#i have been barely functioning what with the horrors of the world lately (and the horrors just keep piling on)

[asmoonlightthroughthepines]

.

[retroellie]

The Weight of the World

Summary: the horrors of the world are once again nipping at you, decisions that could lead to deaths lay upon your shoulders. Daryl wants to cheer you up in the way he knows you love.

A/N: I know it’s late but I wanted to post another Daryl fic because I’m a whore for him :) This is kinda sloppy and I made in like 2 hours on very little sleep so hey :) enjoy <3

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of torture (regular twd things) , dirty talk, unprotected sex

Word count: 3.7K

This week has been exhausting, mentally and physically. Your body felt as though someone had piled pounds of bricks on top of you, all the while scratching at your bruised skin. It was draining you of your emotions and ability to function. The whisperers were gaining on Alexandria, the threat of the hoard being released floating over everyone’s heads. This caused panic and worry, the walls wouldn’t be able to withhold them and the people inside couldn’t fight them off.

This led to everyone in the council, you and daryl included, to make some hard decisions. Everyone that ran the town was on their toes at all times, always looking for answers to every problem that threatened the town you called home. These problems led to you having to take care of alphas daughter, trying to hunt down Negan and now you even had a whisper tied up underneath your home. You were barely getting any sleep, barely eating and you had no time to spend with Daryl which meant your relationship wasn’t doing the best.

Obviously Daryl understood this, he was also dealing with shit and didn’t have time to do anything for himself. With trying to locate the hoard as well as trying to keep Carol from killing everyone, he had his hands full. The way this was affecting you hurt him though, seeing your exhausted eyes, all red and puffy all the while you were trying to come up with a plan to hunt down negan… it pained him. He was used to having so much on his plate that this didn’t affect him too harshly, he could go days without sleep and only live in crackers but you weren’t like him.

He tried to tell you to get some sleep and even tried to force some food down your throat but you didn’t have time. He just let you take your time because that’s all he could do, is wait for you to realize that none of this shit mattered. You would always find a way to get everything back to it, it always worked out for y’all so Daryl wasn’t too worried about you going sleepless and hungry for too long.

For now though you trudged up the stairs to your shared home with Daryl and Carol, or pretty much everyone who came and went a lot. You were exhausted and honestly disgusted at what you just did. Before this moment you had watched carol beat the ever living fuck out of a whisperer and you even got a few punches in there. This didn’t feel like you, you weren’t the type yo torture someone and you were even the one who was strongly against it. Well that’s until the man started talking, he gave strong details about what he’d do to you if he was a free man and found you in the woods.

You were mad, you couldn’t help but lay him flat on his ass and maybe you even took a few fingers with you. But right now though, you told Lydia to make herself at home. You made her comfortable in your guest bed room, giving her blankets and towels for if she wanted to wash up. After that though you walked downstairs to the basement to yours and Daryl’s shared room.

When you stepped foot into the room you saw Daryl, he was unpacking his backpack, setting his crossbow and bows down. You stared at him for a minute, wondering what he was thinking. He did just see you torture a man, well a man that was talking about sexually assaulting his girlfriend. Daryl has done things he’s not proud of, he has seen the dark underbelly of people but what was he thinking about his “innocent '' little girlfriend doing those same things.

You shook your head, walking towards the coach and plopping down. You laid your head back, trying to stretch out your stiff muscles and shake the exhaustion off tired bones. You sighed, putting your feet up on top of the coffee table as you shut your eyes for a split moment.

“You need sleep.” You heard Daryl say, not turning around to look at you.

You looked over at him, seeing him mess with his backpack. You rolled your eyes slightly, you hated when he said that. It was maybe the 30th time you had heard those words come out of his mouth and everytime it annoyed you. I mean how could you rest when everything, the fate of Alexandria, the protecting of your friends, the capturing of the man who killed your friends, was all on your shoulders.

“Yeah…” was all you said, you didn’t feel like protesting.

You sat up, starting to untie your shoes. They were muddy and covered in blood. Come to think of it, you were covered in blood. The whisperer's blood still streaked your clothes, still fresh but it was starting to dry on your skin. You quickly took off your boots, not wanting to think of the horrors you just did and just wanting to lie on this couch with no worries, if that was even possible. When you succeed with pulling your shoes off you stand up once more, pulling off your bloody sweater.

You lifted it up to see all the blood had stained it, still bright red and standing to attention. You rolled your eyes, throwing it over to the dirty clothes basket and then making your way to the dresser that sat right next to the table Daryl stood at. You dug through the drawers, trying to find another shirt you could wear.

Daryl couldn’t help but watch as you dug through the drawers, watching your bra covered breast heave up and down. He knew it was wrong of him, seeing you in such a distressed state and getting all hot but he couldn’t help it. While you both were neglecting your relationship, your sex life hadn't been much better. So the slight glimpse of your unclothed body would send Daryl in a mood of wanting your touch.

You found a shirt, a clean band tee that you’ve had forever now and you stood in the mirror that laid against the wall. You could see yourself in your entirety now. The blood had stained through your clothes and onto your stomach along with your chest but also you had new bruises forming which added onto the pain of your exhaustion. You didn’t even hear or see Daryl sneak up behind you, you were too focused on your blood soaked body right now.

He had crept his hands around your waist, being careful as to not press too hard onto your newly formed bruises. You jumped slightly before remembering he was in the room with you, then you melted back into him.

“Even all bloody and smelly, you’re still the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen..” he whispered, taking one hand and moving your hair from your neck.

You chuckled as his lips attached to your neck softly. He kissed the spots that made you nothing but putty in his hands, your eyes closed slowly as he did wonders with his lips. His hands gripped onto your hips softly, rubbing soft circles on your skin. He tried to be careful with your fragile body, knowing you could take anything that comes your way but wanting to be the one thing that made you feel like you didn’t have to try.

His lips attached to your neck, biting down lightly on the spot that made you gasp. You pressed yourself into him, your ass grazing his hardening cock. He let out a soft groan, biting down harder onto your soft skin. One of his hands made their way up to your breasts, needing one of them in his hands gently. This caused you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, moaning softly at the sudden touch.

He sucked harder on your skin, your reaction fueling his actions. You couldn’t deny how touch starved you were, how weak in the knees you had gotten when seeing Daryl in his button up shirts, all sweaty and dirt streaked his face. This was hell to you, not being able to be with him every day. It ate you up inside and Daryl knew it, there just wasn’t enough time. It was either you were gone or he was gone or Gabriel asked you to do this or Carol asked Daryl to do that… it was never ending. Moments like this you basked in them, you soaked them up and right now you were going to take it.

“What you did to that man…” he spoke in between his kisses.

The hand in your hip lowered down to the top of your jeans, unbuttoning them slowly. His actions were drawn out, going as slow as he could to take in the moment with you.

“Seein’ you like that… so angry and aggressive” he continued.

He unzipped your fly, giving you feather-like kisses on your skin now. His fingers danced above your panties, teasingly slow as you grabbed onto his hand that was continuing his movement on your boob. Your body had turned burning hot and he was the only one that could cool you down now.

“I think that might’ve been the hottest thing I had ever seen you do…” he admitted, slipping his fingers into your panties before teasing your slit.

Daryl watched you from a far as you beat the living hell out of the whisperer, watching him beg for you to stop as you put the blade against his throat. You were angry, you hadn’t been this angry in a long time and the anger just kept building up until you couldn’t handle it anymore. He watched as your arms flexed every time you threw a punch, making the blush on his face more noticeable. He was so in love with you, with everything you did even something so disgusting like what you were doing.

You’re finger dug into his hand, practically begging him to touch you without even saying anything. He chuckled lowly, giving you everything you wanted and more. He shoved two fingers in you without hesitation, making you gasp out into the air. The feeling of the delicious stretch blurred your senses, leaning more on Daryl than you already had been. It had been so long since you two have had such an intimate moment like this, weeks maybe a month at most. The stress of it all really affects your desire for intimacy but your love never dulled.

You bucked your hips against Daryl’s fingers, your wetness already making a mess out of them. It didn’t take you long to become a quivering mess, your moans trying to escape your mouth but being swallowed back down. You were embarrassed at your sensitivity, you were well respected around town for being so high headed but all it took was Daryl’s fingers to show what you really are… a needy little whore.

“Come on honey… don’t hold up on me now.” He whispered in your ear, biting your lobe lightly.

Daryl curled his fingers in a rough way, grazing your g-spot.You bit your lip harder, not wanting the two girls who were just above you to hear what was happening just below them. Daryl grinned at you, knowing exactly what he was doing. He sped up his movements, thrusting his fingers deep inside of you before curling them to graze your spot again before continuing to thrust deeper inside.

Your body felt like it was on fire, your blood streaked skin turning bright red and your face had a small sheet of sweat that coated it. You wanted more of Daryl … no not wanted, you needed it. You could cum with just his fingers now but you wanted all of him inside you, you wanted to feel him so deep inside you that all the horrible things that man said to you were far gone and all you could think about was how good Daryl’s cock felt inside you. You were nobody’s bitch but Daryl’s, no matter if you admired it or not.

“Daryl… please.. just fuck me… SHIT.” You yelled out at a particular delicious angle that Daryl hit.

Daryl didn’t hesitate to your surprise, with his fingers still deep inside you, he walked you over to the desk that he was once sitting on and slammed you on top of it. You felt your bruises as he did so but it felt so good, you didn’t mind it.

“Dirty slut… so needy for my cock” Daryl hissed, taking his fingers out of you and quickly shoving them in your mouth.

It took you a minute to register what was happening, your body still aching from injury but when his fingers hit your tongue and you could taste your own juices… you sucked them clean. Daryl’s free hand grabbed your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail so he could pull you up to watch as you sucked on his fingers.

“You like that hmmm..???” He teased, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth until they reached the back of your throat. “You like when I treat you like the whore you are hmm… so cock starved for me?”

You licked every crevice of his fingers, loving the taste of yourself mixed with Daryl’s flesh and all Daryl could do was watch you. He subconsciously rubbed against your ass, getting insanely hard just watching you.  You moved your head to the side, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. He took his now clean fingers out of your mouth, watching as a single piece of your saliva connected the two.

“I just want you inside me Daryl!!” You started bucking your hips back onto his hard cock. “Please, I’ll do anything!! Just please fuck me until I can’t stand, in anyway you want too just please!! I want you!!” You pleaded

You sounded pathetic you know but you were desperate for him. You have wanted him so badly for weeks now, the sexual frustration building up until just now when all you can think about is him rearranging your insides. Daryl grinned, pulling on your hair tighter. He thought about all the ways he was going to make you suffer tonight, thinking about how he’d fuck you silly until everyone in the whole town could hear and he couldn’t wait to make his thoughts a reality. Daryl moved his hand down to your pants, ripping them off your legs and then started to remove his own.

“You're gonna wish you never begged me hun…” he said, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. “Because I ain’t going to hold back…”

Daryl moved his hand from your hair to your neck, wrapping his hand around your neck before tightening his grip. He lined himself up to you, teasing your entrance slowly, getting his cock nice and wet so he could fuck you nice and smooth.

“Gonna fuck you until your just a cock dumb whore…” he whispered, putting small amounts of pressure on your neck.

You bucked your hips back at him, wanting him inside you already and he was going to give you what you wanted. He shoved himself in you quickly, feeling your velvety walls along the way could make him cum just then. He held himself back from going at an animalistic pace, trying to allow you to adjust to him since it had been a couple weeks. You swore you could feel your eyes go cross eyed, he was in you so deep right off the bat.

He stayed there for a moment until he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to fill you up, he needed to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. He pulled himself almost all the way out before ramming into you nice and deep once again. He kept his slow deep pace for only minutes until his hips began to have a mind of their own and started thrusting into you wildly.

His hand on your throat, the table digging into your hips, his cock filling you… it was enough to send you off of earth completely. You couldn’t stop the moans escaping your mouth this time, they fell out of your lips like honey and Daryl basked in them, they only encouraged his movements.

“God…you’re so fuckin’ tight…” he spit out, his free hand exploring your body, making their way to your bra that had somehow still been on.

He grabbed at one of your boobs, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingers as he played with it. This sent you to overdrive, you were so close to an orgasm and Daryl knew too but he had no intentions of stopping. He only sped up his actions, fucking you at such a fast pace you were cumming in mere seconds after that.

The orgasm ran through your body, leaving you shaking and unable to stand properly. Daryl kept his pace, only slowly down when you clenched around him tightly, making sure you were okay but then keeping up with his same pace before. You didn’t want him to stop, even after orgasming once you still craved the feeling of him filling you to the brim.

His hand on your neck tightened more once again but this time he brought you up, pulling your flush against his front. Brought you into a kiss, a sloppy wet kiss that had no real rhythm to it. Teeth masked, tongues collided and lips were bitten. Daryl’s hand on your boob hooked around the cup of your bra, pulling them down along with the straps.

“Lemme see those tits hmm…” he hummed in between a kiss.

Your tits bounced free which caused Daryl’s attention to be turned to them. The way they bounced every thrust made Daryl feral, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out of your for only a split second, taking the time to flip you over onto your back and placing you on top of the table.

Your reaction was delayed due to your post orgasm brain fog but also you being on the verge of yet another orgasm. Daryl spread your legs as far as he could, spread you out so deliciously for him and than he went right back to fucking you. Your head cocked back, resting on the wall as your face was stuck in a look of pure pleasure.

“Daryl! Please.... FUCK... cum inside me....” you screamed out, wrapping your legs around his waist basically pinning him inside you.

Daryl thrusted harder and harder, his hips becoming more wild as he came closer to his orgasm. You pulled him closer to you, kiss him roughly as you pulled his dark locks. You were so close to your second orgasm when Daryl came deep inside of you, his cum filling you up so nicely. Daryl’s hips slowed but still continued to fuck himself through his own orgasm while also brining your closer to your own . You bucked your hips into his as your brain was once again taken by a earth shattering orgasm that almost knocked you clean out.

You felt Daryl twitch inside you as you came, his orgasm wiping him out as well. He stayed close to you as you saw stars, his hand rubbing your back softly and comfortably. You were shaking violently underneath him, his cum along with yours mixed onto the table and created a sticky mess. You two stayed silent for a minute or two, taking in the stillness of the room.

It was moments like this that you would choose over anything. Moments so intimate yet so filthy, it was pure heaven to you. Daryl felt the same, he would give anything just to be able to be in this moment forever. You comfortably stroked Daryl’s back with your fingernails, pulling him close to you.

“I missed you…” Daryl whispered

You had been here this whole time, you guys never left each other’s side… you had made an agreement not too a long time ago when you first met in Atlanta. Daryl couldn’t explain the way he missed you though, you were there but you weren’t THERE to him. Only a stressed out shell of what you used to be. He can’t blame you, you’ve been through a lot these last couple of months and he’s been with you through it all.

“I’ve been here the entire time dar…” you spoke, voice worn and almost gone.

“No I mean.. I missed YOU… I missed the Y/N I have always known.” He explained

He didn’t mean that in a mean way but he just knew that this world changed you into a person you weren’t and he could start to see it happen to you. The shy little book reading girl you once were was disappearing and being replaced by this emotionless woman. He loves you for every version you were but he wanted to see the real you and not the one the world has forced you to turn into.

“Well… you Daryl Dixon, are the only one who can ever bring me back to earth…” you stated. “And that’s why I’m so pathetically in love with you.”

Daryl smiled, pulling you into a long kiss that this time felt more romantic and less sloppy. You knew the decisions you still had yet to make were just right out your door but for now you would like to bask in this moment with your lover. You could worry about the horrors of the world later, it can wait and it can be put in pause so you can make this night yours.

[ddarker-dreams]

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus. 

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task. 

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is. 

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition. 

His present predicament does well to remind him of this. 

“You with me, Daryl?” 

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent. 

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges. 

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.” 

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?” 

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace. 

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them. 

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.” 

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.” 

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive. 

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject. 

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.” 

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?” 

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart. 

“Yeah.” 

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?” 

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.” 

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.” 

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are. 

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.” 

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?” 

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.” 

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick. 

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee. 

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone. 

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot. 

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with. 

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down. 

“Hey, hey, look at me—” 

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—” 

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.” 

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.” 

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…” 

He turns on his heel and storms off. 

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions. 

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him? 

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. 

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world. 

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him. 

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long. 

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe. 

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives. 

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side. 

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape. 

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone? 

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt). 

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache. 

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination. 

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window. 

It’s one of those days, he supposes. 

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return. 

You. 

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say. 

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could. 

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid. 

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.” 

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” 

He shrugs. “Guess not.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you. 

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?” 

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart. 

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired. 

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process. 

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.” 

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world. 

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive. 

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.” 

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him. 

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Positive.” 

You hold your hand out. 

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it. 

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice. 

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it. 

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been. 

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin. 

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.” 

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest. 

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.” 

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you. 

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?” 

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!” 

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go. 

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass. 

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.” 

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?” 

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.” 

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way. 

The rest is history, as they say. 

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features. 

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

“Nah. You ain’t.” 

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”  

Next, the empty garden. 

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?” 

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.” 

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be. 

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.” 

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly. 

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.” 

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side. 

“I already knew about that.” 

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?” 

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.” 

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.” 

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice. 

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor. 

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.” 

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.” 

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.” 

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again. 

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.” 

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash. 

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.” 

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” 

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?” 

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.” 

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.” 

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?” 

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.” 

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.” 

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?” 

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.” 

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.” 

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.” 

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.” 

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.” 

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly. 

“Took you long enough to notice.” 

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you. 

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control. 

He figures he can play along a while longer. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.” 

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. 

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting. 

He frowns. “Just have these on you?” 

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else. 

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.” 

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick. 

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you. 

… He has considered the idea, though. 

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you. 

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.” 

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?” 

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of. 

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?” 

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior. 

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended. 

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.” 

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.” 

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant. 

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. 

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed. 

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors. 

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle. 

“That’s the goal.” 

In more ways than one, he hopes. 

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know. 

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. 

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?” 

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer. 

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate. 

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed. 

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.” 

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that. 

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed. 

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side. 

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up. 

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.” 

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.” 

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else. 

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?” 

You nod after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you. 

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.  

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?” 

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.” 

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.  

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious. 

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.” 

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him. 

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.” 

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.” 

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring. 

“That so, princess?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

“Take them pants off then.” 

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him… 

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless. 

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure? 

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man.��

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it. 

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you. 

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard. 

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him. 

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element. 

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon. 

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire. 

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?” 

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.” 

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence. 

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets. 

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.” 

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds. 

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.” 

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him— 

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.” 

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess. 

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?” 

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.” 

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you. 

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length. 

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up. 

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does. 

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock. 

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever. 

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back. 

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other. 

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin. 

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you. 

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you. 

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.” 

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either. 

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.” 

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins. 

“You are. Always ‘ave been.” 

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged. 

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest. 

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification? 

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high. 

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act. 

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious. 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down. 

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?” 

“‘Course not.” 

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought. 

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence. 

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about. 

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts. 

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially. 

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.” 

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.” 

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating. 

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case. 

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know. 

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.” 

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?” 

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?” 

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.” 

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last. 

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.” 

“... Even your crossbow?” 

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?” 

“Already do.” 

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman. 

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time. 

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love. 

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?” 

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.  

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs. 

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.” 

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.” 

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.” 

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you. 

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

[rj-drive-in]

Surcease of Sorrow Department:

There may be new solutions to old problems.

FOREVERMORE © 2024 by Rick Hutchins

Before my Raven came, I thought that Poe wrote fiction. After it came, I thought I was all alone in the world.

It was bad enough in the weeks and months after Siobhan left and my existence had become such a silent vacuum of despair that I had to sometimes force myself to breathe. Somehow I managed to rent a small apartment after the house went up for sale, but I couldn’t muster the energy to furnish it. Thank god it came with a refrigerator. But there I sat and slept and brooded, on the bare floor, kept company only by the three cardboard boxes of my belongings. All of our friends had apparently been her friends only. No one ever came to offer me comfort or sympathy, or even a tuna casserole. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of abandonment that was the sum total of my life in those dark days.

What could be worse than that?

The answer to that question came in the middle of the night, in the late autumn after the divorce, as I sat against the wall, replaying conversations in my head for the millionth time. There was a lamp on the floor to my left and an empty pizza box on the floor to my right. The shadows cast by the yellow oval of light from the lamp were like looming gargoyles in an old silent movie. The sliding glass doors of the balcony on the other side of the room were like a gray mirror in which I could see my motionless body propped up like a hobo in the park. When I think of what I was like back then, it scares the hell out of me.

Then something hit the outside of the sliders, making me jump, probably the first time I had moved in hours. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything beyond my own colorless reflection. Now that I was paying attention, I could hear the wind outside, shifting the trees out back and blowing the dead leaves around. Something had blown against the glass, that was all. An empty pack of cigarettes or juice box.

I settled back with a sigh.

And then it happened again. It almost sounded like somebody was knocking on the glass. A feeling of fear welled up inside my chest and it was almost euphoric in its intensity. It had been so long since I had felt anything, I don’t think I could differentiate between dismay and joy, happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain. Or maybe I welcomed the threat. Maybe I hoped to end up as a story on the morning news, a shocking topic of conversation around the water cooler. That could my way out. That would show her.

Slowly, I stood up and carefully stretched the hours of stiffness out of my arms and legs. If I had been smart, I would have turned off the lamp so that I could have seen through the glass doors. But if I had been smart, I wouldn’t have been sitting alone in a bleak room without a wife or a future. For certain, if I had an ounce of brains in my skull, I would not have walked across that bleak room and slid the balcony door open wide.

But that’s exactly what I did.

Instantly, as the door opened, there was something large and black slapping at my face and I threw up my arms and fell backward onto the floor. A pitiful sob of horror swelled from deep in the pit of my stomach and before I had even hit the boards I had changed my mind about becoming a sad story on the news. I wanted this to not be happening. I curled up into a ball and prepared to beg for my life like the coward I was.

It wasn’t necessary. Whatever had hit me blew on past me and into the room. I heard it hit one of the cardboard boxes that I had never bothered to unpack. My knees and elbows were like jelly, but the animal instinct for self preservation grabbed me and spun me around in a crouch to see what it the hell it was. After weeks of not functioning at all, my mind was going a mile a minute. Maybe somebody’s black satin sheet had blown off their clothesline. Maybe there had been a blanket or a curtain out there on the railing that I had never noticed in my stupor. Maybe a dead branch, still festooned with brittle leaves, had chosen that moment to break off and fly across the yard through my balcony door.

But there it was, right on top of the cardboard box. I stared at it. It took me a minute to fully register what I was seeing. It was a crow, black as night and big as a breadbox, staring right back at me.

I rose slowly and shakily to my feet like an old man. “No way,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now. Please just fly the hell back out of here.”

Then its beak opened and the goddamn thing said, “Nevermore.”

*****

It wasn’t a crow, of course. It was a Raven. Just like in that old poem by Edgar Allan Poe that we all loved when we were kids. The first time I ever heard it was on some Halloween TV special, recited by Vincent Price. Then my mother gave me a book of Poe’s collected works for my birthday. I memorized it for a talent show when I was in junior high school. It even turned up in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

And now it was perched on a cardboard box in my living room.

It wouldn’t move no matter how hard I tried to shoo it back out into the darkness, so we ended up sitting and staring at each other all night. It was cold, but there was no way I was going to close that sliding door and cut off the bird’s one exit. In fact, I opened it as far as it would go, to give the thing all the encouragement and room I could.

The next morning, I went downstairs to get some help from my landlord. The apartment I was renting was the converted attic of a three-story house dating back to the 1890s when this area was well to do. The landlord, a middle-aged guy named George Damopoulos, lived on the first floor with his wife. I have no idea who lived on the second floor. I sat on the stairs till I smelled coffee coming from the first floor and then tiptoed down and knocked quietly on his door.

“A crow?” he asked. “No kidding?”

“Or a blackbird,” I shrugged. “Or a raven maybe.”

He grabbed his bathrobe and trudged up the stairs and into my apartment, me following close behind him. There were my three shipping cartons, my lamp, and the empty pizza box, and the open balcony door. But no Raven.

“No bird here, kid,” said Damopoulos with a chuckle. “Guess he flew the coop.” He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Maybe he’s one of them early birds and he went out for a worm, huh?”

“As long as he’s gone,” I said.

“You really should buy some furniture, kid,” he said as he left. “Time to get a life. I know about the divorce and all, but really.”

“I just need some time,” I said, closing the door.

The Raven swooped back in before I made it halfway to the balcony.

That’s how it went. Nobody saw the Raven but me. I contrived a couple of dozen ways to get people into my apartment so that somebody would see him, just to prove to myself that I hadn’t completely lost my mind. I ordered pizza delivery and Chinese food. I used Peapod for my groceries. I even bought a new refrigerator and a chair, just for the sake of getting some delivery men in there. But whenever anybody else was in the room, the Raven would disappear. And I mean disappear. I quickly found out that it didn’t matter whether the balcony door was open or not, which really scared the hell out of me.

And it was incessant with “Nevermore.”

Whenever I even thought about Siobhan, it would squawk, “Nevermore.” And it wasn’t just that. It would react to any depressing thought, and I had a lot of them. How my friends had abandoned me, how the firm let me go when I said I wasn’t ready to come back from personal leave, how my parents were both dead, how I had nobody in the whole wide world to turn to. “Nevermore.”

The thing was a vampire of self pity.

But the worst part was that I knew it had to be a figment of my imagination. Several times I tried to take a picture of it with my phone, but it wouldn’t photograph-- it wasn’t that I got a picture minus the Raven, I just didn’t get a picture. Before all this happened, I had worked as a family law attorney and I had seen more than my share of mental illness, but I had never heard of a case of Edgar Allan Poe Raven Syndrome. How could I get help for a diagnosis that didn’t exist? As a human being and as a mental case, I was truly all alone in the world.

*****

One of those cardboard shipping boxes contained my computer, which had gone unused in the months since I had moved in. I unpacked it and set it up on a small table that I bought at a used furniture store and began to Google desperately all through the day and night. Just as I thought: There was no information on cases of mental patients who hallucinated Poe’s Raven. There was plenty of information on Poe himself, of course, and his battles with depression and bipolar disorder and substance abuse, but no evidence that he had actually seen the Raven that he wrote about.

Where did you get your ideas, Mister Poe?

Like anybody who badly needed mental health care, the last thing I wanted to do was seek out mental health care. I was on the verge of breaking down and doing it when I finally found something. It must have been an old archived reference in Google’s database or whatever, because I got a 404 Page Not Found error when I clicked on the link, but the fragment that was visible on the search results page was the first thing that had given me hope.

It was a reference to a forum called The Plutonian Shore and the title of the link was “Anybody Else Out There Got A Raven?”

*****

I’m no expert on the Internet and I have only a vague idea of what the Dark Web or Deep Web is, but I know that there’s a lot of competition for attention. There’s thousands of petabytes of data out there with more being generated by the minute and if your site isn’t properly indexed it will sink under the radar like a lead balloon. Especially if it’s on a private server, and pretty much anybody can set up one of those these days. Still, if it’s out there, it can be found; all it takes is time and perseverance and YouTube self-help videos.

And, finally, after days of searching, I did find it. The forum’s web address was a series of sixteen apparently random characters, not something nice and easy like PlutonianShore.com, so it was clear that they weren’t seeking attention. But they weren’t completely dark. They were there to be found for someone who looked hard enough.

At first glance, it was a perfectly standard forum. The color scheme was gray and twilight blue, and the logo incorporated a stylized raven in the design. It was organized in the standard fashion, with sections for the discussion of movies, books, politics, sports, and science, among other sub-topics. But down at the very bottom of the main index page was a section called simply “Raven Research.” The threads inside were accessible only to board members, but the sub-heading said “Studying The Personal Raven Phenomenon.”

Suddenly I felt just like the guy who discovered King Tut’s tomb or the DNA double helix or the first exoplanet. This was a forum for people who had Ravens just like me. They were just like me!

*****

Registration was open, proving that they were keeping a low profile but not completely off the grid. It took me a few minutes to come up with a valid username, since all of the obvious Poe-related ones were taken– for example, a guy named Nevermore was the site administrator– and I finally settled on Mr Scream, because that really suited my state of mind. I used a cropped graphic of the Munch painting for my avatar. I submitted my registration profile, entered the CAPTCHA code, and got a message saying that my request would be reviewed by an administrator.

Then I waited.

I don’t know what I expected– that an administrator would be just sitting there, waiting to approve new members immediately? But it wasn’t long before I began to feel anxious. Maybe they wouldn’t let me in. Maybe it was one of those deals where you had to be invited by an existing member and they wouldn’t approve anyone who wasn’t on their list.

Behind my back, the Raven said, “Nevermore.”

Maybe they had procedures for vetting applicants. Maybe they had ways of checking my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles, and would reject me based on that.

“Nevermore.”

Maybe Siobhan was posting about me somewhere out there on the Internet and I didn’t even know about it. Maybe she was telling everyone what a bad husband I had been, how I never wanted to take a vacation, how I avoided socializing with her brothers, how I bought her the same Christmas present two years in a row.

“Nevermore.”

Maybe Siobhan was already a member of the forum.

“Nevermore.”

Okay, now I was just getting paranoid. I stood up and stepped away from the computer, taking a deep breath. This Nevermore guy was a real person out there somewhere. He probably had a day job, very likely a wife and family, some friends, some kind of life. He could be in a different time zone. He might not even check the registrations every day. Maybe he only did his administrator duties on the weekend.

The site was probably just a big joke, anyway.

“Nevermore.”

Please, stop, I thought. My head was aching and I realized that the heels of my hands were pressed against my temples like a vise. Please let me in. Please help me.

“Nevermore.”

Shutting down the computer, I crawled under the blanket I used for a bed and turned off the lamp.

*****

The next morning when I got up, I had no emails. Nor were there any after I made a cup of instant coffee or after I took a shower. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought: They had received my registration request, realized that they had been found, and changed the address of the site so that I could never find them again. In a panic, I brought up Firefox and clicked on the link I had bookmarked.

It was there, just as it had been yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Raven said, “Nevermore.”

For the first time, I noticed an email link at the bottom the forum’s main index page. If you need to contact the administrator, it said. I could send them an email, check on the status of my application, make sure that it had been received and was complete.

But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to appear desperate. I didn’t want to seem crazy.

“Nevermore.”

*****

Finally, on the third day, an email from the site’s autoadmin address appeared in my inbox and confirmed my membership. The email welcomed me to the community and directed me to a thread in the social sub-forum where I could introduce myself and meet the other members. It outlined the structure of the board and gave me some tips on where to find certain topics and how to start my own.

My hands trembled as I brought up the Plutonian Shore main page and entered my login information. The page refreshed and there was my avatar and username at the top of the index-- Welcome, Mr Scream-- next to newly visible links to my account control panel and the member directory.

Now that I was logged in, the “Raven Research” sub-forum name had expanded to “This Ungainly Fowl– Raven Research.” I wanted to go straight there and immerse myself in whatever knowledge they had accumulated, but I didn’t want to be rude. The social sub-forum, which was called “Bird And Bust And Door– Sit Down And Relax,” was at the top of the menu, so I clicked there first to follow the instructions in the email. When I entered the “Welcome, New Members” thread, there was an announcement of my arrival, and already there were three welcoming posts from members called Monty Ado, Messier One, and Usherette. I answered each individually. Over the next few days, these greetings would expand to over thirty. Everybody was very nice. Maybe they really could help me.

*****

With my social obligations met, I dove head first into the research forum and didn’t come up for air until the sun was rising and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I was like a kid let loose in a candy store, excited and greedy and insatiable. There were dozens of threads, some currently active, some dormant for years, covering topics that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Theories about the origin and purpose of the Ravens ran the gamut from Christian theology-- they are manifestations of the Holy Spirit-- to Norse mythology-- they are the myriad offspring of Odin’s Huginn and Muninn-- to the Heinleinian World-as-Myth notion that a critical mass of Poe devotees actually made real the Ravens.

Of course, this was in contradiction to one of the most popular ideas, that Poe actually had a Raven of his own and his poem was no work of fiction.

There were many threads purporting to find evidence of Ravens throughout history, even in the ruins of ancient civilizations. Some, in the vein of von Daniken, included enhanced scans or tracings of hieroglyphs and bas reliefs from archaeological sites in Greece and Egypt and South America, among others. There were those who believed that the oral traditions of American Indian tribes included plentiful references to Raven hauntings. Others found a multitude of veiled or cryptic references to Ravens in more modern literature, from the Victorian Era to the Boomer years, in the works of everyone from Hemingway to Kerouac.

In a similar, but more sensationalistic vein, there was much speculation about which popular celebrities were in the closet about their Ravens, and which celebrity deaths were the result of Raven hauntings.

And I came across one odd thread, dated a couple of years before, from a newbie poster named Alcatraz, who claimed to be haunted by a pigeon rather than a Raven, and that his bird said “Kiss my ass” rather than “Nevermore.” It started off amiably enough, with the regular posters joining in on the gag, but it soon became evident that Alcatraz was a troll. When he didn’t get the reaction that he wanted, he became increasingly nasty. Eventually he was banned from the forum and the thread was locked.

Following this night-long binge, I was exhausted and my head felt full of mud, and I fell into a deep sleep, troubled by dreams of murmuring voices and sepia imagery. But when I finally awoke in the late afternoon-- my Raven staring at me, as usual-- I actually felt refreshed and ready to tackle the research forum again. After some coffee and a Hungry Man microwave dinner, I logged back in and began a more measured review of the threads.

*****

Over the course of the next few days, I studied the research sub-forum in detail, taking notes and using a feature of the board software to create a list of especially interesting topics (and, I admit, a few especially humorous ones). Each topic, of course, had replies and responses, not a few rebuttals, and sometimes very long discussions. But I still had occasional questions, and I posted them. The other members of Plutonian Shore were very generous in their responses, always quick to help a fellow Ravenite (as they called themselves), and never shy about voicing their opinions.

This was how I first met the Bird Sisters.

Everybody referred to them collectively as the Bird Sisters, but their real usernames were Bird One and Bird Two. They were a pair of elderly twins who lived alone together somewhere in Oregon and had been members of Plutonian Shore since its inception. They were very close and were always online together. It was very rare not to see their posts come in pairs. Any time I asked a question, no matter how trivial, they would always answer, even if it was to tell me they didn’t know, or to tease me about asking something silly. Other members would answer my questions, too, of course, lots of them, when they had something to say, but the Bird Sisters were online every day and they answered every single question I had. They were the unofficial and beloved hostesses of Plutonian Shore.

And, as I soon discovered, they were very active in the Bird And Bust And Door social section of the forum.

One day I logged in to find a flashing envelope icon next to my name at the top of the main index page. I clicked on it, remembering reading something about the board having an internal email system, and found that I had received my first private message, and it had come from Bird One.

It said, “You’ve neglected to post in the Tell Us Your Raven Story thread, my boy.” There was a winking smiley at the end of the sentence.

If Bird One said I was supposed to do something, I would attend to it immediately, for the sake of the affection that I had developed for the old lady. I went straight to Bird And Bust And Door and found the thread that she was talking about, pinned at the very top of the page. It was a very long thread, in which every new member had told their personal story of how they had gotten their Raven.

Now I was expected to do the same.

Reading through that thread took hours, and it was a grim and depressing task. No two ways about it, Ravens came in the wake of tragedy.

Most of the time, it was the death of someone close. Our administrator, Nevermore, who had created the board, had been serving in Afghanistan, talking to his commanding officer, when a bullet went through the man’s head. A member named Husky Hound had a newborn infant that seemed to be in perfect health, but developed a fever and had to be taken to the emergency room, where he died for no reason that anybody could ever pinpoint. Baker Mom had a teenage daughter who was in a car accident and bled out in the air ambulance two minutes before it landed. Weeping Guitar’s husband suffered a long and painful death from prostate cancer, living six terrible months longer than predicted. The Bird Sisters had an older brother who had burned to death in a fire more than forty years ago.

Estrangements were common, as well. There was no shortage of members who had suffered through nasty divorces, which was something I could certainly relate to. Many of our members were parents who were out of touch with their kids because of politics or religion or lifestyle choices. Jennifer Juniper’s daughter was part of a millennial UFO cult. Sunflower’s kid had joined an anti-government militia. Cat Lover’s daughter had literally run off to join the circus. Sometimes it worked the other way around, too. Borealis had lost touch with his dad when the old man flew to the Middle East to join al-Qaeda.

Then there were the attempted suicides. Only two board members fell into that category. Zero Sum had not gotten a Raven when her husband died, nor when her daughter disowned her for remarrying to a Black man, nor when her second husband divorced her. But then she sat down in the shower and slit her wrists. When she got home from the hospital a week later, there was a Raven in the bathroom.

The other attempted suicide had gone ominously silent five years earlier.

I really didn’t want to tell my story, but how could I not? So I opened a reply box and began to type, figuring I could get away with a brief, sarcastic summary. After all, it was a story as old as time, right? But in the end it all just flowed out of my fingers, the whole thing, in painful detail: How Siobhan and I had met at a Fourth of July cookout, lived together while I went to law school, got married when I graduated, bought a house when I got a job, and got divorced when I let the job take over my life. How I was great at working toward goals, but not so great at knowing what to do when I got there.

As usual, the Bird Sisters were the first to respond, offering words of understanding and comfort and advice. Other members posted their support, too. Most of them, in fact, if not all of them. To be honest, it felt good to finally get things off my chest. I had been keeping a lot bottled up inside me all those months.

*****

After that, I became much more aware of how active the other sections of the board were. Aside from the social sub-forum, there were sub-forums on Entertainment, Sports, Politics, Science, Philosophy, and Creativity. Despite everything that these people had gone through in their personal lives, there were endless lively discussions about the latest movies and TV shows, contemporary music, elections and ideology, new discoveries in space, and current social trends. Many members delighted in posting their poetry and short stories and art and photography. There were even games where members had to answer trivia questions or figure out puzzles, or even create captions for specific photographs (usually of celebrities and other public figures). I had hunted down and joined Plutonian Shore for the Raven Research section, but that turned out to be the least active section of the board.

One rainy spring afternoon when I got home from yet another botched job interview, I logged in as I did every day and went straight to Bird and Bust and Door. This was where most members checked in on arrival and I had gotten in the habit of doing the same, just to say hello and to see what everyone was up to.

That day brought some bad news, however. Bird Two posted that Bird One had had a severe asthma attack and had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. She was going to be kept overnight for observation and hopefully released the next day. I added my sympathy and well wishes to all the responses already there and, sure enough, by the next afternoon Bird One was resting comfortably at home.

Unfortunately, she continued to have trouble breathing and was back in the hospital two days later. This time she was diagnosed with pneumonia. I learned that, in spite of being twins, Bird One and Bird Two were very different. Bird One was overweight and suffered from a number of allergies, while Bird Two was lean and athletic and apparently immune to just about everything (including, she strongly hinted with a sly wink, venereal diseases). But this had all happened before and Bird One was expected to be fine after two or three days of bed rest and antibiotic therapy.

The next morning, I checked in over coffee, anxious to confirm that Bird One was feeling better and to send along my daily greetings. But her sister had posted just a few minutes before I got there. She said that Bird One had responded well to the antibiotic infusion at first, but then had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and had died shortly after midnight. She said that Bird One had died.

It was shocking, and I was deeply affected. I had to read the post ten times before I was ready to believe it. That nice old lady who had been so helpful and kind to me was dead for no good goddamn reason. Part of me was overwhelmed with grief, while part of me was amazed that I was so affected by the death of someone I had never met face to face. Yet there I was with my forehead resting on my keyboard, crying.

It was the first time in forever that I had cried for someone besides myself.

*****

Needless to say, everyone at Plutonian Shore rallied in support of Bird Two. It was impossible for any of us to attend the funeral, of course, so we held one online in the social forum. We all expressed our condolences and our respects and shared our favorite stories about Bird One-- all the times that she had said something or done something that seemed so simple, yet had such a big impact on our lives. It must have been repeated a million times how much we would miss her.

Bird Two was now all alone in the world and we were all determined to be there for her like she had always been there for us. We got her telephone number and took turns calling her, so that she wouldn’t feel so isolated. Several people who had been through a death in the family before helped her with the arrangements and all of the endless details that had to be dealt with afterwards. A couple of us figured out where her nearest supermarket was and made sure that she always had groceries delivered when she needed them. Someone had the bright idea to set up a GoFundMe page to help her with expenses. Without Bird One’s social security check, her income was essentially cut in half and she was going to have a hard time making ends meet. Eventually she was going to need to move to a smaller place.

It was a bad time, a very bad time. But we managed to get through it.

*****

And that’s pretty much how it’s been in our little community. Things got better, then things got worse, then things got better again-- just like real life. A couple of members from Wisconsin, Nathanial and Kathryn-- some people actually used their real names on the board, which had never even occurred to me when I signed up-- had grown pretty fond of each other and decided to meet up in person. Soon after that they were married, and soon after that they had a kid. Their Ravens now perch side by side. 13th Apostle was officially ordained, but he still posts every damned day. Yaz’s short film about Cthulhu on Jupiter won a Rondo award.

The bad? Samhain was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had to have a double mastectomy and reconstruction, and months and months of painful chemo. It was a miserable stretch, but she made a full recovery and is now having a second childhood to make up for lost time. And poor Greensleeves had a stroke and spent most of a year in the hospital and a very bad nursing home. But she’s home again now and doing well, although she still can’t drive. No more members have died, thank god, but several have lost their parents. We’re all getting older.

Yeah, we’re all getting older. Sometimes I think about how long I’ve been at Plutonian Shore and I just can’t believe it.

Personally, things have improved for me a lot. I got a nice job at a small family law practice in Braintree, which earned me a lot of pats on the back from everybody on the board. I moved to a bigger apartment closer to work, and the Raven followed, still chiming in with the occasional “Nevermore” when my thoughts turn dark. I decided to buy it a perch, which everybody thought was hilarious. A couple of them followed my lead.

One time around Christmas, I ran into Siobhan down at the plaza. We talked for a minute, asked how each other was doing, but we really had nothing to say. I felt like I was talking to somebody from another life and it didn’t hurt me at all.

In the meanwhile, research into the whys and wherefores of the Raven hauntings has continued without interruption. Some new members have joined, each with a new theory that is just as crazy as the old ones: Ravens are the manifestations of Dark Matter. The world is really a massive computer simulation and the Ravens are some programmer’s idea of a joke. Oh, and the veiled references to Ravens in the media keep piling up: The Maltese Falcon was no falcon-- it was Dashiell Hammett’s way of telling the world about his Raven. And does Uncle Billy have a Raven in It’s A Wonderful Life, or what? The celebrity gossip is endless and hilarious. There is an ongoing twenty-page discussion about whether presidents get their Ravens when they leave office or when they’re sworn in.

But the truth of the matter is that after all this time, and all the theorizing, and all the research, we are not one inch closer to solving the mystery of the Ravens. Funny thing about that, it just doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore.

[magnus-sm-writes]

February Wrap-Up!

It’s the shortest month of the year, and it’s time for the monthly wrap-up (which I haven’t done in some time). One of my main goals this year is consistency. Expect more monthly wrap-ups!

February is my third favorite month (March > October > February, I have opinions on the months), and it’s been the month where I’ve decided to attempt to get my life in order. This has everything to do with attempting to not get stuck in my seasonal depression hole and attempting to make myself more comfortable following my biannual neurodivergent meltdown (realizing the world isn’t made for me and freaking out about it). The world is difficult to live in if your brain isn’t built correctly for it.

Anyways, I’m quite pleased with how this month has gone for me.

Let’s move on to the neatly-organized categories!

Writing journal

I made an Instagram post about this, but I ended up with two bullet journals, so I use one for work and one for… work. Writing, that is. The work that I don’t get paid for but still love. (Yes, I love my full-time job, too, but it’s more of a side piece to me.)

My writing journal has been essential for keeping me consistent and accountable. (Except for the eleven days I forgot my journal was in the living room. ADHD for the win.)

But when it comes to my goals, I would say I reached more this month than I did in January.

My layout for February was super simplistic and based on the bare-bones functionality of my work journal. It’s not pretty to look at. I changed that in my March layout, so please bear with me.

The goals I reached this month were:

Continue re-writing a novel

Keep word count & submission journal

Make monthly wrap-up

Write in a café

I read three books: Teaching my Mother to Give Birth by Warsan Shire (twice), Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link, and In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Macahdo. I loved all of them. In fact, I resonated so deeply with In the Dream House that I actually purchased it.

The next page is just a couple short stories I was working on: “Communion” & “The Boy & the Hag Stone”. I did not finish “Hag Stone”. In fact, I didn’t finish a single short story this month.

My “words written” page is prettier, but still incredibly functional. Then my “poetry written” page. Overall, a very simple layout.

My writing journal is crucial to keeping me on schedule. If you are riddled with neurodivergence like me, the advice is true: keeping track of what I do has actually helped me stay with my goals and get some major work done.

Word Count

I’m rather happy with my word count this month! I’ve recorded writing 27,748 words, though I did forget to record my word count for about 11 days, as I accidentally lost track of my writing journal (as mentioned above).

What have I been writing?

In early February, I wrote 12 poems. That’s fantastic, in terms of poetry-writing. I wrote a little bit of Greenest and some stuff for OC Kiss Week, but a great chunk of my word count comes from my Hamish rewrite. It seems like I only want to write Hamish in the more wintry months, as February seems to be the month I’m most inspired to write it.

If you don’t know about Hamish, I encourage you to visit my WIP post about it. Basically, it’s a modern interpretation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. In short: it’s a gothic horror told in first person referral (I to you).

It’s an older work, compared to what I’m currently writing. A relic from the days where I believed that I could only write contemporary literary fiction instead of what I tend to write now (fantasy, horror, & sci-fi). However, I can now add my own spin to what was originally a work grounded in reality. (That is, make it more like a gothic horror novel.)

I’m hoping to make an update post about it, since I’ve doubled my typical 10,000 word goal. I’ve been pretty busy with trying to meet all my goals as of late, and posting has taken the back burner as opposed to attempting to overcome my seasonal depression.

(Maybe writing Hamish isn’t the healthiest option, but the vibes are there.)

I am a little burnt out at the moment when it comes to Hamish. I’m in what I call the “27k slump”, which is where I get demotivated at around 27,000 words in a project. The end of Act I tends to be difficult for me. This problem results in sagging middle, which is an issue I struggle with in a lot of my novels. I’m still trying to find a way to circumvent this.

In March, I hope to play with some sci-fi!

Publications

I don’t have any publications to show for February, but I did get my novelette Body rejected by a publisher, so I’m proud of myself for putting myself out there.

Looking forward!

(Hopefully I’ll remember to take a picture of my journal layout for March. If not, check out my Instagram for some updates. Gotta self-promote as much as possible in this wild west that is the writernet.)

My March layout is more complex than the February one, which is an upside of a bullet journal format. I can modify it whenever I need to.

My biggest goals in March are:

Finish 1 short story

Go to the library 2 times

Write in a café 2 times

Maintain submission & word count journals

Read 10 pages a day

Finish 2 audiobooks

Submit 2 stories for publication

I think these goals are me realistically pushing myself. I probably won’t reach all of these goals, but that’s okay. The point is to foster good habits instead of reaching perfection.

On the lower corner of my “big goals” page is a “best poems” section, where I will write down my favorite poems of the month. Like a monthly playlist of poems. I’m hoping I’ll use this a bit this month, but if not, it’s no sweat.

Then it’s my “books read”, “stories written”, and “want to read” page. My “want to read” section is a lot of books that James Clear recommended, because I’m on a self-help kick right now and I like reading his articles. I’ve also got some general books I want to read this year or month. Since it’s Women’s History Month, I want to include some more female authors.

My “books read” and “stories written” section for February were far larger than they needed to be last month, so I made them smaller for March.

Next is my “words written” and “poems written” page, which I will definitely be using the most. I’m attempting to write every day and note it. It’s easier to write a poem than a short story or novel, so I made the section just a little bigger. Mostly, this is a word count tracker.

The next page is blank. I think I might do a tracker or brain dump page, or both. I’m constantly brainstorming ideas, so having something with me all the time is essential.

Personal Life

As some of y’all might know, my birthday is in March! I am doing a Golden Birthday Bonanza, where I do a little retrospective on my eleven years of writing with the intent to publish. Let me know if you have anything you’d like to hear about during my week of birthday fun. Q&A is officially open!

[assortedvillainvault]

Disney Villain Polycule Posts Part 2- Flustering the Horned King

WOOOO ok I had. An Unreasonably Good Time writing this. Hope you like it! This is part of my DV'Cule postings, link here for the OG post!

It's under a cut becuase holy moley I didn't realise how long this had gotten.

Maleficent x The Horned King x The Headless Horseman. Fluster Time.

Villains the fall into two broad groups. Loud, flamboyant, overt evil, the kind that draws the eye and fills up a stage and basks in the ire their dramatics draw – villains like Jafar, Yzma and Ursula.

Then there are the darker, quieter kinds of evil – no songs, barely any lines, evil in action more than words, rendering them twice as effective. These villains bask in horror.

The Horned King is the defining feature of the second type of villain.

Maleficent suspects that in his own world, greater forces were at play to stop the King succeeding than a mere farm boy – The King’s brutality and ambition almost exceed her own. His cruelty is something she has often...appreciated, among her partners. There is little posturing, or conjecture, his threats are promises that he will follow through on and isn’t that just a breath of deliciously fresh air.

It has taken work to earn him as a partner. Her persistence was surprising to the Lich, especially since she had taken his silences for refusal as first, not the shocked uncertainty it had later been revealed as. The Headless Horseman, once comfortable in approaching her, had commiserated especially hard. His own attempts at companionship had been held up by a brick wall of oblivious lich king for months.

For a while she had been fine with knowing the King only through his persona. All villains wear masks, after all, and he is no different. But lately she has been craving a deeper knowledge of her companion beyond ominous-yet-comfortable silences and the occasional scathing commentary.

Their King is famously difficult to read, and she and the horseman have come to the sinister realisation that they have a common goal in getting him to emote more while in their company.

It wouldn’t be sinister if they were anybody else, but they are themselves and they are villains and they could make a picnic date in the park sound foreboding, so.

They have spent many an evening not-so-subtly eying their King from across the room, learning his subtle little tells. An annoyed twitch of a hand here, a subtle shift of weight in his steps as a form of dismissal, the way his shoulders rise in offence vs roll back when pleased.

They have only seen him fully animated the once.

To see him tall, outstretched, a blade in one hand – the furious crackle of crimson power in the other, eye sockets burning with hellish light – his voice resounding off the walls…

The Horseman needed to lean on Alpatraum for a good minute while his knees recovered and his beloved gave him a run for most threatening evil laugh. Maleficent was too busy tattooing the scene before them to the inside of her eyelids to comment.

...this image contrasted with a sputtering, wide eyed, off balance King as they let loose their first barrage of compliments is delightful.

“I- what??” his voice echoes quietly as what little is left of his face warps with confusion, caught between the near predatory grins of his beau’s.

The shoulders are not up yet, bafflement preventing their rise, so they move in for stage 2: physical affection.

They are both taller and take full advantage – Maleficent softly raising his chin as the Horseman steps behind and lays hands on his shoulders – and there’s a strange keening noise that only dogs and gwythents can hear coming from the Kings chest and yep, mhm, just let him die again already because there’s no coming back from that-

- they have the audacity to chuckle and slip closer. He has no idea what to do with his hands, which are shaking, and under Maleficent’s thumb a wild – in that it’s almost approaching living speeds – heartbeat makes itself traitorously known and his tongue has forgotten how to function so just let the earth swallow him he can’t deal with this p l e a s e.

“Something the matter, your Majesty?” She has the gall to be completely unruffled - he’s halfway to a response before the Horseman squeezes his shoulders and all thought pitches off a cliff.

“Hng.”

“Eloquent.”

“Shut. Up.”

They laugh, because of course he’s being grouchy about it, even if they can see a colossal (sickly looking, due to the darkness of his blood) blush under the hood and the King’s fingers are all but fisted in Maleficent’s robes. “I don’t- Don’t- mng.”

The Horseman has trailed his hands further down his arms and he’s so wound up he can’t decide if he likes the change in placement or wants to jam them back onto his shoulders under the fur stole.

They repeat the process several times. Each time with the goal of a new noise, a new twitch, the burn in his sockets when he realises he likes something particularly well.

It was less revealing something already existing as it was teaching the King that this was something even possible to have. The lessons bordered on mortifying, but, never actually unwelcome.

The first time he stiffly, but with purpose, strides across the room and slips his hand into the Horseman’s – face flushed and eyes staring anywhere but at his partners – was the day that the curtains caught fire because he was not expecting the joyous twirling hug that followed and lashed out as he was lifted off his feet in shock. Maleficent refuses to replace them for the fact they can tease him about it every time he initiates affection afterwards.

He doesn’t want to replace them either.

[that-hippie-user]

Musings on The Backrooms or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Non-Places

strangely familiar, completely alien. nostalgic, yet you've never been there. fear inducing, yet somehow comforting.

The Backrooms.

If you're not careful and you noclip out of reality in the wrong areas, you'll end up in the Backrooms, where it's nothing but the stink of old moist carpet, the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximately six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in

God save you if you hear something wandering around nearby, because it sure as hell has heard you

it didnt take much of a description to spark the collective imagination. the timing was perfect. in a post-covid world, we all feel the despair of late-stage capitalism, and the urge to throw ourselves into the void.

gazing into these otherworldly liminal spaces we invented, i think i'm not alone in my desire for nonexistence.

like gazing into a busy road, and feeling the urge to jump into it. for the road is long, and holds many exits.

The Backrooms presents a bizarre kind of oblivion, a vast empty world that you can fall into and never have any hope of escape.

Alone and feeling cold, I'm

going through the motions.

getting turned around,

and feeling drowned,

a dreaded ocean.

walls are all around me,

but there's no way out, see?

i'm trapped in my own tomb.

i'm never leaving The Backrooms.

for someone like me, there's a strange pull to this place. i feel a need to go there, to travel its endless monoyellow halls, to see the sights and sounds of a place that wasnt meant for me.

Everything here is crazy, weird, but it feels…right. Like how the world should be. I’m in an infinite building leading to different dimensions, and I never wanna leave. Even with all the horror, I’m happy. It feels sane. Or just the right kind of insane.

i recently played a game on my Steam Deck. The Complex. it's a backrooms walking simulator where you get to explore strange liminal spaces.

no danger exists, there's no gameplay mechanics for running or fighting, you just walk. its a vast expanse of nothing, where its just you and the world you're exploring.

ironically, the Steam Deck claimed the game wouldnt function properly, something about the graphics not working as they should. and yet it worked flawlessly.

it was something i needed, a comfort that gave me an escape. and what's strange is, i felt a certain dread as i progressed, a feeling as if i was being watched. that never proved to be true and yet... it felt true.

yet somehow, i wanna go back.

i played a backrooms mod recently, set it to creative mode and made my own space.

maybe its cuz i live in a shitty run down part of town in a state i'd rather not live in, but somehow making my own bare bones living space in this setting was therapeutic for me.

i sometimes like to go back there to relax.

i just want an escape. any kind of escape.

but i'll press on, and keep going.

the exit may be ever-present, but i'm not taking it.

[et103]

Lately I've been playing Cultist Simulator and oh boy oh gee oh darn the horrors are IMMACULATE. :D

For the uninitiated (heh), Cultist Simulator is exactly that; a simulation of running a cult for the fulfillment of your ambitions. The unique part of its approach to the display of its themes is the UI and its presentation of your character's perception.

Everything is cards. From garbage you got at an auction to people you've met and even knowledge of the world's machinations, all are displayed as cards with the only exception being the Mansus, this world's spiritual realm and the final goal of the player character, displayed as a map that produces other cards. Each of the cards have "Aspects" that define both their identity and functions in the game. For example, let's take "The Watchman's Secret" which is the very first Lore card you get in the first run of a save as an introduction to forming the cult. There are 5 actions you can take with cards: Dream, Work, Talk, Study, Explore (all unlocked in this order for every run) (did I fail to mention it's a roguelite as well?). If you study this Lore card, a new slot will open for you to put in another Lore card and merge them to either upgrade it into its next tier or sidegrade into a Lore card of a different principle. Talking about it will bring attention towards your cult and attract people interested in the occult, either as patrons or as acquaintances-soon-to-be-followers. You can't Explore it, Work on it or Dream of it but there are cards that can be dreamt of that will need you to use it to progress with certain actions- do you see what I'm getting at? One card and already I've written an entire paragraph giving the very bare bones basic breakdown of its capabilities. Hell, I didn't even get into the Rites yet!

And the depth doesn't stop there. Within every action and event you get text that can give you hints towards certain things you can do that seem entirely unrelated to what you're doing but they are somehow. And the card descriptions have these things as well! Hints towards specific outcomes with the card that's being descripted and another and none of that is ever a pause in the game. You can pause time to plan ahead or read through text but the game never pauses on its own to drag you into doing a specific task. It's just so fucking COOL dude!

So yeah, I'll just play this for the foreseeable future or at least until I get a victory ending.

[phlistopher]

Of Monsters and Scholars

I wrote this story in college for a writing class. It’s a fantasy piece, set in the world of the Iron Kingdoms. I liked it at the time.

Melvin Kretchum sat behind an enormous stack of books, their thick spines filled with knowledge and decay. Two misshapen candles formed a wax puddle, emitting a flickering orange glow that barely dispelled the pressing shadows surrounding the crumbling texts. Melvin ran his finger down page after page written in language after language and muttered, occasionally scratching notes in tiny, precise script. The studied tomes were all on the subject of bestial biology, each chronicling intricacies of such horrors as the Spine Ripper, the Excruciator, and Gristle and Flay. However, these books contained no precise definitions, as much as Melvin dreamed they would. Instead, what was not speculation or rumor was contained in journal entries of eyewitnesses. Yet the terrifying nature of the beasts described left many would-be-journalists without the requisite sanity for a coherent account. It was Melvin’s task to sort fact from fiction.

The process was agonizingly slow, and Melvin had been working for five and a half hours. He knew this, because he owned a pocket watch. It had been extraordinarily expensive, costing nearly two hundred crowns, but it was more than worth it. With this new device, he was able to keep exact appointments, and to follow more precisely his daily schedule. He had bought the watch as a congratulatory present for himself after securing a position as the aid for legendary monster scholar Victor Pendrake. Professor Pendrake had been a leader in the field ever since his revolutionary breakthrough on Trolls, which conclusively proved that their severed appendages did indeed grow into more Trolls. It was an honor for Melvin to work with a man of such prestige.

Melvin checked the time; it was five past eight. In fifteen minutes he needed to be at Professor Pendrake’s office to make his first report on the Moonwing, a creature that resembled a one-foot long yellow and purple moth, the dust from its wings having the unusual effect of highly increased drowsiness in the subject. Melvin had been researching Moonwings for two weeks, and had even dissected a specimen. Hurriedly packing his notes – Professor Pendrake’s office was on the other side of the building and he did not want to be late – Melvin snuffed the candles and left the room.

It was eight thirty; Melvin had been waiting in front of Professor Pendrake’s office for five minutes. He flipped through his notes, tapped his foot, and checked his watch for the third time since he had arrived.

“Some people just refuse to function by the clock.” He muttered.

Melvin checked his watch again – he had to be finished by nine thirty because he was going to propose to his girlfriend Rosie at midnight. Melvin had been courting Rosie for eleven months and three days, and once they had even kissed. He had told her to meet him at the public gardens at eleven forty-five; Rosie did not live by the clock either, with a propensity for lateness, and he could not risk the success of his carefully planned romantics on the punctuality of his girlfriend. On the same coin, neither could he risk his plans on the punctuality of his professor. However, as his personal aid, he was forced to stay.

Melvin had met Victor Pendrake once, and only briefly. The aging but spry professor had welcomed him with a sharp handshake, explained that he wanted some research done on Moonwings, and excused himself, saying he was that minute going on an expedition to the Widowers Wood to clear up some controversy over swamp squids. He had told Melvin to have his Moonwing report ready in about two weeks, and when Melvin pressed for a more specific time, Pendrake had only shrugged. After a few terse minutes of conversation while the professor put on his coat and hat, Melvin had finally convinced Pendrake to meet him outside his office at eight twenty in exactly two weeks.

“Where is he?” The schedule was in jeopardy.

At eight forty-three Professor Pendrake arrived. He was wearing a thick, animal hide great coat adorned with various pockets, small tools and other presumably useful field accoutrements. It was the same outfit he had been wearing two weeks prior, yet now his boots were caked with a sludgy brown and green muck, and the rest of his clothing was smattered with greasy-looking black splotches. Flecks of the stuff were even noticeable on his half-moon spectacles. His hat was gone, exposing short-cropped steel gray hair made darker by a layer of grime. Strapped to his side were a battered long sword, a dagger, a pistol, a net, and what looked like a tentacle.

And he reeked.

Melvin made an effort to relax his crinkled features to their accustomed stoicism, and began breathing through his mouth.

“Uh, hello sir.”

“They walk!” Cried the professor, smiling wide.

“I..I’m sorry? What are-”, stammered Melvin, but Pendrake cut him off.

“The swamp squids. They can walk!” He crowed.

“That is-”

“Pretty creepy,” finished Pendrake, happily.

Pendrake walked brusquely to his office door and began rummaging through his pockets. There was a feverish gleam in the man’s eyes that made Melvin feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Retrieving his keys from a cleverly concealed pocket in his armpit, Professor Pendrake unlocked his office door.

“Come in, come in.”

Melvin entered hesitantly. The office was crammed to capacity with books, papers, and preserved monster bits. Melvin fought back a wave of nausea as the professor slapped what was indeed a tentacle into a liquid-filled glass jar and began searching through his office, forehead wrinkled.

“Sir, I have that Moonwing report you asked for.”

From under a desk, Professor Pendrake’s muffled voice replied, “Hmm? Oh, that won’t be necessary Marvin.”

“But…but Sir!” Melvin’s voice came out shriller than he intended, “You told me to report on Moonwings. Two weeks ago you told me to give you my report today at exactly eight twenty. And my name is Melvin, sir.”

“Turns out I won’t be needing it. Bigger fish you know?”

Melvin didn’t.

“Now I just need some bait…something magical I can afford to lose…Ah ha!” Professor Pendrake emerged from behind a large stack of books holding a smoking feather, which occasionally coughed. Pendrake rolled his eyes.

“I certainly don’t need this anymore.” Hurt, the feather replied that it hardly needed the professor. Pendrake stuffed the feather into an inside pocket. It complained of claustrophobia.

“Come, we’re going to the sewers.”

“What?” Melvin squeaked, “The sewers? Are you joking?” Professor Pendrake had grabbed a lantern and was pushing Melvin out the door.

“I just received some information that I think will be quite illuminating when we get there. Come on, time is against us, I can’t say how long the Thelg will stay put.”

“The what?”

“The Thelg”

“I’ve never heard of anything by that name.”

“Makes it all the more exiting, doesn’t it?” The professor’s eyes gleamed.

“But I have to–” Professor Pendrake was already walking down the hall.

“You’re my aid. Aid me.”

This was not Melvin’s line of work. This was not why Melvin was here. Melvin worked to dispel the chaos and uncertainty surrounding monsters by solidifying clear, definitive facts: this had nothing to do with sewers. Lip trembling, Melvin checked his watch, and ran to catch up.

It was a quarter to ten as Melvin and Professor Pendrake stepped out of a carriage on the other side of the city by the wharfs. The sun had set, the only light coming from professor Pendrake’s flickering lantern and the moon’s reflection off the water. The sound of water slapping the sides of the dock meshed with the creaks and groans from the anchored ships; far away a dog barked, sand Melvin thought he heard the faint scrape of metal on cobblestone. Dark buildings rose from the thick gloom – stern sentinels lining the waterfront. Torchlight spilled into the street a few blocks down, raucous laughter echoing off the pier. Melvin shivered; he needed to get back to his apartment to change, pick up the ring, and arrive at the gardens before the minstrels to set up the fireworks.

He had bought the fireworks from an alchemist at the quad three days ago, and even though he did not normally buy magical items – or associate with their proprietors – the vendor had demonstrated that the fireworks exploded into red flaming hearts, and offered a reasonable price. He had bought a dozen.

During the ride, Melvin had explained his situation to the professor; going into detail about how long each of the processes leading up to his proposal would take. Professor Pendrake had seemed to understand, despite looking distracted, but had made no mention of how Melvin, now behind schedule, was to get to the public gardens in time. Uneasy and fidgety, Melvin followed the professor along the wharfs.

After nine minutes of fast walking, Professor Pendrake stopped. They were standing near an ally between two buildings, a cracked sewer grate at their feet.

“Hold this.”

Handing Melvin the lantern, Pendrake began pulling at the grate.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling a grate.” Professor Pendrake grunted, the bars lifted, and he set them aside, leaving a gaping black hole and the stink of raw sewage. “Alright, down you go lad.”

“What?”

“Come on, before we attract unwanted attention.”

“Unwanted attention? You want me to go down into a sewer!”

“Yes. Go.”

“This is not the job. The job is research, study, intellectual things; not jumping down sewers!”

Pendrake glared at Melvin. “This is research. Now get moving, I haven’t got all night.”

Melvin had picked tonight to propose to Rosie because the moon was full. All the arrangements were made; re-planning all the intricacies of the event would take another month at least. Lip vibrating, Melvin crawled into the sewer.

After less than a minute of crawling on his hands and knees through a pipe little wider than his shoulders, Melvin fell into a murky pool. The lantern went out. Gasping and spluttering, Melvin thrashed until he felt a gnarled but strong hand pull him to his feet. The water only came to his thighs.

“Get up, come on. Use your eyes, lad. I can’t have you bumbling around like that. Where’s the lantern?”

Melvin silently handed Pendrake the lantern and felt his clothes; he had never felt so dirty in his life. Something slid across Melvin’s foot. He screamed.

“Quiet you imbecile!”

Melvin kept screaming. After fumbling in the dark for a few moments, Professor Pendrake grabbed Melvin and clamped a hand over his mouth. The hand dripped sewer water, and Melvin gagged as the liquid touched his throat. Hacking, Melvin struggled against Pendrake, but the older man’s grip held.

“Be quiet I say, the Thelg will hear you!”

A loud splash echoed from down the passage. Both Melvin and Pendrake stood still, breathing heavily. After a moment, Professor Pendrake relit the lantern. They were standing in a domed passage made of worked stone. Slime clung to the walls and dripped from ragged curtains of moss hanging from the ceiling. The passageway faded away past the lantern’s illumination. Pendrake looked at Melvin.

“Follow me and stay calm, and keep your wits about you. Once we find the Thelg I will need you to help me hold the net. Here, take the lantern.” Melvin was not listening; he had to recalculate. It was ten twenty. If he left within forty minutes he was close enough to his apartment that if he didn’t change, he could still pick up the fireworks and the ring with just enough time to do a quick set-up. It wouldn’t be perfect, but at least he would be on time. Legs shaking, he pictured the look on Rosie’s face as he followed the professor deeper into the sewer.

Pendrake stopped; the passage had come to a tee. The new passage was wider than the first, a gushing torrent of water sweeping debris towards the sounds of a waterfall. Twelve minutes had passed. Professor Pendrake remained motionless while Melvin set deadlines. Pendrake sniffed the air, slowly reaching inside his coat. Extracting the smoking feather, which loudly made clear its opinion of the smell, the professor lashed it to an iron bar with a strip of leather. As the feather proclaimed that mere physical bonds could not hold it, a streak of blurred movement erupted from the rushing water towards the scholars, the professor throwing the terrified feather towards it.

The Thelg landed less than four arm lengths from the scholars. It stood over eight feet tall, a hulking mass of reptilian muscle and teeth. Its slightly hunched back gave way to bulky shoulders, greenish-gray sandpaper skin pulled over the sinew, exposing large, spidery veins. Its webbed, oversized hands and feet ended in spiked claws, a long, alligator-like tail thrashing the water into a white froth. Its head was oblong and flat, ridges running the length of its forehead, its eyes inky black slits, mouth a ring of pointed, yellow teeth dripping a thick, gloppy saliva. Protruding from either side of its mouth were two tentacles, which flexed and waved as if testing the air. There was a puff of smoke as one of the tentacles snatched the screaming feather.

As soon as the tentacle wrapped around the feather, the Thelg stopped, its attention immediately focused on it. What had moments before been an unstoppable force of forward momentum now curled protectively around the feather, the tentacles holding the feather almost gingerly; it’s suckers gently pulsating. The feather’s screams slowly faded, the smoke dissipating.

“Now’s our chance, lad.” Whispered Pendrake hoarsely. “Grab the other end of the net.”

Melvin’s vision was blurred; he could not seem to focus, or control his shaking. He thought about the number three.

“Hurry lad, the net!”

Melvin liked three. It would be his favorite, if he had to pick one. Seven was nice too, but…the Thelg dropped the feather. Inky eyes focused on Pendrake.

Pendrake had been waving the net in front of Melvin, and was caught blindsided, plunging into the water with one hand yanking on his sword, the other scratching at the monster’s hide. A small geyser signaled the beast and professor’s departure as they were swept away with the current, blood billowing from the chaos.

“Help Marvin!”

Melvin did not hear. He thought about numbers and schedules and details and books. He checked his watch – it was five after eleven. Time to leave.

Melvin arrived at the public gardens two minutes after midnight. He had rushed to his apartment, collected the ring and fireworks, and while he did not have time to change his clothes or bathe, he had liberally applied his most expensive perfume. Rosie had not yet arrived. The minstrels were tuning up, and after telling them to conceal themselves behind a large statue, Melvin scurried to the gazebo he had selected and began stabbing fireworks into the nearby shrubs.

At twelve twenty-three, Rosie appeared out of the mist, a light breeze off the canal lifting her curls. She was wearing a clean white dress without much lace, and when she saw Melvin, she ducked slightly, picked up her skirts and trotted towards him, glancing around as she went.

“Melvin, there you are,” she said upon reaching him, “What is it? What will father do if he finds out I have been at the public gardens so late?” Her brow was furrowed, a state Melvin couldn’t help but notice mimicked in her nose.

“Yes,” he intoned, “Isn’t it romantic?”

Rosie blinked, and said nothing. Melvin cleared his throat and sank to one knee. Rosie glanced around.

“Rosie, I…”

“There’s a man in the canal.”

“I just wanted to say, well…”

“There’s a man in the canal.”

“No, that’s not it. What I want to say to you…” Rosie jerked Melvin’s head to the side.

“Melvin, there is a man in the canal.” This was not how his proposal was supposed to go. He had imagined this moment over three thousand times, and Rosie had never jerked his head. Losing patience, Melvin turned to rebuke her when he noticed legendary monster scholar Victor Pendrake floating down the canal. Melvin quickly looked away, trying to forget what he saw. The aging professor paddled to the bank and hauled himself ashore. His clothes were torn, his skin marred with large gashes and bruises, and he leaned heavily on a piece of driftwood. All his weapons were missing.

“I thought I’d find you here Marvin. Now, I can’t do everything myself. That’s why I have an aid.”

“Who is that?” Rosie clutched Melvin’s arm, but he said nothing and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Come here lad, you are going to help me with this net. I can’t let such an incredible specimen slip away.” Pendrake’s eyes began to gleam. “Why, I thought I was pretty clever to distract it with the feather, but I completely forgot I had this trinket on me.” Professor Pendrake chuckled and pulled out a pendant from inside his shirt. “Always expect the unexpected, as I always say.” He shook his head and chuckled again, as if recalling a fond memory of youthful debauchery. “Well it worked out.”

Blood ran in rivulets from his wounds.

“The Thelg will be here any second for this.” He shook the pendant.

“What? What will be here?” Rosie turned to Melvin looking confused and afraid.

“Nothing. Nothing is coming.”

“Oh yes there is lad.” Pendrake wagged the pendant almost gleefully.

Melvin fumbled for his watch; it was twelve thirty-six. He looked at Rosie.

“Rosie, will you marry me?”

“Come over here and help me with this net.”

“Oh my, Melvin I…”

The Thelg leapt from the canal at Pendrake.

“Gadzooks!” the professor cried, chucking the amulet into the shrubs near the gazebo. The beast slammed in front of Pendrake, emitting a guttural croak before diving after the pendant. The Thelg’s momentum sent it crashing into the side of the gazebo, saw dust cascading from the ceiling. Rosie shrieked and ran, stepping on the hem of her dress, the sound of shredding cloth accompanying the wet thump of skull on cobblestones. Melvin scooped her up, staggered several feet, and with a screech of pain and frustration, collapsed. Rosie mumbled incoherently. Straining against her weight, a thick tear slid down Melvin’s quivering features. Nothing had gone as planned, and it was Pendrake’s fault.

“You,” he whispered through his teeth. “You ruined everything.” Melvin focused on reality, sorting out the inconsistent, the impossible, and the inconceivable. He focused on Pendrake. Net in hand, the professor was approaching the bushes, emphatically motioning Melvin to follow.

“You bastard!” Melvin yelled, charging at Pendrake, who emphatically motioned him not to. “I should have been proposing to Rosie!” The minstrels mistook this for their cue. Having heard a cacophony of cries, croaks, crashes, shrieks, shreds, thumps, screeches, yells, and screams, they emerged from behind the statue ready for a tough crowd.

“Love, love, my love for you floats like a…”

A girl lay unconscious, a young man was running and screaming, an older man was feverishly flapping his arms, and a monster loomed over some bushes. As they ran, each musician silently vowed to never play engagement parties again.

A firework in its mouth, the Thelg whirled to face the aggressive noises. It’s tail slammed into Melvin’s stomach, catapulting him back into the dirt beside Rosie. There was a searing pain in Melvin’s ribs, and blood dribbled from his mouth. His vision fogged.

“Do I have to do everything myself? Get up and help me with this net, lad!”

Melvin could faintly make out Professor Pendrake sitting on the Thelg’s back, bludgeoning it over the head with his driftwood. The monster bucked, clawing at the professor, who narrowly dodged the blows.

“Marvin, help!”

Nothing had gone as planned. He didn’t get to change, he had arrived late, he didn’t get an answer from Rosie, and there had been no fireworks.

“I can’t hold much longer lad!”

“Wait,” Melvin thought. “Of course. Fireworks. There can still be fireworks.”

“Aieeeee!”

Pendrake sailed through the air, crashing into the roof of the gazebo. The Thelg began gorging itself on the fireworks.

Melvin whispered the command word.

“Yes.”

There was a loud, squishy bang. Flaming hearts and monster bits filled the garden as the Thelg’s mangled carcass toppled.

Pendrake groaned, turned over, and looked down at the scene.

“Damn it! I really wanted a look at the internal organs.”

[irvinenewshq]

Apples Report Revenues Soured By iPhone Gross sales

Photograph: Eric Thayer (Getty Photos) In a yr that will likely be remembered as a horror present for a lot of tech corporations, Apple has thus far managed to climate the storm with file earnings within the third quarter. Decrease than anticipated iPhone gross sales nonetheless, counsel there could also be holes within the ship in want of patching. The Silicon Valley big posted its September quarterly earnings on Thursday which noticed them herald a file $90.1 billion in quarterly revenues, up 8% from the identical time final yr. Apple’s web revenue, $20.7 billion, equally broke its quarterly file. Whereas all which may sound nice there’s some doubtlessly worrying indicators across the iPhone, Apple’s primary money cow. This quarter, the corporate’s iPhone gross sales elevated by 9.7% to $42.6 billion. That’s barely much less than the $43 billion analyst anticipated in accordance with The Wall Avenue Journal. These figures come one month after a Bloomberg report claimed Apple was transferring away from earlier plans to extend manufacturing of its new iPhone 14 fashions, allegedly resulting from lagging demand. On the identical time although, Apple reported file quarters in numerous different segments, notably together with file outcomes for its Mac computer systems. Apple refused to supply any income steering or expectations for all the yr, however mentioned they anticipated income development to speed up within the subsequent quarter. CEO Tim Cook dinner spoke confidently of the corporate’s total earnings, which managed to interrupt information regardless of, “a variety of challenges dealing with the world,” from the warfare in Ukraine, persistent pandemic disruptions, a wobbly economic system, and local weather change. Cook dinner went on to say silicon-associated provide constraints, one thing that’s plagued many tech corporations lately, have been “not vital.” Apple’s spectacular earnings got here towards the tip of what’s in any other case been a whirlwind week for tech That monetary storm cloud really began gathering when Snap not too long ago posted its worst year-over-year income development in 11 years pushed primarily by a sluggish digital promoting setting. That dire forecast continued over this week as Google-owned Alphabet reported its second worst quarter of development since 2013. Worse nonetheless, the corporate’s revenues development trickled down to simply 6% in comparison with 41% the earlier yr. Like Snap, Google attributed a lot of its struggles to declining digital advert spending. Probably the one biggest blunder of all from Meta, which posted a revenues decline for the second quarter in a row, a blunder that, till not too long ago, would have been remarkable for Silicon Valley’s as soon as undisputed development machine. The corporate’s $27.7 billion revenues have been down 4% from the identical time final yr. That poor efficiency despatched the corporate’s inventory plummeting leaving the corporate with a market valuation beneath $300 billion for the primary time since early 2016, in accordance with The Wall Avenue Journal. Of their earrings name, CEO Mark Zuckerberg warned of much more bleak earnings within the months to come back citing “vital modifications throughout the board to function extra effectively.” Meta’s outcomes have been so tough they even compelled tv commentator {and professional} screamer Jim Cramer to unsuccessfully battle again tears on reside tv for encouraging viewers to buy Meta’s inventory. Time and again, Cramer admitted he positioned an excessive amount of religion in Meta’s administration crew. “I screwed up,” Cramer mentioned. Originally published at Irvine News HQ

[thefanficmonster]

Perspective

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse recounts the time he first met his now best friend who too has been gifted with a deep voice.

Requested by two Anons. This fic is a mash up of two very similar requests I got from an unnamed Anon and 🖤🥀 Anon, so a big thank you to the both of you for sending in your requests! I’m really sorry to be posting your requested fic so late but I hope the final product is gonna make the wait you had to endure worth it! If you come across it and read it, I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

“Yeah, yeah ok, I know.“ I can’t help but playfully roll my eyes at the comments that are flooding in, “Before any more people address it - even though it’s only been five minutes - I’m gonna address it myself: I apologize for the absence of the guest I promised would accompany me on this stream. She made the choice to party until late - or should I say early - and is currently probably asleep. And...I just don’t have the heart to wake her.“

In all honesty, all the blame should fall on Y/N’s lack of responsibility but I could never say such a thing - she rarely let’s herself loose and allows herself to have fun so there’s no way I’m gonna hold this one instance against her. Quite the contrary actually: I hope she starts going out and having fun more frequently cause really deserves it. She’s a super hardworking girl, studying college and working her ass off simultaneously.

“For those of you who don’t know who I’m referring to: the girl in question is Y/N, aka Jumpscaretastic, a horror games oriented streamer. She was supposed to join me for this freaky journey but...yeah I’ll have to endure it on my own because fuck me.“ I take a look at my chat again, deciding to keep this interaction with my viewers going for a bit longer before I start the game. I may be stalling but you sure as hell won’t hear me admit it. The game may be terrifying as hell - I have no doubt it is - but I doubt it would affect me so much if Y/N was here.  My eyebrows furrow automatically at the sight of one specific question that I’ve been getting asked quite a lot recently and I’ve been doing my best to avoid it cause the idea - to me, at least - is so messed up. Why, we’ll get into that later. “No- ok, this is the first and last time I’ll be addressing this wild assumption, you guys, so listen carefully. Y/N and I are by no means related. I’m not related to every deep-voiced person on this planet, just FYI.“ Speaking of Y/N’s deep voice which I’ve gotten so accustomed to hearing, I can’t help but recall the first interaction the two of us had when she got invited by Toast for a game of Among Us with us when Felix canceled on us due to technical difficulties. “I may not be related to her but she really put into perspective how other people feel and react when they hear my voice. I, honestly speaking was astonished by hers.“

A few months ago

“Ok guys, since Felix texted me about an hour ago, saying he won’t be able to make it, I invited a friend of mine so I hope that’s ok with you.“ Toast announces when the majority of us have accumulated in the lobby.

“Yeah, all cool. An introduction to them would be nice though.“ Charlie says, tampering with his avatar’s appearance on the in-game laptop.

“Oh, I’m sure she can do that herself.” He says with a bit of a chuckle, “Y/N?“

“I’m here, I’m here.“ 

My gaze moves from my chat to the monitor displaying the game in an instant as though it would reveal to me who the owner of this unfamiliar voice that just travelled through my headphones is. You know how my voice is considerably deep, yeah well this girl’s voice is six feet below that.  My eyes have widened without me even noticing as I hurry to unmute myself despite being a little late to the reaction party which already consists of a ton of ‘OMG’s and “WHOA”s from the rest of the people in the call. Not one of them, however, considers to question the authenticity of the voice.

“Was that a voice changer or something?“ I say, my eyebrows shooting up when I hear the laugh I receive in response to the question - a sound so deep but simultaneously sweet and girly it messes with my head.

“I wish I kept count so I could tell you which number on the list of people who’ve asked me that you fall under.“ The girl, Y/N replies, “But for the record no, it’s not a voice changer.“

Realizing how hypocritical this question probably seems coming from me, I decide to believe her - probably cause she gets nothing if she lies anyways. “Oh, so this is how it feels hearing my voice for the first time, huh?“ I say, slowly nodding my head, still in slight disbelief.

“Yeah, meeting her was quite rattling - in the best way possible though.“ I say, fixating myself back in reality following the little trip back in time to the day Y/N and I met. “She’s now one of my best friends so that should tell you enough.“

It goes without saying that, since she’s my best friend, I know her quite well. That being said, with the detailed knowledge I have on her, I can guess she’s gonna be in for a massive hangover when she wakes up. I just hope she texts me when she does so I can make sure she’s at least semi-functional. Just then, my phone buzzes with a message. Much to my shock, it’s a message from Y/N. Truth be told, I didn’t expect her to be up for another hour or two or three but here she is, sending a simple text that reads:

“My head’s pounding like a drum mid rock n’ roll concert“

There are no emojis accompanying the message, suggesting she’s deadly serious and in quite a bit of pain. Ok, I won’t sugarcoat it - she’s in a fuck-load of pain right now.

“The Sleeping Beauty has awaken and is complaining about a headache, just in case you were wondering.“ I chuckle seemingly nonchalantly as I silently contemplate whether to text her back or call her instead. Who’s gonna know better than my viewers, after all... “You guys think I should call her? Or would that annoy her?“ I ask, furrowing my brows at the chat as I see different responses coming in.

Meh, fuck it -  I think to myself, already taking my phone to call Y/N when the support of my viewers floods in as well.

She picks up after two rings, letting out a sound that sets the tone for the discomfort she’s in.

“Hello to you too.“ I say, putting the call on speaker so my mic can pick up her responses. “Would you please rate the pain you’re in right now on a scale 1-10?“

“A hundred.“ Her strained, raspy and deeper than usual voice comes through, stealing a chuckle from me, “I’m hungover and still a bit drunk. Like, how does that even work?“

“The morning after is a straight-up bitch. Welcome to the world of bad decisions.“ I tell her compassionately, low-key wishing I could go over to her place and provide her with at least a tiny bit of comfort, as much as I can.

“Yeah...“ she sighs halfway dramatically, “Anyhow, we usually text around this time, what’s up with the call?“

“Just wanted to make sure my best-girl wasn’t really dying, you know. Who am I supposed to annoy in Among Us if you’re not there, after all?” I raise my brow and, although she can’t see me, I bet she can probably guess I’m doing that.

“Whatever...“ The same way I can imagine her rolling her eyes while smiling as she said that, “Tell me this, am I wrong or was I supposed to be on your stream today?“

I barely manage to hold in my laughter at the question, “Uh, yeah you were, but...” she doesn’t let me finish my sentence, instead cuts me of:

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, Corpse! I totally forgot. Believe me, if I could roll my ass out of bed I’d hop in but I really can’t. Unless you want me to be a bore for an hour and a half, that is.“

“For starters, you could never be a bore to me.“ I say matter-of-factly, “And for seconds, you’re kinda on the stream anyway...“

“Come again?“ She cuts me off yet again, “You’re calling me mid-stream? If so, hey everyone! Sorry I couldn’t join, I promise to make it up to both you and Corpse soon.“ A yawn comes from her end before she continues, “As of now, I think I’ll go back to sleep.“

“Alright, alright. I’ll call you again later to make sure you’re still alive. Sleep tight.“ I tell her, already hovering my thumb over the ‘Hang up‘ button.

“Won’t let the hangover bite.“ She slurs/murmurs, stealing my opportunity to end the call cause she does it herself.

I stare at my phone for a second, finally becoming aware of the grin that has spread across my face. Eventually, I address my viewers once again, “There you have it, guys. Technically, you can give her a pass for answering the call, especially in her current state, so let’s all agree to not hold this against her, cool?“

A brief look at my chat shows me the ton of fluffy comments that are coming in as a reaction to the interaction Y/N and I just had. One, however, sticks out especially. It reads: ‘You like her or smt?’

“Do I like Y/N?“ I read the comment out loud, a smirk coming across my face, “Of course I do. She’s a darling.“ If I had a webcam on I’d look straight into the lens and wink. That’s probably spark more than enough rumors, but at the very least they wouldn’t be wrong. “I’ve stalled enough, Outlast is waiting.“ I announce, finally starting the game. After all, it cannot be scarier than the conspiracies my fans could come up with. I get it though - from their perspective, we’re already the perfect couple; from my perspective we’re impossible because from Y/N’s perspective we’re best friends.

Ain’t that how it always goes?

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo  @beatrhizn  @blueberrystigma  @beatrhizn  @chicken-taco-burrito  @scorpios-echos

[flumbliez]

hi!! i hope you're having a good day :) can i please request a hannibal and will x male reader where the reader helps them with their crimes? i don't mind how short or long it is,, thank you!!

Hello, my day has been great thank you! I hope time has been treating you well. Apologies for the late response, I’ve been swamped with exams and work. I hope it’s to your liking, and if it isn’t feel free to send me a message and I will do what I can to fix it! (Please bare in mind this is the first time I’ve written in a while.) Enjoy! ~~~

*Warning: Mention of cannibalism, murder, minor injury (if I missed any let me know!)

*He/Him pronouns

*Word count: 2346

*Hannibal x Will x Reader

~~~

{Name} loved Hannibal and Will with all his heart, he truly did. While their relationship took a bit getting used to in the beginning over time they had mostly adapted to the welcomed change. Despite the differences between them, there was no doubt that they had all loved each other. Though, it wasn’t that {Name} wasn’t aware of what his lovely boyfriends do, it’s just that he had never been a part of it. He wasn’t some sort of killer, even if it was obvious his morals didn’t exactly line up with what was considered the social norm. And while he knew of his boyfriend’s pastime activity, besides adopting their unique meal decisions with reason that Hannibal’s cooking was just too good to pass up, it was not something he engaged in or talked about.

Hannibal had offered to bring {Name} along with him as he flipped through his business cards on numerous occasions, and while was content with just Will going with him, he would have enjoyed his other boyfriend’s company as well. Hannibal had spent many of his cooking hours simply pondering what it would be like to have the most recent addition to his relationship out there with him. Would he be a messy killer? Would he be organized? Would he come to Hannibal and Will for advice and expertise? Or would he take the reins and do things his own way? There was a reason he had been so willing to accept {Name} into his pre existing relationship with Will.

Hannibal knew that one day or another, whether he liked it or not {Name} would be forced into the world Will and him lived in. Will knew it, they all knew it, it was only a matter of when and how. Hannibal was excited for the day where he could finally welcome {Name} to his side, to finally show his boyfriend what it meant to live free.

Will, on the other hand, had rarely ever mentioned it to {Name}. He knew why {Name} abstained from the outings and he remembered what it was like to be in the same shoes. Before meeting Hannibal, Will would have never imagined this life for himself. He used to save people, he had assumed he was just going to spend the rest of his days teaching the new generations of students the horrors that lie within society, teaching them how to catch and identify these monsters. He had never pictured himself truly becoming one of these so called monsters, but now he could never go back.

The thrill of the kill, the feeling of putting his intrusive thoughts into action and finally being the one in control was something he felt he could not live without anymore. He was once scared of becoming the monster he is now, and he knows his darling boyfriend feels the same way he used to. He knew forcing him into the lifestyle would only scare him away, and after all the time he had spent with Hannibal and {Name}, he knew he wouldn’t be able to function without them.

Will and Hannibal had mostly hunted in the dead of night. With {Name} working the graveyard shift, their schedule adapted to work around his. They were out while he was gone and by the time his shift had ended, they were ready to welcome him back into their bed as they slept the morning away. Hunting at night had a lot of advantages for the duo as well, the most important, was never having witnesses. With most everyone in the area asleep, there were never any mishaps. That, however, was subject to change.

{Name} handed the store keys to his coworker as he grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. It was weird leaving work before it was the morning but someone had asked him to switch shifts and he agreed. He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for some quality cuddle time with his favorite boys. Hannibal and Will didn’t know he was coming home this early, last they had heard from him is that he was working a double. The ride home from work seemed longer than ever as {Name} tapped his fingers on the driver’s wheel, eager to get home. He had sat at a green light for a few seconds, fantasizing about how Will and Hannibal would react to him coming home so early. They had tried to convince him to switch to an earlier shift permanently, but after working the night shift for so long it was weird to work earlier.

A honk from the car behind him spooked {Name} back into reality. He quickly sat up straight and made the turn onto his street. With the house in sight, a grin made its way onto his face. He sank back into his car seat as he drove down the road and turned into the driveway. Will and Hannibal’s cars were both in their designated spots so he knew they hadn’t gone out to hunt tonight. 

The house was oddly quiet when he entered, even for it being quite late in the afternoon it wasn’t anywhere close to the time his lovers went to bed. He considered the idea that they had actually gone to bed early as he slipped his shoes off and made his way through the house to the bedroom they shared. {Name} had shuffled to the door and opened it slowly in hopes of not waking them up if they were in fact, asleep. However, instead of seeing his lovely boyfriends cuddled up together, the bed was empty and still made.

He walked into the room and looked around, the room was the same way it had been left after they had all woken up. “Hello?” As expected, there was no response. With a sigh, {Name} walked out of the room and down the hall. “Hello??” He kept calling out to his boyfriends, but no matter where he looked he couldn’t find them. The parlor, the kitchen, the guest room, he had even checked the bathrooms but he couldn’t find them.

The one place he rarely went to in the house was the basement. He knew that was where Will and Hannibal would take home their, work, and he wasn’t exactly trying to go out of his way to see a mutilated corpse. However, he couldn’t find his boyfriends anywhere else and he was getting a bit nervous. They usually told him when they would be busy, even if he would be at work during the time, Hannibal was especially adamant on this as he saw it a bit rude to leave {Name} in the dark about their plans.

The door to the basement was slightly ajar when he had walked down the steps and he could hear faint noises coming from inside. The floor creaked under him as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance to Hannibal’s hidden room. The noises in the room came to a halt and everyone downstairs had remained silent. {Name} stood outside the room where Hannibal and Will had been dissecting a body. 

Hannibal stared at the entrance in amusement, he knew his absent boyfriend was on the other side, if it was the police they would have barged in with no regard. He was curious and excited to see if he would come into the room or if he would chicken out and go back upstairs. Will, on the other hand, was nervous that he would come in. It was quite a sight to see and he didn’t know if {Name} was ready to see that yet. He wanted to slowly introduce him to the world Hannibal and himself had lived in, not pull him in like this.

The door to the basement was slightly ajar when he had walked down the steps and he could hear faint noises coming from inside. The floor creaked under him as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance to Hannibal’s hidden room. The noises in the room came to a halt and everyone downstairs had remained silent. {Name} stood outside the room where Hannibal and Will had been dissecting a body. 

Hannibal stared at the entrance in amusement, he knew his absent boyfriend was on the other side, if it was the police they would have barged in with no regard. He was curious and excited to see if he would come into the room or if he would chicken out and go back upstairs. Will, on the other hand, was nervous that he would come in. It was quite a sight to see and he didn’t know if {Name} was ready to see that yet. He wanted to slowly introduce him to the world Hannibal and himself had lived in, not pull him in like this

Will brought his hand to his mouth with a quiet, “fuck.” He licked the cut in a desperate attempt to lessen the pain as Hannibal put the scalpel down and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hand. The two lovers in the room came to a halt as the entrance to the room nearly slammed open and their third lover stumbled into the room. He froze at the sight of the body, cut open, mutilated, with way less organs than she had arrived at the house with. Hannibal watched from the background, he was more curious about what would happen than how both his boyfriends would react to this. Of course, he knew his lovers well enough to know that in the end they would be fine, but this was a moment he had been fantasizing about since him and Will had welcomed {Name} into their life. 

“Uh, {Name}?” Will took a few cautious steps forward towards his lover who seemed to be frozen in time. He didn’t want to startle the man, walking into a room and seeing your lovers covered in the blood of another was something that would leave most traumatized. He hissed in pain when he bent his finger a bit too much, which caused the blood that was beginning to clot to break apart and restart the bleeding process.

The sound startled {Name} out of his trance and he turned his attention to his injured boyfriend. “What happened?” He decided to ignore the body in the room and focus on his boyfriend who was injured, that seemed way more important to him than the corpse. Hannibal walked over to the two with a clean cloth and a bandage, so far pleased with how the situation was playing out. “Don’t bend your finger, it will bleed again..” Will smiled a bit at his boyfriend’s worrying and brushed some hair out of his face. 

Hannibal took this as an opportunity to pull Will’s hand away from {Name} and replace it with his own. “{Name}, love, I am going to take Will upstairs so I can disinfect his wound. Would you be a doll and clean up for us?” It was a test, a way to see just how far {Name} was willing to go in the name of love, how much of his own insanity he was able to embrace. Hannibal wanted nothing more than to have both his lovers by his side as they lived and loved by their own laws and not by the morals of society. He already had Will, and this moment would determine whether {Name} was on their side or not. 

{Name} took a look around the room, stopping for a second to let his eyes linger on the body before he turned back to Hannibal. “Um, yeah. Sure, I can uh, I can do that,” he gave a nervous smile to his lovers, one that Hannibal returned. Will was a bit nervous, he was reluctant to leave but he was also very aware of the various infections he could get if he did not take care of his injury sometime soon. With everything situated, Hannibal took Will upstairs and left {Name} alone with the body. 

The cleanup process was something {Name} found a bit enjoyable, though he’d never admit that to anyone. There was a cabinet that was well stocked with anything and everything he needed to clean up any trace of the crime, as well as a bin to dispose of the biohazards. Not to mention the satisfaction he got from not only cleaning a somewhat large mess but from also knowing Hannibal and Will would be, at the very least, proud of him. 

With the body in a cooler, to be properly disposed of later, {Name} took a look around the freshly clean room with interest. He had never had the time to truly look around, see what Hannibal and Will had done to make this room feel more at home for them. To them this was more than a job, it was more than a source of food, it was something they did to bond, and now {Name} was a part of it. In a twisted way, he felt more connected to them. There seemed to be more of an understanding between the three, the gap that seemed to set {Name} at a distance from them was closing and {Name} was excited to see what the future had to hold for them.

After making sure the room was organized and orderly, {Name} made his way back upstairs to join his lovers. He found them sitting on the couch together, Will reading a book and Hannibal drawing. It seemed as though they were waiting for him as they both put their activities aside when he had entered the room. “I finished cleaning.” Hannibal smiled and stood up at the news. Will had gotten up too, he walked quickly as he made his way over to his lover.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” {Name} answered with a shrug. He had had enough time to process what had happened, even if not fully. He had known what his lovers did for a living, seeing it in real time was going to take a bit of getting used to. Actively participating would take a bit longer. They all realized this, realized it would take time for everything to calm down once more. 

Hannibal walked over and placed his hand on {Name}’s shoulder. “Then I suggest it may be time to return to bed, it has been an eventful day.” He had already begun walking upstairs, knowing the others would follow him. And follow they did. Will held {Name}’s hand with an encouraging smile as they went upstairs to take showers and get some rest. Each  of them was excited for the new chapter that had begun in their lives.

[bougiebutchbitch]

Hi adorable peanut ❤

How are you? How is working life treating you? I hope managing everything doesn't get too stressful for you - we want you to always take care of yourself ❤

I've found some content you might enjoy yet again. It has become somewhat of a hobby of mine to just look for content to send you now 😅

This whole (and sadly unfinished yet) comic is amazing and definitely worth a read:

https://ahkaraii.tumblr.com/post/167794569208/five-kakashi-fancomic-1

Some kakagai:

https://leegaaisgoodforyou.tumblr.com/post/136175142172/kakagai-week-day-1

https://leegaaisgoodforyou.tumblr.com/post/128696774352/a-friend-of-mine-suggested-this-because-of-a

https://ahkaraii.tumblr.com/post/170206912893/rivals-in-retirement-d

https://ahkaraii.tumblr.com/post/170208896033/gai-looked-pretty-grim-when-he-told-their-genin

https://shittilydrawing.tumblr.com/post/175895444972/local-man-makes-beefy-puns-at-his-beefy-bf

https://shittilydrawing.tumblr.com/post/180700704797/lay-it-out-pakkun

https://shittilydrawing.tumblr.com/post/180543192667/can-i-ask-for-gai-doing-some-sort-of-sexy-dance-in

https://skykashi.tumblr.com/post/620300509765566464/this-is-what-they-needed-for-the-4th-ninja-war-to

https://veryhiddenreki.tumblr.com/post/610941811045908480/so-i-did-a-thing-based-on-a-textpost-some

Obikaka:

https://chesterfeattim-blog.tumblr.com/post/85854379866/kakashi-giving-a-blowjob-to-his-precious-boyfriend

https://obitodreamless.tumblr.com/post/84020151272

https://l1p3k4.tumblr.com/post/630175553089077248/dads-collaboration-obito-dad-quintilli0n-might

https://mensobrush.tumblr.com/post/654498195889651712/this-kakashi-motherfucker-says-the-nastiest-shit

https://kevinkevinson.tumblr.com/post/184932787470/he-said-what-he-said-okay-hear-me-out-obitos

https://viatorix.tumblr.com/post/677244000062849024/sasu-gay-uchiha-certified

https://berry-doodles.tumblr.com/post/175112868753/the-world-can-always-use-a-little-more

https://sloaners.tumblr.com/post/637967224328601600/mistle-tobi-kakaobi-doodle-advent-18-of-31

https://cybernetickitten.tumblr.com/post/673671027040157696/i-dont-miss-your-mask

Other?:

https://shittilydrawing.tumblr.com/post/178439787282/they-were-twelve

https://borkyarts.tumblr.com/post/674241318871007232

https://berry-doodles.tumblr.com/post/172731315653/never-forget-that-kakashi-was-a-barely-functioning

https://berry-doodles.tumblr.com/post/173962265903/kakayama-week-day-7-super-late-entry-anbu

https://kokodrawings.tumblr.com/post/631339062041657344/artober-day-7-rainy-days-first-week-is-over

https://xxxbouquet.tumblr.com/post/656948706047868928

https://apollojustass.tumblr.com/post/167823437799/the-first-time-sasuke-accidentally-calls

So yet again a lot of links. Well I have been gone a while so I think it's okay 🤣😅

Sending hugs and kisses, cuddles and puppy piles ❤

omggggggg thank you SO MUCH for more juicy content!!! I love these asks, I swear~ I am indeed a busy bee, and am trying to keep sane by doodling in every spare hour - but things will hopefully ease up soon, and I'll be able to chill a bit. I hope you're doing well too, lovely anon!

THANK YOU for these links. Especially that first comic. Just. Holy SHIT. I read the entire thing in one sitting and -

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Everyone: if you read one thing today, make it this comic! I won't reblog the whole thing, because... it's long, but I really want to! The characterisation is perfect, the plot is intriguing (even if we all know how this story ends...) and the art is gorgeous. I want to pick baby!kashi up and cuddle him, but he'd probably knife me.

Fair warning: the comic does NOT shy away from the horrors of being a child soldier or the general fucked-up-ness of Konoha and clan elitism. Be prepared for blood and prejudice.

Thank you again for introducing me to this story, anon! I love it sooooo much~

[twilightprince101]

So I made an SCP entry for Bugsnax...

I thought with the ending and all of the disturbing stuff that this game has, it would fit perfectly with SCP stuff. Not to mention, there has to be an SCP equivalent in the Grumpus world. GCP? SGP? SCG? I dunno man, have some horror writing about muppets.

SCP-3470: Sentient Sustenance

[Heavy spoilers for Bugsnax ending]

Item #: SCP-3470 aka “Snaktooth Island”

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures:  Due to its nature of being a landmass the most SCP teams can do is obscure its location to the populus. Efforts have been made to create rumors of numerous shipwrecks--akin to SCP-605 “Bermuda Triangle”--to deter the public from exploring the location. If unauthorized ships are witnessed crossing into the restricted zone, they are to be terminated immediately.           Addendum: Due to the recent insubordination of Dr. [REDACTED]. All authorized personnel that enter or exit SCP-3470 are to be subjected to a rigorous screening process to ensure that no instances of SCP-3470-A are brought out of the restricted area without B Class Permission or higher. Further precautions being considered are a 10 minute test in which personnel seeking access to SCP-3470 are to be placed into an empty room with an instance of SCP-3470-A. If SCP personnel show any signs of wishing to consume SCP-3470-A, they are to be removed from the team immediately. Permission from Professor [REDACTED].  Is awaiting approval.

Description: SCP-3470 is a large landmass off of the coast of [REDACTED].  Spanning 50 mi^2 and nearing 1.5 mi in height. Several sections of SCP-3470 are flux in weather patterns, ranging from lush forests to arid deserts in the span of 3 miles. Although similar in appearance to locations such as  [REDACTED].  And  [REDACTED]. , further research concludes that flora are substantially different in chemical composition, containing traces of [REDACTED].  Which was only recently discovered. Due to this, nearly all flora encompassing the island are inedible, as digestion induces hazardous effects ranging from intense stomach pains to spastic vomiting. 

The most significant aspect of SCP-3470 are various instances of sentient life, which are to be referred to as SCP-3470-A-[1-100]. SCP-3470-A take appearances of common food items, such as SCP-3470-A-1 [“Strabby”] taking the form of a ripe red strawberry with what appear to be dollar store googly-eyes [all instances of SCP-3470-A share the final trait]. All instances of SCP-3470-A vary in physique, behavioral patterns and similarities to their respective food item. Each instance also appears to have a “name” that it repeats ad nauseum despite not having observable mouths or vocal chords, making them easier to classify. Chemically however all are similar, containing faint traces of  [REDACTED]. . This can be witnessed upon any attempt to alter SCP-3470-A instances from their base form, dissolving into an unknown inedible fluid, losing sentience in the process. 

Due to SCP-3470’s flora being inedible, SCP-3470-A instances become the landmass’s only source of sustenance. Consumption of SCP-3470-A induces a drastic and instance side-effect of modifying the consumer’s limbs, thereby becoming SCP-3470-B. The limbs of SCP-3470-B instances vary depending on the instance of SCP-3470-A that has been consumed, alongside how many instances have been consumed prior to said event. Fundamentally however, all limbs modified take on the appearance of whatever the SCP-3470-A instance was impersonating. The more instances a subject consumes the more of their body transforms, beginning with the hands and feet and extending to the entire torso and face. The internal functions of the body remain intact along with full autonomous control, however the structure and physique of transformed limbs change drastically, such as an SCP-3470-B instance’s arm transforming into a banana after consuming an instance of SCP-3470-A-12 [“Banooper”]. These transformations subside in time [correlating to amount of SCP-3470-A instances consumed], with SCP-3470-B limbs reverting back to their original state, containing faint traces of [REDACTED]. 

Addendum 3470-B: Increased Exposure

Proceeding with experimentation with SCP-3470-A instances under Prof. [REDACTED]. , extended exposure and consumption of SCP-3470-A instances results in increasing addictive tendencies and side effects. File below contains audio files of experiments with Personnel D-125.

<Begin Log 01, skip to 00:02:17>

Dr. [REDACTED].: D-Class 125, approach SCP 3470-A-45.

D-125: What is…? Ok, seriously what the grump is this??? Like, I signed up for this expecting a lot of horrifying stuff, but-did someone slap googly-eyes on a piece of corn?!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : 125, please approach SCP-3470-A-45.

D-125: Yeah, yeah, alright. So… (to A-45 after approach), what are you supposed to be then? Did Dr. [REDACTED].  Have their kid put their arts and crafts project on display or-

A-45: Cobhopper!

D-125: GRUMPIN WHA- IT JUST TALKED?! IT MOVED IT’S LOOKING AT ME!!!

Dr. [REDACTED].: (whispering) so much for being the ‘toughest D-class around… ‘

<Skip to 00:08:24>

D-125: So you’re telling me I just… eat it? The eyes too?

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Correct. Do not worry, upon further testing the eyes seem to be made of a material akin to valentine’s candy hearts (lie).

D-125: Huh… alright then. Down the hatch, I guess?

Sounds of eating, cries of A-45

Dr. [REDACTED].  : D-125, describe the flavor.

D-125: It’s… good actually! I was honestly expecting the insides to be guts or poison or something, but it’s actually pretty good! Nice and buttered to, a bit of salt? Reminds me of my mom’s barbeque. 

Dr. [REDACTED].  : And the sensation of your leg transforming?

D-125: Huh? (125 looks down and notices their leg transformed into a head of corn). Oh… Well this is pretty cool I guess. 

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Any uncomfortable sensations?

D-125: Not really no. It’s weird… I can still feel my toes, but it’s like a peg leg. Actually, I think I can see a few kernels wiggling if I try. Neat!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Is… that it?

D-125: Yeah I think so, *chuckles,* this is actually pretty cool!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Hmm… (To recorder) Despite initial panic from witnessing A-45, subject D-125 has adjusted to transformation with record pace. Further research required.

<End Log-01>

<Begin Log-04>

D-125: Heya doc!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Greetings D-125. Have you adjusted to recent transformations?

D-125: Yeah it’s been going alright. The pineapple hair is a pretty nice dew all things considered, and the bacon tongue makes me look like a snake. I like it!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Pleased to hear it. Now, approach SCP-3470-A-52.

D-125: Alright, what’s on the menu today then? Who’re you little guy?

A-52: Sodi-D Sodi-D!

D-125: Huh, a drink this time. Change of pace I guess.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Please consume A-52.

D-125: Right away ma’am. Sir. Whatever.

Sound of soda can opening and drinking, cries of A-52.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : (To recorder) Upon the first drop of A-52’s fluid, transformation has already occurred, transforming the subject's ears into what appear to be soda can tabs. No further transformations appear to occur on consecutive gulps-wha (To D-125) Sir?!

Sounds of crunching, further cries of A-52, then silence.

D-125: Not bad! I don’t usually drink soda, beer’s more my thing personally, but it was pretty sweet! Just the right amount of sugar. And hey, new accessory!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : ...D-125, why did you eat A-52’s shell?

D-125: Huh?

Dr. [REDACTED].  : The… the can. Nobody has attempted to consume the can.

D-125: Oh. Uh… 

Silence for 7 seconds 

D-125: I dunno, I guess since the eyes were edible on the other guys, I thought the can would be here? Wasn’t too hard to eat, kinda like biting into ice. Didn’t hurt.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Very… interesting. This will be recorded for future experiments, thank you D-125.

D-125: No prob. And hey, call me Chuffee.

<End Log-04>

<Begin Log-09, skip to 00:09:54>

D-125: Hehey, candy corn teeth! Pretty sharp too, should make eating these things even easier!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : D-125, you’re nearing complete bodily transformation. Have you been experiencing any discomfort as of late? Any anomalies?

D-125: Nope, in fact I feel great! I used to have this crink in my back for the longest time, but now it’s gone! I’m more limber than I’ve been in ages!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Fascinating… very well then, thank you for your time.

D-125: ...wait, what? That’s it?

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Hm?

D-125: There isn’t any more left? I thought there would be a bit more.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : *sigh,* D-125, we’ve went over this last time. We cannot give you more than one instance a day due to 3470-A’s high caloric count. The instance you just ate was over twenty th-

D-125: You know you keep saying that. Didn’t you guys want to really figure out what’s with these things? When I ate that soda can you said yourself that nobody’s tried that before, so let’s go further! I’m still hungry anyways, I’m craving a burger if you got any like that.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Sir, please exit the room. I cannot give you any more than what I am authorized.

D-125: ……..You know, it’s interesting how your window is so high up there. I can hardly see you.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : ...excuse me?

D-125: You heard me [REDACTED].  , I can barely see you from down here. You can see exactly how I change, the new stuff I get… but I can’t see yours.

Silence for 15 seconds.

<End Log-09>

<Begin Log-10, skip to 00:11:02>

D-125: I know you’re holding out on me up there [REDACTED].  .

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Sir, I’ve told you countless times already. I can’t give you any more than I’m authorized.

D-125: (Sarcasm) Oh yeah, suuure. For all I know you guys are feasting away on these things up there, while leaving me for dust! Like seriously, a single popcorn kernel?! That’s it?!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Sir, that is all I can give you today. Please exi-

Sound of a door opening

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Wh- Professor [REDACTED].  ?

Professor [REDACTED].  : Hello D-125. 

D-125: Oh great, another snob to tell me what to do. If you aren’t gonna feed me, then just shut up already! My stomach’s growling like crazy, and I’m not leaving until I get my meal!

Professor [REDACTED].  : Not to worry D-125, I’m fully prepared to grant your wish.

D-125: ...wait, really?

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Professor, what are you-

Professor [REDACTED].  : I listened to the log of your previous meal, and you raised a good point. If we at the SCP foundation wish to fully understand what these creatures are capable of, we must push the boundaries of what we believe are possible. So then…

(Sound of metal grinding, several overlapping cries of SCP-3470-A instances)

D-125: Oh, my…

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Professor, what are you doing?

Professor [REDACTED].  : Eat until you can’t eat anymore. Consider it my treat, to you.

D-125: Ooohohohohoooo yes!!! Now we’re talking!!! Come to papa little guys!!!

<Skip to 00:32:59>

Professor [REDACTED].  : Subject so far has consumed 34 instances of 3470-A. Since consuming number 21 he has shown increased signs of vigor, despite eating half of his body mass. 

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Professor, please, stop him. This is-

Professor [REDACTED].  : (continuing) Upon complete transformation of limbs to SCP 3470-B instances, any further consumption appears to override a prior one. His leg, previously resembling a head of corn has transformed now into a roll of sushi. His tongue, once a strip of bacon, now a wad of chips.

D-125: (While eating) Mmmph! Oh my god, what are you a jar of pickles! More the merrier!

Sound of sloppy gulping, glass crunching, cries of SCP-3470-A-35

D-125: Ooogh, some noodles too! Love japanese food!

Sounds of rapid slurping, rapid glass crunching and licking.

Professor [REDACTED].  : Subject appears to have increased vigor in consuming 3470-A instances, not leaving a single crumb or shard left uneaten. A query: what is the chemical makeup of instances contained in glass jars or bowls? The bowls themselves? Further research required.

<Skip to 01:42:47>

Dr. [REDACTED]. : Chuffee please, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!

Rapid, feral sounds of crunching and slurping.

Professor [REDACTED].  : Subject has now eaten approximately eaten 1.5 times his body mass yet continues to feat, now with no regards for table manners whatsoever. I have already called for a janitor to wait outside.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Chuffee stop!! You-

Laughter, slowly increasing in volume

D-125: This!! This is the best I’ve eaten in my entire life!!!

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Chuffee please-O-oh… oh my-

Professor [REDACTED].  : Subject’s left ear has disconnected itself from its host. There appear to be no signs of blood or even markings indicating he has had one at all-there goes a tooth!

D-125: Hooooh I knew you all were holding back on me!!! This stuff is delicious, amazing, spectacular!!! I’ll never go hungry again, no more rotting on the streets!!! This is all mine, you hear me?! Mine, MINE, MINE!!! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH

Laughter continues for several seconds, sounds of objects falling to floor as volume slowly decreases, ending with a loud clatter.

Dr. [REDACTED].  : Ch-Chuffee, I- urp!

Sound of vomiting

Professor [REDACTED].  : Subject, after eating nearly twice his body mass, has had each limb separate from his core torso one by one, now fully resembling their respective food items, until his eyes transformed into SCP-3470-B instance, resembling the mixed nuts that made up his head. Soon after, his torso and head fell apart, scattering into mixed-nuts. I can not recognize Subject D-125 in the slurry.

More sounds of vomiting

Professor [REDACTED].  : These results are quite fascinating. Further research is required into these various side effects. End tape.

<End Log-10>

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 45

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky will do whatever it takes to get her back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Anger, grief, thoughts of violence, angst

AO3

Bucky paced like a wild animal, back and forth, tail lashing with each circuit he made. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t functioned much at all in the past few days, and he was always a heartbeat away from snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

He couldn’t go through the door he was pacing in front of, the demonic wards holding him at bay. It was just as well. Without them, he would have marched straight inside and ripped Helmut Zemo’s spine out his throat.

It wouldn’t have solved any of Bucky’s currents problems, but it would have improved his mood. And it might have distracted him for a few moments from the black hole currently residing within him. A negative space where the bond had been. Every moment that void was there, he wanted to tear out his own heart.

Maybe he’d still get the opportunity if they couldn’t find a way to bring her back. He’d end his own life for a fast one-way ticket to the demon realm if he had to, and there Bucky would stay until he found her.

And then… what? They’d be trapped there forever? Why didn’t that scare Bucky as much as the thought of being separated, with her being all alone in that place? He knew she was resourceful. She’d proven it by the fact they’d captured Zemo at all.

When the gun had gone off, Bucky had felt like he’d been the one shot, only it hurt so much worse because he actually knew what a bullet to the gut felt like. He’d barely made it in time to catch her as she fell, and he’d been in no state of mind to deal with Zemo after that. Steve had barely been conscious by the time Strange and the others had found them, so it wasn’t him who had caught the bastard.

No, it had been the Alp itself that had stopped Zemo. Before the man had even gotten a chance to order his demon to teleport him away, it had used its paralysis aerosol on Zemo and knocked him into a peaceful sleep. And then it had vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving its master there to be collected by the sorcerers.

The thought made Bucky shake his head. Somehow, Bucky’s girl had managed to make a demon turn on its own master. Not once, but twice, if Bucky was including himself.

Leave it to her to befriend a demon and turn it to her side.

Leave it to her to give everything for Bucky, including her own life. And what had he done in the time since then except vacillate between rage and grief? Between shouting at Strange and standing by Steve’s healing bed like a mourner at a funeral, waiting for them to come up with a rescue mission.

The sorcerers had made little progress, and Bucky feared their only hope lie in the man that had murdered her.

Bucky would have gotten the answers out of Zemo himself, if only for the fact he couldn’t get his hands on him. The demons wards weren’t to keep Bucky out, they were to keep Zemo from calling his demon slave to teleport him away. No matter how had they’d tried, the sorcerers couldn’t break the demon bond. And no matter how much the Alp might not want to, it wouldn’t be able to resist the call of its master, no matter how far away it was. Bucky had learned that lesson the hard way with his own escape attempts from HYDRA.

So now they were at an impasse. Zemo imprisoned but refusing to cooperate, and the sorcerers unable to get anything useful out of him but having no choice but to keep him locked up. Bucky hadn’t be surprised the sorcerers had failed to take away Zemo’s last Hail Mary. If they were capable of breaking demons bonds, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

The door opened, and Strange had to wave him off before Bucky accosted him with questions.

“Well?” Bucky asked, impatient. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing helpful.” Strange glanced at Wong as he too strode toward the door. It shut with a heavy thud behind them, no doubt locked by all sorts of arcane spells. “It’s clear that Zemo doesn’t know how to work the demon gate with any expert knowledge and relied solely on the red book to achieve his goals.”

The circular stone archway they’d found in the basement of the Siberian compound, which Strange had named the “demon gate,” had remained inert no matter how the sorcerers tried to manipulate and power it. How Zemo had managed to summon the Alp through it, but it wouldn’t respond to the sorcerers, left Bucky short-tempered and frustrated.

It was nothing compared to the guilt. The shame at being controlled, manipulated into almost killing Steve. He was still being tended to by the healers, and the only reason he wasn’t in a hospital was because Strange had insisted they take him to the Sanctum.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then Bucky’d nearly killed her. His worst nightmare being played out before his eyes, or it almost had. Through their tenuous bond she’d somehow broken through to him, and Bucky had managed to stay his hand when he’d never been able to do so before.

It had been… freeing. Liberating to disobey a direct command. To be ordered to hurt someone he loved and having the strength to resist.

And then Bucky had failed to save her anyway. She’d died, right there in his arms, her heart going silent the loudest thing he’d ever heard. As if that hadn’t shattered his world enough, she’d turned to ashes in his hands, the stink of sulfur and brimstone stinging his eyes as she slipped through his fingers.

In that moment, Bucky’s bond to Zemo had been severed. One of the apparent benefits of a demon having a human slave. She’d gone to Hell so Bucky could be free.

And all he’d managed to do with that freedom was absolutely fuck-all.

Bucky’s fist flew, the jagged knuckles of his armored hand knocking a sizable chunk out of the stone wall.

Strange merely lifted his eyebrows. Wong frowned in disapproval. Bucky didn’t give a shit. They should have woken him as soon as she’d gone missing, but instead, he’d woken on his own, bursting through the cryo-chamber and shattering its door to pieces. He’d been so confused and enraged that the sorcerers had had to bind him with glowing ropes and wards until Bucky calmed down enough to explain she was being tortured, and he could lead them to exactly where.

So, yes. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was as much Strange’s fault as it was his, and the only reason he was even still tolerating the sorcerers is because they were her only chance of rescue.

If they could get the fucking gate to work, anyway. A big fucking if. Apparently, sorcerers could make portals on Earth without a problem, but crossing into other dimensions was even beyond Strange’s capability.

And yet, she had been able to do it as a ten year old child. Bucky had hoped, maybe, somehow, she would be able to summon that power within her once again and come back to him, but there had been no sign of any mysterious blue portals popping up on Earth.

So as pissed as he was, Bucky had to remain patient, and right now, he had to pay attention.

“I have an idea on how to power the gate,” Strange said, wearily eyeing the damaged wall before turning to Bucky. “We have more of HYDRA’s research that Zemo ever did, and I have no doubt we will be able to create a stable connection soon.”

“Soon isn’t good enough,” Bucky snapped, struggling not to snarl at the sorcerer. “Every minute here is hours over there. Each day wasted is weeks she has to endure, alone, in a place humans were never meant to survive. We can’t—“

The lump in his throat forced him to silence. Bucky couldn’t say what he’d been thinking, and from Strange’s sympathetic expression, it didn’t need to be said.

They might already be too late.

Bucky still wanted to punch Strange in the face. If he cared so damned much, why hadn’t he kept a closer eye on her? Zemo may have been smart, hell, he was probably a genius to figure out how demon magic worked, but how had he managed to outsmart a whole sect of sorcerers?

“We will move as quickly as we can,” Strange said, indicating Bucky should follow him. “I don’t wish to waste any more time than you do.”

Bucky somehow doubted that, but he still followed after the head sorcerer. His tail twitched as they made their way deeper into the Sanctum, to the place Bucky had spent every waking moment when he hadn’t been by Steve’s side.

“I am aware of the time dilation in the demon realm,” Strange said as they walked down a spiraling set of stone steps, “but it might not be uniform or even linear. Your experience may differ from hers.”

If Strange thought that would be comforting news, he was wrong. Bucky didn’t need an overactive imagination to come up with whatever horrors she might be facing now. He certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of… of finally making it to the demon realm and realizing hundreds of years had passed.

Bucky couldn’t… he couldn’t think about it. He would lose his mind. Bucky would only let despair swallow him after he was a hundred percent sure that… that there was nothing left to hope for. That she was truly gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

That he would never get to see her again. To watch as her eyes brightened and that familiar mischievous grin tugged at her lips. To hold her in his arms while he buried his nose in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent and—

Bucky shook his head and grit his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when they were closer to their goal, so he forced himself to focus on Strange’s words. Something about a power source needed to fuel the thing, and that Zemo must have hidden it away from the base because the sorcerers couldn’t sense it. Bucky honestly didn’t understand most of it, only that it would take an unnatural power source to get the gate running.

The underground lair, as he called it, left Bucky as awed as the first time he’d stepped food inside. The room was essentially a giant dome constructed of very large stones, but the most interesting aspect of the room was the glowing glyphs carved into the stones. The power thrummed under his skin and set his arm plates rigid as his tail flickered.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay the instrument that had been the focus of his frustration and anger over the past few days. A stone gateway, teleported here by great effort from the sorcerers. It was ancient, possibly constructed during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, or so Strange had rambled. Bucky was too fucking stressed to appreciate the mythical history lesson.

When the sorcerers working on the gateway turned to Strange and confirmed it couldn’t be powered by anything in their vaults, Bucky turned away, fists tightening, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. But before he could take even a single step, Strange laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Strange’s voice was gentle, and it was the only reason Bucky didn’t grab the hand on his shoulder and break it. “There’s one thing left to try. It’s not without danger and risk, but—“

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“I suspected you might say that.”

Strange’s smile was sad but accepting as he patted Bucky, and then let his hand drop. Bucky’s desire to strangle the man went down a few notches, and if this worked and he got her back, Bucky might even forgive him.

Might.

Strange straightened his posture and faced the stone archway, held his hands in front of his chest in a manner that meant he was about to cast a spell, and he said, “Though I must warn you, tapping into the power of the Infinity Stones can be quite dangerous.”

With an intricate pull of his fingers, glowing patterns in the air emerged, and that’s when Bucky finally noticed the green light shining from Strange’s amulet. He’d vaguely wondered around the thing always around the sorcerer’s neck, and now Bucky had an answer as to what it was. Something otherworldly, deadly, and strong enough to compare with the power of the blue cube HYDRA had once wielded.

A deep thrumming filled the room, vibrating through the air and up the stones, the potential of something building made Bucky’s wings flair behind his back.

Then the glyphs along the demon gate began to glow, first green like the stone and then to a bright blue that made Bucky’s heart clench with fear. Strange blue lights often accompanied the demonic rituals HYDRA had conducted on him, but he swallowed down the panic and didn’t blink.

The charge in the air built higher and higher, until with a crackle of electricity, the empty space between the archway suddenly filled with light. It pulled outward to the edges, a border of blue around a watery image that sharpened into something Bucky recognized.

The demon realm.

“I can’t hold it forever!” Strange yelled, his hands still in the same position as he somehow, impossibly, held the gateway open using the green stone around his neck. “Get moving, Sergeant!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

With none of the hesitancy he’d shown the first time being confronted by a blue portal, Bucky flared his wings as he raced forward and gave one hard flap, lifting off and darting through the gateway like a missile launched from its tube.

The dry wind buffeted him from the other side and Bucky nearly nosedived into the red sand, but he managed to right himself and soar up into the air. The human side of him balked at the alien surroundings, but it was the demon part of him that Bucky needed now.

Orienting himself to the familiar magnetic fields of the planet, because in a sick way he’d been alive longer here than on Earth, and he knew this place as intimately as his home.

Turning in the direction of his territory, Bucky pushed his body as far as it would take him and flew faster than he ever had before.

Hold on, sweetheart, he prayed to her, hoping he was heard. I’m coming.

Next Chapter

[ka-writes]

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Notes: READ WARNINGS!!

Please I really want you to be safe.. anyways, this is mainly a set up for the next chapter.. it has a shit ton of angst prepare yourself.

Also am very sorry it is late!! ‘‘Twas very hard for me to start writing it, btw I started another AU please go check it out, thank you <3

——————

Warning: Torture I go into detail, gore, cussing manipulation, characters lose sense of reality.

——————

In case you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 6:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

——————

Ao3 link for this work:

And my other AU:

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Change 7: This is a dream… right?

——————

He was back where he started this whole thing.

In a cage.

One cage over from the door and now in the middle of the room. It felt empty and bare, yet full of an uncomfortable sense of dread and fear, though he would never admit that aloud.

This time there was only one other cage in sight. The room had changed as well. It was no longer covered in grime, or smelled of blood. Instead it was a sickly white and smelled of rubbing alcohol. Which caused his nose to burn with the overwhelming scent of the cleaning supplies, making the entirety of the room feel more and more like one of those horror stories in hospitals, the only difference being that this one was real.

The thing that replaced the other cages and humans was an operating table with vials and tools that Tommy couldn’t identify.

There were no lights currently, except for the same small door window, which was the only thing that really stayed the same.

It was cold, it felt empty. There was no description fit for the amount of dread Tommy felt. It was built up after laying in the dark for so long. It burned his gut and made his head swirl with thoughts of what would happen next.

He wouldn’t ever admit he was scared, but the situation kinda explained itself.

Without warning the door swung open. No squeaks like last time, just a smooth motion allowing the room to be basked in yellow light from the hall.

Then the lights turned on, immediately causing Tommy to shut his eyes. His head started throbbing and every fiber in his body screamed at him to run. The lights turned into blurry blinding blobs that lit everything in a white fire, making it apparent that the room was indeed scrubbed of any stains or blood. Once his eyes finally adjusted, his migraine caught up to him, making the entire thing unbearable.

“Hello there!” An alien stepped in the room. Their features were outlined in white and their skin wasn’t even recognized, simply because it looked like a shadow. They had claw-like hands and wore glasses over their white to red eyes. They had a black doctor’s coat and wore black pants with white knee high boots. They had a devilish tail along with devil horns and a floating white halo. Their fangs poked out from a blinding white mouth, which was curved into a practiced smile.

“My name is BadBoyHalo, but you will refer to me as Dr. Halo.” They finished with a sickly sweet tone and a side smile, “My pronouns are he/him, and I will be taking care of what happens while you’re here.. not that you will ever leave of course.”

His mind was racing. Everything told him this was real, but he couldn’t help but pray that it was all a sick dream.

“Now we will start off easy and move onto the harder stuff later! Please refrain from trying to run, we have a shock function attached to your translators.” This caught him off guard. Why was he using plural tenses?

He looked towards the other cage, that’s when he noticed the strange bee alien also wearing a petrified expression. His eyes didn’t wander to the other cage, only watching Dr. Halo.

“Now who do we start with?” The doctor asked, even though he clearly already knew. A twisted smile shone on his face letting the light catch the awfully amused glint in his eyes, “Let’s start with the droneling!”

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There was no explanation for where the two went.

They simply vanished. No traces to follow or reasons to run.

The only logical explanation was Dream catching them. Which meant Techno would have to ask around for where the ship was harboring. The only problem being, he was awful at talking to people.

“So what do you wanna know?” A tall Wollylock person asked, she was the only known person to know anything about Dream, being his mother and all.

“Er- information on the Dream Team Ship.” Techno stated rather awkwardly.

“Why?” The captain asked, impatience clearly visible with her expression.

“They took two starlings from my crew.” At that the captain practically fumed with furry.

“I will help. After all, that boy needs to learn some manners.” The captain stated, her determination was infectious. “What is your craft’s name?”

“The SBI Craft, piloted by captain Philza.” He said robotically.

“Course it has to be Phil. That man has what, four kids he claimed to his crew..”

“Technically, I am not a kid, neither is Wil- Er our scientist, so really he’s only harboring three kids, now one since two were taken..” Techno decided that was the best explanation he could come up with, though there was really no point.

The captain chuckled and brushed off the other’s attempts at defending the crew. “Just send me the ship’s cords and your captain’s contact and I will be in touch.” With that the captain slid a communicator over the table and walked out of the sketchy bar.

Techno made his way back to the ship and delivered his captain the news. He tried to ignore the gut feeling that everything was wrong…

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(The next section has graphics depictions of torture and gore, please skip this section if it could or will trigger you in any way, there is a summary at the end. Thank you <3)

The world moved unbearably slow. The cage opened ever so smoothly, making him want to throw up. It was the sign that everything was going to go to hell.

That’s what this has to be right? A hellish nightmare that wasn’t real..

No that wasn’t right..

Did it matter?

A hand yanked his wrist out of the cage and into the blinding white room, that felt like fire surrounding him as he stepped to the operating table.

Needles and scalpels were set neatly on a silver tray. The restraints were heavy and felt like they burned his wrists and ankles. He was pushed onto the table as the ‘doctor’ slapped on gloves. More restraints were clipped over his waist and thighs.

Then something pinched his leg. He felt the blood rushing it’s way down to the cut, as a scalpel carved out a rectangle. He could hear scissors cutting something, and distant screams… were they from him?

He didn’t know at this point. More agonizing cuts on his legs along with a couple of needle pin marks.. a couple snaps of an illusion disk and a bit of writing, on both his skin and paper..

He couldn’t really feel anything after the first one, only simply knowing that his body was reacting to the pain yet his brain hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

It was like he wasn’t exactly controlling his body, just simply existing in the dream-like state. Time didn’t exist there, neither did recognition of the pain. Emotions ran wild. Turning all of his thoughts sour as he attempted to remember what happened.

It wasn’t until the doctor un-clipped him and put him back into the cage that he noticed the other.

That’s who did this to him. That’s the person that pushed him through pain.

The human wore a terrified expression as the doctor took him out for his turn.

He couldn’t help but smile at the other’s pain. The other deserved it..

Right?

(If you skipped this, Tubbo got tortured and blamed Tommy for the situation.)

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“IT’S BEEN A FUCKING MONTH! And you still haven’t found your son’s damn ship?!” The man on the other line was furious, and rightfully so.

Puffy undoubtedly understood the anger the man had. I mean she had been in the situation before when her youngest was kidnapped by another crew of pirates. The only difference in this situation was she was fighting against her son, her duckling… when did her duckling turn sour?

“You’re right about that, Phil. I can assure you Niki is doing everything in her power to track them down, along with Jack.” Jack joined the team after Puffy met Niki.

She must admit that having someone working in the ISF had its perks. Though no one could fully trust him. For good reason of course.

“Ponk is ‘talking’ to Sam, he sure as hell ain’t cracking yet.” She finished bitterly, “Like I said Quakity is waiting for his monthly letter from his fiancé, which would hopefully give us a clue at where to look.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a month.. Wilbur said the humans barely last a full week if they aren’t treated..” The worry was lining his face and causing the bags under his eyes to look more like nasty black eyes. His face was sullen making it apparent the man hadn’t been eating properly. His wings ruffled at every noise and he seemed to be running purely on coffee. Puffy wanted nothing more than to return the man’s unofficial sons back to him.

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Everything was great!

The plan worked perfectly, and Sam hadn’t cracked yet.

Meaning he could easily start on the next faze. The only issue would be he’d have to gain both of the starling’s trust.

Even if the present was a bitter reality lined with things that would annoy him, the end result would be worth it.

Having a human and a nuke expert by his side would allow him to have everything he ever wanted.

Power.

Not just power, but all the things that came with it. He wouldn’t be questioned again, and everything and anything he said would be the final word.

It would be hell for those who crossed him, and even worse for those who abandoned him.

Wilbur, Sam, Ant, Quackity, Foolish, and even mother dearest, Puffy. They would all pay for their disloyalty. Once this is all over, they would never cross him again.

I mean he did give up everything to gain this life.

There was nothing to lose and everything to win, and he’d be damned if he didn’t win.

I mean he sold his soul for this!

It was all worth it.. right?

Of course it is. Stop doubting me child.

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28 days of torture, and now they were sitting with their captors playing house.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong.

“Eat your food Tommy.” The captain commanded.

Tommy complied not wanting to go back in the cage. Every day he woke up there, more things were shoved into him and more pain was given.

“You too Tubbo.” The command was given and the other complied, the same fear visibly shown.

“Reports.” Dream stated sternly, the rest of the crew compiled without hesitation.

It was a bunch of regular reports of how no one knew where they were, what supplies needed to be restocked, the current condition of the ship, and any developments with the news. A bunch of boring bullshit. He bit back any sarcastic remarks that threatened to spill, but refrained in fear of what they would do to him.

The crew was dismissed leaving Tubbo, Tommy, and Dream alone.

“I want both of you to listen.” Dream started his tone raising all hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck, “Phil and his crew led you to us. They didn’t comply the first time and poisoned your minds. We did the right thing, and fixed you. Now, there are some rules you have to follow. You may not wander the ship, only go anywhere with one of the crew members. You will both share a room and follow the same schedule. Anything you do that is not an order deserves a punishment, for it is proof of what the other crew poisoned you with. Now! Go to your room, it has a black door.” With that the man finished and the pair headed towards their room.

The speech sounded right, yet felt wrong. But everything was justified, therefore it was fine. Plus the worrying was just a problem for future Tommy, maybe that’s what Dream meant by the other crew poisoning him.

The other said nothing as they entered the room, only fixing Tommy with a bitter gaze which turned into something of confusion. Neither one slept, they couldn’t bring it in themselves to sleep, especially since Dream hadn’t told them to.

Instead both of them settled into a silence as they lay on their bed, only getting up when the man told them too. This was all they could really do as they faced their new reality. Slowly but surely their brains began to believe every word of the speech. Finally when the man asked to join him, a bubbly sickly joy gave them the grace to finally help their rescuer.

Six months after the initial capture, one month of torture and five months of vigorous training, consisting of fighting, weapon design, and hours of studying blueprints, they were finally able to go on their first mission with their rescuer, not questioning anything any of the crew said at this point. Sick months of training and they became living weapons ready for whatever the cruel world threw at them…

This is a dream.. right?

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Chapter 7- End

Words: 2221

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Notes:

Hahahaha I am in pain from writing this... please bare with me.. ;-;

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Dream is being a manipulative bastard... I mean the character. More specifically my take on Dream’s character in this situation... ahhhhh

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I hope you’re staying safe, don’t forget to take care of yourself!! <3 also likes are appreciated but reblogs are always better! <3

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