in danger? He didn’t have to think hard to know the answer. Anything. He’d do anything he needed to. The thought seemed to dig deep into the center of his chest and sit there, heavy. “So, now what? House is clear.”

You holstered your gun again. “Now, we search. See if there’s anything left. A lot of people hid things, right after. There’s always something left behind. You take the upstairs. I’ll go through the downstairs.”

Negan nodded his agreement and turned back to the trashed bathroom, the sound of your steps fading away down the staircase. He searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, under beds, under loose floorboards, but came away with nothing of interest except for half a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. He headed downstairs where he could hear you rummaging around in the living room. “Hey,” he greeted you, stepping over the threshold. You were standing completely frozen now at the shelves, looking down at something. “Y/N?” he said again. You still didn’t seem to have heard him. He wandered closer. “Find something?”

You startled a little and turned to look at him, a picture frame in your hand. “Oh. No, not really. You?”

“Half a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I stuck it in my pack.” He nodded toward the frame. “What’s that?”

You looked down at it again. “It’s nothing. It’s just this—this family portrait. I wonder if they lived here—” you said thoughtfully. Your voice seemed to drift away a little. “Or what happened to them, you know? Did they make it? Were they ever safe again after the outbreak?”

Negan looked on with a thoughtful expression, his dark brows furrowed over his eyes. He nodded and moved closer to get a better view of the photo behind the cracked glass. He smiled at it, chuckling a little. “Hmm. Mom, Dad, and three kids. A perfect nuclear family,” he said.

“Looks like the 90s,” you laughed. “Check out the clothes.”

“Yeah, they probably went down to JCPenney to take advantage of the fancy photography studio,” Negan remarked. “Dad looks like an accountant, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm, I’m getting more of a bank manager vibe. Mom probably stayed at home when the kids were little and then goes back to work as a teacher once the youngest is in kindergarten,” you replied, now smiling a little too.

Negan ran a hand back through his hair thoughtfully and cocked his head. “You know—I was a teacher,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never really told anyone that since things went to shit. Kind of lessens the mystique,” he laughed dryly.

Your eyes snapped over to his face, one of your eyebrows arching gracefully with the question on your face. He laughed again. “Yeah, I know… hard to believe, right? How could such an asshole be a teacher?” he said.

A slight wince flickered across your face for a brief second at his words, as if you didn’t like the way he’d talked about himself. But that couldn’t be right… “What did you teach?”

“I was a high school P.E. teacher,” he said. “Coached some of the school teams too. Basketball. Football.”

“P.E.?” you repeated. “And you’re not even going to make a ‘physical education’ joke?” you teased him. “Wow. Are you feeling okay?”

He laughed lightly. “You beat me to it,” he said. He glanced back at the picture and sighed. “Should we get going? Lots of buildings to search,” he said.

You nodded and stared down at the picture for another moment.

“What’re you doing?” Negan asked, watching you take the back off the picture frame. You fumbled with the backing and then removed the family photo from the damaged frame.

“I just—feel like someone should remember them, you know?”

Negan’s gaze was fixed on you, flickering over your face. There was something so soft in it at that moment that you felt slightly unbalanced. You distracted yourself by bending to slip the photo into your pack. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said gently.

You deflected, laughing as you shouldered your pack again. “Oh, you’ve got no idea,” you said sarcastically, again ignoring the heat in your face. “Come on.”

The two of you went on, searching each home and several stores, working your way down the block and partway up the next. You’d managed some good finds, including a hidden cellar that clearly had belonged to a survivalist type (who had apparently “opted out” and his corpse still watched over the hidden entrance). You’d have to make a few trips to the car in order to get all the supplies and gear back, or otherwise figure out a way to get the car in through the overgrown side road. The two of you piled the finds in a safe place in one of the rooms on the main floor, stacking Rubbermaid tubs full of helpful items in neat piles.

“Fuck me,” Negan sighed, setting the last one on top. “Well, when you’re right, you’re fuckin’ right, doll. There’s always somethin’ left behind.”

You wiped at the sweat near your hairline. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Not bad.” You had a satisfied smile on your face. It felt good to do something concrete that would help people back home. You glanced out the window, assessing the light outside. It’d taken quite some time to get things moved up from the cellar and you wondered if you should keep searching the rest of the houses or call it a day. “I think it’s starting to get late,” you said, remarking mainly on the way the light already seemed like it was fading.

“Mmm,” Negan hummed, going to the front bay window and looking out. His eyes had been searching the street all day, vigilant, as if waiting for some psychos to suddenly burst out of one of the houses. But the only signs of inhabitation or squatting you’d found were clearly from long before, now covered in dust and debris or otherwise moldering in damp corners or on top of filthy mattresses. Now, as you were busy drinking from your canteen, Negan’s shifting suddenly stopped. “Hey, doll—I’m no meteorologist, but those clouds look like bad fuckin’ news.” It had been overcast all day, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was something else.

You capped your canteen and went to the front door, your brow now furrowed heavily to match his. You pulled the door open and peered at the sky. Ominous didn’t even begin to cover it. There was not a sniff of wind at the moment and the air seemed to hum with electricity. Negan appeared next to you in the doorway, squinting at the low and heavy sky.

“I’m pretty sure when the sky turns fuckin’ green, there’s some bad shit coming,” he said. He glanced over at you.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “Yeah. Yeah, green sky is… tornado weather. Fuck,” you muttered, glancing back at the pile of supplies.

“What do you want to do?” Negan asked.

You sighed, pushing a hand back through your hair. “Even if we head back to the car now, we probably can’t outrun that… the old highway is FUBAR in some places. It’s not like we can drive 60 mph all the way back to Alexandria. And that would mean leaving all these supplies here.” As if on cue, the complete stillness in the air broke as a rushing wind approached like a tidal wave, creaking and cracking in the trees and swirling dust and dried leaves across the open ground until it reached the two of you standing on the porch. Your hair lifted and blew back from your face.

“I’ll ask you again,” Negan said, speaking louder now over the roar of the wind, “what do you want to do?”

You hesitated, glancing from him back to the quickly approaching menacing clouds. The little light left was fading fast. “Fuck,” you muttered again. “I—I think we’re better off weathering it here than in a car out there,” you said.

“I definitely agree with that,” Negan said.

“Once the storm clears, maybe then we can try to get the car in here and load up the supplies and get home. We’ll be delayed a bit longer than expected but—I think it’s the best move. Hopefully, we’re just stuck a couple more hours.”

Negan nodded. “Alright. Where are we holing up? Because this shit is about to kick the fuck off,” he said, surveying the street again.

“Here is as good a place as any,” you said. “There’s a basement and almost all the windows are intact or boarded up. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Negan followed you in and shut the door on the wind. Your eyes were already on him when he turned around again. He was trying to decode your expression but it was largely unreadable. He unshouldered his pack and set it on the floor, taking a seat on the stairs across from where you were now leaning up against the wall. The ambient light from outside was quickly waning and before long you could hear raindrops start to pound the roof. They increased in size and then seemed to be blowing across the roof in waves of water.

You could hear the huge cottonwood trees creaking and cracking in the wind. You tried to peer out through the boarded slats over the window to see if they were dropping branches but it was too dark. Behind you, Negan pulled out a flashlight from his pack and clicked it on. It had grown extremely dark with the heavy storm clouds gathering and unleashing the torrents of rain. You were still standing right by the window, looking out, when he spoke again.

“Hey, maybe we should move away from the windows, doll,” Negan said, worried. He didn’t like how close you were standing to all that glass, even if it was mostly boarded over. His voice was deep and resonant in the space between you with just the raging background noise outside.

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said. You bent to grab your pack when you suddenly heard a loud thud against the side of the house. You straightened up, your eyes widening. Negan had heard it too, his eyes were narrowed, ears strained, listening. It was difficult to hear anything over the storm.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice breathy. “Some debris blowing against the house?” you asked.

Negan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, standing from his place on the steps and going to the doorway of the room the sound had seemed to come from. The roaring storm seemed to reach new extremes. The wind sounded like a train bearing down on the little dilapidated structure the two of you were sheltering in. Rain and hail lashed the siding and the roof. There was another thud from outside, this time on the window.

“There. Again,” you said, anxiously pacing toward Negan to stare into the room. His flashlight was still on. Another thud, and then another. You squinted, trying to distinguish anything through the boarded windows but it was too dark. Then, a flash of lightning shot the sky outside with blinding white and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that left you at what it illuminated.

“What?” Negan asked urgently.

You couldn’t speak. You just reached for the flashlight. Negan looked down as your hand landed on top of his. He could feel you trembling slightly and for a moment he was so shocked by your touch that he didn’t understand what you were doing. With your gentle grip, you directed the yellow beam of the light slowly to the window. As it came to rest between two of the boards and shone through the glass, Negan registered that there were walkers clawing to get in, rotting faces pressed to the glass, bloody fingertips, snapping teeth. Dozens. “Ho-ly fuck!” he exclaimed, jerking the flashlight off the window and quickly shutting it off. You and Negan stood in the dark for a moment, neither of you moving, now keenly aware of the pounding noise and dull thuds on the exterior of the house, cutting through the wind and rain. Were you imagining it or was the pounding increasing, getting louder? More frequent? Negan could hear your breath beside him in the dark. “Well, that shit was straight out of a fuckin’ horror movie,” he remarked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Where the fuck did they come from? It sounds like we’re surrounded.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Seems like they rolled in with the storm.”

“Maybe they can feel the barometric pressure changes or something. It’s almost like a migration,” you commented, feeling your heart rate and breathing finally start to slow down after the shock of discovering the herd.

Negan chuckled beside you and you heard him shift. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Eugene?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Okay… so, now we just have the storm of the century and a fucking herd to deal with. Great. Okay… let’s think…”

Negan finally clicked his flashlight on again but kept it pointed at the floor. “This place seems sturdy but maybe we should barricade ourselves better.”

You glanced toward the basement where you’d discovered the hidden cellar. Your eyes next drifted toward the stack of supplies. “Basement is pretty much ready to barricade thanks to that dead survivalist guy, but if they do break in we could be trapped down there for fuck-knows how long.”

“Not sure we have any better options. We don’t want to be upstairs either. We’re sure as shit not going out on the roof in this if they get in and if there is a fucking tornado and we're on the top floor—” Negan broke off.

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding. You dug into your own pack and pulled out a headlamp, quickly turning it on dimly. “Grab some of these. They have food and medical supplies, some other gear and odds and ends,” you said, grabbing one of the many Rubbermaid containers and heading toward the stairs down to the basement.

“Man, I’m so glad we carried all this shit up here,” Negan joked, picking up a stack of two big containers.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll consult my crystal ball,” you quipped, but right then there was the sound of shattering glass and the storm and the growling got slightly louder. One of the windows in the next room had broken. Negan could see hands and fingers reaching in around the boards.

“Let’s go. Downstairs,” he urged you, his voice intense and thick with concern.

You started down, but shot back at him over your shoulder. “Aren’t I the one in charge here?”

“I don’t see you disagreeing with that idea,” Negan said, setting his containers down beside yours. “Stay here. I’ll go grab a couple more boxes,” he said.

“Whoa. Me stay here? What is this? You don’t even have a weapon!” you argued.

He gave you an exasperated look. “Fine. Then by all means, come with me, darlin’!” He turned and rushed back up the stairs and you had to hurry after him, one hand on your knife in its sheath.

“Negan,” you snapped at him in a low voice as you rounded the doorway back onto the main floor. But he wasn’t by the supplies. You glanced around and could see the dim glow of his light in the next room, the one where the walkers had broken a window. Rain and the occasional hailstone were puddling under the window among the shards of glass. “What the fuck?” You nearly collided with each other when he turned around and started back toward the door. “What are you doing?! Put that down!” you growled.

He had an iron fireplace poker in his hand. That’s what he’d been doing in this room, grabbing it from the set of fireplace tools. “Don’t you think this qualifies as kind of a capital “E” emergency?” he argued.

You stared at him, intense, your chest heaving, and to your annoyance, he smiled at you.

“Goddamn. You look fuckin’ hot as shit when you’re pissed off! I mean, you’re always hot but ho-ly shit! I'm scared and suddenly all tingly downtown!”

Your hand went purposefully to your knife again and you stared him down. “I said. Put it. The fuck. Down.”

“Doll, just hear me out—”

“Negan.”

Another crack and the sound of shattering glass behind him and you saw more arms reaching through between the boards of another window. “Okay, we don’t have time for this right now. You can stab me or whatever downstairs,” he said. He breezed past you and grabbed a couple more boxes of supplies. You had no choice but to begrudgingly follow after him.

He turned, straightening up as he heard your boots hitting the bottom steps, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you were already on him before he could get even a syllable out.

You kicked him hard on the inside of one of his thighs and he dropped sideways onto his knee. The poker dropped from his hand and rang out on the cement floor. You kicked it away and it slid into the far wall with a harsh scraping sound. Your knife was unsheathed and pointed at the base of his throat before he knew what was happening. To your amazement, once he recovered from his pained grimaces, he fucking smiled again.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. When I brought you out here, you said you would listen to every fucking thing I told you to do. This is your one single second chance. Next time you fuck up, it’ll be my knife going into your thigh instead of my boot. Got it?”

He gulped, still on one knee at the point of your knife and still, to your annoyance, vaguely smiling. “Oh, I got it,” he responded, his eyebrows lifting.

“Good,” you said, backing off and letting him stand up. “Now, go pick up the fucking poker. I’m gonna lock up the door…”

“Wait‚ what?” Negan laughed, still rubbing at his leg where you’d kicked him. “After all that, you’re letting me have it?”

“Yes,” you said. “This does roughly qualify as an emergency. Or at least, the border of one. But those kinds of decisions? They’re not yours to make, Negan. You’re not the one in charge here.”

He looked both stunned and amused. “That is becoming more and more clear every fuckin’ day,” he said softly, looking at you with some expression you couldn’t completely discern.

You gave him a perplexed look and then headed up the stairs to seal up the door. There were heavy brackets on the back of the reinforced door (thank you, dead survivalist man) and you spotted a thick board leaning up against the railing. Once you’d closed and locked it, you heaved up the heavy wooden slat and dropped it into place in the brackets, adding extra security in case the walkers did get inside and try to push through. As you removed your hand hastily to head back downstairs, a jagged corner on one of the metal brackets sliced into your palm. You jerked it back and stared as a long crimson gash began to leak fat drops of blood onto the steps below you. You pulled in a hiss of breath through your teeth. “Great,” you sighed, cradling it in the other hand and trotting back down. Overhead, you could hear the storm still raging, but as a low hum now.

Negan stood up from his seat on one of the containers of supplies as soon as he saw you. A concerning amount of shockingly red blood was dripping off your hand and onto the floor. “What happened?” he asked, moving closer as you attempted to dig into your pack with your other hand, blood now running down your forearm. “Jesus, let me help you!” He grabbed your pack away and dug around inside until he found a small kit with spare bits of cloth for bandaging, some gauze pads, and a few other assorted odds and ends for first aid. “Wait, I’ve got that alcohol in my pack. We should clean it up first.”

“It’ll be fine,” you argued, pulling off your headlamp and watching as Negan clicked on a lantern he’d found in one of the boxes.

“Would you let me help you with this at least? Can I? Please? I’m asking permission now,” he joked, shooting you a goading expression.

You cocked your head at him and tried to look annoyed, but you conceded, taking a seat on a plastic container across from him.

Negan dug out the alcohol and poured a generous amount out onto your palm. You gritted your teeth together at the burn and winced. “Sorry,” he said, pressing a gauze pad down over it, holding it gently on his own hand now. “But better than an infection, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling strangely on edge with your hand in his.

Negan used some of the long, clean strips of cloth to bandage it up and hold the gauze in place, tying it securely but gently before relinquishing his hold on you. “Should have the doc take a look at that when we get back,” he said. “Pretty deep. Might need some stitches on that one.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said, finally sighing as you suddenly realized how tired you were. Now that you felt more secure and safe, a strange thing with Negan sitting a mere foot away from you with no dividing bars between, the adrenaline had run out. Exhaustion was starting to set in. You took stock of the space. Your eyes wandered from the door into the hidden cellar where you’d found most of the supplies, back to the corpse of the survivalist in the far corner, over to the boxes next to Negan.

He was putting the first aid stuff back into your pack when his fingers nudged something and he paused; a thick stack of glossy photos. He pulled them out, curious. On top was the first one, the one in the very first house that the two of you had talked about, but there were more along with it now—many more. He flipped through a couple until you noticed and shifted where you were sitting. His hazel eyes lifted up to your face. “These are all from today?” he asked.

You nodded and tried to clear the sudden lump in your throat.

“You kept them? All of them?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He sighed, shaking his head vaguely, and thumbed through more; families on vacations, some guy holding a big fish, a young couple smiling in front of the Statue of Liberty, babies and kids and dogs and cats, an elderly couple posing in front of a studio background.

Your voice suddenly cut into him. “Did you ever stop to think that every person you put under your bat, they probably had photos like this? Were in photos like this?” you said suddenly. A particularly loud rumble of thunder boomed and rolled, as if on cue. Your eyes, clear and steady and striking even in the low glow of the lantern, felt like they were seeing straight into his core.

He frowned. The lines on his face seemed to become more pronounced, and he almost cringed. “No,” he answered honestly, the gravel in his voice heavy and gritty. “I didn’t think about it at all, most of the time. I think that was a lot of what I was doing. Not thinking. I know that's a shit fuckin' excuse. It's not an excuse... but I didn’t—want to think about the hard stuff.”

You were curious, interested, and felt that same vulnerability he seemed to be giving you more and more rolling off him in waves. “Like what?”

He gave you a sad smile. You could hear the wind whistling above you and the pounding of the rain. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

But now you were the one to back away, ducking your head, avoiding his eyes. Negan saw that there was hurt there, deep hurt. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” you murmured, fiddling with the bandage on your palm. “I mean, I’m not…”

“Hey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Negan replied, “you don’t owe me a damn thing. But can I tell you somethin’, doll?” He hesitated for a moment. “I—I like you. You kicked the shit out of me and held a knife to my throat about ten minutes ago and I still really like you. Genuinely. As a person, as a badass, as a—”

“Negan—” you interrupted him.

“If I had to be trapped in a basement with a corpse, a tornado and herd outside, I can’t think of another person I’d rather be stuck with,” he said.

“Negan—” you tried again.

“No, listen to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

“You don’t like me, okay? You just feel that way because I’m the only person who really talks to you, who spends time with you, who brings you your meals, and looks after some fraction of your well-being. It’s like—it’s like trauma bonding, okay? That’s all it is.”

“No. It’s not just that. See Gabe was doin’ all that same shit and I still didn’t fuckin’ like him… I mean, not as much as I like you.”

As usual, when what you were feeling was becoming overwhelming, too many thoughts, too many emotions, you deflected with humor. “I’m cuter than Gabriel.”

Negan laughed and this time the sound was warm and almost comforting. “Yeah. No argument there…”

You allowed yourself a half-smile and then sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck, I’m tired. What a long fucking day…”

“There are those sleeping bags in one of these boxes I think,” Negan said, starting to pull at the lids.

You laughed. “I can’t sleep,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Besides the insane storm outside and the horde? Uhh… I don’t know, you?” you offered, your tone a little sardonic.

But Negan’s face was perfectly serious. “The storm and the horde—can’t do shit about those companions and I agree that they are crappy house guests, but they’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere soon from what I can hear. That’s not changing whether you’re asleep or awake. As for me—” he tilted his head and gave you an appraising look, “I do not want to hurt you. And I won’t. And I’m not running away with the dickhole party outside so, you may as well catch some shut-eye. I’ll keep watch.”

You considered him for a long moment but finally shook your head. “No. No, I can’t sleep now…”

Negan sighed and rested the fireplace poker across his knees. “Well, then I’d say it’s going to be a long night… Got any ideas about how to pass the time?”

The mischievous sparkle came back into his eyes and you shot him a stern look that was apparently not enough of a deterrent. “Don’t—”

“We still do have those sleeping bags. I can think of some activities for a makeshift bed that don’t involve actual sleep.”

“Negan, there’s literally a corpse in the corner and a horde outside and that’s where your mind goes?”

He laughed. “Can you blame me? I’ve been in jail for, how long now? Five, six years? And trust me, Gabey Baby wasn’t giving me any action.” He paused at the look on your face, laughing again. “Come on, doll. I’m just kidding. Though it would help pass the time, you deserve far better than a sleeping bag on a dirty basement floor.”

“With a dead guy watching,” you added.

“With a dead guy watching,” he repeated, scratching absently at the stubble on his face. “That is pretty fuckin’ metal though,” he smirked.

“Negan, saying that I deserve better than that is really saying nothing. Anyone deserves better than that,” you sighed, standing up and pacing. “So yeah. I’d say it’s going to be a long night.”

[theambitiouswoman]

A lot of times, when people hear advice about working on themselves and improving, their response is, "But why do I need to change who I am for people to treat me right?" The thing is, you're not changing who you are — you're improving who you are. In truth, if you were treating yourself right, you wouldn't be worried about why others aren't.

It's not about changing your core, what makes you special and unique. It's about removing the impact of negativity, bad experiences and influences that have shaped you into someone who's stuck in a position you're unhappy with. You do that by focusing on healing, growth, and embracing your true potential. It's about shedding the limiting beliefs and patterns that no longer serve you, so you can evolve into the best version of yourself. When you prioritize your well being, you naturally attract the love, respect, and opportunities that align with your true self.

It is not about perfection but progress. You’re not doing this to meet anyone else’s expectations, but to live a life that feels more aligned with your own values, happiness, and peace. When you prioritize yourself, you’re building a foundation of self worth that radiates into every relationship and opportunity you encounter.

[gayregina]

I might be stupid for figuring it out just now but hear me out:

“No one has painted me in fourth hundred years”. With the general context it would make sense Armand would mention it, give Louis a part of his history perhaps in an attempt to detach from it, that is. The painting had been concrete evidence of who he was and Louis couldn’t easily discard it. Yet again Armand is being of service by giving Louis the answer to his question: “Who are you?” However, the line first line I mentioned coming right after “Who am I, Louis…. I do not know anymore” has just become more interesting to me, mainly because it reveals a crucial part of Armand’s character. Despite the fairly obvious fact that Armand is communicating here, that he hasn’t been around his maker and the human/innocent version of himself for centuries in order to be painted again, the statement is also a matter of perception. No one had painted him in so long, no one had shown him their versions of himself in so long that he could no longer be what others wanted him to because he simply didn’t know what that was. All Armand has done in his life is serve someone or a purpose that someone has presented to him so he never actually figured out who he was. He just wanted to be the object of admiration for others, he just wanted to be loved so badly that he would do anything, be anyone. They gave him the role of a ruthless coven leader, he became one. Louis wanted a cunning and gentle companion as not to think of Lestat and his chaos, he played the part. He embodied the roles until he could no longer survive outside of them, almost like a defence mechanism. He couldn’t possibly drop the facade, if his life depended on it, because he couldn’t stay with himself when he was just a stranger. He didn’t like the unknown, he couldn’t handle the lack of familiarity, of control.

[xtractors]

As my account says I am just here for the headcanon and The angst. So stick with me. [It looks longer than it is, but you can skip the bracketed section for my headcannon]

I've been thinking since I saw Deadpool and Wolverine whether Wolverine knew who Wade was as Deadpool? I came to a pretty solid conclusion, because when Paradox zaps Deadpool away, wolverine's first reaction isn't to be like, "So what's going on?", it's to automatically try and jump Paradox for disappearing Wade [which like maybe it wasn't because he knew it was Wade. Maybe it's just because he just really enjoyed flirting with him, but I think it's cuz he knows who Wade is]. Then in the void it's to attack Wade, which he doesn't seem to be surprised about his healing factor.

And this led me to, if Wade existed in worst wolverine's universe and had a healing factor. Then he probably could have been a version of origin's Deadpool?

And I have decided for THE ANGST, that absolutely origins happened, and worst Wolverine saw what happened to origin's Deadpool.

~~~~

[And here's my thing. I really wish origins had focused more on his relationship with his teammates, especially with the whole him and Wade making eyes at each other. Ignoring my feelings on the Kyla Silverfox lady, like I really wish the movie had just focused more on his teammates and relationship there. I think that he should have been "friends" with Wade and I think when he said "they finally found a way to shut you up" it should have been more emotional, and hurt and less sassy. I also really wish that Wade hadn't been just a mindless machine. Which I suppose we don't know how actually conscious he was, but could you imagine? Wade who's always expressed himself by being sassy and dealt with his trauma and being a mercenary by making jokes being unable to speak at all and unable to control himself as he attacks his friend?

Like I seriously don't think origins Deadpool was that bad of a character. I think there was just no emotional attachment to him. Cuz the whole mouth Sewn shut thing could have meant so much more if Wade was actually friends with Logan. ]

~~~~

Anyways, back to the plot.

So my thing is if there is origins Deadpool in worst wolverines timeline, do you think worst Wolverine ever just thinks about it?Do you think he ever has nightmares about his Wade being the one with the mouth sewn shut?? Unable to make his crude, but adorable jokes? Unable to call him Peanut and honey badger? Nightmares where his Wade, the one who saved him and gave him meaning and a new life, is staring into his eyes, as Logan's voice echos "They finally found a way to shut you up, huh." What if he wakes up guilty, a bitter taste on his tongue hearing how cruel those words really were to someone who means the world to him, someone who he never truly wants to shut up. Worrying his mind over not being able to save him once, not just not being able to save him, but having to kill him? Every once in awhile when he tells Wade "do you ever shut up?"[affectionate], he gets a flash of origins Deadpool in his head and goes quiet and regrets saying it?

could you imagine the angst?

Logan seeing his good "friend" who expressed his trauma through never shutting up unable to talk?Logan's "they finally found a way to shut you up" being breathless and painful and not just mean

Do you think Logan listens to Deadpool chatter and ever think about origins Deadpool and regrets not being able to save him? Regrets that one his last lines was taunting him for finally being unable to ramble?

[hwnglx]

that shuffled song is cute, what a plot twist. the lyrics do fit. this reading was quite extensive though, he has so much depth to his personality.

lee know's real personality behind the scenes

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled song: sunshine by stray kids

+ lee know is an incredibly independent guy. he seems to have overcome a good amount of hardship in the past, which has equipped him with this profound ability to heal himself, and led to him being pretty self-reliant. he's always been sensitive, still is sensitive; but good at handling it now. he's an example of someone who took the pain in his life, and has been able to turn it into a valuable lesson for himself. not only that, the things he went through shaped him into a person full of wisdom and depth, who has a good understanding of life. i can see him giving valuable advice to people, and being this person you can comfortably seek in times of tribulation.

he is an amazing listener as well. people feel comfortable talking to him about anything, really. he's someone who's good at attuning himself and his energy to people's specific needs, which can make him very pleasant to be around.

hugely perfectionistic. lee know is the type of person who works quietly but puts in consistent effort. i got reminded of when skz filmed their survival show back in the day, and lee know got eliminated. even after dropping out, he continued to practice tirelessly by himself. that seems to be a good reflection of the type of hardworker he is behind closed doors. he holds himself to insanely high standards, and wants to continue discovering an even better and improved version of himself all the time; especially in regards to his career. he isn't the type to work for other people's approval and crave their validation, but moreso his own satisfaction and fulfilment. he feels his best when he's able to conquer challenges with his own strength, and isn't dependent on anyone's assistance.

there is this very slow-moving and patient energy to him, where he isn't impulsive and doesn't rush into things. he makes sure he contemplates his actions several times before actually going through with them. this makes him a considerate guy who respects people's boundaries. the people he surrounds himself with, lee know choses wisely and carefully. he won't just give his precious time to anyone. but the people he does spend it with, he cherishes dearly.

this is so interesting, because on the one hand he can give off this immensely individualistic energy, where he just kinda lives in his own world to his own accord, yet on the other hand, he's someone who deeply values the handful of people he's close to. there is this nurturing and loyal side of lee know only the ones close to him could tell you about. he puts a lot of importance into looking after his intimate circle of friends and family, and making sure they feel cared for.

- lee know is quite conventional and more traditional in his views. i don't necessarily see him being judgemental or condemning things or people different to him out of malice, he just consciously rejects them for himself since they're so foreign to him. he prefers staying in his own bubble and living the lifestyle he's already familiar with and accustomed to. he hates when people stick their nose in his business though, or pretend they have a say in his life. he lives his life based on his own beliefs, values and desires, and will get genuinely annoyed if someone pretends they know what's good for him.

his caution can also go to extremes sometimes. he's the type of person to only invest energy into something, when he himself sees substantial benefit behind it. if something feels empty to him, he won't entertain it any longer. he also seems to be a person who doesn't enjoy the feeling of regret, it just seems to kinda linger in him and nag at him for a while, which is why he's extra careful about how he proceeds in several areas of life. even if, let's say he has this seed of an idea for something in his head; it's likely he won't always bravely go forward with it, out of fear of it potentially going wrong. he's hesitant to take any risks out of fear of losing his grip on what he's built till now. almost like he has this house of cards, and is trying to hold back any wind from making it fall down.

lee know is a person who doesn't enjoy displaying his negative and more self-deprecating emotions (like self-doubt, lack of confidence, insecurity or regret) externally and can therefore be prone to swallowing them, and internalizing them. this can lead to them potentially coming up in a more rash and stronger manner later on.

he will not hold back if you manage to provoke him, or rub him the wrong way. in general he actively avoids conflict or drama, but if he catches someone intentionally sticking a dagger in him, he won't be the type to just stay silent. he can get very offensive and blunt, his words can get sharp as a knife, they're often quite hurtful. (very scorpio mercury thing) he just knows how to push people's buttons. he's excellent at reading people, and has a quick wit. so he'll probably have your vulnerable spots already all figured out before you even know it, and hit you at places he knows will trigger you.

a lot of this seems to stem from him just being on guard a lot. he doesn't wanna get hurt, so if a person manages to make him feel threatened, he's likely to go into verbal offense mode out of self protection. i just heard “hurt people hurt people”. as mentioned before, he's gone through his fair share of struggle until now. reason why he seems extra protective of his peace at this point in time.

[cody-writes]

Where do I go when I’m already on my knees?

- summary ; Ford has been traveling from universe to universe, pocket detention to pocket detention. But when he comes across one where Fiddleford had settled down with an alternate version of himself and it seems that nothing happened how he remembered it. he does his best to push his way into this Fiddlefords life, which has been devastated with death and abandonment by the very man in the mirror. despite the differences in universes ford can’t escape the wake that he leaves behind wherever he goes. (It’s shitty I know)

- word count ; 4377

- warnings for light depiction of graphic violence

Chapter one ; blood in the snow

Stanford pines. scientist of the paranormal, top of his class, six fingered freak. Sure he knew that he’d be dealing with some strange happenings in his lifetime but this? This was by far the worst thing that he couldn’t ever imagine.

Hopping from place to place, wondering if it’ll be safe to close his eyes and rest, fearful of what hid on the back of his eyelids.

He was tired. But he needed to keep running. Bill was getting closer and closer and the longer he kept running, the longer he had to figuring out a way home. But for now he found pocket dimension that he quickly had slipped into after one of Bills henchdemons had gotten a little too close for comfort.

When he arrived he was immediately off put when everything was silent except for the sound of very distant — and almost unnoticeable to the untrained ear —gunshots. His breath caught in his throat and he quickly began to look for a place to hide from, one: whatever was out there. And two: whatever or whoever was coming for him.

A cave presented itself to him after an hour or so of carefully placing his feet in the snow covered woods. He prayed that no one would follow his footsteps and ran himself in circles trying to make sure that it looked as if there was no one place that he could possibly be. Finally he circled back to the cave, stepping into prints that he had already laid.

Ford sighed as he finally settled against the wall of this cave, his pack leaned against his side with an arm wrapped around it. “Fuck…” he whispered, pulling the bag open to grab his first aid kit out along with a flashlight. He pulled his pant leg up, and stuck the light in his mouth, angling it at the blood soaked bandages. He gritted his teeth against the metal of the flashlight as he started pulling them off.

The wound was anything but fresh, but it wasn’t healing right and looked infected. It was too close. He thought as he cleaned away the blood. Too fucking close, again. He gritted his teeth and poured a bit of alcohol onto a cloth, dabbing it around the claw marks in his leg just as he’d done with every other cut and scar that etched into his body.

He cleaned and dressed the wound before carefully putting everything away and placing them back into his bag.

He leaned his head back against the cold stone, finding a grove that almost perfectly fit his skull. The silence was loud but he could no longer hear the gunfire which brought a bit of comfort and a lot of anxiety. What if they found his food prints and were tracking him here now? He was useless, getting old and god he was tired. A fight now would be over in seconds and his body would be found in this cave.

As time passed he grew cold, but not as cold as he’d expected to be, not cold enough that a fire would have been necessary. He pulled his knees up and tightened his coat around himself before unrolling the blanket off his pack and draping it over his knees.

His eyelids drooped but he shook himself awake every time the darkness felt comforting. He couldn’t sleep, with Bill lurking around every corner, every time he slept was an open gateway to where he was. Hours of this was exhausting but it would be worth the safety in the end.

Finally a bit of light seeped into the cave and Fords skin crawled with a sinking feeling of dread. He pushed himself from the floor, rolled and attached the blanket to his pack before slinging the bag over his shoulder, and leaving the cave, knowing that he didn’t want to find out what the feeling was warning him of.

There were too many times that he let these feelings bring out his curiosity over the years and every time that he did he’d collected more scars and memories that burned into him and weighed on his soul.

As he pushed his way through the melting snow he tried to make a game plan. There was no one and nothing in sight. The air hung heavy and thick it burned at his eyes, everything felt off and the feeling of dread continued to fall heavy on his shoulders.

Eventually the scientist found a town…

——————

Months passed and Ford found himself in the middle of a battle, gun in hand, teeth ground into each other, praying that the boy beside him would live long enough to get home for dinner.

He popped up from behind the barricade, aiming and firing shots toward the strange creatures that approached.

In what he thought was an abandoned town, he’d been quick to find out that it was not quite abandoned. the people inside were just terrified of what lay beyond the tree line and across the banks.

It became pretty clear to him rather quickly that this was some sort of post apocalyptic world, fighting against strange monsters, demons and occasionally other people that threatened to overtake them. The group that he found himself with had been through it all, death, pain and destruction alike, if you could think it, these people were aware of what it was and were vigilant.

The creatures appeared in large numbers and had been closing in, slowly picking off their numbers. Ford offered his help, only requesting information and possibly help with getting out of this hell scape. He didn’t know what he would be signing up for at the time, but god damn he regretted agreeing now.

Their forces picked off the monsters one by one until blood splattered in the snow and bodies remained unmoving.

Ford flipped the safety on his gun and pushed up from behind the barricade before holding his hand out to the boy next to him who gladly took it. Ford pulled him to his feet, strapping his gun to his back before looking out over the sea of death, both his men and the enemy. He sighed softly and offered a sad smile to the kid who looked at the scene. “Let’s get what we can.” He said simply before turning to salvage anything they could.

Stanford knew not to get attached to any of the people and creatures that he came across, he’d always end up leaving and in this instance, they knew that he was going to be leaving too. It was hard though, meeting these people making connections only for a ghost of his past to close in on him once more, forcing him to leave the comfort that he was really running after.

The boy, Joseph, nodded and walked at his side as they approached the beasts. The other men had begun counting their dead and dragging the injured back toward the infirmary. Normally the creatures had simple things on them, sometimes armor and maybe a weapon (if they could use one), but the meat on their bones was what was the most valuable to the group. If they found a certain type of creature they could be eating 3 meals a day for at least 5 days for their rather large numbers. Unfortunately for them, demons seemed to be the majority of what made this group up.

Ford sighed and knelt down next to one of the demons, picking a dagger off its belt and a rigged gun from its hand. “I don think we’re gonna get much from ‘em” Joseph said walking back over to Ford from one of the other bodies.

“That’s quite alright.” He replied softly and simply, pocketing the weapons he was able to collect before looking to the boy. “We have enough for now I believe anyway, we just need to keep safe.”

The pair made their way back to the edge of town, “I will check on things in medical, you should go let them know how things worked out.” Ford nodded to Joseph who took off into town.

Stanford pushed his way into the medical building. It was less of a building and more of a tent with falling bricks as walls, but it did the job. He glanced around looking between the men on the makes in beds then to those still standing.

“How are they?” He asked after a moment of silence. He could see that one or the men was in worse shape than the other. His leg looked terrible and he had a gash across his chest, nothing fatal but painful nonetheless.

“Fine. They’ll be fine.” Troy, an older man who ran operations and cared too deeply spoke up, crossing his arms and puffing himself out a bit. Ford knew that he didn’t like him very much, he seemed intimidated by the scientist, something that puzzled Ford to his core. “Where’s Joseph?” His voice was gruff and he didn’t look at Ford when he spoke, only moving his eyes.

“Checking in with the other men, I didn’t want him subjected to any more suffering than he already is.”

“Good..” Troy looked to him finally before continuing. “Marley’s looking for ya. Said it might help you get out of ‘ere”

Ford perked up for a moment before remembering that he couldn’t get his hopes too high. It seemed near impossible to get out of here, every lead that they had, wasn’t an actual lead or almost got him killed. “Alright…I uh…I’ll go find them.” He nodded and looked to the injured men once more before quietly exiting the hut.

He made his way across the compound, looking up as the sun rose into the yellow tinted sky. He kept his head low and tried not to pry into the conversation going on as he passed through the center of town. Morning was always the busiest and full of people. even if there was an attack was happening, those who lived here didn’t seem to be bothered. Their community thrived in the sun and early morning interactions.

He gave a slight smile and a small wave here and there until he came up on one of the houses that hadn’t been touched by any destruction. He gave a light knock before reaching for the doorknob, poking his head in before fully entering.

Marley was the one person that he felt he could relate to around this place. They had an eye for the strange and unusual and wanted to know why these creatures were attacking and where they came from more than being focused on killing them off.

“Stanford!” Marley yelled from the back corner of the room, their Irish accent thick with excitement. “Just who I wan’ed to see! Come, come. I have a lot to tell you.”

Ford chuckled lightly and latched the door closed before walking toward them. “Troy said that you may have found something?“

“Yes! An abnormality as you say.” They wrapped an arm around the author’s shoulders, pulling him toward their work station and into a chair. He straightened his glasses and looked up at the enthusiastic scientist. “It’s not far from here and seems to be muuuch much stronger tan the las one, I’ll come with you when you go. I want to study it and get your knowledge on these things before you leave.”

Ford pulled his chair closer as Marley leaned over the desk, their computer glitching and blinking as it showed the coordinates. He rubbed his chin as he looked, his brows furrowing “and you’re sure that this could be a rift as I’ve been describing?”

“I tink so, yes.” They said, opening their notebook up, pointing out some Irish gibberish that Ford could just barely make out. “From everythin that you’ve described it matches almost perfectly, tough the area seems to be more corrupted tan I would have tought. Even from my maps, it looks…off.”

Ford looked up at the monitor once more as Marley zoomed out of the exact point. They were right, the area was large and charted with what he could even recognize as oddities. His mind immediately went to Bill…but if he had found him, Ford would have known by now with how close it was.

“You’re most definitely right…that is very strange.” He thought for a second, “it could possibly be a source of, quote weirdness, similar to what I was studying back at home. The two look very similar. Of course here, weirdness or abnormalities are quite common with your beast issue, but not to this degree, I wonder if in different parts of the multiverse, they also have points of weirdness.” He shook his head and looked back to Marley, finally off of his tangent. “I would love to explore this with you, it could help me understand more about the multiverse and would help you to understand where these creatures could potentially be coming from if my thoughts are in fact correct.”

Marley had a blank look on their face for a moment, seeming to process all of the words being thrown at them. “We have to prepare ten!” They exclaimed plopping down into the chair next to him, their fiery hair bouncing with the motion. “La’er of course. It’s been a few days, let’s catch up.”

——————

Anxiety ate its way up Ford’s throat as he packed his things away into his bag. He didn’t have much, not anything more than what he showed up with, minus a few more notebooks and a few things to keep the memories of Marley and Joseph alive. But what lied ahead was more anxiety inducing than being crushed by a monster that he couldn’t even stick around long enough to study.

If he stuck around any longer, Bill would find the rift and wreak havoc upon this universe just as he had done before. He couldn’t subject these people to that, especially not after they had finally been doing so well and had built this beautiful corner of their world up.

He sighed and pulled his gloves and coat on, pulling his face covering up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He holstered one of the guns he’d come across on a mission with Troy and headed toward the door, where he knew Marley would be waiting for him, practically jumping with excitement.

He smiled as he saw them, their hands wrapped around their backpack straps with their goggles and a scarf covering their mouth and nose, eager to get going. “You take forever.” They said a bit flatly, as they turned in the direction that they needed to be going. “Wat were you even doin? I know you don’t have that many tings.”

“Marley, I was in there for maybe ten minutes, what on earth do you mean?” He chuckled “I know that you’re excited but you need to relax a little, kid.”

“Tat’s 5 minutes too long wit the tings you have.” They huffed, looking up at the sky. “Might rain.”

Ford looked up as well. The clouds were rolling in and the air hung thicker than normal. “Right…we’ll be quick then. I don’t want to be out in the elements for too long, and I won’t be with you when you come back. Speaking of, you have a weapon, correct?”

“Yep,” they smiled and patted their coat, “trusty ol ting I got from my paps, use ‘er till the day she shits out on me.”

“Alright.” Ford nodded as they pressed on, glancing at the sky every other minute. He felt as if he was in a time bubble, moving so slowly that he needed to try and move faster in order to keep up with the world around him. He clasped his hands together and pressed his eyes closed for a moment in an attempt to ground himself as they neared their destination.

“Are you okay tere big guy?” Marley eventually spoke up, their head tilted up at him with a bit of concern.

Ford shook his head and adjusted his glasses. “Yes…I’m fine. Just anxious. I don’t know where I will end up once I make this jump. I never do, but it never gets any less painful, leaving a place that I get established in after meeting new people.” He let out a breath. “People like you…it’s just never…a good experience.”

“You never did explain why you can’t just stay. I mean, I know you got people at home…but wouldn’t it just be easier to find a place an just, stay?” Their eyes were invisible behind their goggles and their face covered from showing emotion but Ford could almost see their face and feel everything radiating off of them so strongly.

He couldn’t stay…he couldn’t put any of them in that kind of danger, not in good conscience. He had to keep moving, he couldn’t stay, he needed to get home and eventually stop Bill.

“A bit more truthfully…I’m running from an old friend, well, I thought we were friends…maybe even something more at one time. Anyway.. he’s how I got stuck in the multiverse in the first place. I thought him a muse and he offered plans of a better tomorrow and a opportunity to explore the strange and unusual.” Ford sighed and looked down at his six fingered hand, thinking of his weirdness and wondering if this would have happened in the first place without his defect.

“I thought he was truthful in what he said and wanted to continue with my research and, blinded by my own hunger for knowledge I believed him. but really he only wanted power. The portal I built so he could cross into our world was activated and I…fell in for lack of a better term. Even if I wanted to go back home I’m unsure of how to get there and anywhere that I stay, Bill winds up finding me and I can’t let anything happen to you or your family and friends..”

Marley stopped walking for a moment, blankly staring up at him before they rested a soft hand on his shoulder. “I hope you find your way home and I hope that you can come back here someday. You’re a good man Ford.”

However this child could read him so well would remain a mystery to the scientist. They had this beautiful intuition and this time it was picking up on his guilt for what had happened. How he left things with Fiddleford and Stanley, they ate away at his very existence and he only wished to be able to tell them how sorry he was for what he did. How countless other people have been affected by the destruction that is Stanford Pines.

“Thanks kid.” He said ruffling their hair, “let’s keep going.”

They reached the tree line, right on the edge of where the abnormal readings were rather quickly. The clouds rolled in a bit faster now but they still had a bit before anything would start to fall.

Cautiously Ford pressed on into the trees, looking up and around, in front and behind, anywhere for any signs of danger or weirdness, just as he would have done at home. When he didn’t see anything he would move further in, silently shifting through the snow, his eyes darting as the trees grew a bit thicker.

“I’m not seeing anything at the moment, I’m sure that the rift could be here somewhere, but it seems that the cause of the area being so lit up, isn’t within sight.” He hummed, his hand resting on his chin out of habit. “I think we should locate the rift and see what might be around it.”

“Alrighty, whatever you tink is best.” Marley responded, staying at Fords side, carefully watching up at the scientist as he worked.

Ford pressed on deeper, knowing that he was close to what he hoped would be the rift at the center of the reading. A large shift in reality caused him to take a step back, his eyes darting around at the change in color and sound of the forest. The once silent and peaceful moment turned to sound of rapid ticking and footsteps trickled in from every direction. “Oh my…” he said softly, his arms instinctively flaring out, gently pushing Marley back behind him a little.

“I haven’t seen anything like this since…” he trailed off as the color of the sun seemed to shift and the clouds rolled in faster. “Bill….” He finally finished, half expecting that bastards sadistic laugh to follow his words. When no sound came he finally let his guard down, glancing back at Marley. They stood in silence, seemingly wide eyed and frozen.

“Marley?” He said gently, moving himself into their line of sight.

“What the fuck…” they whispered, moving their goggles onto the top of their head. “Tis is…amazing..what the fuck.”

Ford let out a breath and chuckled at that, “it seems like some sort of bubble, and it might be the reason that the reading was so strong. Come along. Let’s find the rift, we can backtrack once we have a clear path and understanding of this place.”

It didn’t take long at all for the two to find the rift. It was large, larger than Ford had seen after the portal. His heart skipped at the thought that Bill could be waiting on the other side, about to invade another world he’d found himself on.

Marley stepped toward it, their hand outstretched “it’s so perrty..” they said softly. Ford reacted instinctively, eyes wide as he grabbed them by the collar and pulled them back.

He quickly dropped their clothing, clearing this throat. “Ah…don’t… get too close.” He mumbled, taking a deep breath as I’m images of his old partner almost being lost to the same fate that he hade been destined to live flashes through his mind.

Marley simply nodded and smiled, taking a few steps back to admire the sights, their back turned to him. Ford smiled back, fondly. He was so excited and happy that someone shared this fascination, someone that he could relate to and finally tell about his experiences and pass that knowledge on too—

“FUCK!” Marley’s voice echoed in his ears as a large hand swiped from above, launching Marley across the snow. Blood. He could see it stain and cover the ground.

He pulled his gun from its holster, quick to aim it as his vision zoomed in and out. He shot rapidly, barely looking until the ground seemed to shake and something seemed to be running. He didn’t know where it was going or if it was coming at him but he knew he needed to keep shooting.

Ford peeled his eyes open only to be met with a piercing scream and a significantly smaller claw swipe down at his hands. He pulled back, claws tearing through his arm. He yelled and stumbled back, aiming and firing again, hitting their creature until it began to run and he was low on ammo.

With his breath racing and blood dripping down his arm he ran toward Marley, “Marley!” He shouted, sliding to his knees and skidding across the snow to get to them.

“Ford….ford I can’t feel my legs..” they said, their voice breaking softly, “everything hurts so much but I can’t feel my legs.” They cried, reaching out to the author.

Ford looked them over, they’d already lost a lot of blood and their eyes hooded as if struggling to not close. “It’s…it’s going to be okay just…breathe Marley, just breathe and hold on to my hand.” He clasped their hands together and leaned down his he could cradle their head. His voice broke and tears formed in his eyes. “Just hold on Marley.”

Marley looked up at him and squeezed his hand, “I can’t…it hurts so bad…I’m so tired and it hurts.” They muttered, their words slurring together.

“I know. I’m so sorry. Oh god I’m so sorry.” He held their hand to his chest, bringing his forehead to touch theirs, his body hunching over them into a half hug. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t get them out of here without possibly making their injuries worse or collapsing half way there due to his own injury. He knew he wasn’t strong enough either and with the storm? There was no way.

“Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me here.” They whispered as Ford sat back up. “I don’t want to die alone.”

They knew. They always did, they knew they were going for die and all they wanted was to not do it alone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as Marley’s sobs wrote their way into Fords memories. “I’m not going to leave you, I promise Marley.” He whispered.

Silence fell under the sounds of crying between the two and screaming off in the distance. but there was comfort in it as well, peace perhaps in the fact that death was coming and the earth would accept a new offering to the soil and heaven would find a new soul to offer a home.

After what seemed like hours, Ford could no longer feel the young one’s breath and their body went limp and only when that happened did he pull them close and hold them tight. He sat like that for a few minutes, holding their lifeless body waiting until it felt right to let them go.

Gently he laid them down and let go of their hand. He didn’t know what else to do besides close their eyes, gently remove their goggles and cover them with the snow. He knew it wasn’t proper but it was what felt right. He stood and looked over the gory mess that set out in the snow before looking to the portal. “I hope you come back here someday.” The words rang in his empty mind as he stepped toward it, Marley’s goggles strapped firmly to his head as he started his new adventure with another piece of what he’d lost strapped over his heart.

[hanafubukki]

I do love me some good old Lilia angst (also just the little stories about our favorite peepaw in general) but I too also thought that Lilia had scars from battle. Although I do wonder, do you think physical scars for fairies heal slower than a human's or do you think it's about the same or a similar timeframe as a human recovering from one?

Also, another HC I have came from his guest room voice line after swinging his magearm around.

Lilia can revert back to his old tone and manner of speaking as a general but it's not often because mainly he's enjoying the life he got after the war and especially with Silver coming into his life and the fae not being at war with the humans anymore, he has no need to bring it up. But to the fairies that served under the Right General, they would be left petrified and shaking in their boots if they heard Lilia speak in the tone he used during war.

(In reference to this post)

Hello McDingus 🌺💞💚

You 🤝 Me liking anything Lilia related ☺️💞🥰

I actually have a couple headcanons when it comes to scars for Lilia 🤔👀

One headcanon is that depending on the type of wound and the weapon, it will determine how long the scars will take to heal. If the weapon was made with iron or blessed by faes then those will take longer.

Another headcanon is that they heal faster than humans because they are magic born/dependent so they heal with magic and nature quickly. Unless the area is damaged or magic is drained.

But also I like the idea of the scars healing slowly as well. Because imagine this, the scars are healing as quick as a humans…but since faes age slowly. Their version of healing “quickly” differs. For example: a wound that would take say a week to heal for a human would take a fae a month. Because that’s their equivalent in healing process to humans and to the fae, it’s “quick” since time passes by so quick to them.

But since you said you like Lilia angst, let me share with you one of my faves headcanons, a wound/scar that doesn’t fully heal. Because it’s based on emotions. Not just talking about emotional scar but something tied to emotions/mental. A wound that Lilia was struck by centuries ago. It hurts and bleeds even after time has passed. What if it’s a wound that burns on days when he especially feels the loss of his loved ones? And it’s only when he’s with, say Malleus or Silver, that it hurts less or doesn’t bleed? What if it only stops when he sees them okay? In this time of peace? What about he remembers the deaths and that’s when he needs to soak his body in the hot springs because the nightmares chase him (mostly before Malleus was hatched)? Can you see the vision 🫶

Gosh I love Lilia ability to change voices. That was one of my wishes too. That he would change his voice in his card 💞💞

The fact he uses it for gaming will never not amuse me.

Can you imagine? Being an older fae or the relative who served in the war (maybe baul with sebek) is watching someone play a game. And you hear this deep voice? It’s a whiplash for them. 😂

And some of them can’t help but tremble and remember the old drills they went through while under his command.

But also 👀 I can see Lilia use this as his “mom” voice when he’s scolding, like “Malleus Draconia” or “Silver” with a certain look and they know they are in trouble 😂😨

There’s also some other thoughts I have but I won’t scar you with my nsfwish thoughts 😂🫶

[manheimsmuse]

wally clark that knows the rules, he learned them the hard way after decades of the afterlife. he knew dating was messy, especially when there was no way in hell avoiding his ex would be possible when they’re both doomed to haunt the halls of split river high for all eternity.

wally clark that can’t keep his eyes off you the more you show up to the afterlife support group, slowly feeding him the group more and more information about yourself, how you died, if you ever had a boyfriend.

wally clark that knows it’s a bad idea to try grab your attention, that knows he’s fucked the moment he catches himself smiling at your laugh, that knows when rhonda sarcastically mentions someone that looks like a “lovesick puppy” she’s talking about him.

wally clark that’s been warned to leave you alone by mister martin, getting a lengthy lecture when his heart eyes grew more obvious as time passed. deep down he knew he was right, that if things went wrong you two would be forced to face it every time you saw each other. if things went wrong.

wally clark that drags you into an empty classroom as you lurk the halls, avoiding prying eyes as he attacks your face with kisses. “hate that we can’t be like this all the time,” wally clark that waits down the empty hallways in the middle of the night so you can meet up and sneak away for a ‘date’.

wally clark that can’t keep his mouth shut, bragging to charley under the bleachers about ‘his baby’ for as long as he’ll let him, unaware of the fact that you and rhonda were eavesdropping, quietly laughing behind your hands as you listen to him ramble on.

[lesliemeyers]

y'know thats pretty goth

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[mollysunder]

The funniest thing about Jayce is that while yes, he's juggling other peoples' interests/loyalties, he's only sort of malleable and mostly kind of uncontrollable. People can tell Jayce something and he will in fact listen to it, absorb the new information, but it's a genuine gamble to guess what he does with that information.

Heimerdinger tells him exactly how to avoid punishment for his trial and Jayce DOESN'T do it. Jayce decides to defend himself and the merit of his work. The Medardas want hextech weapons (for varying reasons), Viktor says no, meanwhile Jayce already has blueprints laminated and framed in his room.

Jayce didn't ask to be a Councilor, but he immediately throws himself into rooting out corruption. When Mel tells him he's gonna need to play ball to stay alive politically, Jayce goes, "Ball is life". Then Jayce manages to amass enough political capital to kick off HEIMERDINGER of all people.

Second to Jinx, Jayce is the character that asserts the most agency in the cast. People really try to pull Jayce in this and that direction, but his character, his morals, just who he really is pushes at any supposed binary others try to place him in. The choices he makes always align with his core, and it inevitably puts others in a position to accept the consequences of bringing up the issue to him in the first place.

[falling-camellias]

Woah…vasilly real…

@lakesbian

[quietwingsinthesky]

combining little amelia pond in the tardis with the tardis family au and trying to figure out which members would be pro and against child endangerment.

[awkward-teabag]

I have to wonder how many people celebrating AI translation also complain about "broken English" and how obvious it is something was Google translated from another language without a fluent English speaker involved to properly clean up the translation/grammar.

Because I bet it's a lot.

I know why execs are all for it—AI is the new buzzword and it lets them cut jobs thus "save" money and not have to worry about pesky labour laws when one employs humans—but everyone else?

There was some outcry when Crunchyroll fired many of their translators in favour of AI translation (with some people to "clean up the AI's work") but I can't help but think that was in part because it was Japanese-to-English and personally affected them. Same when Duolingo fired many of their translators in favour of LLM translation. Meanwhile companies are firing staff when it's English to another language and there's this idea that that's fine or not as big a deal because English is "easy" to translate and/or because people don't think of how it will impact people in non-English countries.

Also it doesn't affect native English speakers so it doesn't get much headway in the news cycle or online anyway because so much of the dominant media is from English-speaking countries and English-speakers dominate social media.

But different languages have different grammar structures that LLMs don't do, and I grew up on "jokes" about people speaking in "broken English" and mocking people who use the wrong word when it was clearly a literal translation but the meaning was obvious long before LLMs were a thing, too. In fact, the specific way a character spoke broken English has been a way to denote their native tongue for decades, usually in a racist way.

Then Google translate came out and "Google-translated English" became an insult for people and criticism of companies because it was clearly wonky to native speakers. Even now, LLMs—which are heavily trained on English compared to other languages—don't have a natural output so native English speakers can clock LLM-generated text if it's longer than a sentence or two.

But, for whatever reason, it's not seen as a problem when it goes the other way because fuck non-English readers or people who want to read in their native tongue I guess.