#i mean at some point ive started to directly blame myself for her death

[that-one-violist]

I haven’t been able to really vent out in a proper way how I’m dealing with a loss recently. It’s built and festered into a weird transparent stress, one that’s always there but possible to ignore when necessary. I tried to find ways to escape it and to find other stressors and problems to distract me. I found myself craving oppurtunities to ruin myself, physically or emotionally. Running into problems I knew I would regret if I went far enough, but just needing something other than the guilt regret grief confusion anger and sorrow to distract me. Using problems to cover problems isn’t healthy or smart. Music is fine but I’m too frustrated with myself on viola to be able to use it to properly cope. So this is the alternative. I don’t know what I was wanting from this. I just wrote shit about it. Its long and I don’t intend to bombard my few active followers with a semi sob story with no coherent wording. Feel free to read, because I guess somehow sharing it and being vulnerable is part of the process I personally have to go through to deal with shit. 

Thanks for dealing with this stuff, whether scrolling past it or sending messages or just being friendly recently I appreciate it. I won’t make this part much longer. But.. yeah. Okay.

What I would give to go back. Take it all back. Do things the right way this time. December. Do the holiday season right, because saying that there was always the next year, that she would be in good health then wasn’t enough. Because saying that we’d do traditions and be happy and celebrate the new year as a family, next year of course can’t keep a heart beating. January. Do the big crafts we had been postponing for years. Make the house more accessible so she could have had a chance. Take care of the backyard so she could enjoy the only real view of the outside she had. Spend more time with her, watch those shows and share moments with her because soon those moments shared between two would become nothing but memories only dear to one. February. Call her back a few more times. Spend more time with her on the phone instead of being busy with friends. Be there for her, because she was struggling in a way I couldn’t accept, so I pretended it wasn’t there. March. Spend time with her during spring break. Go ahead and play my repertoire for her, because she kept asking and I kept saying “it’s not good enough yet, I promise in May I will though.” But I didn’t realize it didn’t matter how good it was. It just mattered that she would get to play an active role in something she made possible. I didn’t realize she didn’t have another May. Hug her when I left instead of being in a hurry, because little did I know that was the last time either of us would see each other, that I would never see her smile again. Stay on the phone with her a while longer instead of saying “I’ll call you back in the morning”, only to wake up late and postpone it to a later date that wouldn’t exist. To not have the last time she heard my voice be “Sorry I have to go I’m grabbing dinner with some friends, I’ll call you back tomorrow morning, love you.” To beg harder for my dad to hand the phone to her when we realized she was incredibly ill. To not waste my time saying “I swear to god I don’t want to have to pick up the phone to hear she’s gone because she couldn’t get to a hospital / refused to go” and instead call her because I was too damn correct with those predictions, and little did I know I had less than 24 hours. To call her during that 5 min break before class even for some small thing just to hear her voice. I would give anything. Anything for even an hour with her. An hour to tell her I was sorry, that she meant so much to me, to tell her that I’ve continued to do well and that she wouldn’t have to be disappointed in me for giving up. To tell her all the dumb stories that I was holding until my 21st birthday. To tell her about all the dumb mistakes I’ve made and get some last words of wisdom. Losing a parent you were close to carves a hole in your heart. You’re left indescribably in pieces that you can glue back together and make it appear as if it was never broken to everyone around you, only for you to forever notice the crack and the small pieces that you couldn’t find or put back together. Left forever changed. Thinking maybe the glue worked this time, all seems well and you’ve gotten used to the chips and missing pieces. Then you find another one, you notice the crack you’ve been avoiding. And it all falls apart again. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will ever carry the same innocent brightness that came with a world in which no one close to you could pass away, one where you knew for a fact loss is inevitable but the inability to conceive of a world without them was enough to keep you afloat. The world will always feel a little heavier. A little darker. A little more empty. Everyone say’s it gets better. The truth? It gets worse, at least it did in my case. The only thing that gets better is your ability to outwardly cope and say their name without wincing. But the more time passes the more pieces you find missing. The more things you find that break you. The more time that passes the more of your story that is left unshared and unknown to them. The more ‘milestones’ they promised theyd be there for pass. Of course, life as a whole becomes easier to cope with. “Things get better” has truth to it. Memories stop being guilt filled and tragic and rather become bittersweet. You regain the ability to think about stuff like before. But everything always is a touch heavier, darker, and emptier.

[blookmallow]

I FINALLY GOT SKYRIM MARRIED

i have a BEAUTIFUL WIFE

...who i went through a lot of shit for. this is. a lot of exposition, bear with me :’) im very invested in my character’s personal story here

so astrid had a very important special job for me and sent me to markarth to speak with the client directly

it turned out to be the apothecary’s assistant, who i was passingly familiar with already, so i imagine it was a bit of a surprise to both of us, but she got right to the point - a man broke her heart and ruined her life, used her to hurt the people close to her, abandoned her to go become a bandit, now she wants him dead

u can probably imagine where this is going,

this is the first time ive had a dark brotherhood job i was legitimately PSYCHED to carry out, you BET ill go fuck this guy up for you id do this for free

however, she also had... another request, one that wasn’t required, but something she really, really wanted

see she was very close with/practically another daughter to the shatter-shields in windhelm, the wealthy family who recently lost a daughter to the windhelm butcher

alain had manipulated her and used her to get to the shatter-shields, i dont remember if he stole from them or what happened there, but whatever it was, the shatter-shields blamed muiri for this and disowned her, throwing her out onto the streets with nothing

so she was used and had her heart broken by a man she loved, then was told it was Her Fault, and lost her home and her friends/the closest thing to family she had all at once, and was so hurt and desperate she turned to the dark brotherhood to get revenge on them all

she wanted me to kill nilsine too, the shatter-shields’ other daughter

SO we have this really complicated situation where, on the one hand, she wants alain dead for using her and ruining her life and hurting her friends, and like, he’s a bandit leader now, so he’s someone i probably would’ve easily killed off anyway, by “this is a video game not real life”/skyrim standards that’s a no brainer, i have no moral conflict with that and can’t wait to slash this guy’s head off

but on the other hand she’s so broken she wants a woman who used to be her best friend/practically her sister dead too. i dont know what nilsine’s role in this was specifically but these people were essentially her family, and they victim blamed her when she needed their support the most and threw her out with nothing and nowhere to go

and i had already done quests with the shatter-shields before this, so like, i know them too, and they’re sort of friends to me, i helped solve the mystery of their other daughter’s murder and now I’m being asked to kill the other. not to mention everyone’s going to think the butcher’s back/there’s a copycat killer/something and it’s gonna cause a panic again (even if the game doesn’t acknowledge that/directly show that happening, y’know) 

killing someone’s daughter when they’re still in mourning over the first, when they’ve come to trust you, when you’re the one who helped them gain closure over that first death already, is just. a stone cold thing to do

especially looking at it from my character’s perspective, she’d be especially torn on this because she’s a mother herself, but her children are girls she rescued from the streets - lucia was thrown away by her family, sofie was a victim of tragedy and was let down by the people in authority who should have protected and helped her

so medea would relate to tova as a mother and a friend but also relate powerfully with muiri as a victim in this

ultimately i don’t think there’s any real justification to kill nilsine here, i dont think you can really morally defend that, but. i was so drawn to muiri and wanted so badly to give her a shot at a better life and help her heal from all this, and knew she would become a marriage option if i did it bc id seen her name on the marriage options list before, her story fits in so well with medea’s, and like, i dont imagine im gonna have a lot of options for wives who would Know about my connection to the dark brotherhood/the things ive done and be okay with it, so if i went with her, there wouldn’t be a “keeping this horrible secret from my wife” aspect to deal with even though the game probably doesn’t acknowledge it if you do (i mean im still. keeping it from my kids, but. y’know. when they’re older)

and “talk this out with her and help her see how badly her mind’s been warped by the pain she’s been through” isn’t an option given to you, so

in the end i went through with it. killing alain was easy, just like any other bandit camp raid, but to get at nilsine without being caught, i had to sneak into their house when the family was asleep

which i expected would involve a lot of careful sneaking and laborious lock picking

until i realized i could just walk right in

because the door was already unlocked for me. because they consider me a friend and allow me into their home

and that somehow made it so much worse

i killed nilsine with an arrow, nobody heard a thing, and i ran for it before anyone saw me in there or realized what had happened

muiri gave me a special ring as a “symbol of her affection” for doing this, which i think is about the biggest sign i coulda hoped for lmao

i held off on considering marriage for the time though and finally decided i had to go back to windhelm to see if there was anything i could do to make amends to the shatter-shields even though they shouldn’t know it was me/make sure i didnt get seen by a guard without realizing it or something (though it wouldn’t probably matter anyway, guards saw me leave the orphanage immediately after grelod’s death and shrugged that off, so,)

my name’s still clear in windhelm, but...

tova committed suicide after she discovered what happened

she couldn’t cope with losing another daughter

so now the father is the only one left, coping with. the death of his entire family occurring within like a couple months

i didnt see what happened here i came back later so i dont know if this is something you can possibly stop or if its possible to witness the moment they find nilsine or tova’s suicide or if this just Inevitably happens whenever you come back

i feel terrible about this but theres. not really any going back now,

so. i went back to muiri

i dont know if this is what everyone says or not but her response was just. “i mean, yeah, why wouldn’t I be” i love her lmao

i wouldnt choose to get married in riften if it was up to me but thats how it be in skyrim i guess

my babies are here!!!! what!!!!

and a. random guy i dont recognize lmao :’)

just wandered in to see what was going on i guess. or maybe we’re friends and i forgot who he is entirely which would be kind of sad :’ )

maybe it was my long lost father... slipped out before i ever had the chance to realize it

however i actually. ended up doing this scene twice because, fun fact, there’s a glitch where if you don’t manage to catch up to your spouse to talk about where to live before they leave the chapel they can just fucking Disappear sometimes, :’  ) i couldnt find her anywhere after the wedding and finally looked it up and apparently she just fell into the void so i had to reload and run it again. we’re double married now

planned better this time and dressed better but anyway that elf guy didn’t appear this time but some other guy did, who i ALSO cant quite identify, he looks. maybe. kind of like lucas valerian? who is actually a friend to me and was one of the first friends i made so it’d decently make sense for him to come to my wedding, but weird if he came and camilla didn’t, and im not even sure thats him anyway, so i dont know what happened here all around

muiri’s mentor lady came too though which was sweet

im spinning this kind of as... like, medea was so drawn to her and felt so strongly for her she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her and this was an eye opener for them both as a kind of. “look what kind of people we’ve let ourselves become” and their marriage as a new beginning, love coming from a place of desperation and darkness, starting over and hoping that the divines will forgive what they’ve done

medea’s not leaving the brotherhood but i mmmmmight try to be a little more careful about who i kill

i had intended for her to come live with me in markarth, she’s in on my. assassin life so having kind of this Other Side to my life made sense but... she met my kids at the wedding i guess and she wanted to live with them... which is really cute,

it feels really weird having this huge fancy house all to myself (and uh. argis, i guess) in markarth and having my wife and kids (and lydia, and a fox) all squished into the honestly kinda run-down whiterun house though i think im gonna work on getting the solitude house for them bc its. safer there than in markarth i feel like and ive heard thats like the fanciest/biggest house

there she is..... my Wife

she also sells things now but i feel bad accepting it when she gives me “my share” of the profit like.... babe thats your money i have so much adventuring money and i didnt do shit to help earn that,

i buy things from her sometimes but i refuse to sell her stuff bc i dont want to take any more of her money :’ )

even tho it. doesnt really matter, its video games, i know, but

found lucia, the fox, and muiri all on the bed at once

lydia was just standing like this for a rly long time after muiri moved in i guess she was suspicious but chilled out eventually :’)

gettin along finally

i just realized if we move to solitude lydia’s gonna get left behind though :(

i mean ill still come visit her but. upsetting

my one issue is that muiri still keeps saying “thank you for solving my-....problem.” every time i come in speaking distance of her which is. weird given that its the same line she had before we were married, like, she apparently doesnt get any new things to say, and is Really repetitive (imagine living in a small space with your partner and they say the same sentence with the same intonation every time you step within like 2 feet of them. how long til that gets old, do you think, ) and also its just like??? girl let that go we gotta stop dwelling on this or the kids are gonna start questioning what apparently massively important problem mommy solved

idk why she was laying on the floor but anyway my kids have started calling her “mama” now too and im not crying or anything

[whattimeisitintokyo]

I Could Never Hate You (Part 2)

Heeeeeeey, did you miss me? Probably not. I have no excuses, but here’s the rest of the chapter. Bleep!

“Im… Imelda?”

“Héctor!” Imelda reached over and cupped his face with her hand, looking deep into his blurry eyes. “Are you here with me? Do you understand me?”

“S-si… I can’t… I can’t move my arms. Agh, Dios, my head!”

“Hold on.” Imelda made quick work to unlatch the thick straps wrapped around his wrists, and once one was free his hand immediately went up to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding ache. When she had finished with the other one she was back close to his face. “Héctor, I need you to relax and tell me what you remember last.”

It took a few seconds, as Héctor gazed dully at his wife, before the memories started to flood back. “Ernesto…” he choked out, lowering his hand over his eyes as he bitterly wept. “I saw him… He’s-”

“Okay.” Imelda shushed him and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Okay, you don’t need to say anything else.”

Héctor blinked up at the harsh lighting and his gaze went around the room, recognition settling in and disgust coming in quickly. He recognized this place. This was where his little girl had wasted away into nothing while he foolishly believed that she was getting the help she needed. And anger was a much better feeling to have than despair. It helped him, gave him strength. It would do. “Why am I in this hospital?” he growled. “Why am I here?”

Imelda’s face hardened and she looked at him with exasperation and anger, making him shrink back. “Why are you here? Héctor, you… You brought yourself here! You’ve been drinking so much that your body nearly shut down when you stopped. You haven’t been eating, you are ten pounds underweight! Your lungs are so congested that I-… I watched you nearly choke to death Héctor! How could you have neglected your health so much?! Were you trying to kill yourself?!”

Did you try to kill yourself Ernesto?

With a shake of his head he turned away from his wife with a snarl as he focused on anything else but her and that horrible thought of his brother. “Of course not! I would never do anything so… so cowardly! What do you care anyway?”

She didn’t answer, but Héctor heard the sharp inhale before there was a quiet still. It lasted far too long, until finally the metallic screech of the chair she was sitting on startled him into looking at her again. Imelda had stood up and patted her dress down, refusing to look at him, and cleared her throat. “I must tell the doctor that you are awake and aware.”

As she quickly walked towards the door, each click of her heels sent a sharp stab of pain directly into Héctor’s heart. She was leaving him. Again. And this time he knew why. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. But his head was throbbing just as terribly as the ache in his chest, and he had lashed out in his pain and suffering. But it wasn’t just this. The past few years of distance, that had eventually grown into separation, had been on him.

It was all his fault. It had to be.

“I’m sorry Imelda.”

His desperate, whimpering voice reached her just as she had opened the door, making her pause. She turned her head towards him so he could see her beautiful profile, but still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, he had gotten her attention, and he could work with that.

Make her listen.

“This is all my fault… Not yours.” Héctor said softly, his vision slowly becoming even more blurry with tears. His head only felt worse, and it hurt to breathe, but he continued anyway. “I’ve been a t-terrible husband… and father, and a… a terrible friend. I couldn’t see how bad Ernesto was because I was only caring about myself, and now he’s… He’s gone. And it’s all my fault.”

It was at this point Héctor had dissolved into sobs and what he was saying could easily be described as blubbering. But he couldn’t stop. “I should have been stronger, I should have made him go to a doctor, or just have kept him in the room, just not on the stage. But I was too weak. I’m too weak. It’s all my fault. He’s dead… I couldn’t keep him off the stage, and I couldn’t make Matty stay at home, I couldn’t make you-… I’m so sorry, Imelda!”

He broke off into a fit of weeping, trying and failing to keep it at a low volume. Trying not to look as truly pathetic as he felt. With his eyes still squeezed shut in misery he heard the door solidly close, and his heart shattered. It didn’t work. He had poured his heart out to Imelda, and she still left him. He had finally talked to her, tried for one last time, and he had still failed. Curling as much as his IVs would allow, he buried his face into his pillow and continued to cry. So lost in his misery he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone, until a soft voice startled him.

“Who said that you were a terrible husband and father?”

With a gasp he looked up and saw Imelda staring down at him, with an unreadable yet soft expression. His breath stuttered to halt at seeing her look at him like that, and for the life of him he couldn’t answer her. His voice was stuck in his throat as he gaped at her with tears still spilling silently down his cheeks. Luckily for him Imelda continued on her own.

“You have been nothing but a loving and devoted father.” Imelda said as she sat down on the side of the bed, and now that she was closer Héctor could read the expression past his blurry gaze. She looked so… sad. “Our children couldn’t adore you more if they tried. Never think differently.”

With a sniffle, Héctor smothered a cough as he swiped at his eyes. “But… But Matty. I let him go. If he dies…”

“Then it will be the fault of whoever kills him. Not his, not yours.” With a bowed head she looked down at he clasped hands in her lap. “And you didn’t let him do anything. Mateo does what he wants.” Then, suddenly, Imelda did something that Héctor had not seen from her in quite some time and made his heart flutter. She smiled. “Remember when he wanted to join the fútbol team, and I was afraid that he would fail, or hurt himself? I refused to sign the permission slip, and what did he do?”

Héctor was surprised when, despite all his sorrow, the corner of his mouth twitched upward at the memory. “He forged your signature.”

“And despite my concerns, he surpassed my expectations an succeeded in it. Even kicked the winning goal in his first game. Probably just to prove to me that I worried over nothing.”

“This isn’t a fútbol game.” Héctor whispered, the fleeting lightness of mirth vanished. “I sent him off to war.”

“No.” Imelda shook her head firmly. “No he was already going, you sent him off with a lighter heart. With the knowledge that you didn’t hate him for his decision.  I… didn’t realize that until afterwards. It’s what I should have done.”

“That’s why you sent him boots?”

“Si.” Imelda nodded and smiled again. “He is still an idiota, but I wanted him to know that I still love him with all of my heart… Like you did. I am sorry Héctor. I never should have said those things to you when it happened.”

Héctor sniffled again, the tight vice around his heart lessening just a little at her words. Knowing that she didn’t blame him for Matty’s actions made him feel a little better, but he still had to know the full truth. “But… you said it. Because you… wanted me to leave… Didn’t you?”

“…Si.”

Héctor sank deeper into the pillow and turned his gaze away from her. He knew it. She didn’t love him anymore. She truly didn’t want him with her. That was it. It was over.

“It’s for the best. You deserve so much better.”

Héctor’s head snapped back to stare at Imelda in confusion. A little too fast as his aching head protested against the harsh movement, but he struggled through the pain just as he struggled through his confusion. “Better?” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Imelda looked away and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, almost as if she was hugging herself. Or maybe to prevent herself from touching him. “You’re a successful man, Héctor. And you’re still young. Young enough to find another woman who would be more than happy to start a new life with you.”

“Y-young?!” Héctor choked out in disbelief. “Imelda, I’m a grandfather.”

Imelda waved a hand at him dismissively. “That means nothing to a man. You’ll be as virile now until the day you die. You can expand your legacy even more with someone else. I’m finished Héctor. I have nothing more I can give you.”

Héctor’s brow furrowed in utter confusion, his weakened mind slowly trying to piece together what Imelda was saying.  “What are you talking about? Imelda, you’ve given me so much. How can you say you have nothing-”

“I am old, Héctor.” Imelda cut him off, and for the first time Héctor saw her cold façade crack into something vulnerable. “I am sagging and wrinkled. And not only that I am broken. Everything that made me worthy of being your wife is gone. Cut from me never to be replaced. I am a shadow of what I once was, and I am no use to you anymore.”

With a slow blink, Héctor suddenly understood.  “Imelda… Are you talking about the surgery?” She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. “Imelda! You nearly died! The surgery saved your life!”

“And it ruined my body!” Imelda choked out, and she finally started to cry. “I see that scar everyday Héctor. It’s hideous and it’s disgusting. I’ve never felt so disgusted, and so… So embarrassed! And ashamed! I am not a woman anymore, at least not one that can bear you children!”

“I don’t want more children!” Héctor shouted, and the strain of the outburst proved too much as his chest was seized with a fit of deep hacking coughs.

Imelda was at his side in a second pressing a soft rag against his mouth as the violent coughs shook him. After what seemed like too long, to the point she was afraid that he would pass out again, Héctor finally drew in enough air to gasp and collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. As she wiped at his lips gently and shushed him, Héctor locked eyes with her and held her gaze.

“Imelda, I love you.” He whispered, his voice rough from his fit. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old… The angelic girl in the creek who sang La Llorona so… hauntingly beautiful… You’re all I ever wanted. But I wanted you for you, not as a… a baby factory.”

Imelda laughed softly, bitterly, as she stood up to walk towards the trash bin. “Some factory!” she sneered as she tossed the soiled rag into the bin. “I couldn’t even carry our child to term. I was just too old, and Miguel nearly died before he had a chance to live.”

“But he is alive! You’re alive! Everything is fine!”

“And I gave you the most beautiful little girl.” She whimpered and lowered her head into a dry sob. “Leticia… with flowers in her hair… and in the end she rotted away.”

Héctor choked on tears as he struggled to sit up. “No. Imelda, that’s not true.”

“And I made you give up on her!”

“That’s not true!”

“How could you love a woman who killed her own daughter?!”

“Enough! Imelda, I –UGH!”

It wasn’t until he had crashed to the ground did Héctor realize that he had forced himself out of the bed, desperate to reach his hysterical wife. His weakened limbs couldn’t bear even his own meager weight and landed heavily on his knees and arms in an awkward, painful kneel. He hissed as sharp pain shot through him and collapsed to his side, his ringing ears preventing him from hearing Imelda’s terrified gasp.

“Héctor!”

And then suddenly he felt her hands on him, pulling him up into sitting position and muttering frantically that he had to get back into bed. As the pain slowly subsided he managed to grab her hand with his, squeezing hard and trying to draw strength from her. When she stilled and looked at him, he brought her hand up to his face and nuzzled it. Dios, he missed her. And being so close to her he could actually smell her again. And her kiss her palm, and-

Ay, mierda. I kissed her palm!

With a start he looked up at Imelda, expecting to hear a barrage of curses or maybe even being on the receiving end of a few indignant slaps. But what he saw stole his breath away. She just looked at him with profound sadness in her eyes, tears still running down her cheeks, and there was something else. Something that pulled at his heart and gave him the courage to keep pressing forward.

It was longing.

“Imelda.” Héctor whispered as he again pressed her hand against his face. “You didn’t kill her. She was too sick, and you did not make her sick. And you didn’t make me give up on her.  You were right. All I was doing was hurting Leti. And you… You did it first.”

Imelda blinked. “Did what first?”

Héctor smiled. “You said I let Matty go with a lighter heart. Well… You did it first, to our little girl. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She died peacefully with her family at home. That was because of you, and I am forever grateful for that.”

“And I don’t want more children, or a young mistress, or anything like that. All I ever wanted was a real family. Ever since I was a little boy, after realizing that my Mamá and Papá were never going to come back for me. And when I saw the bossy, snooty girl who always made fun of me for being too short, sing my favorite song in the most beautiful way… I knew I wanted to start one with you. I don’t care if you can’t have any more children. I just want you to be healthy, Imelda. And no matter how many scars or wrinkles or gray hairs you’ll get, you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I don’t want you to hate yourself Imelda, and if you do I’ll just have to love you twice as much to make up for it. Because, when I married you… I was ready to be with you… for life.”

Imelda closed her eyes and nodded, fresh tears falling and a trembling smile suppressing her weeping. With a shaking hand Héctor wiped the tears off of her face, and soon she too was nuzzling his hand. Slowly they came closer together until their foreheads were resting against each other, noses barely touching, and they just stared at each other and cried.

“Imelda… Mi amor… Mi diosa… Please tell me you still love me… Por favor…”

…

…

“You are the love of my life.”

When the nurse came in several minutes later for a routine check on her patient, she was startled into a near heart attack and horrified at what she saw: Héctor Rivera, the man who all of Mexico had been waiting on with bated breath to wake up from Death’s door, and Imelda Rivera, the fashion mogul and shrewd businesswoman who had been coldly separated from her husband for months, were on the cold hard ground in a twist of IV tubes and blankets. Laughing, crying hysterically, and kissing each other with intense fervor.

The nurse frantically called for orderlies and doctors to come lift Héctor of the floor and back into the bed, difficult to do when he and his wife couldn’t stop clinging to each other. Once he was settled back into bed, and the doctors tried to treat him and question his wellbeing between all the kissing a crying, did they finally leave them alone again.

Ernesto was dead. He would have to be buried. Héctor would have to watch his friend be placed into his eternal resting place. It was the lowest he had ever felt in his life. But as his wife peppered his face with kisses and whispered words of love and apologies, that she did love him, that she wanted him to come home as soon as he was well, that she missed him and that Miguel missed him too, Héctor finally started to feel himself slowly rise from the pit of rock bottom.

It was a tragedy, but things couldn’t get worse than they were now.

Now it was time for things to start looking up.

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me!” Héctor said as he giggled.

“I can’t help it.” Imelda said as she kissed him for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour.  “I love you. And I miss you. Anyone would kiss their husband in this situation.”

“No, I meant that I’ve been the hospital for days! I must stink and taste too terrible to kiss!”

“I don’t care.” Imelda kissed him again, this time on the brow, and nuzzled his forehead. “I want you to come home Héctor.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor whispered. “I’ve wanted to come home for so long.”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with someone else… Someone younger. Like I have for the past few months.”

There was a beat of silence, before Héctor leaned back to look Imelda in the eyes again, a cold feeling of dread starting to creep back into his heart. “What?”

Imelda held his gaze for a second, before a sly smile curled her lips. “I got a new cat… Her name is Pepita.”

“….. You are so lucky I’m in a hospital right now. I think I just had a stroke.”

Imelda laughed again, with Héctor joining her, and they resumed kissing, and crying, and kissing some more. When the nurse came back in again later, she was once again shocked and exasperated at the sight of the both of them, cramped together on the small hospital bed, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

————————————————————

Ay! AY! This is terrible! Mierda! Basura! I can’t eat any more of this!

It had been a week since Héctor had woken up in the hospital and it had been a week since he had regained the love of his wife. With the promise that they would be together again, that he would finally get to go home, that he would get be with his adorable Miguelito and that that Coco would also be coming back with him, Héctor was ready to leave the hospital as soon as he had showered and shaved. The doctor, however, had abruptly dashed those hopes away.

‘Well Señor Rivera, I must say that you have some amazing lungs.’

‘Ha, you see Imelda? I’m fine! When can I-’

‘Amazing due to the fact that they’re both so full of fluid it’s a miracle that they’ve been able to absorb as much oxygen as they have been.’

‘… Ah…’

‘I’m sorry señor, but it’s going to be a while until you are properly discharged. But if you want to get out of here faster I suggest you rest as much as you can and eat everything that is put in front of you. You need to put on some weight.’

And so he had. It wasn’t hard to sleep; he was so weak nowadays that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat despite the glaring lights and sunny rays pouring through his window. The eating, on the other hand, that was the challenge. Granted, since he had finally finished enduring a painful withdrawal from the alcohol and he was finally back with his family, Héctor had gotten back his appetite tenfold. He was still gaining weight painfully slow, which had always been a problem for him, but he had become a bottomless pit.

There was just one problem.

Hospital food was made in Hell by el Diablo himself.

With a hard swallow Héctor gulped down the mouthful of food he had been chewing on for two full minutes, and with a pleading whine and smile he held out the bowl to his two judges sitting on either side of him on the bed. Said judges being his youngest son and his granddaughter.

Miguel looked into the bowl and then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“There’s still some left.” Victoria piped up. “Finish it, or no dessert.”

Héctor groaned and looked up for any potential allies in the three adults sitting in the room with him. But Imelda, Coco and Vicente just stared at him with crossed arms and hard expressions, silently demanding that he finish his meal. Except for Coco. No, fire flashed in her eyes and Héctor shrunk away from her intense gaze, combining the last two bites into one huge glob and shoveling it into his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste and struggled to chew the large mass, but he did it. Anything to placate his sweet, terrifying little Coco.

Coco had always taken after him in temperament. Kind, motherly, always willing to help out others, and very gentle. But when she got really riled up, that was when the Imelda in her rose to prominence and blasted her ire at anyone in the wrong. So when Coco had visited him after he had woken up, had seen both him and her mother together and happy again, and was reassured that he would be all right, she had sighed in relief and smiled with happy tears.

‘Ay, gracias a Dios. I had prayed for so long… that you two… IDIOTS!… WOULD STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS!’

And so Héctor and Imelda had sat there in shocked silence while their little girl screamed and bellowed at them, and called them names, and shamed them to the point where in the end they could do nothing more than slump in pure dejection and just accept everything their daughter yelled at them like she was their own mother and they were the naughty children.

‘For months! NO! For years! YEEEAAARS! I have watched you sulk and whine and piddle and cry and not even try stand up for yourself while Mamá treated you like dirt! No, instead you drank yourself into a hospital bed and made all of us worry for your health when you didn’t care at all! What an wonderful example you’ve set for your son and granddaughter! No, you’re not a grandfather! You’re just a kicked puppy trailing after Mamá! And you Mamá, are the puppy kicker! Imelda Rivera, kicker of puppies! You should be ashamed of yourself! And why?! Because you were depressed about the surgery! All- of-this-could-have-been-prevented-if-you-had-just-TOLD-US!’

After she had finished, and making her parents vow that they would never do this to her or the family again, she had dragged an amazed Julio off by the wrist and had gone back to the mansion for the night. When they had returned the next morning to visit, no one mentioned the fact they both had suspicious marks and scratches on their necks and arms or that they were wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

With a heaving gulp and a disgusted groan, Héctor collapsed back onto the propped up pillows and let the bowl clatter to his side. Miguel picked the bowl up to inspect, and then held it up triumphantly. “It’s empty!”

Everyone cheered and clapped in such a patronizing way that Héctor growled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That was the worst one yet.” He groaned and held onto his gurgling stomach. “How can you screw up corn and beans so much?” He watched a Miguel curiously ran a finger through the lingering blob of gravy left in the bowl to taste it, smiling as the little boy’s face screwed up in disgust.

Vicente chuckled , stood up and walked over to the huge pile of flowers, balloons, gift baskets and presents that took up the whole side of the room. It had taken him and Julio several trips to bring up all of the gifts from the fans and Mexico’s elite, and the room was so overpowering with the scent of flowers. “I don’t think hospitals put seasoning in their food. It’s to nourish you, not upset a weak stomach. However, I think a little treat won’t hurt you.” He picked out an ivory box and brought it over to the bed. “Esther Fernández sent you a box of chocolates from Switzerland, along with a sweet note to get well soon.”

“Chocolate!” Miguel shouted and reached for the box, Victoria preventing him from flinging the lid away and placing it gently next to her. “Can we have some too, Papá?”

“Of course, but save some for me!” Héctor said as he plucked one out of the box. “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Vicente went back over to the pile of gifts and pulled out another, wooden box and handled it nervously. “Also, Emilio Fernández sent you this box of cigars. Very poor taste for someone getting over pneumonia, and… I thought since you don’t smoke I could give them to a friend of mine who would appreciate them more?”

Héctor waved him off and stuffed two chocolates in his mouth. “Take them, they’re yours. I can’t stand the smell of them.”

“Gracias, Señor.” Vicente said and sat back down with a drawn out sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t unnoticed by the rest of the adults in the room, and when the three of them exchanged knowing looks Coco reached out to touch his arm gently. “Chente, you look so tired.”

Vicente blinked his eyes open. “Me? No no, I’m fine. It’s just… been very hectic for everyone this past week. We’ve finally settled on a burial site for Señor de la Cruz in Santa Cecilia and construction of a tomb for him is underway, but… there’s still so much to do. Like canceling the production on the movie, sending back the funding to the investors, a massive retooling for the new year’s schedual, and worst of all… I can’t find Señor de la Cruz’s Chihuahuas anywhere!”

Victoria gasped. “Oh, poor puppies!”

Héctor listened to Vicente’s woes in silence, nodding and smiling solemnly. “I’m sorry Chente. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time.”

Vicente shook his head. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick.”

“Not just now.” Héctor said. “The whole time you’ve been my assistant you’ve been doing my workload as well as your own, while I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity. I didn’t realize it but I took you for granted, and for that I’m truly sorry. You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I am very grateful for it.”

Vicente’s face flushed red at the praise, and he bowed his head humbly. “W-well… Gracias Señor Rivera. I would do anything to help you and your company. When you’re well again everything will be waiting for you back in tip top shape, I promise.”

Héctor smiled. “Oh, I’m not coming back.”

“… Que?”

Héctor looked at Imelda, who took his hand lovingly and nodded encouragingly, and continued. “I’m not an executive, Chente. I have no talent for business, and numbers. You do. Now I’ll still be the sole head of the company, but I’ll be leaving all those boring aspects to you. I’m retiring and going home to live with my family, and you’ll be the new CEO of Rivera de la Cruz Productions and Records.”

“… Que?”

“But don’t panic, Chente. It’s not going to be overnight. You’re going to get all of the training you need, set you up with an excellent team and board, get you all nice and settled in. You won’t be alone in all of this.” Héctor smiled warmly and held out his hand to the poor man. “You’ve helped me and the company so much this last year, it’s high time you get the right pay and a title to go with it. I hope you say yes, because there’s no one else I trust more than you.”

Vicente sputtered for a few seconds, his face turning from a burning red into a pallid white, before with a jerking nod he robotically grasped Héctor’s hand and shook it once. “Yeah… Yes! S-si! Gracias, Señor Rivera! Héctor! I won’t let you down- AY! What am I saying?! Yes I will! How can I run a company when I can’t even find four dogs and make sure that you eat?!”

“Don’t you worry about him, Vicente.” Imelda said as she squeezed Héctor’s hand. “I’ll make sure that he eats. You take care of the less important stuff.”

“O-kay. Okay, okay, okay, okay…” Vicente mumbled, standing up on shaking feet and walking over to Héctor’s unused oxygen cylinder. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to pass out.” With trembling hands he strapped the mask over his face and cracked the valve open to full blast, taking in deep gulping breaths and sliding down onto the floor.

Miguel jumped off the bed and walked over to where Vicente laid slumped against the wall, gently patting his head. “You’ll be okay.” Miguel reached down, pried open Vicente’s shaking hands, and placed a half melted piece of chocolate into it, smiling sweetly.

A few minutes later, once it was determined that Vicente definitely would take the promotion and definitely wouldn’t throw up, Julio walked in with a large wooden box under his arm. “Hola Papá Héctor. How are you feeling? Did you eat?”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I ate! Dios mio, I’ll eat mud if it means these quacks will just let me out of here.”

“Well, I know how bored you are, so I brought you this!” Turning the box over, Julio showed everyone that it was in fact a small radio. “I thought that maybe if you could listen to the news or some programs it’ll make your stay seem shorter.”

“What a wonderful idea, mi amor.” Coco said.

“Gracias. It’s a wireless one and portable too!” Julio said as he tried to find a place to set it down amongst all of the gifts. “Ay… Chente, can I just move some of these on the ground?”

Vicente, staring off into space, barely acknowledged him with an affirmative grunt.

Once a spot had been cleared and the box switched on, Julio fiddled with the knobs until the radio static finally began to tune into a station. “Alright then, just a few more adjustments and here… we… go!”

“-you cry!”

“For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart”

“I sing a secret song to you-“

Julio sighed. “Ay, they’re still playing his songs nonstop. It’s understandable, but still.”

Coco nodded. “Si, Tio Nesto endeared himself to a whole nation. It warms my heart to know how much he’s touched everyone so-”

“Héctor?!”

At Imelda’s cry, both Julio and Coco turned to see Imelda hovering over the bed as Héctor was… rocking back and forth, trembling violently and cramming the heels of his hands into his ears as hard as he could. His breathing became labored and a low, keening sound was coming out of his throat. His eyes were so wide and pinpricked, and even though the others couldn’t see it, all Héctor could see was red.

Blood! So much blood!

It’s all torn up! What happened?! Where are you?!

Ernesto!

The song won’t stop playing!

The bell won’t stop ringing!

It’s all over me!

STOP THE SONG! STOP THE SONG! STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONG

“JULIO, TURN IT OFF!”

STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOP THESONGSTOPTHE-

“HÉCTOR STOP! Héctor, stop! It’s off! It’s off! Cálmese, mi amor. Cálmese… Shhhhh….”

With a sharp gasp, Héctor found himself lying back down of the bed. Imelda was hovering over him with a terrified expression, and the doctor was next to him drawing back an empty syringe and checking his pulse. As his eyes roamed around the room he saw Coco holding onto Victoria as the little girl cried into her mother’s shoulder, and Vicente was holding onto a wide-eyed Miguel.

As a wave of drowsiness started to engulf him, Héctor turned back to Imelda and stared up at her in anguish.

“It’s alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently.

Héctor shook his head slowly as the sedative took effect, tears falling down his face. “No… it’s not… No more… ’Melda… no more… mu-…”

As he drifted off into a drugged state of unconsciousness, he didn’t notice the worried looks that the adults exchanged with one another, and he didn’t hear the innocent question his son asked them all. A question they couldn’t really answer.

“No more what, Mamá?”

———————————————————————

“~MEEEEEEEEEE!~”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Instead of the rapturous applause he was expecting after belting out the last note of his song, Ernesto was startled by the sound of a hoarse, raspy scream of an old man. His eyes shot opened and he flinched back in confusion at his surroundings. The stage, the lights, the orchestra, the audience, the theater! Vanished! In the blink of an eye they were all gone! Instead he was in a rather sterile looking room not unlike what you would find in a hospital, and he wasn’t standing anymore either, but sitting up on a simple fold-out gurney.

Where am I?

“Puta Madre! What the hell?! Who the hell wakes up singing like that?!”

Ernesto turned towards the gravelly voice of the only other occupant in the room with him: a short, stubby old man currently trying to totter over towards his head on the ground, wearing clothes common of either a bank teller or some other kind of office worker-

His head?

…

On the ground?

…

This man’s head was on the ground.

…

How much did I take?!

Finally, when the old man finally reached his head and plopped it back on his neck, Ernesto realized it wasn’t a head at all. It was a skull. A skull currently glaring daggers at him with eyeballs suspended in the inky blackness of his eye sockets. This was no drug trip. This wasn’t even a dream. Ernesto knew himself enough to know that there was no way he could dream up something so ugly or terrifying in his life.

“AAAAH!” Ernesto screamed and scooted himself back as far as he could on the bed, plastering himself to the wall. He continued to scream as the skeleton slowly walked towards his desk with a sigh.

“That’s more like it. This I can work with.” The skeleton said as he held up a clipboard.

“S-stay away! Stay away from me!”

“Please remain calm.” It said in a bored tone as it read from the clipboard. “You are safe now. Rejoice, for all of your worldly pains and ailments are a thing of the past.”

“Wh-what?!” Ernesto croaked out and continued to press against the wall, trying his all to get away from this skeleton. From this monster.

“We welcome you to your final resting place- heh, final, yeah right- where as long as you remain well remembered in the hearts of your loved ones you will live on far longer than you did in lif… Lif? Ay joder, they still haven’t fixed this typo?!”

Ernesto continued to gasp in terror as he stared transfixed at the skeleton before him. “Don’t come any closer!”

It rolled his eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Yes, you are! You’re creeping up to me right now!”

“No, you’re pushing against the wall and moving the gurney towards me, cabron!”

Ernesto paused at that and looked down, seeing that the bed was now two feet away from the wall and his hands were still pressed against it. “Oh.”

And then he looked up towards his hands.

…

…

“Oooohhh…..”

“There ya go.” The old skeleton chuckled hoarsely as he watched Ernesto stare at his new boney appendages in quiet, awed horror and went back to his clipboard. “Bienvenidos, Señor de la Cruz. Welcome to the Land of the Dead. Now, since the requirement to be here is to be dead, I must inform you that that’s what happened. You are now dead. My name is Chicharrón and I will be death counselor for this eve- and there you go, pat yourself down. Down the ribs, to the stomach- ay, no stomach!- and then the face. Every time, just like clockwork.”

Ernesto tore his hands away from pawing at his own cheekbones and glared at Chicharrón. “This is not funny!”

Chich smiled at him. “You know I always thought your bulbous chin was just fat, but nope,” and he smirked and tapped his own protruding chin with a pen. “You’re just as chiseled as I am.”

“How?!”

“How?… Ay, I don’t know. Genetics, I guess? I took after my Papá.”

“HOW DID I DIE?!”

As he cried out that choked, desperate plea Ernesto already knew deep down what had caused his far too early demise. The drugs. What else could it have been? What else could have affected him so suddenly during such an enthusiastic, triumphant performance. As he had belted out that last note, it was obvious his heart couldn’t take the strain. After gambling with his body for so long with copious amounts of drugs and sex, it had finally caught up with him. With one last song to his familia, he had perished right in front of his eyes. It was sudden, but strangely poetic. As tragic and as horrifying as he found his current predicament, he could not ask for a better way to go-

“Oh, that! According to reports, a giant two-ton bell fell from a stage fixture and flattened you into a tortilla.”

“………. What?”

“To save you some embarrassment I took the liberty of putting it down as ‘Acto de Dios’ as the cause of death.” Chich said, pointing it out on the file before placing it in Ernesto’s numb hands. “In hindsight maybe you should have sprung for papier-mâché props, eh?”

When Ernesto continued to just stare at the file in shocked silence, Chich made his way over to the telephone on his desk. “You’ve been dead for about three weeks now, but your body was just now buried. Guess they had to either build a fancy tomb for you or they had to finish scraping you all up. But it’s givin’ me plenty of time to finish the bulk of your paperwork. No deceased blood relatives on this side I’m afraid, they’ve all been forgotten, but I promised your goddaughter I’d call her the second you’d arrive.”

The mention of that word shocked Ernesto out of his stupor, and he glanced at Chich with wide eyes. “M-… M-my… goddaughter?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.”

“… Leticia… She’s dead.”

Chich quirked an eye ridge at him. “Like I said, it’s a requirement for being here.”

“Sh-she’s dead… I’m dead… Oh! Oh no, no!”

With a frustrated sigh Chich placed the phone back on the receiver and rose up to deal with de la Cruz’s breakdown. “Easy, amigo.”

“I can’t die. Not now.”

Chich snorted. “If you’re worried about missin’ out on your fans and fame, don’t worry. There’s plenty of people here just foamin’ at the mouth to see the great Ernesto de la Cruz. A lot of the office ladies here are actually jealous I was assigned to you. You’ll be fine-”

“Héctor…”

Chich blinked at the deep sorrow and pain that he heard in de la Cruz’s voice and frowned. “Your writing partner? Leticia’s Papá?”

Ernesto brought a hand over his mouth and, seemingly to overcome to hold himself any longer, collapsed back onto the dead to stare morosely up at the ceiling. “Héctor… I can’t die. I can’t be dead, not now.”

He had promised. He had promised years ago, as he had looked two little babies in the eyes, that he would never hurt Héctor again for as long as he lived. He had stood by his side throughout all of their successes, fame, riches, pain, loss, suffering. Anything to even try to make up for what he had tried to do.

He had promised.

“… I was going to tell you everything…”

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 8

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

“Ung. Ah!” Chuck wakes up to a searing pain in her left side.

  Oh god! What’s happening?! What’s wrong with me?! I need Negan.

 “Doc! She's awake!” Negan calls out as he jumps up from the chair beside Chuck’s bed and leans over her. “Hey, baby girl,” he says gently as he strokes her hair.

“Negan? Ung!” Chuck croaks out as her face contorts in pain.

“Give her something, doc! She’s in fuckin’ pain!”

“Charlotte?” Carson says from the other side of the bed. “I'm going to give you some medicine now. You'll probably get a bit drowsy,” Carson readies a syringe and injects it into Chuck’s IV.

“I'm hurt… Negan?” Tears stream from Chuck’s eyes as she waits for the medicine to take effect.

“I'm here, baby girl.” Negan's gentle words echo in Chuck’s ears and she drifts off into unconsciousness.

 Chuck wakes up some time later to a dimly lit room. She still feels the effects of whatever medicine is in her system, but it’s faded enough that she can keep her eyes open and her pain is still manageable. She turns her head to the right to see Negan sleeping uncomfortably, half in a chair beside the bed and half on her mattress. His head is right beside hers, close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. She stretches her right arm out slowly and lightly touches Negan’s cheek with the back of her fingers, enjoying the feel of his facial hair. He takes in a sharp breath and lifts his head up quickly.

“Chuck?” he whispers. “Do you need the doctor?”

“No. I don't think so.”

“You're in the infirmary.”

“I see that.” She chuckles slightly at his obvious statement.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. I think so. Two men… -the man who was in here and his friend- attacked me and stole medicine. Did you catch them?” She looks at Negan meekly.

“Yeah. We got them and we got the fuckin’ drugs back, too.”

“Good. I'm sorry I couldn’t stop them-“

“Don't fuckin’ do that. Don't blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Okay.” Her voice cracks as tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Negan, but she can’t really control her emotions at the moment.

“It's okay.” Negan hugs her as much as he can from their positions. “I'm sorry I didn't protect you, baby girl.”

“No. It's not your fault, Negan,” she says as he pulls away from her. She moves her left arm to caress his cheek. “Ah!” She cries out as pain shoots through her left side at the movement.

“Careful! Don't pull your fucking stitches.”

“They… stabbed me?”

“Yeah. You almost fuckin’ bled out. I had to give you some of my blood. So you got fuckin’ high octane shit running through your veins, now.”

She laughs, but it causes her pain. “Ouch! Don't make me laugh.”

He smiles at her for several moments, but his face turns sour as if a bad thought comes into his mind. “I need you outta this fuckin’ bed,” he says as he puts his head down, his breathing heavy.

“What do you mean, Negan? Are you okay?”

“It's just… fuck.” He rakes a hand through his hair and scratches his neck. “Lucille. She was in and out of the fucking hospital for months before the end. Tests. Treatments… I stayed with her during it all. Saw her wither away to nothing in a fucking hospital bed. This shit… Seeing you like this is, uh… bringing back some bad fucking memories.”

“I'm sorry, Negan.”

He sits in silence for a few moments. “You know, she was the first one I saw. I watched her turn into one of those fucking dead things. Right before my eyes. And I didn't even have the fucking balls to end her. I just fuckin’ left the hospital.” He clears his throat and repositions himself in his seat. “Shit was bad everywhere at that time. I hadn't really even fuckin’ noticed. My world was already fucking ending, so I didn't give a shit about everyone else. I don't even remember what I did after that. I just fuckin’ wandered around. Somehow surviving.”

“I'm glad you did. Survive.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Please don't say that,” Chuck’s voice cracks as she struggles to get the words out.

“Fuck. Don't be upset.” Negan leans back over her, resting his hand on her cheek. “I never want to see you get fuckin’ hurt... By anything. Even me.” He swipes away a tear from her cheek. “You need to know that after Lucille… I changed. I had to or I would fucking kill myself one way or another. I had to stop… feeling for people. People are just a fuckin’ resource to me. Nothing more.”

“That's not true, Negan. You saved me.”

“I’m not a good man, Chuck. The fuckin’ shit I've done…” He backs away, shaking his head.

“You're not perfect.”

He chuckles dryly in response.

“I'm not, either,” she continues. “No one is. We've all done things to survive in this world.”

“I haven't done things just to fuckin’ survive.”

“You've been nothing but good to me.”

He laughs humorlessly. “I didn’t stop this from fuckin’ happening.” He gestures to her bed. “I threw you in a fuckin’ cell when all you needed was a little help.”

“You didn't have a choice with that. I understand why you had to do that.” She holds her hand out, prompting him to take it. He hesitates, but accepts it after a moment. “You saved me. You’re my friend . Even if you don’t want to say that. And you’re taking care of me right now. You have no idea how much all that means to me.”

“I'll fuck it up somehow. You'll hate me eventually.” He shakes his head at his own words and withdraws his hand from hers.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't hate you right now. So don't worry about it.” She smiles as she speaks causing him to chuckle.

“How the fuck are you half dead in a hospital bed yet you are the one fuckin’ consoling me?”

“I’m awesome.” She pauses. “And you're an attention whore that makes everything about you at all times, I guess.” They both laugh. “Ouch! I said don't make me laugh.”

“Sorry, baby girl, but you were laughing at your own fucking joke.”

 ——— Negan’s POV ———

 I leave the infirmary and go to my office with Simon when the doc came in to watch over Chuck. He better not fuck shit up again. He's on thin fuckin’ ice. Besides, I got fuckin’ shit to do now. Namely beating the fuck outta those thieving motherfuckers.

“What are we doing with the guys in the cells?” Simon asks.

I’m fuckin’ thinking it over. They're gonna die, that's for fuckin’ sure. But I want to draw it out. Take my fuckin’ time with it. Make a fuckin’ spectacle.

“Gather everyone in the courtyard.”

“Alright. You got a plan?”

“Yup. Those fuckers are gonna fucking know just how bad they fucked up.”  

 An hour later and everyone is outside just waiting for the show to begin.

“Alrighty, ladies and gentlemen. I know you've been waiting, so let's bring out the main attraction!” I yell out in my showman’s voice. My saviors drag the two pieces of shit before me and put them on their knees, facing the crowd. They’re fuckin’ crying and shit already.

“Now,” I start to pace around in front of them, looking over the crowd, “we are here because these two men decided to break the rules. Now, I know that every-fuckin’-one here knows that the rules are fuckin’ serious shit. Everyone,” I pause and point Lucille at the men, “but these motherfuckers. And they're gonna find out real fuckin’ quick. Just as a reminder for those who may be slow as fuck, why are the rules so goddamn important?”

“The rules keep us alive!” they all say in unison.

Fuck, I love that shit.

“That's right!” I stand back for a second and let that shit sink in. “But these fuckers decided to break the rules, anyway. And when you break the rules, you get fucking punished. Now, I don't like having to do this. I really don't. But, apparently, y'all need a refresher on what happens when you break. my. rules!” I scream the last part. Really pound it in. I wait a second and rub my face before moving on.

“These idiots right here, didn't break just one rule. No! They broke a few of them. Fuckin’ serious ones, too.” I quickly bring Lucille up to one of the guy’s faces to point at him. “What rule did you break?”

“I- I'm sorry. I didn't-“

I interrupt that fucker with a fist to the fucking jaw, causing him to fall to the side. I grab a fistful of his hair to bring him back up and crouch down to look directly into his fuckin’ ugly ass face.

“I didn't fuckin’ ask if you were goddamn sorry. I asked what rule you broke, you fucking dumb motherfucker! So tell me, what rule did you fucking break?!” I yell as I harshly push his face away from me and stand up to my full height.

“I- We stole p-pills.”

“That's right! You stole fucking medicine. A whole fuck ton of it. Medicine that you all,” I gesture to the crowd, “work hard to use every fucking day. That is life and death shit, and these fucks decided to just take it. Without fucking earning it.” I move to point to the other guy. “What rule did you break?”

“We… tried to leave.”

“Yes. You tried to leave. There are fuckin’ reasons why everyone here needs fucking permission to leave the goddamn gates. It is dangerous as fuck out there. There are herds of dead fucks that want to eat your fuckin’ gooey insides! And people that would slit your fuckin’ throats the first second they got the chance! My saviors know about them. They know where those dangers are. They know how to safely get around out there. That's why y’all need permission and a fucking escort outside these walls.” I gesture to the crowd. “To protect y'all from all that nasty shit!” I turn my back on the men and face the crowd. “That just makes fuckin sense, doesn't it? So what am I supposed to think when someone leaves without goddamn permission? Are they fleeing some fuckin’ crime they committed here? Are they working with another fuckin’ group and selling out our goddamn secrets so we’re vulnerable to a fuckin’ attack? How am I supposed to know? So the only reason I can figure that someone would leave without permission, without the safety of my saviors behind them, is because they are not with us. And if you're not fuckin’ with us, you're against us. And I think everyone here knows what the fuck we do with those who stand against The Sanctuary.”

I turn to face the fucks again, anger written all over my face. “What rule did. you. break,” I growl out.

“H- He hurt the girl,” one of them says quickly, pointing to the other one.

Selling your buddy out now won't fucking save you, prick. You hurt my girl.

“You- both of you, fuckin’ attacked doc’s assistant. Almost fuckin’ killed her.” I turn to pace in front of the crowd. “Now, she's just like you guys. She’s not a savior with fuckin’ survival training. No, she works for points. Does her fuckin’ job. Then one day, these two chucklefucks decide that she's in their way. So they fuckin’ stab her and leave her for dead. They attacked one of our most vulnerable citizens so they could fuckin’ get fuckin’ high! That shit will not stand. Not in my fucking Sanctuary.”

I pause to glare at the men then turn to face the crowd. “Lay these motherfuckers down!” I call out to my saviors. They put the men down on their backs with their arms outstretched. I walk over to them and call out so everyone can hear, “First, I'm gonna take those fuckin’ thieving hands of yours. Just pound the fuck out of them with my girl here,” I indicate Lucille, “until they look like fuckin’ chili con carne.” I pause so I can look at them fuckin’ shaking in their goddamn boots. “Then, I’m gonna bash the shit out of those legs you tried to escape on, starting with your fuckin’ feet and working my way up. See just how far I get before you guys fuckin’ pass out.” Those motherfuckers are white as ghosts, now. “Oh! But that’s not fuckin’ all! I’ll make sure you’re both fuckin’ awake for the the last bit. I'm gonna take my fuckin’ bigass knife, plunge it deep into those fuckin’ bellies of yours, and gut the both of you, nice and fuckin’ slow. Kill you guys real fuckin’ bloody and put you outside the gates on my fence. You'll be more useful out there than you ever were in here, you fucking wastes of fuckin’ space. That sound good with everyone?” Nobody says a fuckin’ word. “Welp. Let’s get to it.”

 ———      ———

 Over the next few days, Chuck recovers in the infirmary. Both Negan and Simon visit her often, dropping off books for her to read and keeping her company. Her pain is intense at first, but everyday it becomes more manageable.

“Dr. Carson said that I could go back to my room today,” Chuck tells Negan after he enters the infirmary for his morning visit.

“You'll be staying in my room to recover,” he says as he takes his usual seat beside her.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” he answers matter of factly.

She gives him a disapproving face.

“What the fuck?” Negan exclaims. “What's wrong with staying in my room?”

“Nothing is wrong with it. You just didn't ask me if that's what I wanted. I would've liked to have been consulted on my own living arrangements.”

“You don't want to fucking stay with me?”

“I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose it'll be better. I mean, I won't have to shuffle all the way down the hall to go to the bathroom. And your bed is way comfier than mine.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get you the fuck outta here. Doc?!” Negan yells impatiently.

“Yes, Negan?” Carson calls out from the examination area.

“Is she good enough to leave right the fuck now?”

“She still needs to take it easy, but she can leave.”

“Come on,” Negan says as he stands, pulling the blanket off of her legs, and putting his hands underneath her.

“What are you doing?” Chuck asks.

“I'm going to carry you.”

“Negan, you need to mind her stitches,” Carson drones as he walks closer to the pair.

“I'm being gentle, fuck. I'm not a complete fuckin’ dumbass.” Negan lifts Chuck up, bridal style, and starts to walk toward the door.

“My medicine,” Chuck says as she points to her pill canister on the little table by the bed.

“Make sure you finish out the bottle of antibiotics. And change the bandage regularly,” Carson picks up the bottle and wound dressings she will need and puts them in a small bag, handing them to her.

“I know. I will.” The pair walk out of the infirmary and head to Negan's room.

“Did doc feed you breakfast?”

“Yeah, I ate. Look, Negan, I think I can walk.”

“Nope. You've said that once before. And I ended up carrying your ass up to my room anyway.”

“This is kinda embarrassing. I don't really want people to see you carrying me through the hallways like a… a damsel in distress… again.”

“Why the fuck do you care what people see?”

“I've managed to fly mostly under the radar here, even though I’m friends with the boss. I kinda want to keep it that way. If people see you carrying me around, they're going to ask me all sorts of questions.”

“No they won't. They see you with me, they'll keep their fuckin’ distance.”

“So then they'll just gossip about me behind my back?”

“Probably.”

“Great.”

“Barely anyone is in the halls right now. Don't get those panties of yours in a twist.”

They enter Negan's bedroom and he carefully sets Chuck back on her feet just inside the door. She looks off to her left and sees a pristine record player along with a large shelf filled with vinyls on the wall past his bed.

“When did that happen?” Chuck says excitedly as she points to the new objects.

“Had this shit brought up yesterday. Thought you might fuckin’ enjoy it when you moved up here.”

Chuck slowly moves toward the shelf, favoring her left side, and starts to look through the albums. “Wow, you have some great music in here. You even have some newer stuff. Where did you get all this?”

“We found one of those fuckin’ hipster record stores not far away,” Negan says as he moves in beside her. “I think I got some of those fuckin’ bands you’ve been yapping about missing so much in here, too, somewhere.”

She looks up at him and smiles. “You actually listen to me when I talk?” she asks sarcastically.

“Occasionally.”

She laughs at him then winces in pain at the movement.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. It only hurts when I laugh. And move. And breathe. And sometimes when I think too hard.” She picks out a record and puts it on the turntable.

“Why didn't the doc give you any pain pills then? You fuckin’ need them,” he says with a disapproving look on his face.

“I don't need them. We should save them for other people that need them more. I’ll be fine, really. Don’t worry. I can always raid your stash of Tylenol if it gets to be too much.” She chortles and sets the needle carefully on the vinyl. The familiar tones of Dark Side of the Moon drift out of the speakers.

Negan listens for a few moments then looks at Chuck with a smirk. “Shit, I never knew you had such good taste in music before. Never pegged you for a classic rock fan.”

“Yeah, I guess we never really talked about it.”

“I knew you were one of those band geek kids-“

“You knew that?” she interrupts.

“Yeah. Why the fuck wouldn't I? I even went to a couple of your concerts.” He pauses to move away from her. “That's why I got you that guitar. I knew you knew how to play it.”

“I never saw you at our concerts…”

“You're just not that fucking observant, I guess.” He jokes and walks across the room.

“Hey!” she yells out, feigning offense.

He gives her a wink. “I gotta get some shit done,” he says moving toward the door, “so I'll see you for fuckin’ dinner. I'll get the kitchen to cook us up something special.”

“Okay.”

“I'm leaving a radio here for you. If you need any-fuckin’-thing, call me on it,” he calls out from the doorway as he points to the radio sitting on his coffee table.

“Okie dokie. Bye.” She gives him a wave as he leaves the room.

 ——— Negan’s POV ———

 “Any people we fucking find get screened at the western outpost first. If they pan out, they come here.”

I finish up my meeting about the future of this place with the saviors. We’ve had to venture out further trying to find more supplies. All the places around us are fucking tapped out for necessities. And I don’t want to have to rely too heavily on what the communities under me give us. If they don’t provide then we’d be fucked and I’m not risking that.

We're going to have to start producing shit on our own pretty soon. We need fuckin’ craftsmen and shit. I instruct my men to start bringing in any stragglers they find. We haven’t brought in too many new fuckin’ people in a while because it’s fuckin’ dangerous. We’ve been fuckin’ burned before. But we need people that know how to do fuckin’ things and there must be some of those out there still. I just hope my men are good fucking judges of character and don’t bring in any fuckin’ psychopaths.

I dismiss my saviors, but tell Simon to hold back.

“What’s up, boss.” Simon replies.

“I need you to do something with me.”

“What do you need?”

“Chuck is going to be living with me while she's fuckin’ laid up. You and me are going to pack some of her shit up for her and take it up to my room.”

“Okay.” Simon gives me a goofy fuckin’ face. Goofier than his regular goofy ass face.

“What?” I bite back.

“Nothing,” he says as he shrugged his shoulders fuckin’ sarcastic as shit.

“What?” I say with more force.

“Are you fucking her?”

“No. Are you?” I know he isn't. Even though I think he fucking wants to. Chuck would never fuck him, though.

“Of course not.”

“Then why the fuck are you asking me, Simon?”

“I know you let her sleep in your room and now she's going to live with you?”

“So?”

“The wives don't even go in your room. Hell, I barely go in there and I've known you forever.”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” I’m getting pissed off at his insinuation.

“What is she to you?”

Fuck. How the fuck do I answer that? “I don't know.” I just decide to be fucking honest, but I give him fuckin’ attitude with it.

“You love her?”

“You know I can't.”

“Then what are you doing with her?”

“I'm not ‘doing’ anything, Simon. I'm trying to be fucking good to her, okay? She deserves that. I'm trying to make sure she's fuckin’ healthy and happy. I'm not going to hurt her.” I hope. I fuckin’ sigh at the thought. “Look. From the first time I laid my fuckin’ eyes on her when she was a goddamn freshman, I knew I had to protect her. She was just so fucking sweet and shy... I knew this world would eat her up.” I pause to rub my face. “I made her so fucking nervous when she had to talk to me that she got the fuckin’ hiccups. Every damn time.” I chuckle at the memory. “That’s actually how I fuckin’ recognized her when we brought her here.”

“She got the hiccups when you talked with her?”

“Yeah... I stopped trying to fuckin’ talk to her back then because I didn’t want to upset her all the fuckin’ time. But I still did so much shit for her, Simon. Most of it she doesn’t even know about. Whenever I heard boys talking about her in the locker room, I’d shut that shit down. I fought for the school to keep the fucking music program because I knew that she was in the band. That guy I fuckin’ almost beat to death outside that bar? It was because he was a teacher and talked about how he wanted to fuck her. I just told her about that one not too fuckin’ long ago.” I lean back in my chair and sigh. “She didn’t get comfortable with me until she broke her fucking foot her senior year and she had to spend one on one time with me to make up her grade.” I run my hands through my fucking hair. “I don’t fuckin’ know why I have this need to protect her, but I do. Okay, Simon?”

He looks at me with this weird fuckin’ look on his face. “You don’t know why?” He asks me as if I did know. What the fuck is he getting at?

“No, Simon!” I say forcefully. “Why the fuck are you fucking meddling with this shit, anyway?”

“Not meddling, boss. Just observing.”

Observing, my ass. He’s jealous. I’ve seen him get like this before. I know he’s fucking loyal to me and he won’t fuck shit up between us here, but he’ll be a fucking whiny ass pussy for a while until he gets over it.

“Well if you're done fuckin’ ‘observing’, can we go get her shit?”

We walk up to her floor and enter her room.

“It smells nice in here,” Simon ‘observed’. Heh.

I’m happy that he sounds fuckin’ surprised. That means that he’s never fuckin’ been up here. “That's cuz Chuck isn't a sweaty motherfucker like you are. I'm sure your room smells like fuckin’ ball sweat and jizz.”

“That's probably about right.” Simon laughs.

I've never really gone through Chuck's things like this. She doesn't have fuckin’ much, that's for sure. She has the points, why the fuck doesn't she buy shit?

“Grab that bag and get her clothes,” I say as I point to a duffle bag beside her dresser. I move to her desk and grab a small backpack beside it to throw her toiletries and shit in.

“I feel weird touching her underwear like this,” Simon says as he turns his head to me, hands in her underwear drawer.

“Well don't fuckin’ pocket it or anything. Just throw it in the bag.”

He turns back to the drawer. “Oh shit. I think I just found her diary.”

“Don't fucking touch it.” I look back at him quickly.

“Shit, boss. I wasn't gonna read it.” He looks upset that I would think that he would want to.

Fuck, I  want to read it. I'm going to read it at some fuckin’ point. But not with Simon around. That shit is too fuckin’ good to pass up.

“Let’s fucking get back up there.” I radio to the kitchen about delivering our dinner then grab my bag and her guitar and make my way up to my room with Simon following behind me.

 ———      ———

 Chuck continues to listen to Negan's albums until he comes back into his room, Simon close behind him. They are both carrying bags and Negan has Chuck's guitar in his hand.

“Hey, Simon,” Chuck greets cheerily.

“Hi, kiddo. How ya feeling?” he responds as he and Negan set the bags down. Negan places the guitar gently on the couch.

“I feel less like a shish kabab than I did a few days ago.” She chuckles at her own bad joke. “And being out of the infirmary is always a good thing. That place is not very comfortable.”

“I caught Simon fuckin’ sniffing your dirty panties in your room, so I recruited him to help me bring some of your shit up here.” Negan interjects.

“What?!” Chuck says, horrified.

“I didn't! I wouldn't do that!” Simon says excitedly as he looks from Negan to Chuck swiftly.

“Negan, that's gross! Don’t tease like that!” Chuck yells as she realizes that Negan’s joking around and laughing at Simon’s expense.

Negan dismisses Simon when the kitchen worker arrives with dinner. Chuck and Negan fall into their familiar routine. Dinner, chess, then bedtime.

“I need you to help me change my bandage before bed. It's still too sore for me to twist my body enough to do it myself,” Chuck reveals as she gathers the supplies Carson had given her.

“Really? Can't I just get the fuckin’ doc up here to do that?”

“You're the one that insisted I come up here with you,” Chuck points out.

“Fine.” He huffs. “What do I need to do?”

“Um.” She looks around the room. “I think it'll be easier if we do it on the couch.”

“You want to do it on the couch with me?” Negan wiggles his eyebrows at her as he speaks.

“Are you fourteen years old?” she dismissively asks in a joking tone. She sets the supplies on the coffee table and lays down on her right side on the couch. She lifts her shirt to reveal the large bandage on her left side. “You can take the bandage off.”

Negan peels back the bandage slowly and throws it down on the coffee table. “Shit,” he breathes out, staring at her side.

“It doesn't look that bad.”

“It doesn’t look great , either. But I guess it looks a fuck load of a lot better than it did the first time I saw it. When you were fuckin’ bleeding out.”

“You need to take one of those alcohol wipes and clean it and then take a new square of gauze and tape it on. That's it.”

“That doesn't seem so fucking hard.” Negan kneels down beside the couch and gets the alcohol pad ready. He gently lays his left hand on her ribs just under her lifted shirt to keep it out of the way and brings the pad to her wound.

“Watch the stitches,” Chuck reminds.

He huffs. “I will. Shit.” He does his best to be gentle with his motions. As he lightly dabs the wound with his right hand, he began to softly move the thumb of his left hand back and forth on her waist. The tickling movement causes her to laugh out suddenly and jerk away.

“Ouch! What are you doing?!” she yells.

“What?! What the fuck did I do?!” he exclaims as he holds his hands up and away from her.

“You were tickling me with your hand!”

“No I wasn't, was I?”

“Yes!”

“Shit! Are you okay?”

“I didn't rip a stitch out, did I?”

Negan moves in to look closely. “No. It looks fine.”

“Don't tickle me. What were you thinking?” Chuck says, a bit annoyed.

“Fuck! I didn't realize I was tickling you. I was just... moving my fucking hand, I guess. I don’t fuckin’ know! I think you're just overly ticklish.”

“Yeah sure. Blame me,” Chuck says with no real bite in her tone.

“Can I fuckin’ finish?”

“Please.”

Negan finishes up and gently moves her into a seated position on the couch.

“Thanks.”

“You’re fuckin’ welcome, sweetheart.”

“Will you help me get undressed?”

“What?” Negan asks as he chuckles in surprise.

“It hurts to lift my arms up and it hurts to bend down. Carson has been helping me-“

“Carson undressed you?!” Negan exclaims as he glares at Chuck.

“Yeah. He’s a doctor, Negan. I’m sure he’s seen the vast majority of people here in various states of undress.”

“I fuckin’ guess.” Negan’s face is still in a scowl.

Chuck moves to her bags which are on the armchair and gets out a shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, setting them on the bed after.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Chuck asks after Negan makes no move to join her near the bed.

“Fine.” He slowly moves to stand in front of her.

“Just lift my shirt up and over my head. I don’t want to lift my left arm too much so I’ll kinda put my head down. That’s how Carson did it.”

“I’m sure he fuckin’ did,” he says in a disgusted tone.

“Come on, Negan. Don’t be so overprotective. You sound like my mother.”

Negan lets out a growl and begin to lift her shirt up slowly. She lifts her arms up about half way, making sure not to pull on her stitches, and Negan gently pulls the shirt over her head and off of her arms.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” He points to the text printed on her right side at her ribs. “Well, I saw it before when I had to take care of your drunk ass, but I didn’t get a good look at it. Because I’m such a fuckin’ gentleman.” He throws the shirt on the bed as she lets out a laugh.

“Yeah right. Has anyone ever called you a gentleman in your whole life?”

Ignoring her dig, he reads the script lining her ribs, “Because the sky is blue it makes me cry.”

“Yeah. That’s from my dad’s favorite Beatles song. Mine, too. That’s his handwriting, actually. He wrote the lyrics in a note to my mom once and I thought it would make a nice tattoo.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks away from Negan hoping he would get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about her parents right now. She grabs her sleep shirt and begin to put it on with Negan helping.

“I like the tattoo. It’s cute.”

She giggles in response. “Thanks.” She begins to unbutton her jeans and Negan pushes them all the way down. He helps her step into her shorts and pulls them up to her hips.

“You need help with the bra?” he says with a smirk.

“No. I think I can manage that myself, thank you very much,” she responds a bit indignantly, but not seriously.

“Just trying to fuckin’ help,” Negan comments with a smirk as he holds his hands up.

Chuck proceeds to unlatch her bra with her right hand and pulls it though the armhole of her shirt as she shuffles over to the hamper and throws it in, along with the rest of her clothes.

“Are you gonna help me get undressed now, sweetheart?” Negan asks as he stands in the middle of his floor.

“Shut up, Negan.” Chuck says with a laugh.

Negan strips to his boxer briefs and helps Chuck into the bed. He gets in on his side and cuddles up behind her like usual, but is hesitant. “I don’t want to fucking hurt you. Where do you want my arm? I don’t want to rest it on your fuckin’ cut.”

“Uh. You might need to keep your arm to yourself until I’m less sore.”

“Shit. I can’t fucking sleep otherwise. We’ll have to figure something out.”

“What? You need to hold me to sleep?”

“Kind of,” he says quietly behind her. “I haven’t been sleeping for shit since you’ve been in the fuckin’ infirmary.”

“Really?” She giggles at the thought of him needing her help to do something as basic as falling asleep.

“Shut the fuck up, Chuck. You need me to sleep, too. That’s why we do this.”

“I guess.” She still giggles even though he’s right. She probably wouldn’t have slept very well in the infirmary without Negan, but the pain meds helped to knock her out.

He repositions himself and puts his arm higher up, over her ribs to miss her wound.

“That’s pretty uncomfortable. You’re squishing my boobs.”

He lets out a frustrated grunt and backs away from her. “Turn around then.”

“I can’t lay on my left side, Negan. You know, because of my injury,” she says pointedly.

“Fuck!” Negan hops out of the bed and rounds it to go to the other side. “Scooch over.”

Chuck complies and pushes herself over to the other side of the bed as he gets in to her right. “Am I being the big spoon?” She giggles at the prospect.

“Fuck no. Come here.” Negan lays on his back with his left arm extended toward her.

She scoots to Negan and when she’s close enough, he pulls her into his chest. She has no other choice, so she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Any fuckin’ pain this way?” he asks.

“No. This is okay.” She keeps her arms tight to her body and her legs stiffly out straight. She has never been in this position before and is afraid of doing something awkward. This new sleeping arrangement seems so much more intimate than what she is used to.

“Why are you so fuckin’ tense? If you’re not okay with this, we can fuckin’ do something different.”

“No. It’s okay. I just... don’t know how to lay with you like this without being awkward.”

“What do you mean? Just get fucking comfortable. I don’t give a fuck how you lay as long as you don’t knee me in the dick.”

“Okay.” She giggles her response. Her body relaxes as she processes Negan’s words and lets go of some of her anxiety. She extends her left arm across his abdomen and brings her leg up over his thigh.

“There. Now get some fucking sleep. I’m tired as fuck,” Negan rasps as he gently runs his fingers over her shoulder.

“Good night, Negan.”

“Good night, baby.”

[baehraini]

i cbf screenshotting her posts again so ima just quote her

1) when I’m disagreeing with an small obessed group all of which have Some cluster b disorder in common, yes I’m going to call you the cluster gang

out of all of the women that have been agreeing with me about u... im the only one i know of that has BPD or any cluster B disorder. the others with the same are hardly the majority.

2) yes you have a problem with the g spot if you think it leads to ripping a woman’s vagina open. I told you that story about a lover I had who I gave a G spot orgasm too that freaked out over it before reading up on what happened . You have piss poor reading skills if you think that was about me fisting her. As I simply didn’t fist her at all. I don’t fist every lover I have either, just the few who express they would enjoy it.

heres ur exact statement

why the fuck bring it up in the middle of a convo about fisting? no im not opposed to fingering or .. the g-spot. the fuck. back-pedaling @ its finest here.

3) why complain at all about how many hrs another woman has sex? That’s all on you guys. I can eat sleep sex for weeks if I want to and have before, who cares what you think about it.

girl no one’s complaining, ppl just think its bull as do i. but like, do u. again, ur sex life is urs. normal people dont go aroudn talking about how much they fist women and these womens specific experiences & orgasms with descriptors of said women. thats personal shit. thats 99% of where people’s criticism is coming from. boasting & bragging about shit like this is so disrespectful to YOUR sexual partners and thats why youre being compared to straight men. 

4) I’m not into penetration myself and have said this many times, obviously I wasn’t talking about having that preference in any judgements way. I simply pointed out the fact if you bleed from more then one finger in you then that’s something you should check out as how do you even put a tampon in. Fact is that is not normal for most women and your vagina should not bleed so easily. I’m simply looking out for you by saying this.

i bled because she was very rough and bad with her hands. she also added in a second finger when i wasnt even wet enough for the first one to begin with. it usually takes me time to get to the point where im able to handle penetration bc im relatively tight. with my girlfriend, ive never bled. the entire point of me sharing that story was to explain why i personally cannot even comprehend vaginal fisting, not to say that no female can handle more than 1 or 2 fingers.

5) if a lesbians sex life is her business she should be able to openly talk about it without you flipping yr shit especially since this is my blog and you are a stranger I’ve blocked from it and told that if you don’t like reading it you are free not too.

why are you reading my blog tho? youre 20 years older than me & have gone as far as say theres something wrong with my genitals & made comments about how my sex life must be boring or w/e. does that seem appropriate to you? consider that my mom is 47. youre nearing 41. does it seem appropriate to you that you’re talking like this to someone that much younger than you? 

ANYWAYS, the issue isnt you being open about your sex life. its how you speak of the women involved & how much you boast about it. plenty of the women i follow talk about fucking women regularly, the difference is how they talk about it. 

7) I’m none of those anon or other pages. You can stop making up profiles and sending yourself bs or at least stop trying to blame me for it. We all know I take too much pride not to let people know when I’m behind something and I would tell you off directly like I always have everyone else ever.

thats cool. you’re not the main suspect for those anons and the people i know that know u well enough also think it’s unlikely that its you. its pretty likely to be one of your buddies & most likely RAIDS. this is nothing new for her. 

i definitely haven’t made extra profiles to harass myself nor have i sent myself anons. 

8) let’s agree not to have anything to do with each already or unblock and continue this till forever cuz I was done with you the 1st day I saw you tranny stanning saying rape by deception wasn’t real rape and told you I wish you death by tranny cock, but obviously while I didn’t literally mean it you lived only to annoy me ever since instead of just fucking off and leaving me be.

you seemed to mean it literally and only started to say u didnt mean it recently. either way, the graphic shit you said about me sucking dick or w/e.. thats wishing me rape. especially when i said over & over im penis-repulsed and especially repulsed by the thought of having someones penis in my mouth. as for my stance on rape by deception, i changed my stance there & owned up to it being ignorant & wrong at first. either way, i never ever went to any victims of that and told them their experience wasn’t Real somehow.  

months ago i wouldve been alright with talking to you PROPERLY and directly but u refused to stop reblogging my posts while still having me blocked, which is the entire reason why i blocked you. bc it was annoying talking to someone who keeps reblogging from me and directing stuff at me on my posts while having me blocked. if u want to unblock one another and talk, i could maybe consider it at this point but ive been saying this for a while now: all i want is for u and ur buddies to stop lying about me, twisting what i say/said/do/did, and the like. i also want them to stop sending me disgusting anons. 

at the same time, though, if i see something shitty u or ur friends say (same as for anyone else), im bound to question & criticise it especially considering how aggressive & harsh you all are to anyone you disagree with. 

9) You and Eve are no tumblur therapists stop projecting yr mental issues onto me. The only problem I have with cluster b disorders is your group not leaving me be. If there was treatment for that which could make you all you away I would gladly take that magic pill as many times a day as it took.

honestly eve is pretty well off mentally esp when compared to you, and im trying to say this in the least insulting way possible. there’s a reason why so many people find you unreasonable, manipulative, bizarre, hysterical, dramatic, and sometimes comical. either way, trust me im not fond of diagnosing people online. i only ever bring stuff like this up bc its hypocritical for someone to diagnose people online as cluster B all while exhibiting just as many if not more symptoms themselves. either way, this is something youve been doing and refuse to stop doing to other people. just because someone doesnt like you or is critical of you doesn’t mean theyre somehow mentally ill, and it also definitely doesnt mean theyre not a lesbian. 

[tessatechaitea]

Detective Comics #957

Let's all read a bad comic! Let's all read a bad comic! Let's all read a bad comic! And curse James Tynion V!

This right here is at the heart of what's wrong with the modern age of comic books. Superheroes are supposed to be inspiring! They're supposed to save people. Fuck this cynical bullshit where dozens of people die while the hero saves the day after which their relatives become super villains and blame the heroes. Then they attack the heroes and keep the cycle going because writers are lazy and/or think they're being clever by questioning things like "What if Superman had to fight in the real world instead of a stupid made-up world where he saves the day and makes people happy and causes readers to feel better about their lives and the world around them through the hope and inspiration of their actions?"

If I hadn't read so many James Tynion IV stories in which Batman was portrayed as being wrong while his youthful sidekicks all knew what was right and how to do things better, I might just think, "Spoiler will surely learn a lesson here! At the end, she'll be thinking Batman is the bee's knees!" But I'm fairly certain this will end with Spoiler proving something to Batman while Batman eats crow and admits he could probably be a better person. Because that's what the Patriarchy should be doing, right?! Shutting up and listening! Although I don't know how they can shut up and just listen if the shit they have to listen to is akin to the shit coming out of Spoiler's mouth in this comic book. By declaring she's no longer a superhero, Spoiler decides that her way is better and it'll allow her to save people from becoming innocent victims of Batman's war on crime. After Spoiler Narration Boxes her speech to whomever the fuck she's speaking, it's time for Wrath to do the same thing! He's also going to explain how Gotham City works and he's going to agree a bit with Spoiler. He agrees that the first thing you have to do as a super villain is to defeat Batman. You can come up with a criminal plan after that! Wrath is the anti-Batman. He's usually used in Batman comic books to show what Batman could have become if he allowed himself to use the tragedy in his life as an excuse. I bet this time he'll be used to show that there isn't really any difference between Wrath and Batman at all! Even as I was typing that, I was thinking, "Don't type that! That's such a stupid conclusion to make! There's not way even James Tynion IV would write that story!"

You mean you attempt to solve the hardest problem first and then you spend the next few years in Arkham Asylum wondering why you just didn't rob a bank on Staten Island.

At the beginning of the Wrath scene, he kills one of his own men. Later, he threatens to kill one at random for every minute they go over a deadline he gives them. Who would work for this asshole? The pay and benefits must be unfathomably generous!

So you constantly lose? Because there's no way you got through the level of Arkham Asylum that I grew bored with and quit because you have to be stealthy or you start over! And I'm fairly certain some levels of Thief, even when playing on the "Oops! I've been noticed and have to now murder an entire castle full of guards!" difficulty still forces you to be stealthy on some levels.

That previous caption was where I exceeded my "This comic isn't too bad!" threshold and decided I needed to vent. Spoiler continues to mention how so many innocents got hurt due to Batman and his Bat-Family stopping crime. She thinks (or Narration Boxes, actually), "Who's there to stop my friends when they go too far?" Um, you could be, you coward. She continues, "To say how many losses are acceptable?" Have you met Batman? Zero losses are acceptable! I mean, you know, in Bat-Theory! If anybody dies, it's not because Batman did something that caused their death. It's because somebody else did something that caused their death and Batman wasn't able to save them. I suppose in the world I described earlier where lazy writers only ever have villains attack Batman directly, you can, if you want to be a dick about it, put the blame on Batman. But once more: that's not Batman's fault! It's the fault of shitty writers! Spoiler's conclusion is that super heroes brought about super problems. Fuck you, you idiot. This is the worst hot take in comic books and it has continued to hang around for decades. Writers who continue to use this trope should be shunned from the comic book community. Spoiler is all, "I'm going to use my super training to prove that Gotham doesn't need superheroes!" And Batman will, hopefully, be all, "Fuck you, dummy!" The last story arc was to show that Cassandra was better than Batman. This one is to show that Spoiler is better than Batman. How is she better? I'm not exactly sure since she takes out Wrath pretty much exactly how Batman would have taken him out. I mean, if Batman were being written by somebody who didn't have a grudge against the Patriarchy. I mean Batman! I suppose Tynion's Batman would have exploded all of the walls and toppled the building with his raging hard-on to battle Wrath and all of the hostages would have died. Afterward, Batman would have been all, "It's a shame that Wrath killed so many and it wasn't my fault at all! I had to stop him by any means necessary!" Which totally isn't a Batman thing to do so I don't actually know how Spoiler thinks her version of stopping Wrath was better than the way Batman, being written honestly, would have done it. Spoiler's entirely plan is to save the day and let the police take the credit. So she's trusting that the police will be dishonest bastards who lie about their jobs? That's a great message! Anyway, she somehow thinks that if super villains think the cops are stopping all the crime, they won't want to do crime anymore! Especially since — thanks, again, to the lazy writers — all they actually want to do is beat up super heroes. She'll see how stupid her plan is when super villains continue to do whatever they want (even more so!) when they think all the heroes have left Gotham. Anarchy shows up at the end to be all, "That was great! What a great idea! This story wasn't stupid at all! Spoiler isn't a terrible character with stupid thoughts after all!" That's when I throw up. The end!