#her Good (<- only his definition of good matters)

[tame-the-lion-writes]

feral omega reader x task force 141

I've read a lot of Task Force 141 being assigned a group omega to force them to chill tf out as an all-alpha pack, BUT!-- imagine instead of taking one from a roster, Price just one day comes back from a mission with an omega he picked up from God knows where, cradling her like she's an injured cat.

The man's got tousled hair and a few scratches on his cheek from trying to wrench poor you out of a dangerous situation. Stuck under a fallen building or in an enemy prison cell, maybe--but that doesn't matter. You're coming home with him cause you've got nowhere else to go. And now you're essentially the feral wet cat adopted by these massive, powerful alphas. Cause omegas are supposed to be sweet and soft and tiny, and they just wanna protect you, but you're only tiny. And you've got a whole lot of teeth. It's both equally endearing and concerning.

Of course, the boys can handle you, though. And by handle, I mean, "Here, kitty, kitty. Please don't bite me this time. See, we're friends now!" At least that was how Soap put it, whereas Price and Ghost just sat in the same space with you until you learned that they were chill. Gaz made peace offerings with food. Soap was the last to enter your good graces.

Meanwhile Kate just tolerates you, since she doesn't know what the hell Price was thinking.

"You could've had anyone from the list, you know. A proper omega who knows how to cook and clean."

"Ah, but where's the fun in that? 'sides, she needed a home like the rest of us."

_

Bonus Thoughts:

Once you've calmed, you're still feisty--just feisty with everyone else but 141. Kate is somewhat of an extension. Not quite pack but trusted by your packmates. You eventually settle for glaring at her from across the room.

Heats? Yes. Sexual heats? Not quite. I imagine feral reader only ever being cuddly during her heats, at least at the start. But do with that what you will--it's one of the few times she initiates touch first. That, and when she's the possessive one--not the boys.

She's also definitely a bit of a kleptomaniac. She's already got one of Ghost's extra masks, Price's bandana, etc. from when they all gave her random stuff to get her used to their scents, but once she's gotten over fighting back, she wants more, more, more. Shirts and jackets start going missing. Even pillowcases. They catch on, of course, but nobody finds anything until Price opens his closet one day, and BAM--one messy hoard of a nest.

"You could've just asked."

Mildly disgruntled hissing.

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ … 99% NOT LOVE ! | kinich x gn!reader

— in which two people notice what two people don't .

— i've gone absolutely batshit over him your honour. im going to now start writing for kinich like a crazed man dying of thirst in the desert. let it be known that streamer!au kinich, enemies to lovers with poacher mc and other ideas are coming up (no im not cheating on xiao shush)

mualani notices it.

"hehe."

and you hear it.

"so! there's a little..." she stares at you with the most serious face you've ever seen on the girl, acting suspiciously unlike herself. gesturing at you with exaggerated hand movements, then pointing toward who knows where, she eyes you. mischievously. "something that's 'going on', yea?"

and at first, you have absolutely no clue what she could be referring to. mualani is a sociable person, after all. her definition of "something" could range anywhere between a particularly cute baby saurian to an out-of-control-bonfire turned wildfire.

with the only eventful thing today being a brief morning surf session with sharky, you just sat there, never having felt more lost.

mualani grabs your shoulders in an iron grip, leaning forward to the point she's almost beginning to seem menacing. you can see the moment where she tries to think over something (which she never does quite successfully) before she straight up shouts:

"ah!! i'll just spell it out for you!! you. and kinich. bestie. spill."

.

.

.

ajaw did more than just "notice" it.

"you..! kIINICH, did you seriously have to-"

"noisy."

"selfish assh- ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE DISRESPECT! TIME AND TIME AGAIN, yOU'VE-"

"once again, ajaw. be quiet."

"sure sure, and pretend i didn't see you and that someone do a little smoochy-smooch, huh?! UGH, now you've asked for it- KINICH AND LOVEY DOVEY, SITTIN' IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

ajaw was what you would call a "witness". though, most would use that term in regards to one seeing a crime or heinous event take place — this event was nothing of that nature.

well, as far as kinich was concerned, the matter was simple. you'd ventured all the way to scions of the canopy to give him a gift, (claiming it was for the time he'd helped you after a couple of yumkausarus hadn't enjoyed your fruit offering and instead decided to off you), and he'd refused to accept it. he wasn't one to receive reimbursement for others, and he didn't particularly like talking either — it was a well-known fact, almost law in natlan, that if the malipo ignored your words, all you need do was apologize and continue on.

well, you did exactly the opposite.

"no thanks."

"...sorry?"

"i don't need it."

"haha, so 'malipo' kinich's rumored no-nonsense nature really proved to be true! now come over here so i can give you my fucking gift!"

you were rather adamant about giving it to him. the reason? you'd bought the gift on a whim after seeing it being sold by a passing merchant, advertised as "80% only today if you buy within the next like 4 minutes" and you'd immediately dropped every mora you had. it was the most useless little thing ever, and you didn't want it at this point, but.. the deals. how could you return such an item???

naturally, you handed it off to the man you'd seen for a good two minutes before he flew, or did whatever his thing was, away. the man had remembered furrowing his brows the slightest, listening to ajaw's persistent yellings of "IT'S AN OFFERING TO ME, TAKE IT" and feeling an oncoming headache. "i said i didn't.."

as he turned to walk away, three unfortunate(?) things occured.

a rock under your shoe and a very graceful process of falling to the ground

kinich looking back (his mistake)

a kiss...?

oh, and two extra.

4. ajaw had saw it all. 5. and mualani, who had saw you from a distance and was coming to greet you, was faced with a sight she could not process.

...Now that he thought over it again, was the matter really "simple"? kinich's job was what he considered simple — split 70% to investigation, 10% to final decision, and 10% to execution, well portioned and planned out.

then, this...

.

.

.

"girlie, you've seriously got the wrong idea. i'm telling you, we aren't dating!"

"mmmokay. of course! because not-dating people kiss allll the time!"

you paused for a moment, remembering kinich's even tone, stern gaze, and... ah, a face that deserved a gold medal.

"it's only 99% not love, okay mualani? but if it wasn't..."

.

.

.

"... and it's 99% not love, ajaw."

(a/n) darling im back from jail part 2. daddys home part 2. not funny? ok. HIHIHIHI ive bene really built like a sun dried raisin lately but kinich is the healing holy water that has saved me i will write more for him in the future because i love him a stupid amount its like the first time in a decade I've written for just ONE character and AND AND

I THOUGHT HE WOULDNT OCME HOME BECAUSE I ONLY HAD 68 WISHES OUT OF MY ORIGINAL LIKE 100+ AND RUINED MY CHANCES BECAUSE OF REALLY REALLY WANTING MuALANI (i love her sm) BUT. BUT BRO CAME HOME. ON THE FIRST 10 PULL AND WON THE 50/50 JUST LIKE MUALANI DID (or is it 45/55 now idk) LIVE LAUGH LOVE KINICH !!

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

[xwritingdixonx]

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

––––––––––

Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

––––––––––

A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

It was a day familiar to any other. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through. 

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now. 

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.  

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape. 

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home." 

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart. 

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing. 

Why couldn't you just get on the bike? 

Why couldn't you breathe? 

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up? 

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine." 

"Daryl, it's getting dark." 

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it. 

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you. 

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast. 

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied. 

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl. 

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker. 

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness. 

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?" 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before. 

"Maggie's talked about him briefly." 

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically. 

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah. 

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued. 

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings." 

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second. 

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle. 

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood. 

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long? 

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance. 

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed." 

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n." 

You didn't know why you expected anything different. 

"Goodnight Daryl." 

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face. 

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you. 

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; give a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?" 

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy.  Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances. 

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen." 

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him. 

Patrick began to walk with you. 

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes."

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to know how to protect yourself...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second.  "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults. 

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy. 

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy. 

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return. 

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that." 

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to. 

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours." 

The river.

"Alright."

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him. 

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him. 

"Y/n no!" 

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.  

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything." 

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you. 

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.  

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar. 

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost. 

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be. 

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.  

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. 

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.  

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now. 

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run? 

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl." 

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!" 

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me." 

"I don't need you." 

"You fucking need me." You repeated. 

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. "Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden crunch of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was truly no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. You saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

Would he have to continue to love you from afar? How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat? "I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the honey whiskey in hopes it would calm him and his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding courage in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

“You’ve never hugged me before." You said with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be. You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...I love you."

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

[emphistic]

Deja Vu

A/N: Bury Me at Makeout Creek

<- series m.list

And autumn comes when you’re not yet done

With the summer passing by, but

I don’t think I could stand to be

Where you don't see me

Sukuna had fallen in love with a war, when nobody told him it had ended.

Broken bottles and fallen chairs and shredded papers decorated the already messy floor. Sukuna’s apartment was a battlefield, and so was his mind. He simply just didn’t get it. . . Sukuna was the moon, when you wanted the stars. And for that very reason, he had lost everything.

He had no other reason to stay, no ulterior motive. And he certainly wasn’t wrong when he said there was no reason for the two of you to continue the fake relationship.

Sukuna was hurt. He had come to terms with it long ago. You didn’t love him, for he was merely a “token of luck” for you, and that was all there was to it. But, at the same time, he wanted you to be happy. And if he needed to leave for that to happen, he would. Still, he couldn’t help the thought that came into his mind, that he hoped—no, wanted—you to be happier with him, rather than with Naoki Ito. 

Was he foolish for thinking he was more of the man you needed, compared to Naoki?

Fuck. He was hurt, and he was far from coming to terms with it.

Sukuna often found himself asking why he loved you. And every single time, he was left with no answer. Why? Why did he love you? Even after you tore his heart out, and ripped it to shreds, without even knowing it yourself, he still loved you.

Vulnerability. A noun, as said by Oxford Languages, meaning “the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.” It was an emotion Sukuna showed once every blue moon. Yet, with you, it seemed the opposite. You were a special girl to Sukuna. One which he had known since childhood. The thought of him having to let your memories merely fade away to the past was unbearable.

Sukuna hated you so much. But in his world, love and hate were so similar, that he knew not the line which crossed between them. It was blurry. It was foggy. But it definitely couldn’t be non-existent, right?

That fateful day, after Sukuna exited your kitchen, he walked back into the living room, told the two cousins on the couch he was called into work, and simply left. You only knew this, because, when you came back into the living room, soon after wiping away stray tears on the sleeve of your sweater and splashing your face with cold water, Naoki and Eileen were quick to question you.

“Why did it take so long?”

“Does microwaving popcorn really take almost ten minutes?”

You had missed the beginning of White Chicks, but it didn’t matter much to you, you had already seen the movie quite a few times before. And, taking everything into account, an American 2000s comedy film probably wasn’t enough to get rid of the prominent tear stains on your pillow that very night.

Naoki had asked you if he could stay the night, using traffic as an argument, and even going as far as to suggest the idea of using your spare bedroom, but you outright rejected him. Saying the traffic near you wasn’t usually as bad on Saturdays as on other days.

Of course, that was a lie. Your street was busier than most locations, and still, you didn’t feel an ounce bad for making up a mere fib. You just couldn’t bear the thought of another man taking up the bed previously used by a notorious man with pink hair. Your heart wasn’t taken by Naoki, and your bed wouldn’t be, either.

Eileen exited your apartment after the movie ended, followed suit by her male cousin. The blonde left without a word to you, save for a small mumble of “Good night”, but that was it.

You didn’t know why you felt so empty inside. Everything that happened, happened because of you. You said yes to being Naoki’s girlfriend, and you told Sukuna that you two should end the fake relationship; you were the sole puppeteer. And yet, you felt like a doll attached to the strings.

Everything played out the way you made it, but none of it played out how you wanted it.

Confusion. Guilt. Regret.

Three emotions that hung heavy in your heart.

The whole two weeks you spent with Sukuna, you spent making a grave mistake. You thought of no one but yourself. The arranged relationship? Was for your benefit: to lift the curse. Sukuna? Was your pawn: did everything you suggested. Naoki? Was your opportunity to experience making macaroni with someone.

Was I always this selfish? you asked yourself, while laying in bed one night. It was quiet in the apartment, save for the distant grumble of your fridge, and the wind blowing against your curtains, and the sheets rustling every time you shifted in bed, unable to fall victim to Hypnos.

The thought process behind your poorly executed actions was simply that you had too much on your plate. You were in two relationships at once. But your heart was in one spot. And that confused you. What you’ve always wanted since childhood now seemed dull and insignificant. Was this what you really wanted?

You couldn’t continue the relationship with Sukuna because you had to end the one with Naoki first. And, speaking of which, you had no clue why you took up being Naoki’s girlfriend. Maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to decline someone who seemed so innocent. It just didn’t feel right.

But, at the same time, as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling with an arm beneath your head, you couldn’t help feeling sick to your stomach. These weren’t butterflies, this feeling wasn’t love. You were wrong. You were so, so wrong. You should’ve never even gotten yourself into this mess in the first place. And now, instead of only hurting yourself, you were hurting not one, but two other people. Two people who didn’t deserve what you were putting them through.

-

When Naoki grabbed your hand, you almost instinctively pulled it away, clearly not used to another man’s touch other than . . . Sukuna’s. . . Fuck.

It was the weekend, and you were ice skating with Naoki. It was a simple outing, an activity you found yourself having taken a liking to, and you should’ve been enjoying it. But . . . you weren’t. You couldn’t help yourself drifting off to the thought of Sukuna. He promised to teach you hockey when winter came; the weather would be colder, and the only warmth you could gather was from his hand intertwined with your own.

But winter seemed so far, and so impossible, that you almost threw away any dream you previously dreamt, and simply bit your tongue.

Your gloved hand shakingly took up Naoki’s, as the two of you glided across the ice at a moderate pace. Your bottom lip trembled, and you clumsily skated, nearly knocking into other couples on the ice as the both of you went on and on and on.

“I’m not really good at this, as you can probably tell,” Naoki began, “but you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“My . . . friend taught me; I told you, remember? He is—he was a good teacher,” you mumbled, turning your head away from Naoki’s.

A friend. That’s what Sukuna was to you for two decades. A companion, a neighbor, a comeade, someone you could trust. Sukuna was a friend. And now, he was but a stranger, whose face you could only hold on to in your dreams.

In the past, mainly when you were a little younger, you had dreams about people that didn’t exist (Well, that’s what you concluded). You could never remember their faces when you woke up, it was always a blur; a fuzzy, distinct memory that often seemed like a mere figment of your imagination.

That’s how the name Sukuna Ryomen felt to you now. Hearing it made your heart drop to your stomach, and you always looked around your surroundings to see if you could spot his unruly, pink hair, that you loved so much—yet not enough to keep—so that you could bring him back, and tell him how stupid, and how much of an idiot you were back there.

You knew Sukuna wouldn’t like it if you did that, he wouldn’t want you to pull him back into the tide. But fuck, you were a selfish person, who wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Naoki smiled, “Right. I forgot. . . Anyway, let’s go sit down somewhere. I heard there’s ice cream here, y’know.”

You turned back to Naoki. “Oh, really? That sounds nice, we should try it.”

“We should.”

“I didn’t take you for a chocolate person.”

You laughed. “Really? How do you mean?”

Naoki shrugged, a subtle smile on his lips. “. . .The reason Sukuna left that night . . . surely wasn’t just because of work, right?”

Did he know? Did Sukuna tell him? Did you accidentally tell him at one point? There was no way he could’ve found out on his own. You’ve never told a soul other than Sukuna about the “curse” and you certainly never told anyone about the arranged relationship. So then, how. . ?

Before you could ask any questions, Naoki beat you to it. “You don’t have to lie. Lying too much is . . . a bad habit to have. I’m sure you would know.” Naoki’s smile wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. It was a smile of acceptance; he had learned everything he needed to learn.

You weren’t going to outright confess everything in a shopping mall to a man you didn’t know as well as you thought you did, and you sure as hell weren’t going to talk about how you felt about Sukuna, but you didn’t see the point in trying to hide the fact that you and Naoki shouldn’t be together anymore. You had lied for so long. To Sukuna. To Naoki. And to yourself.

Furrowing your brows, you sighed a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’m sorry. You’ve been so nice and such a great listener, and I’ve. . . I’ve been . . . just me,” you shakily inhaled before continuing. “Naoki, I’m sorry. You’re great, you’re a wonderful guy, and I’m glad I got to spend the time I spent with you. I’m just—I. . . Everything is moving so fast for me, and I’ve been nothing but a huge dick to everyone around. It’s just. . . It’s complicated, and I. . .” Your voice trailed off, as you felt your eyes get wet. Crying in public was definitely a first for you. And today would not be the day.

“Look, I may not understand everything that’s going on, but I see everything going on. And I know, if we stay together any longer, you’ll spend the rest of your time as my girlfriend searching for another person in me that . . . doesn’t exist,” Naoki sighed. “I can assure you of that much.”

“Nao. . .” Your eyes softened as you peered into the copper-haired man’s face, but his head was casted downwards, and his bangs covered his eyes. You could barely see his mouth move as he spoke to you with a quiet voice.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I . . . feel sorry for you, actually, that you had to bury your feelings for so long. That’s probably the only part I can sympathize with you on. But. . . I tried, I really tried. But ‘like’ and ‘love’ are very different things. And the difference between what we feel for each other is very prominent,” Naoki added, saying your name with a dull tone.

“. . .Naoki, I really, really wish we could’ve met when I was more mature. When I was a lot less confused, and a lot more . . . together, composed, I’m not sure. But, it’s been . . . a time. A ride. A chapter. But maybe, it was the wrong chapter. The wrong book, even,” you tried joking; “. . .I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Naoki Ito. You deserve so much better, but I can’t give you much better, and I will always be forever regretful of that.”

Naoki nodded. “I know. I know you’re full of regrets. But we’re in our twenties, and we have the rest of our lives to live. As much I miss this, as much as I miss you, I know there’s more for me out there. And there’s more for you out there, if you put your mind to it. It’s . . . embarrassing to spend the rest of your life hung up on heartbreak. I’ll tell you that.

“You’re a beautiful, exceptional girl. Being with someone you don’t love, and putting on a mask all day, isn’t your fate. I’m not going to hold you back from what you really want. So, this is goodbye.”

You walked home, soon after. With a heavy heart in your hand, that still beat for someone miles away. Huh, being selfish was so strange.

-

It’s a quarter after one, I’m a little drunk, and I need you now. 

Said I wouldn’t call, but I’ve lost all control and I need you now

And I don’t know how I can do without, I just need you now

You weren’t planning on spending the rest of your night drunk out of your mind, but being spontaneous was pretty much your thing at this point.

Alcohol is known to affect your brain. According to an article you read: It’s a depressant, which can disrupt the balance of neurotransmitters in your brain, affecting your feelings, thoughts, and behavior. In summary, alcohol affects the part of your brain that controls inhibition, so feeling relaxed, less anxious, or more confident after a drink is always a definite possibility.

In your apartment, you had a classy collection of drinks to choose from. But, maybe it was a mistake for Sukuna to supply you with his favorite bottle of beer, because that’s all you wanted now. You didn’t drink beer very often, but it burned especially good when it was accompanied by the feeling of longing for a man so far away.

Blinking back tears, your shaking fingers clumsily dialed a number you could only manage to remember when you were half-asleep and in need of comfort. You usually held the phone up to your ear, but this time, you put the call on speaker. You had nothing to lose, after all. You were alone, with the stars and moon, and your dignity.

The call was answered within two rings, and you wasted no time in saying, “Sukuna, I—I. . . I don’t know what to—hic—do. I need—”

You would’ve gone on and on about how sorry you were, and how much you needed him, but the drunk version of you had an incredibly flexible mind. And when Sukuna cut you off before you could say those three formidable words, and asked, “What did you have to drink?” you immediately forgot about what you were going to say before.

Your excitement for hearing Sukuna’s voice after what seemed like a millenium couldn’t be contained, and your heart felt ten times lighter. Blinking, your reply came almost instantly. “Just—just a few beers. Why . . . do you ask?”

Sukuna hummed from the other line. “Not in a mood for Chardonnay, I take it?”

“N-no,” you furrowed your brows, chewing on your bottom lip. “I wanted something that reminded me of you. I wanted to drink your favorite drink. . . And, when I opened the bottle, it felt like I could feel your hands on it from the last time you opened it for me. I wish—”

“Those things are tough. Why didn’t you just use a bottle opener?”

“I don’t like bottle openers. I like when you used to open bottles for me,” you nearly burst out sobbing, which was just utterly insane, considering the bittersweet smile you had on your face. “I . . . miss y—”

“I know you do, and, to be frank, that just makes me feel a lot better about everything. I mean, why wouldn’t you miss me? I gave you what you’ve always wanted, I lifted your stupid fuckin’ curse, I’m—I’m basically your Lord and Savior, now,” joked a laughing Sukuna. He was frustrated, so frustrated. Because, despite it all, he still fucking loved you. Even after you broke his heart. Even after you unconsciously made him relapse. None of that mattered, because you were you, and Sukuna would always love that.

Drunk You didn’t understand any of what Sukuna was saying, and so you ultimately dismissed his words. Your voice softened as you added, “I’m—I’m worried. I . . . don’t want other memories to replace ours. I miss our cooking nights together, Sukuna. I really miss—”

“Do you miss having someone to make macaroni and cheese with, or do you miss me?”

“. . .Is there a right answer to that?” You laughed mindlessly, taking another swig from your glass.

“There’s a right answer to everything, if you put your heart to it. Go to sleep, sweetheart. There’ll be alka-seltzer in your cabinet when you wake up.”

-

You awoke the next morning with an empty bottle in your hand, prominent eye bags, and a bad back, because you had slept on the couch that night before. Your first thought was to go back to sleep, but you decided against that, and stalked around the apartment like a zombie in search of brains, until you found a box of hangover relief in your cabinet. I didn’t put that there, you thought, but you took the tablets anyway.

Hangovers didn’t wait for anyone, and you definitely weren’t going to question a miracle from God.

“So, what’s up? We haven’t hung at your place in a while; it looks nice.” Yuuji had arrived at your door fifteen minutes after you told him you needed someone to confide in. He was a naturally very nosy person, but something told you his speed was because he wanted to help a friend out.

“I need advice,” you said, setting two cups of coffee on the table. You clearly hadn’t learned your lesson on the harm in inviting a friend over to your apartment for drinks, except this time, you would finally be sober.

“Yeah, you look like you need advice. Sorry, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but, you look like shit.”

“Uh huh. I feel like shit, too. It’s been a rough two weeks since I last heard from you. There’s a lot we need to catch up on,” you laughed, taking a sip from your mug.

“Spill.”

“I fucked your brother.”

There was a pregnant pause. Yuuji couldn’t even look you in the face, not because he was surprised—spoiler alert: he wasn’t—but because he simply wasn’t expecting you to be so frank. You? Sukuna? Why did no one tell him anything? Were you asking for advice about getting into a real relationship with Sukuna? Or were you two past that, and looking to get married?

“. . .Deadass. . ?”

“. . .No, I’m just kidding. But, we did . . . kiss. And, we did date, but it wasn’t. . . It was casual, it was just—I don’t know. It was fake. Okay, it was fake. That’s—that’s what it was.”

“And I take it, you wanted it to be real?”

Yuuji could be so smart sometimes, you mentally laughed.

“That’s the thing, Yuuji. I do, but I also don’t. But I do, but. . . I need advice, okay.”

“Duh. Tell me from the beginning.” Yuuji situated himself in a comfortable position, with his legs crossed on your table, and his arms resting on the back of the couch. He had a feeling he was going to be here for a long time.

You hesitantly started by explaining your curse. And how it’s been a dream of yours since forever to be able to make macaroni and cheese with someone you loved. But, you just never had an opportunity to do that, because you couldn’t get a partner who liked macaroni and cheese like you did.

“So, one day, when I was especially bored, and Sukuna was over at my place, I told him all of what I just told you. And, I brought up my idea on how I could get rid of my ‘curse’ and, surprisingly, he agreed to it. We would get into a fake relationship—because he liked macaroni and cheese—and cross our fingers and pray that the gods above would lift my curse and grant me a boyfriend who fit my rubric.”

Yuuji looked conflicted. “But Sukuna doesn’t like. . . Never mind, continue.”

“Later that night, we went out for drinks at a bar. I ran into a friend of mine, Eileen Mifune, and coincidentally, she was with her cousin, Naoki Ito. He’s, like, this super adorably dorky guy. Copper hair, super shy when we first met, you get the vision. But, yeah. We exchanged numbers, since I thought he was a nice guy, y’know?”

Yuuji nodded, completely engaged in your story.

“The next day, Sukuna and I watched Pride and Prejudice—”

“Let me guess, Sukuna was being a dick about the movie and everything in it?”

“Bingo. So, we watched Pride and Prejudice. Or, at least, we tried to. Uhm. . . Some things came up, and we may or may not have gotten a bit carried away and started. . . We kissed. Like, a lot. And I liked it. I really liked it.”

“Is that the conflict?”

“No, there’s more. We were interrupted by Naoki calling me, and he was asking to see me. Wanted me to show him around the city, or something. Did I mention he was looking for a place to stay? Sorry. But, anyway, I agreed.

“We were walking to a restaurant I knew, since he doesn’t have a car, when out of the blue, it started raining. We agreed to walk back to my place, since the restaurant was still a lot farther, and we ended up making macaroni and cheese together.”

“Like you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that a good thing, then?”

“. . .It should’ve been. Moving on, the next day, I invited Sukuna over, and I proposed that we should start seeing other people, since, at the time, I thought Naoki was interested in me, and that I was interested in him. Sukuna ended up agreeing.

“We told the cousins we had simply lost interest in each other, and I started going on dates with Naoki. We hung out pretty often. And, from what I’ve assumed, Sukuna did the same with Eileen.

“Some time later, I invited Sukuna over, and we made macaroni and cheese while he told me the story of that catastrophic Thanksgiving dinner you guys had. My condolences to Choso, by the way,” you added.

“Ohh, yeah, that.” Yuuji scratched the back of his neck. “I still feel bad about that.”

“Uh huh. Anyway. . . Oh! I found out he watched Sausage Party!”

“For real? I’ve been nagging him for years, though, so can’t say I’m surprised.”

“We kissed . . . after eating the mac n’ cheese, and he stayed the night.

“The next day, I invited Naoki over. He asked me to be his girlfriend, and. . . I said yes, because I didn’t know what else to say, to be honest. And, it did feel like I was obligated to. I’m just. . . I’m really confused, Yuuji.”

“Would you have said ‘yes’ if Sukuna wasn’t part of the story?”

“. . .I wouldn’t have met Naoki if Sukuna wasn’t part of the story.”

“Don’t be like that. I mean in general.”

“No, I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ because . . . I don’t love Naoki like I thought I did.”

Yuuji sighed, “Well, there’s your answer. This Naoki guy just isn’t the one for you.”

“So. . . Sukuna came over—I didn’t invite him, by the way—and he was . . . with Eileen.”

“That one blondie?”

You nodded, looking at your lap.

“What a bitch,” Yuuji shook his head.

“We decided to have a double-date? I don’t know. A movie was put on, and I went to go make popcorn. Sukuna came with; one thing led to another, and we kissed. . . I loved it. But, I felt guilty, because. . . I was in a relationship with another guy. Fuck, of course I felt guilty! I was cheating for God’s sake!” You groaned, holding your head in your hands.

Yuuji hummed, “That’s kind of a dick move on your part, not gonna lie.”

Your head snapped to Yuuji’s. “I know! That’s the whole point. I know, and I still did it. And, if time was rewound, I probably would have done the same thing. God. And you know the worst part? We broke up right after. I told Sukuna about how we shouldn’t have been . . . y’know, kissing, and he just. . . We broke up. The arrangement’s off.

“I lost a fake boyfriend, and I lost a real friend. All in the same day.”

“That’s. . . I don’t even know what to say to you. So, as for Naoki?”

“I broke up with him yesterday. I got deja vu being with Naoki. I felt like he wasn’t the first boyfriend I had that liked macaroni and cheese. It was as if I was reliving something I had already gone through. It just didn’t sit right with me.”

“And you did something about that?”

You paused. “Well . . . yeah. I broke up with him.”

“Sheesh, that’s the shortest lasting relationship you’ve ever had. And probably the shortest one in history, too.”

“Yuuji,” you deadpanned, “be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in defense. “You couldn’t, like, explain everything to him or something? You guys could just get back together. For real, this time.”

“Not exactly. . . I mean, just look at me, I’m currently a fucking mess. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Sukuna how I really felt, because . . . I just don’t think . . . I would be good for him.”

“Are you telling me? Or are you trying to tell yourself that?” 

“. . .” You didn’t know.

Yuuji said your name with full confidence, “I know my brother. I’ve known him my whole life. And I know, that, you were the best and the worst thing to happen to him. (That’s a compliment.) There will never ever be another girl like you. Not in this lifetime. Not in this universe. Not ever. So be rational, goddamnit. Sukuna won’t settle for less. And he’s as stubborn as a mule. What you did was wrong, but you can always change the ending of a story if you really put your mind to it.

“Call him. Text him. But whatever you do, do the apologizing and explaining in person. I will personally help you and abduct him, if that’s what it will take.

“I really like you and my brother together; I’m selfish, I know. But everyone is a little self-seeking every once in a while, and I’m sure Sukuna would at least hear you out. So don’t sweat it, kid.” Yuuji patted you on the shoulder encouragingly, before sitting up and cracking his back after sitting for what seemed like forever.

-

You ended up passing up Yuuji on his ingenious idea of kidnapping Sukuna. If you were going to fix things, you were going to do it unaided. There have been too many people involved by now; you just wanted it to be Sukuna and you and the stars in the night sky. Uninterrupted by any phone calls, and any other thoughts that snaked their way into your brain.

“What . . . is this?” Sukuna raised a brow, inspecting the plate of food in your hands.

“You cooked for me . . . a lot, back then. I just . . . wanted to repay the favor?” You tried.

“So why is the ketchup on the omurice spelling out the word ‘sorry’? I’m not a mind reader, y’know. Explain,” Sukuna crossed his arms.

“It’s an apology. For you. I’m apologizing to you, Sukuna, for being so utterly stupid these two weeks. Please, let me explain. So I can sound like less of a dick.”

“Be my guest.”

Despite Yuuji’s assurance, you still feared Sukuna would hang up your call or leave your texts on read. So, you did the next best thing. You had shown up to Sukuna’s door completely unannounced. With a plate of a traditional Japanese dish—omurice—in your grasps, which you knew Sukuna had a soft spot for. People usually do a design with the ketchup, and you . . . decided to write the word sorry.

You followed Sukuna inside, and the both of you walked onto the balcony, where you could have some peace and quiet to explain yourself with no interruptions. There was the occasional flutter of the wind, and the sounds of birds having fun in the sky, but that was it. And that was enough.

Clearing your throat, you began—with the plate of food still in your hands. “I’ve been really stupid. And ignorant. And. . . I’m sorry.

“I don’t know why, but, I’ve always pushed away the idea that I loved you. And, that was dumb. Because I really loved you. Love, I mean. I know that’s kind of frank, and maybe even a little cheesy to hear and say, but, I don’t regret saying it. To you, at least.

“We got into this relationship for my benefit. And I never batted an eye to how you felt. That was egotistical of me. A dick move. And I’ve realized that.

“I’ve been stupid since the beginning of this. I mean, what type of person comes up with the idea that they’re cursed to never date someone interested in macaroni and cheese?” you joked.

Sukuna sighed. “You know, I agreed to your ‘curse removal’ thing because I never experienced true romantic love. But, in the end, you only gave me my first experience of true romantic heartbreak.”

“Uhm, yeah, I’m—I’m really, really sorry, Sukuna. Feelings always confuse me, and—and I didn’t say yes to being Naoki’s girlfriend because I loved him. It’s you who I feel that way towards. . .” you cringed at yourself. “I dragged you into this mess; and I fucked up. I just want you to know, that, me agreeing to be Naoki’s girlfriend was only because I didn’t know how to say otherwise. I felt . . . obligated? to say ‘yes’ and so I did. But, love isn’t really my strong suit. And, I know it sounds cheesy to say this, but, taking everything into account, this kind of reminds me of what Plato wrote about soulmates. 

“That, humans used to originally have four arms, four legs, and two faces. Until, as a punishment for our pride, Zeus split humans in half. And now, we’re left destined to walk the earth searching for our other half.” 

You sighed, exhausted with guilt.

“Yeah, I messed up, really bad, and you may hate me forever now—I wouldn’t blame you—but, I think I’ll always be drawn back to you. And,” you paused, looking up at the moon above, “I can’t say I’m complaining. As long as it’s you I’m destined to.”

Sukuna remained silent throughout the whole time you explained yourself. He felt . . . conflicted, to say the least. He knew he shouldn’t forgive you, but his heart ached, and longed. Sukuna had spent the days apart from you reflecting and going over everything that happened. And, in conclusion, he still loved you. Honestly, if you stabbed him and removed the blade before doing the same thing, Sukuna would probably still love you.

His stomach churned, and his eyebrows furrowed, as his turmoil consumed most of him.

“This might be a bad time to say this, but,” Sukuna turned to you, whispering, “I only liked macaroni and cheese because I ate it with you. You made the meal enjoyable, because we ate it together. As a couple, as friends, whatever. And, in full honesty. . . I fucking hate macaroni and cheese.”

Sukuna expected you to respond in shock, maybe even curse him out a bit, but you didn’t. At least, you didn’t let any emotion show on your face. Instead, you merely continued staring at the stars and the moon in the inky, dark night sky. Silent, eyes unblinking, and body unmoving.

The curse was never about macaroni and cheese. It was about true love. Those relationships with other people who liked macaroni and cheese weren’t successful because they were all with the wrong person. You weren’t cursed. You were in love, without knowing it.

“Look up, Sukuna,” you whispered, entirely focused on the stars. “Don’t you think. . .” 

Your voice trailed off, but Sukuna finished your sentence for you.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

“. . .Yes. Yes, it is.”

Love truly was the most twisted curse of all.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒

A/N: ngl, i feel like i kinda rushed this ending, but im glad its done so whatever. here are some details you might've missed <3

[callmelitlesunshine]

Paint It Black*

She ran through the corridors of her own mind, trying to hide. She definitely didn't want anyone to get into her head again. But, alas, it was impossible - the injection was too strong and there was no strength to resist.

Her legs were buzzing from the endless running, and the bright red doors made her want to just close her eyes. But no matter how hard she tried to close her eyes and wake up, nothing disappeared. Somewhere, a painfully familiar voice echoed, which seemed to have been with her for so long that she herself did not remember when it all began.

“Where is he, Bell?”

Yes, it seems that this is her call sign…

But no matter how long and far she tried to escape, this voice always followed her. And as she approached the desired point, it became louder. Louder. And louder each time, until Belle felt this man at all. Nearby. Right behind her. She felt the weight of his strong hand on her shoulder, his breath, a quiet voice right next to her ear… and the smell of cigarettes. Bitter and disgusting, only he smoked such cigarettes.

Bell was in a stupor and could not move. In front of her was that same red door, despite the number of ones she had already passed.

— Tell me, Bell… Where is he? — her gaze was fixed on that very door, but Adler’s voice made her shudder and look away somewhere to the side. She just wanted to make sure that he was really here. But he was in her head, despite the persistent feeling of presence.

— Open the red door, Bell….

And she couldn't resist. All she wanted was to repaint all the red doors she met in black*, so that they would no longer bother her. But her hand itself reached for the handle of this massive gates. And behind it what Adler need.

*reference to the lines from the song The Rolling Stones - Paint it Black.

Sooooo heheheh i can share this here!!

That was my big work i did some time ago! I already posted it on my insta last week, but i want post it here too :3c

In first animation of running I used a ready-made running animation to test it, but it turned out pretty good in the end and I decided to use it!

But the second animation was made from scratch by me! It was a really cool experience and i will make more of it!

Also, you can watch second animation as video here (it will be in better quality than gifs)!

Hope y'all enjoy this!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Y'know, if Lila was just a one-off character for Volpina and we never saw her again, a few tweaks in that episodes writing could have made it a good lesson about not letting your temper get the best of you, even in a situation where your anger is justified

This is in reference to the post where I discussed how terrible Volpina's lesson is and I agree with the proposed change. If Marinette has to be in the wrong here, that's the only way to make it kind of work. In fact, this is what I thought the episode was trying to do on my first watch. When the next season started with Lila gone, I thought, "Okay, so that episode was supposed to be about being the better person and having a more measured response when you've been wronged. I don't think it did that lesson super well, but I can see what they were going for and we'll give them some grace. Definitely one that I wouldn't just give to a kid, though. Way too high a risk of them internalizing a very wrong message."

I only gave the writers that grace because I assumed that Ladybug had truly humiliated Lila out of Paris off screen (remember, we only see Ladybug out Lila to Adrien even though Lila was lying to everyone) and that is a pretty extreme punishment for a teenager making a dumb choice. Even then, saying that Ladybug was in the wrong feels a little too victim blame-y for my tastes. Lila was the one telling the lies and using Ladybug's name for clout on a city-wide scale or possibly even a national/international scale depending on the Ladyblog's viewership. By telling those lies, Lila was harming Alya's credibility and presenting herself as a sort of authority on Ladybug, a position that she was going to use to her advantage as we saw with her manipulating Adrien. She was also putting herself at risk if Gabriel or other villains believed the lies and saw her as a way to get to Ladybug.

That means that the lies Lila told aren't exactly minor, victimless crimes like the lies Marinette and Adrien tell to hide their identities. Lilia's lies needed to be outed on the same scale that they were broadcast and there's no kind way to do that. It's going to have a brutal edge no matter how pretty the words are.

There are times when it's right to be "the better person" and let a thing go, but it's hard to view this as one of them because this was not a nuanced situation. There was no reasonable option other than issuing a public retraction and Ladybug didn't even go that far! She had a single, private confrontation with Lila and then let the matter rest. A better version of this episode might see Alya and Marinette giving a really mean retraction on the Ladyblog that they then feel bad about because they should have been more professional, but that's about it as far as possible improvements go.

If we look at what the episode actually gave us, it feels like another Gamer situation. An episode that blames Marinette for impure motivations while ignoring anyone else's faults, creating a nonsense moral that just makes me mad. Ladybug-is-wrong-for-confronting-the-liar-for-impure-reasons is certainly a take. It's just not one that I'm ever going to agree with. To give a recent, real-world example, do people really feel that James Somerton was the wronged party because his many, many lies and instances of plagiarism were outed in a brutal public takedown? (Context part 1 & part 2, though part 2 is the one to watch if you only want to see why letting lies from respected sources go unchecked can be so messy.)

To be clear, I don't think that Lila's lies were Somerton bad in Volpina, but they were starting to go down that road and they arguably reached Somerton levels by season five. Fakes identities, almost getting Marinette expelled, using her lies to get social power from Gabriel, the list goes on, which is yet another reason to hate Volpina. Its nonsense moral is a big part of why Lila could do all of that. Ladybug should have outed Lila! Society suffered and will continue to suffer because she didn't. That's why you have to stop misinformation as soon as you possibly can, but that wasn't actually the moral of Volpina. The moral was that Ladybug was in the wrong for being mean to the liar. Maybe if she'd been nicer, then Lila wouldn't be so evil now which is a very gross moral! Volpina really does feel even more victim blame-y now that Lila is the new big bad.

That's a good segue to circle back and finish off my original topic: I gave the writers grace for Volpina until Lila returned and established that she'd never been publicly outed. At that point, Volpina lost any chance at me giving it charity. The lesson was worse than I thought and I was fully justified in hating it. It's one of the ones I use when I explain why I wouldn't want a child getting into Miraculous because the problem with Volpina's moral is pretty straightforward.

[evilminji]

Back on my: Holotuber Jedi Youngling - OC Thoughts >.>

Prev <-

You think folks debate at first? Shtick or Real Thing? Like? No... no WAY could that be one of those Mysterious Mystic Space Cult Kids. No WAY. They would NEVER let their kid be unsupervised on the Net.

But like... (and since I'm a She, gonna use She, but realistically could be any pronouns here) she LOOKS like she's recording from a...? Is that a closet? This one looks like a vent. THIS video is definitely some sort of maintenance area. So she's definitely sneaking...

Ooooh! Thaaaat's a Jedi! REAL FUCKING JEDI. Just dropped down silently behind her. Arms crossed. Mouse droids be snitching. BUSTED.

:T

"Uuuuuuh, h-heeey, Master Uvalii. Fancy seeing YOU here!"

"Yes. Quite interesting isn't it? Since you should not be able to access this area at all, much less to achieve holonet access. Of which we are both aware you are expressly Forbidden To DO unsupervised."

".........I can explain?"

"Please. Do."

*feed ends, chat goes fucking NUTS*

Like? Oh SHIT. Baby Jedi in troooouble. But also? Oh no! What's gonna happen?! Are they gonna be okay?! S-should they TELL somebody? What do Jedi do to kids who disobey them? Does anyone actually KNOW? What DO any of us know about them!? Someone find their Com Code! MA! MA, I need you to yell at space monks! An adorable CHILD MIGHT BE AT STAKE!!! D:>

Even coming BACK on? For a supervised feed? Going "no, I'm just in trouble. Have to right paragraphs and meditate on 'why I felt the need to do this' (even though I KNOW why, not that they'll LISTEN. They just hope I'll meditate until I come to an answer they LIKE)" under the offscreen supervision of a teacher or Creche master?

Whole ass Net gonna be like "youngling! Blink Twice if they're holding you hostage! We can afford bounty hunters! We got a group pot thing going already!!! Aaaaaaaa-!"

Like? *waves at the camera and chat* she TOLD you. They don't believe you. This is part of WHY she wants to do what she's doing. Palpatine's and his Master's machinations have been building for a while. Eroding trust. The Jedi have become strange, dangerous, semi-mythical cryptids with magic powers we must HOPE are benevolent.

Not people.

Why would they expect some unfeeling, magical, sword-wielding space legend to be patient or kind to children? To even have the capacity? We are said to kidnap children and be unfeeling. Can not reach enough people to show otherwise. To reveal the mundanity of our lives. The traditions. The norms.

Food, children, laughter.

The Common Good.

And like? She obviously isn't gonna name Sith-ly NAMES. Not on CAMERA. But her lil "why I wanna play the tooka game and chat about lunch" speech? Convincing. Calms chat down. Still in trouble, mind you. But... provided it's SUPERVISED? And they work out some sort of effective moderation? Alright.

It's a matter of SAFETY, youngling. And no matter HOW much good you wish to do? They will NOT be sacrificing children to achieve it. That is NOT the Jedi way. There are plenty of old masters who would live nothing more then to ramble all day into cameras, if only to here themselves talk. (Oh? Good to know. Guest speakers pog?)

Like? Imagine making a game. Have a "mystical sage" character you TOTALLY BASED of Jedi in it. And your feed gets? Flooded with XD reactions in response to some smol bby streamer playing it? You go to check it out. Cause you're kinda a big deal on your planet. And?

Oh No™

That tiny streamer? Is a tiny JEDI streamer. Who is sitting there, in the stills, going O.o like "Wut." And the next still? Her lil friends are pulled in. The next? A teenager. The NEXT. An adult. The one after THAT. A few adults looking over her shoulder. Then a CROWD. All deeply, deeply confused looking.

The comments are DYING. Howling with laughter. The Jedi were so earnest. Trying to identify which Era you must be referencing. Which sect. But the head dress... cultural, maybe? It doesn't fit with the features though. Could be adopted. A hint at, I believe the term was, "lore"? No, no, those are DEFINITELY padawan beads! But so MANY? In THAT order?

They aren't even connected to a braid! And he's supposed to be a Master, right? But, wait. Perhaps it's meant to suggest he is a Padawan of the Force itself? A student of life? No, that wouldn't make sense! Stolen? It could suggest he has TAKEN the beads? Is regurgitating stolen texts without true understanding? Much like wearing bead he did not EARN?

They keep going and going. Ripping your character design to SHREDS. Picking it apart. Not even meanly! They are genuinely confused. AND IT ONLY MAKES THE CHAT LAUGH HARDER. Because it devolves into a MARATHON, after the game has been paused, of chat spamming different character names? For the Jedi to go "???" Over.

T...that's not? What? How does he even EAT in those robes? And those ones don't seem very non-humanoid friendly. Is he FLOATING HIS SWORD WITH THE FORCE? WHY!? Just keep it on your belt!!!

And? Now every game developer in the galaxy is PARANOID AF. Either make their mystics Very Obviously NOT Jedi rip offs... or shoot a "if I pay you $20 will you consult on something real quick" email. It's just... just easier man. Last guy got laughed into oblivion. Oof.

They can bill it as "Realism" or something. See guys? WE do or reasearch! Give us your credits!

Oh YEAH? Says the growing fan base of this Funky Lil Monk Child. Then put you game where your communication organs are. Send her the game, you cowards.

Do It.

Cut to "oh no, guys! The sorta-jedi died! What? Next objective? No. No we gotta give him a funeral! Oh good, we ca-BURY HIM?! What!? No!!! I could understand if he was from a race that held beliefs that bodies must be returned to the soil from whence they came, but this guy is a SORTA-JEDI! Absolutely NOT!"

"Let's cut down some trees. WE are building him a PYRE. Never ran one of these, but I can look it up. Gimme a moment. Okay. Draaaaag, him on to it. Where's his weapon. There! Thanks chat! On it goes too. Okay. Looking it up..... got it. Ahem...!"

*hold funeral for the sage character by burning his body*

*mods are IMMEDIATELY created to change the "burial" scene to a "Funeral pyre" with somber music*

Just? I can not let go? Of how the subtle shift would spread? Not in shining senatorial halls, but in class rooms and living rooms, dingy pubs and long hyperdrive flights? Anywhere boredom might be found and "hey check this out" might spread? Where someone else, might overhear and get curious?

Lik?? Imagine being the bounty hunter, who fuckin HATES Jedi, thinks they're sanctimonious BASTARDS, hearing someone snort laugh. Just... just fucking CHOKE on their cheep beer. Oh? Now everyone's interested. What's funny?

It's a teeny, tiny, lil jedi youngling. Playing that new Bounty 5 game. Unrealistic as hell. But they are going "I am a MASTER of stealth. A LEGEND of the hunt. You will not see me. I am sneaky. So, so, sneeeeakyyyyy!" As they concentrate on sneaking through back alleys.

Only for their character to fall RIGHT of a ledge, bounce against three buildings, smash into a parked Speeder, and roll right into a cut scene. Where they are call the "greatest bounty hunter of all time".

They look so incredulous.

"Are you SURE? Cause I'm fairly certain that phrase alone is banned for the trouble it causes, near most Bounty outposts. Could be the concussion talking though!"

They are? A sarcastic lil SHIT. Roast EVERYTHING. Know a surprising number of them. Given that they gave the Duros support character a modded in hat. Named him Definitely-Not-Cad. The fake look mustache REALLY sells it. Yeah, Bane. Clearly not you. YOU don't have a mustaches. *watches as she unleashes the Not Cad Bane like a highly tactical meat thresher on legs* brutal lil shit. They like her.

Granted, it's only BECAUSE it's not real she does so.

But I just? Have so many ideas? Spam the Galaxy with "this is who we are. We are people. Develop bonds with us. Care about us. KNOW us." Because the Sith can not possibly kill us all. Can not stop truth, so widely spread. Light dies, when you smother it in closed hands, hidden away in dark and long forgotten places. When you let fear dictate your actions.

It thrives in the open. With people. With the chance to SPREAD. Grow. Bloom.

It's about talking and caring. Being heard. What better place? Then on the screen in their pocket?

@babbling-babull @hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @spidori

[generalluxun]

A second scene between fics.

“-and that’s the latest we have on this new hero careening across the streets of Paris,” Nadja Camchak’s image smiled vaguely from the TV screen.

“Can we even call them a hero, Nadja?” Her co-anchor asked with an even more vapid cheer.

“Well Jean,” Nadja simpered, “It’s definitely a curious situation. They helped defeat an akuma, but almost immediately got in a fight with our very own Ladybug. How are we supposed to interpret that, especially alongside moments like these?”

She gestured at the air and a half dozen images of Purrge apprehending criminals, pulling people from ruined cars, and even rescuing a cat, scrolled behind her.

“I think it’s safe to say that at the very least they’re not a villain. Perhaps we have a heroic territorial dispute on our hands?”

The camera swung back to Jean who was frowning in overexaggerated concern, “A most troubling thought, Nadja. It doesn’t help that when asked for comment this Not-Cat-Noir hissed at reporters and crushed a microphone.”

Nadja tilted her head in mock camaraderie, “Well Jean-”

*Kthunk* The heavy slap of metal plates overrode the TV.

The TV that hung small and as an afterthought in a stuffy room that predated the very idea of a ‘recreational gym.’ Le Grand Paris had repurposed it for guests, stuffed it full of exercise machinery despite the lack of ventilation, though only one patron was present at the moment.

Chloé leaned forward, panting where she sat at the lat-pull down machine. As sweat dripped down her face, framing a maniacal grin, she glanced up at the news cast, “Ha! Crushed it, bit it in half, and spit it back in his face more like.”

Almost empty; Plagg floated up out of a nest of discarded hand towels, cackling. He floated up towards the screen. “You people have made so many new and interesting things to break since I was last out. Electronics? Sparks and fires already barely contained. It’s brilliant!”

Chloé adjusted her fingerless gloves and reached up for the pull bar again. She made sure of her grip before starting another set, “nnf. You should have seen the cat one. Hfff. Cat in a tree? Cataclysm! Gnnf.  Poof! No tree and I didn’t even drop the cat.”

Plagg sidebarred, “I would hope not.” Then louder, “What’s with all this? There’s not a butterfly in sight when you go out.”

Chloé’s response continued between repetitions, “Better. Than. Ladybug.”

Plagg gestured at the screen. “Yeah, but it’s not making you any friends.”

“Doesn’t. Matter. Better.”

He flew down, dodging back and forth under the rise and fall of weights as Chloé worked.

When she stopped he sat on the weights and asked, “You aren’t moving this anywhere, just back and forth.”

She slumped forward again, forehead against the frame of the weight machine. Sucking in deep breaths in shakey gulps. “Get stronger. That’s how it works, right? You said. For fighting.”

The words seemed to take a while to sink in, or maybe he was considering his answer more than usual. Chloé’s ragged panting filled up the room. Plagg twitched one ear slowly. “Kinda? My power enhances what you already got. So unless you take lessons you’re not suddenly become good with the baton-”

“-stupid stick anyway-”

Plagg wrinkled his nose and deadpanned. “...Right… Anyway, but if you are strong, or fast, you get stronger or faster… like you with your jumps-”

“-eight years of ballet.”

Plagg waved a paw. “Whatever that is. Yeah. So, sure you can raise the baseline, but that takes time. It’s not gonna happen overnight.”

Chloé sat up again and wiped the sweat from her lips. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll still be better.”

Plagg squinted. As Chloé reached up for the bar again he floated off the weights quickly. “Look, fun is fun, but your room says ‘Miss Priss’ to me, so why the sudden urgency?”

She adjusted her grip, looking through him into the past. “I won’t lose this time.”

“What do you mean by-”

The beep and click of the gym door unlocking sent Plagg diving for cover. The door opened slowly and André’s head showed itself around the edge. Spotting Chloé, he paused. “Sweety, hi. I am glad you are enjoying the gym, but our patrons need to be able to use it too…”

Chloé instantly scowled, standing and stomping her foot. “No! I need my privacy. They can have it when I ‘m done.!”

André grimaced. “Honey, I’ll get you a new gym. There’s that old ice rink no one uses any more. You’d have the biggest gym in Paris!”

The mention of the rink triggered a memory. She hadn't gotten the gym back then either; another failure. “No! I don’t want that one. Give it to your guests. This one is mine!”

She stomped her foot again for good measure. Instead of retreating though André’s expression hardened again. “If the gym isn’t open in fifteen minutes, honey, I’ll have the lock changed on it and you won’t get the new key.”

He pulled his head back like the world’s fastest snail as soon as he was finished speaking. The door clicked shut while Chloé was still fighting to not swallow her own tongue in rage.

Plagg poked his head up and scented the air quickly. “Hey now, kid, it’s no big deal. It’s just one time, right kid? Kid?”

“Claws out!”

Purrge grabbed the exercise machine she had been using by one upright and heaved the multi-station behemoth across the room.

Steel buckled, plaster crumbled, and heavy plates splintered the hardwood floor. The tangled wreckage effectively blocked the only exit. It was still minutes before anyone dared try the handle from the other side. Rattle, rattle, click. The door wasn’t budging. Muffled voices called out in intermined frustration and concern.

Purrge sat on the floor, back against the wall and knees to her chest. She held one hand palm up above them. The swirling motes of cataclysm danced and popped in the air; all potential one moment, the next nothing. Her slitted eyes watched unblinking at the world moved on around her.

[leogoingcrazyfrfr]

I want to be close to you

what if Casey was never censured, Alex came back in season 7 and they had to work together? -

-

-

Watching from the doorway Alex deeply admired Casey, she seemed so graceful yet intimidating from a few feet away. She loved the hoarseness of her voice, how her copper hair laid on her shoulders; she wondered how it would feel in her hands.

      She knew it would never happen - could never happen; they were barely friends, colleagues at the most, Casey didn’t even call her “Alex” it was always Cabot, or counselor. 

Before Alex even thought of coming back she used to imagine how the squad liked Casey. She’d call Liv asking about the new ADA asking if she was as good as her, as cliche as it sounds Alex missed her friends, she wished she didn’t have to use a burner phone to call Liv; she wanted to drink coffee with colleagues, walk in Central Park, she wanted to be a prosecutor again.

      “Heard we got a new ADA what’s up with Novak?” Fin yelled out as he walked back into the squad room; everyone starts looking around like he was spouting nonsense. “Sergeant where exactly did you hear that?” The captain wondered along with everyone else but no one was ready for who was about to walk in.

    “Alexandra Cabot back from the dead.” 

Alex’s face went white as she walked in the squad room as she heard Stabler, “holy mother of god.”

It felt so nostalgic for Alex to talk with the squad again; to finally smile with Liv again, laugh with munch and Fin, and Cragen giving her that kind of side hug only a father could give to his daughter. Although she wasn’t the only one wondering where Novak was. 

 “Oh how I’ve missed you Alex!” As she pushed up her glasses to see who was barging in her door she soon became much happier; George huang her confidante. 

“George, it’s so nice to see you! Believe me i wanted to call you once I came back but as soon as i moved back into here they put me straight to work.” Alex felt like an ass for not sending him anything, before she had to go into witsec her and George were like two peas in a pod being the squad’s helpers. They’d go out for drinks, watch movies together, he was always there whenever she had a case too twisted for her office to handle. 

“So have you seen Casey since coming back?” Alex could feel her ears turn red as she thought of her office crush; it felt odd to call it that because Alex has never had a crush, she definitely has never liked a woman before. All she could respond with was “no, but I think branch is trying to get us to meet.”

    “Hello?” 

Casey and Alex unknowingly responded the same exact way to Branches message; he wanted them to officially meet outside of the courtroom, he had a proposition for them. 

 “So you want us both on svu?” Casey was mind boggled; she thought this was Ludacris, she could barely get past the fact that Alex was back, she seemed so intimidating and not to mention how stunning she was. Every time she passed her after court it felt like her heart was pounding so hard it would burst; all Casey knew was that before her time at svu, Alex was unstoppable; the squad admired her and she was known as the ice queen throughout the DA’s office. 

‘This cannot be happening’ the only thing that could come to Alex’s mind. She honestly wouldn’t mind working along with another ADA because god knows the workload at svu was hell; but to work with Casey would be damn near impossible. No matter what, whenever Novak was in Alex’s view she couldn’t think about anything besides her; their was no aspect of Casey’s that Alex wasn’t in awe of, her green eyes; whenever piercing blue eyes met Casey’s it felt like the world stopped for just a second; Casey’s lips; as inappropriate as it was Alex couldn’t stop staring at her pink lips, they looked so soft like an angel’s; she could say anything and it wouldn’t matter because Alex was in such awe of Casey, she could do nothing wrong.

[ananke-xiii]

More on the power of resurrection as the "apple of discord": Billie won theory.

So. Chuck vs Billie, it's all about the preservation of the natural order. Now if you ask me what "natural order" means in Supernatural I wouldn't really know how to answer. I think by that they meant a concept akin to that of metaphysical necessity, of a causality that's prior to space and time. However, Chuck has subdued the Moirai as we know from s6 and s15 and he controls life, death and space and time. Therefore, the natural order seems to be Chuck himself. Or he definitely thinks he is but he's really not 'cause, as it turns out, it doesn't really matter if Chuck exists as God, anybody who can contain God's power can become God. Just like any reaper who dies can become Death in case Death is absent. In other words, "Death" and "God" are just "roles" that virtually anybody with sufficient power and in the right circumnstances could play.

In this respect, Chuck is more powerful than Death because he can control space and time as he pleases while Billie can't. I mean, it appears on Supernatural that techinically Billie can manipulate space and time but her issue is precisely that: if you start manipulating space and time Death ultimately really means nothing since it's a concept that's intrinsically connected to these notions.

This is why, I think, resurrection is the core problem in the ultimate power struggle, i.e. God vs Death. As a concept, it defies the rules of Time. If resurrection can happen, then time is no longer irreversible and if time can be reversed then Death doesn't really need to exist. But apparently in Supernatural necessity is the ultimate force and Billie wants to protect that, she wants to protect the role of Death in the story. Surprisingly, in this view I find Chuck a litte bit more fascinating because he's not only playing around with his toys, he's actually messing with Necessity itself. And no smart God would have done that 'cause it only ends one way: a recknoning.

So following this probably unsteady logic, in the end Billie won. Because what did she want? In the words of the Shadow:

The Shadow: Become "New God." Classic narcissist, right? She's all tingly for the rules, the good-old days. [...] Everyone back to where they belong... realities, dimensions, graves. What should be dead dies, angels off Earth, demons back to Hell, and I go back to sleep.

It's always, always about "the good-old days" (insert teary gif from The Office's last episode).

She didn't get to become the "New God" because she made the same mistake as Chuck: inserted herself in the story, thought she could use Jack and focused all her attention on Dean Winchester without realizing who her real enemy was (as I've previously said, it's totally Castiel. It's always Castiel, Castiel must die die die for the story to end).

But if what mattered to her, power aside, if the reason why she wanted to become god was because she didn't want anybody to interfere with the natural order AND if it doesn't matter who Death and God are as long as they stay hands-off... then Billie totally won in the end.

And she won because Castiel died and didn't resurrect (more or less, he's somewhere in Heaven probably but we don't see him. Seeing is crucial in resurrection stories: if we don't see him he might as well be dead to us). Dean died and asked not to be resurrected (incidentally I should talk about how Billie's values align with Dean's but not today). Sam eventually dies too and Jack is... somewhere, sometime, being God all alone and in everything but without interfering with Necessity (and I should also talk about what the fuck they mean when Jack says "[people] just need to know that I'm already a part of them and to trust in that". LOL what people and what trust? And why should they care? Are these the same "people" Chuck didn't give a shit about? Chuck was already a hands-off type of God, hell, he was the absent father, right? Not just to the Winchesters and the Angels, no, he was humanity's absent father. Chuck self-inserted into the story just to play with his two toys, this has nothing to do with "people". They clearly didn't know how to end the show and tried to pull the mysticism card like they did in S11 but with worse results).

Order is indeed preserved. Time as we know it is safe. Still, there are monsters and Heaven and maybe even Hell, Purgatory and the Empty. God exists but doesn't interfere. Most importantly, Death has no obstacle and can do her job just fine. Everything in its place and a place for everything.

The universe is indeed many things. And sometimes it is poetic (justice).

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The salt of life

Disclaimer: This makes no sense, it's just a list of Sydcarmy musings and analogies but I wanted to share it anyway.

In culinary metaphors

Syd is affecting Carmy like TABLE salt affects mixes in bakery. She enhances Carmy’s flavor, but does not change it. That’s not always a good thing. It all depends on finding the right balance and timing and ensuring the ingredients are correctly mixed because otherwise, the whole thing is ruined.

Salt is dangerous. As a matter of fact, it can kill you.

Salt is basically sodium. Sodium is poison when incorrectly used, but it also makes the ❤️ beat when its levels are balanced out with the potassium in our blood.

In medical terms

Syd is the heart.

Carmy is the circulatory system that would dry up and die unless the heart irrigates it.

The Bear, their place, is the blood. The family.

What makes the heart beat is electricity.

They generate this power. This spark. And it can get out of control, like all sparks, of course.

That’s the chemistry they create when they are together → Beating.

None make sense without the other, BECAUSE THEY FORM A SYSTEM, is you separate the veins and arteries from the heart and the blood, they are simply lifeless. Isolated they don't make much sense.

THEY ARE A SYSTEM. THE MAIN SYSTEM.

How that system works

She lit the spark in him and gave him a heart when he was used to being a robot who only worked and smoked the competition.

Sydney could definitely work without Carmy, but at this point, it wouldn't make sense for her. She would feel lifeless, even if she wins 100 stars elsewhere. Her place is The Bear, the restaurant and the chef. Because that's what she chose with her heart.

Carmy has worked and thrived without her and wouldn't do it again unless it's out of spite, just to show her.

However, I don't think it'll come to that like it once did with Michael, or his parents, he has learned that lesson the hard way by now.

Carmy works as a SYSTEM, as part of something bigger than him, if he becomes isolated, S3 Carmy takes the wheel. He doesn't work like that, he crashes and burns.

But during most of S3 the "spark" Syd ignited in him, the one that got the blood flowing again, gave him a heart, a purpose, where there was only a hurt man who felt so much pain that couldn't even express it and thus, sublimated it in the form of a work addiction and functional depression, and therefore couldn't overcome it either, got out of control.

The SYSTEM was broken, because the elements that formed it attempted to work separately. There was no synergy, just energy that was out of balance. Not completely, but mostly.

Back to the salt

I have already gone over the analogy between Carmy and onions, acid, etc. Most in the fandom have, but here's a reminder of what I think about that:

So, the result of mixing culinary purpose salt (table salt) with acid ingredients is a WEAKER ACID.

We can all agree on Carmy being "intense", right?

Well, when in contact with her he can calibrate himself better.

I emphasize "contact" because when they are OUT OF TOUCH, the effect is almost instantaneous and painfully obvious in Carmy, which has always been, and in S3 it started to become more apparent in her too, as you can see in these previous entries:

They belong together to balance each other out, when there's this distance between them, that we saw in S3, THEY ARE IMBALANCED.

Salt is the balancer ingredient in any recipe. It enhances what needs to be enhanced and neutralizes what needs to be neutralized if used correctly

But salt on its own is no good, it needs to work as part of a recipe, a dish, A SYSTEM.

She's the salt, his salt, the one that brought flavor back to his life, and that's why his story re-started the day she came into his life. Carmy and all that he represents, the restaurant he inherited, the family in it, the family business that Cicero keeps funding, the extended family now Syd found at The Bear, is the system. He is a system that needs to be balanced and sometimes neutralized. Salt is the main ingredient for him, because he lacks of it, he's acid.

Bonus track: Le Chatelier's principle

I have mentioned this before but it bears repeating→ When her dishes were out of balance it was always because of the "acid" ingredient, which means she's outta balance too. Carmy doesn't balance her, he doesn't have that effect on her. In chemistry, acids tend to dissolve salt BUT they can create NEW SALTS too (Le Chatelier's principle). She's fighting this because she knows that once she fully lets Carmy in, it's gonna be the end of the world as she knows it. She won't be able to fight it much longer after this breaking point ↓

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[sskk-manifesto]

Bungou Stray Dogs: Dead Apple and how “ability users” (opposite to “normal people”) learning to accept themselves through the acceptance of their own abilities is a queer metaphor of acceptance of own's sexual orientation and gender: an essay by me

[theoestofocs]

but the thing is, melanie hates jon because he is so very much like her.

they work in adjacent fields, they've got such similar temperaments - they both run straight for whatever supernatural horror they need to understand, they both suck at planning ahead (poisoned coffee, melanie?) and they both lash out as a primary defense mechanism - and jon wasn't qualified for his job, and martin's only "degree" was in paranormal psychology, so clearly the Institute was hiring from a broader pool than "qualified archivists." i can't imagine ghost studies are all that lucrative as a field. if melanie hadn't made it as a youtuber, what would she have done? we don't know a lot about her educational background but - she knows what it's like, to need to know. she walked into the Institute and got a job because Elias saw that he could use her.

If she'd had a legitimate encounter sooner, if she'd started her quest a few years early, if she'd come to the Institute to give her statement and stayed to use their library before Gertrude had died -

Or even if she just couldn't survive on a youtuber's salary, if she'd gone looking for job postings in relevant fields -

It could have been her. She looks at Jon, and she sees exactly who she could have been. It's only luck that it wasn't.

And that's the kicker, isn't it? It's luck, that she's in her shoes instead of Jon's.

And is she supposed to feel lucky? To feel thankful that she's had to suffer through attack after attack, Elias showing her how her father (her dad, who called her his little moth) died screaming, her body torn open by things that don't exist, her sense of self slipping as she ripped into flesh with no recognizable form, her trust violated as she woke up to two of the few remaining people who are supposed to be on her side cutting into her against her will - to feel lucky, because she had to gouge her eyes out just to have her body back in her control -

Is she supposed to be happy that she lived through all that? Is she supposed to be glad, just because she could have been Jon?

Nobody told Melanie she needed to feel sorry for Jon, or give him her sympathy, or any other kind of pity. She just wants to give it, because God, what he'd gone through -

(Thank God it wasn't her -)

- Fuck that, she isn't lucky.

She hates Jon, because she refuses to feel grateful for the horror show her life has been. (Because she's grateful, that it wasn't her; and she's furious, because - yes it was. she paid the price of the apocalypse in blood and scars and trauma, too. She wasn't Jon, and could have been - but fuck it, she was still Melanie. and the hell that she has lived through isn't nothing.)

It's just bad luck, that it was Jon of all people. It's just bad luck, that it was Melanie.

No one here is lucky.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 132/366 - Doctor Who

“Are you going to let me see her?” Even asks. The Doctor leans over to look at the sea splitting beneath the ship.

“Yes,” he says, “and I’m going to pretend like it’s the first time you have.”

“If you didn’t want her to get out, you should have put more than a door in the way,” they mutter.

“She’s supposed to choose-”

“And she has.” That comes out bitter-edged. regretfully sharp.

“She can change into something better.”

“Because you know what that is?” He’s quiet. “Like the Monks?”

“I’m trying to help. All I do is try.”

“I know.”

[duncantashi]

i hate home

[fma03envy]

Hm having thoughts about Reze