#judith buckle

[judith-buckle]

[fatimagic]

@wtb fam this is our moment. so one of my mutuals and fellow judith light stan @trying-to-get-somewhere-real is binging who’s the boss for the first time. 

so basically i’m starting this thread for anyone who wants to give them their thoughts, episode recommendations, etc. @gracefarrell @cassiopeiasara @cordychse and honestly whoever else wants to join in is free to add to this thread. though i personally recommend watching the show in full to get the authentic slow burn experience(tm), here’s a list of my favorite txa-centric episodes. general notes: beware the season 6 finale. seasons 3 and 6 are my favorite, but 6 (which is the season for together-but-not-together vibes. like if you liked tony deliberately not going on dates because of angela, season 6 has this in spades. mutually.) the catch is that s6 ends on a pretty major roadblock (NO SPOILERS, GUYS) and the last two seasons are their own can of worms. that’s when my meta will give my thoughts better than i ever could off the top of my head.

but at the risk of making what was supposed to be an intro post be longer than it already is, here are my top ten txa episodes.

1. 2.01-2.02 it happened one summer (i count two-parters as one episode. this one is the definition of a classic, and my personal favorite from when i was a kid - i first saw the show in reruns in the early 00s and first binged it in full a few years ago.)

2. 1.22 first kiss - pretty much self-explanatory lol

3. 6.01 in search of tony - a game-changer and one of those episodes that makes the slow burn worth it.

4. 4.01 frankie and tony are lovers - another game-changer and judith’s best performance in the whole show. they really knew how to do a season opener.

5. 3.18 the proposal - this episode is the culmination of a half-season long arc. s3 is heaviest on the mutual pining.

6. 1.10 requiem - the first of a handful of 80s sitcom-style very special episodes(tm), and the first episode where they really connect on a deep emotional level. a big part of txa’s appeal is that they’re really only opposites attract on the surface. this is one of the episodes where they discover that they have more in common than they originally thought. tony danza’s best episode, for obvious reasons.

7. 3.06 wedding bells? - angela’s friends set up txa to walk down the aisle. that’s it that’s the episode. this one kicks off the geoffrey arc referenced above, and is as much about what the characters don’t say than about what they do.

8. 2.25 the anniversary show - another game-changer, but not. you’ll see what i mean.

9. 4.23 sleep talk, sweet talk - the sequel to the anniversary show. again, no spoilers, but you’ll see what i mean.

10. 7.10 starlight memories - the wwii au episode. “it’s a slow dance.” a gem in an otherwise not great season

i can also give you a top to worst - but i feel like that might spoil season 8. it’s a mess, tbh, but they stick the landing by the time the series ends.

fellow wtb fans - what would you say to someone watching the show for the first time?

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[grimesgirll]

the first time you saw rick in his constable uniform, you thought you were going to have to go to your room to cool down.

clean shaven, hair trimmed, iron pressed uniform clad rick grimes was a sight to behold. having known him just as he was a mere week or two ago, you wouldn't have expected him to be an officer of the law.

truth be told, you found that version of rick wildly hot. he was passionate. he was protective of not just you but judith, carl, the group. purpose looked great on him however it manifested.

but you also loved this domestic version of rick. watching him feed judith at a marble countertop was surreal. you hadn't known him when he was a clean-cut suburban dad, just as a survivor. rick really brought out your thing for men in uniforms though. you'd thought it was a one off thing when you'd hit on a state game warden after he came to dispatch the deer you hit with your car in the past but constable rick had him beat.

you never thought you'd see rick in a tie. you think about how he would've looked at your sorority formal as he brushes past you in the kitchen, immediately knowing what's up when your eyes don't leave him as you start to plate the brownies you just pulled out of the oven.

"like what you see?"

you smile. "yeah." you hold up a freshly cut brownie. "rick, can you try a bite? let me know if they're still hot? i don't wanna burn my tongue."

rick takes a step closer to lean in and take a mouthful of your brownie. "mmm," he hums. "delicious. not too hot. not for you." you gleam at the praise. "thank you, darlin'," he whispers huskily to you.

"you're welcome, officer."

you watch something shift in his eyes as he pops the rest of the brownie into his mouth. "i thought you didn't like cops."

"i never said that," you attest. "i've never said a bad word about a constable in my life," you swear, putting the plate of brownies down to step closer to rick, who begins to play with the buttons on your cardigan.

"really?"

"mhmm." you run your hands along his tie. "i enjoy the uniform."

"do you?"

you nod, hands working up to his chestnut curls. "did they give you handcuffs?"

rick chuckles at you. "those are for official constable business, not playin' around."

"i'm not playing around," you whisper in his ear. "what's it take to get a girl arrested around here?"

not much apparently because all you had to do was start pulling on his tie to get dragged to the upstairs bedroom and thrown on the bed. with a hand cuffed to the bedpost, all you could do was squirm as alexandria's newest constable stripped you from the waist down.

"how many do you want?" rick asks once he's gotten your pants down and he's running his hand on your ass.

you shrug. "you choose, officer."

"bad choice," he remarks and pulls you over his lap to get a better angle. "actually, i think you'll like this."

smack!

you wince. you can't remember the last time you were spanked but you know you're gonna remember this for sure, if not purely by the memory, then by the handprints that were already forming on your plush ass as rick gives you another round.

as you twist and writhe in his grasp, rick starts to get impatient, wishing you were squirming on a specific part of him. he lowers his lips to your ear. "are you ready to be a good girl?" he asks.

you nod your head up and down. "i've always been your good girl," you breathe, slightly tensing when you feel his hand on your bottom again.

"good."

with that, he flips you back face down onto the bed and you hear the metallic clank of his belt buckle. it's not ten seconds later that you feel him against your wet hole. as you feel the cold air on, you realize how wet you are; rick's behind you drawing circles in your slick with his dick while you whine into the duvet.

"rick," you start, voice low and needy.

"what do you want, sweetheart?"

"i want you, rick." you answer with an exhale. "i'm so wet for you."

"i can see, honey."

"then fuck me!"

"maybe ask the constable nicely."

you can hear the smugness in his voice and it goes straight to your cunt.

"constable grimes," you croon. "can you please fuck me?"

you don't have time to hear his answer because the wind is knocked out of you - there it is. you're knocked halfway up the bed as the constable fucks into you roughly.

"how do you like that, sweetheart?" he inquires, breath warm against your neck as he keeps pushing all the right buttons inside of you.

"mhmmm," you murmur. "feel so full."

"good."

you were so developing a thing for men in uniform.

[soon-palestine]

not only is this a transparant attempt by the New York Times to shield Jeffrey "I don't do evidence, I do stories" Gettleman and her partner's nephew food blogger Adam Sella, they're also lying about it being about "a liked tweet" to defend the "mass rape" hoax they fabricated it was never just about "one liked tweet". That's a pathetic cover-up attempt. She expressed repeatedly, including with her nephew Adam Sella, that she set out to fabricate the "mass rape" hoax "because it is important for Israeli hasbara [propaganda]

then The Intercept went back and looked over her public detailed statements, and confirmed this. Anat Schwartz intentionally set out, together with her relative Adam Sella, to fabricate this hoax in coordination with the Israeli regime. That is the scandal

recently graduated comp lit student and food blogger with zero reporting experience Adam Sella worked daily with his uncle's wife Anat Schwartz to self-admittedly fabricate this hoax. And the NYT keeps letting him launder it as detailed in these threads:

just recently the New York Times finally buckled after months of depraved shielding of the original "mass rape" hoax fabricated by Gettleman, Sella and Schwartz, and admitted just one of the huge glaring holes in it, while still trying to cover for it

all the fabricated "mass rape" pieces produced by Jeffrey Gettleman, Adam Sella and his uncle's partner Anat Schwartz have been definitively debunked as genocidal atrocity propaganda hoaxes by Mondoweiss, Grayzone, Electronic Intifada, Intercept and myself

instead of acknowledging this, retracting them and firing Gettleman and Sella for journalistic malpractice not seen in NYT history since Judith Miller, they are still standing by them and scapegoating Anat Schwartz with the grotesque cover-up lie about "it's just one liked tweet"

here is the original thread where I exposed Anat Schwartz for the self-admitted genocidal atrocity propagandist hoaxer she is, and notice that I immediately included her nephew Adam Sella and Jeffrey Gettleman. The NYT desperately wants to scapegoat her

minimal journalistic integrity and morality demands that the New York Times immediately fire Jeffrey Gettleman and Adam Sella, retract all their "mass rape" hoax pieces, profusely apologize, then also fire executive editor Joseph Kahn who oversaw and defended all this for months

Joseph Kahn, Jeffrey Gettleman and Adam Sella worked together to commission, publish, and then defend long after its decisive debunking a genocidal atrocity propaganda hoax that played a key role in the Israeli regime's propaganda effort to launder and continue the Gaza genocide

it was intentional, it was deliberate, and the New York Times keeps standing by it. Every second it does it further erodes the last remnants of its credibility. Again, this is their biggest journalistic scandal since Judith Miller's WMD hoax. There has to be accountability for it

[itsgrimeytime]

I Told You Now || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

Part 2

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: I've Told You Now by Sam Smith or "But what the hell, why do you think I come 'round here on my free will? Wasting all my precious time... Oh, the truth spills out and oh I...I've told you now."

Summary: You were in love with Rick, not that he knew. You weren't sure you were ever going to tell him. What could you say, you loved the kids and didn't want to lose them too. It was too risky. But finding out he was chasing after some married woman was just the last straw.

TWs: angst, jealousy, yelling, anger, crying, cursing, mention of fainting, not really unrequited love (you just don't know that yet) and vague references to infidelity (Jessie to her husband).

[[A/N: This song came up on my old playlist, and let me tell ya... I had some thoughts. This might be a two-parter, we shall see. Enjoy <3]]

"Hey, Mags," you hummed -Judith bouncing on your hip, "-where's Rick? I've been trying to find him all da-"

Maggie froze for a second, and you stilled -tightening your grip on Judith. Was there danger? Was everything okay? Your eyes swung around to see if there was anything unusual, anything dangerous-

Your eyes caught on something.

It was Rick, wearing his constable uniform (which you blindly noted suited him really well), and talking to a woman. You knew her name, Jessie, he'd talked about her before -said her husband was a real piece of shit. Everyone within Alexandria apparently knew that, but Rick was the only one to do anything about it.

At the time, you thought it was heroic of him, something Rick would do.

But now...

Your eyes skimmed across his face, across the intent of his blue eyes. There was something there, something you knew. You're not sure if it's the way he stood, or the smooth smile slipped onto his lips, or the way he looked down when he laughed at her -whatever she said, but-

"Why don't you just come inside?"

You barely heard it, something in your chest sinking -heavy. Your heart was pounding in your chest, it felt like every breath took everything out of your lungs, like your whole world was teetering on an edge. And Rick Grimes held it in his hands.

And he was... he was throwing it around, he wasn't even careful-

"Y/N," she continued, and you could hear her but there was something in you that couldn't move.

How long had this been happening? A married woman, really?

You knew her husband was terrible, scum of the Earth-

"Y/N," she warned, gently.

But her?

Why hadn't he ever told you? Why did you ever think that it was different now?

What were you to him? Just a goddamn babysitter?

The hope that had gathered up in your chest was snuffed out, just like the crumbling of your heart. You'd always knew it would come to this, you just weren't ready.

"Y/N," she stressed -trying to gain your focus, "-come on-"

Something in your stomach twisted, sour.

Tossing like a tide, you swayed in place. Your head was getting fuzzy and your eyes were bleary. Your ears felt like they were stuffed, all the voices so far away-

You took a languid blink.

With a breath, you pushed Judith into Maggie's arms -ensuring her safety. And with that, your knees buckled underneath you.

You fell to the ground.

You remember hearing Maggie scream, hearing the rush of footsteps -slapping along the ground. You remember hearing him then too, but something in you soured -you tried so hard to block it out. Ignore it.

"What the hell happened?"

It made your head pound again, made your brain swim. You squeezed your eyes closed like it would bring you some relief, anything-

"Y/N?" A voice offered, you recognized it to be Maggie's, "-are you awake?"

You shifted ever so slightly, eyes blinking open. The first thing you noticed was the bandage along your head, had you hit your head? Your fingers shifted to touch it-

Maggie grabbed your wrist, stopping the motion, "That'll hurt. You hit your head when you... Doctor says it might give you some headaches for a while."

You realized then, you were in a bed -distinctly not yours. You knew the woody smell anywhere, your eyes darted along the nightstands, almost to confirm -an old picture of him, Lori, and Carl. Something in you winced, and not because of your head.

"Told 'im to give us a minute," she revealed, "-I said you'd want to be in your own house, but he insisted."

The apology went unsaid.

"'S okay," you slurred a little, you weren't sure if it was from the pain or the sleep, "-not your fault, Maggie."

"Still," she echoed -something in her protective, "-I won't leave 'im alone with you, I promise."

You laughed a little, "Grimes is gonna do it anyway, we both know that. Hell, maybe I'll finally tell him."

"Because of..."

It again went unsaid, you weren't sure you could say it out loud either.

"How-" you cleared your throat, "-Do you know how long...?"

Maggie sighed -picking at the white comforter, "A few weeks at most, me and Glenn only caught onto it that long. But I don't... I don't know."

"How can I be so pissed-" you cried -tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-I don't deserve to be pissed. How would he even know?"

"Y/N, you can be pissed," she interrupted, wrapped your hands into hers, "-It's not just you. Everyone thought- You aren't delusional. He was... There was something."

"Apparently not," you retorted -bluntly.

"Don't," she frowned, getting something to wipe at your eyes, "-Don't do that to yourself, you couldn't have known better."

"I should've known better," you echoed out -sniffling, "-I'm so stupid. I told myself to n-"

The door swung open.

Rick stood there -less composed than you saw him before. You inwardly flinched at the notion of... before. His hair was a bit unruly like he'd been running his hands through it -he did that when he was worried. You knew that. His jacket (constable jacket) was tossed off, a frown creased on his lips and worry on his brow. He looked at you -unflinchingly.

"I thought I 'eard ya cryin'," he spoke, seemingly to confirm to himself, "-does it hurt? Do I need to go get some medicine? Doc said-"

"No," you interrupted -plainly, wiping at your eyes, "-I'm fine, Rick. Actually-"

You pulled yourself out from under the comforter, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. It felt like you were suffocating in here -all you could smell was him, all you could see was him, all you could feel was him. It wasn't fair.

You needed some air, like now.

"-I'm gonna go home," you finished, looking to Maggie to help you get onto your feet (you were still a little dizzy).

"You can't-" he seemed to respond, in disbelief, "-You ain't supposed to be alone, right now. Doc said-"

"I'll go to Maggie's then," you offered -grabbing your shoes which were placed neatly by the bed. Something in you stung that he had thought to do that for you.

"Why?" He asked -genuine.

You wordlessly walked through the door past him -Maggie trailing you. You padded down the hallway, cursing the familiar walls -the baby toys scattered in the corner, the picture frames hung up on the wall, and the little trinkets from his time on the road.

"You'll tell me if the kids need me, yeah?" You spoke, finally -hand turning the doorknob.

"Will ya just talk to me?"

You stuttered in your step, you could feel Maggie behind you. Your heart twisting in your chest, you just wanted to go. But something in you stopped; god, you loved him so much. It wasn't fair.

"Fine," you answered -clipped, "-Maggie, give us a minute? I'll be over in a few."

She looked at you a moment, trying to see if she should leave maybe. Eyes darting over your face, reading your eyes -she seemed to be satisfied, "Okay."

You spun to Rick, taking a deep breath in through your nose.

"What do you want to talk about, Rick?"

He laughed -in disbelief, you could tell, "What do I wanna talk 'bout? Seriously? Like you don't know?"

You stared at him -wordlessly.

"Y/N," he started -stepping toward you, you almost immediately stepped back and he noticed, "-you fuckin' fainted, you're hurt. We don't even know why and now-"

"I know why," you interrupted.

He seemed to look at you in curiosity, "Why?"

"Haven't been eating," you lied with the ease of the wind.

He seemed to process that a second -concern flitting through his face before settling somewhere else, "'At's bullshit."

"How do you know-"

"You ate dinner at mine last night," he explained, "-an' ya cleaned your plate."

Shit.

"Look Rick," you mended, "-I really don't want to talk about it."

"Why?" He offered, and he stepped forward -you stepped back, "-and now you're... you're avoidin' me? What the hell happened? You were fine, yesterday-"

"Can we not get into this right now?" You interrupted again, "-My head hurts like hell, and I just want to go and rest, like I imagine I was told to do."

Rick leveled a look at you, "Why not 'ere? Why Maggie's? You're always 'round 'ere anyway-"

It slipped out before you could think about it -venomous, "And why do you think that is?"

He stuttered to a stop, "What?"

Regret spilled into your stomach, "Rick, let's not get into this. Seriously. I'm tired-"

"No, no," he echoed, "-you brought it up. What do ya mean? What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"I can't," you swallowed, tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-Rick, not now, okay?"

He looked at you surfing over your eyes, insistent, "Why are you 'round 'ere so often?"

"Rick-"

"I thought it was 'cause ya loved the kids," he listed, "-or 'cause we were friends. But you... 'Ere's another reason."

"Rick, I don't want to."

"Want to what?" He asked, something in his voice teetering, "-Tell me? Talk to me? We used to know everythin' 'bout each other, and now you're sayin'-"

Something in you snapped. You don't know if it was his tone, or the words, or the implication that you had been lying to him while he was so truthful to you-

"God, Rick," you nearly shouted, "-I'm in fucking love with you!"

Rick froze -unmoving. You couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

"Are you happy now?"

He didn't say a word.

"So, yeah. I have been lying to you," you hissed, "-if you wanted to put it that way. If you wanted to say that I'm an asshole for protecting myself, then yeah, I am."

Rick was much different in his stance now -gentle like you'd run at his first motion toward you, eyes flickering between so many things, "Y/N..."

"No," you spoke -steely, "-I'm not. We're not doing this. I already know..."

Your words trailed off, and you swallowed -pushing down the tears. You weren't going to cry now.

"I saw you with Jessie, okay?" you explained -something in your voice softer, fragile, hurt, "-So I know. It's why I fainted. I just... I wasn't expecting it."

"Y/N, I never-"

"Seriously, Rick," you nearly begged -your voice cracking, "-I know. You don't need to drag this out longer. Did you not hear me the first time?"

His mouth snapped shut, even though he looked like he had a lot to say. Words urging to be uttered from his lips. But he didn't say anything, maybe out of respect to you. You were grateful.

"I'll be back by later to see the kids," you echoed out -something in your voice hollow.

"Will ya just let me-"

"Just let me know when Judith's up, okay?" You interrupted, deflecting, "-I said I'd watch her today."

And with a final look (maybe your last ever full look at him), you walked out the door.

[celtic-crossbow]

Hi there! I really * love * your writing and would like to request a Daryl x fem!reader story.

Set in 10x11, reader takes care of Daryl after he returns from his fight with Alpha. The reader treats the wounds (leg, face, bruises). They also might talk about Carol's odd behavior and are worried about her.

Then it's about getting ready to fight the herd and the Whisperers, not knowing if they'll survive the night. They probably also have a daughter and they're worried about her, Judith' and RJ's safety.

There could be fluff, a spark of hope or even smut (carefully because of his injuries, of course) or anything like that.

I would love to read that 😊 xx

I am the Mess You Chose

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Hilltop (Whisperers Era)

Warnings: Injuries; Medical treatment

A/N: I really tried with this, Anon. I hope I did okay. I think it went more angsty than I had intended. Still, I hope you enjoy. I also really love Daryl giving the reader the nickname Pip, short for pipsqueak. It just resonates with me, so I hope my little bit of self indulgence is okay.

You were speaking with Luke and Yumiko when you heard the familiar rumble of Daryl’s bike, turning toward the gate with Aspen on your hip. Her cries of dada dada dada accompanied the clapping of her little hands while your husband rode through with Lydia on the back of the bike. You could instantly see that something wasn’t right. 

“Any sign of them?” Yumiko reached them first, not waiting until the motorcycle had even been shut off. Daryl was looking down, avoiding the light.

“We didn’t get that far.” He grumbled while Lydia dismounted. Kelly stepped forward next, looking concerned but whether it was for Daryl or who he didn’t bring back, you couldn’t be sure. You were handing Aspen off to Jerry with a quick please watch her before you moved past everyone. Daryl was struggling to get off the bike, grunting and instantly keeping the weight off his left leg. “We gotta talk.”

“Not you.” You interjected, dragging his arm over your shoulders. “Lydia, can you handle the details?” The girl nodded. You gave Jerry another glance and received a nod before he had little Aspen waving at you and Daryl, who put on a brave face for his daughter until you were out of sight. He made a noise in the back of his throat the moment the two of you stepped across the threshold, both legs nearly buckling beneath him. “I gotcha. Downstairs bedroom, just a little further.” You shook your head at someone who appeared to be close to addressing Daryl and jerked your chin toward the front door in a silent request for them to shut it. “Can you open the bedroom door, Daryl?”

“Yeah.” He rasped, fumbling for the knob before finally grasping it and shoving the door open. It was a bit of a challenge but you eventually got him to the bed and let him sink down on the edge of the mattress. “Hey, Pip.” He offered you the smallest of smiles looking up at you, your fingers brushing his hair away from the substantial laceration above his eye.

“Don’t hey, Pip me, Daryl Dixon! What happened?” You admonished, continuing your assessment and finding more injuries on his torso but his leg, that was where your worry spiked. His pants were stuff with dried blood, the bandages lined at the top with a tightly bound piece of fabric. A tourniquet, you surmised. 

“Found Alpha. Tried to find out where they were.” He leaned back on his hands, his upper body swaying.

“I see how well that conversation went.” You deadpanned.

He responded at first with a hum. “Lydia found me. S’half dead. She dragged my sorry ass outta there, patched me up good ‘nough to get back.” Daryl jolted, the bandages sticking to his skin as you unwound them from the wound. You’d need to grab some antibiotics for sure. Knife wound, deep. The bleeding had all but stopped thanks to the tourniquet, but you felt sick at the thought of how easily the femoral artery could have been nicked. How quickly he would have bled out. “Was gonna leave it.”

“What?” You looked up to find him watching you. He nodded toward his leg.

“Alpha’s knife. Was gonna leave it. Knew better’an to pull it out, but she followed me. Drew in three walkers. Had to use it.” You stared at him levelly, not relenting when he reached to trace a finger down your jaw. “S’good to see your face, Pip. An' baby girl’s. For a minute there—for a minute, I thought I wasn’t comin’ back.” 

“Remind me to thank Lydia after I throttle the hell out of you for going alone.” You stepped out of the room for the suture kit, more antiseptic and bandages. “How long has this been on?” You motioned toward the tourniquet with the suture kit.

“Few hours.”

Slamming the kit onto the mattress, your head followed it with a groan. “I’ll have to do an IV, Daryl. We need to do a bolus of fluids to flush out the toxins building up where the blood isn’t flowing.” You weren’t mad, not really. You were redirecting your fear into something that wouldn’t have you a trembling mess while trying to stitch up your husband’s damn near fatal wound.

“M’sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m—” You sighed and knelt next to his leg to clean the wound thoroughly. “I’m just glad you’re here. Safe. And in one piece.” You tilted your head. “More or less.” It always hurt your heart to tend to his injuries, not just knowing the wound itself was painful, but knowing it would just add to the collection of scars he had accumulated throughout his life. He didn’t seem so bothered by them anymore but that didn’t mean you enjoyed watching him gather them like tattoos. 

The two of you were quiet as you stitched, not a single word until you tied off the last one and clipped the remaining thread. You placed the used materials in the wastebasket and stepped out of the room, jogging down to the medical unit for IV supplies, antibiotics, and fluids. People were moving about hastily but you’d find out why later. You had to take care of your husband first. Arms full, you detoured to find Jerry. He was on the ground with Aspen, her little arms flailing around as she stood in front of him, telling the world’s tallest tale. The man caught your eye and nodded. You mouthed a thank you and continued back to the house. There must have been something he was needed for, but you were keeping him from it. 

Daryl was lying down when you returned, an arm thrown across his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping, the rhythmic tapping of each finger against his thumb a tell tale sign that he was anxious. You needed to find out what was going on, why everyone was bustling about in waves, though you had an inkling. You were just hoping to be wrong.

Clearing your throat, you entered the room. “You really pulled a Carol yesterday, you know.”

“That ain’t funny.” He huffed, lifting his arm slightly. He looked so exhausted and pale. 

“It wasn’t intended to be, love.” He just happened to be shielding his eyes with the arm you needed, but didn’t fight you when you pulled it down to lie straight at his side and rolled up the sleeve. Placing the rubber tourniquet above his elbow, you started palpating for a vein, glancing up at him every few seconds. “She’s not doing so hot, is she?”

“Nah. She ain't.” He replied quietly. He didn’t flinch when you slid the needle in, getting a good return before removing the tourniquet and popping the needle back to leave the catheter behind. “Worried ‘bout her.”

“I know.” You straightened the tubing and connected it to the bags you hung on the headboard, open the line to start the flow of fluids and antibiotics. “I’m gonna take the tourniquet from your leg. It’s not gonna feel great.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Done this dance a million times, Pip.” 

You nodded and circled the bed, grabbing the scissors from the medical kit on your journey. You positioned the blades before glancing up at your husband. He was staring at the ceiling, but you knew where his head was.

“Are you angry with her?” Snip. Daryl grunted and clenched his fists, the circulation returning in a painful spiral throughout the injured limb.

“Yeah. Yeah, m’fuckin’ angry with her.” He snapped quietly, nostrils flaring. “Keeps takin’ off half-cocked, gettin’ herself hurt, gettin’ other people—” His mouth snapped shut into a thin line, his left arm coming up to cover his eyes that time. 

“Connie.” You supplied. You knew Daryl had taken a liking to the woman. She radiated confidence and positivity and just life. Your husband had grabbed onto that with both hands and held fast, pulling her into your little family. You both adored her. You didn’t blame Carol per se, but she did hold some of the responsibility for Connie’s—disappearance. “Daryl.”

“What?” He huffed, his irritation not directed at you. You knew him better than that.

“What if it were Aspen?” He jerked his arm away from his eyes so quickly that you flinched, knowing he was about to yell at you for even suggesting such a thing. “Stop. It’s a horrible thought, I know. But take how just that thought makes you feel and multiply it by infinity, my love. That is where Carol’s heart is right now and her head can’t even try to keep up with it.”

“That ain’t—she just—” His chin was wobbling, an inner war raging behind his stormy blue eyes.

Grabbing some butterfly stitches, gauze, and alcohol, you crawled onto the mattress and sat cross-legged by his shoulder. When you began to dab at the wound on his forehead, his face fell and his defeated gaze found your steady one. 

“I’m not saying she’s right, love. I’m just saying maybe she’s not wrong either.” You said nothing else until you had closed the wound with the strips and leaned forward to place a kiss between his eyes. “You two will get through this. You always find a way.” With a sniff and a deep breath, Daryl nodded. You were unbuttoning his shirt to tend to the other wounds when you yourself inhaled deeply, eyes flashing up to your husband’s face. “I need you to tell me what’s happening out there.”

“Be here by nightfall. Still gives us a bit to get ready.”

You stood at Daryl’s side against the upstairs bannister while everyone below scurried about with weapons and supplies. 

“You’re sure all the roads are blocked?” You tapped your fingers against the wood nervously.

“You were on one of them roads yourself, Pip. Ya saw it. They got ‘em all.” The archer’s bandaged hand covered yours to still your anxious movements. “Listen, I wantcha with the kids.” Your eyes were already watching your daughter on the carpet downstairs with Judith and RJ, but your attention snapped toward him before he could finish speaking.

“No.”

“Ain’t a request. Wantcha to—”

“No, Daryl.” You snapped, pulling your hand away. “This bitch has taken from all of us. I’m gonna be right beside you, on the frontlines.”

“Nah, need ya to stay away from this. Need to know that Aspen’s with ‘er mama, that Jude an’ RJ have ya there to protect 'em.” You were shaking your head with every word, but he didn’t stop. “Can’t fight out there not knowin’ my family’s safe as they can get.”

“And I can’t sit in here knowing my husband is out there fighting without me.” You gestured to the whole of him. “Fighting when he’s already beaten all to hell!” “Just do this for me, Pip. Take care’a our kids. If somethin’ happens to me, baby girl, Jude, an’ RJ’re gonna need ya.” Daryl brushed your hair behind your ear and placed his hand on your cheek. Your eyes were wet with frustration and hopelessness and worry and grief. 

“Goddamn you, Daryl Dixon.” Your head fell forward against his chest, sniffling until he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you there while you pulled yourself together. He was right, and you knew it. Your daughter couldn’t lose both of her parents to that monster. Jude and RJ couldn’t lose what family they had left. “Alright. I’ll stay back with the kids.” Daryl kissed your forehead.

“M’gonna talk to Zeke. If one’a us goes down, the other’ll come for you an’ the kids, okay?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Y/N, I’m just—”

“No, don’t talk like you’re not coming back to me.” You didn’t let him speak again before your mouth was on his, your hands in his hair while his squeezed your waist. “You are coming back to me.” You were walking him backwards toward one of the empty rooms, careful of his injury and accommodating his limp. 

“M’comin’ back.” He spoke quietly against your mouth, letting you unbutton his shirt before he could even manage to start shutting the door. “Always will.”

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Sunshine follows with Sunfall pt.5

Warnings: Grudges(well deserved)

Series Masterlist

The next few chapters will be posted at random, no longer every Friday. I'm going to take some time to focus on some other wip's of mine.

~☆~

When Jason left your apartment that night, he had left you with his phone number, an address, a key, and a promise to see you again. You shouldn't trust his promises, you know this.

It took three whole days of fighting with yourself to finally call him, ask him if he wanted Judith back in his life. The two of you talked about her for hours that night, you telling him about all of the things he's missed, not just in the past year but also things he missed throughout her whole life.

She likes pink glittery Pancakes, her favorite color is yellow, she likes going to the park because she gets to silently judge people, she loves school(especially her class turtle), she likes being around her family, but only for short period (they can get on her nerves quickly), she's obsessed with Blues clues, but only the older version with Steve (which is why she named the cat Damian had gifted her "Periwinkle"), onetime she had the flu and genuinely thought she was dying, she likes watching her uncles play video games, but she doesn't like playing them.

A lot of things have come up in her transition from four to five.

You didn't end the call without telling him what's on your mind. "I don't want her to love you, just for you to leave again when you can't handle the pressure. I don't want you to leave her heartbroken."

×

"Hey, Jude!"

"Hi, Mommy!"

Judith ran up to you, hugging your legs. An action she does every single time you pick her up from school. "How was your day, baby?"

"Awsome!" She yelled, looking down at a flower in her hand. "I got a present!"

"Aw, that's cute." You wouldn't tell her that her 'flower' was, in fact, a weed. The two of you started walking to your car, hand in hand.

"Momma, help, please.." She smiled as she tried to climb into the back seat. You let out a small chuckle at her behavior. You watched as she buckled her seat belt, waiting to see if she was fully okay before getting into the front seat.

"Now when we get home you're gonna have to take a bath, I have a suprise." You told her, watching as her expression brightened up at your words.

"What kind of suprise?" She pried.

"If I tell you, then it won't be a surprise anymore."

×

Judith excitedly ran through the apartment as soon as you got the door open. Her logic was that the sooner she got ready, the sooner her suprise would happen.

"Sweetheart, the suprise isn't until tonight!" You yelled from the living room.

"I have to plan!" She yelled back. You let out another chuckle and made your way to the bathroom, turning the knobs on the tub so that it's the perfect temperature. "Let's just get you into some pajamas for now!"

×

Let's just say the night came sooner than expected. Judith sat on your bed watching as you did your makeup. "Can I have some Momma?"

You turned to look at her, wide smile on your lips. "Judy, baby, you don't need any."

Despite your words, you still turned to dab a little bit of lip gloss on her lips. It's one that she left on your vanity, blue tube with Cinderella plastered on it. "Thank you, Mommy."

"You're welcome, baby." You turned to look at yourself one last time, letting out a sigh as you deemed yourself okay. "You ready?"

"Yes!"

×

Judith watched wide-eyed out of the window. Jason's apartment wasn't on the side of Gotham that the two of you grew up in and lived together in. It was in between that and near where the Manor and your very own apartment layed.

You parked your car in the garage, letting out another sigh as you finally realized what you were doing.

"Are you okay, Mommy?" Judith asked, concerned look on her small face.

You turned to offer her a smile. "I'm okay."

The two of you hopped out of the car, well, Judith got out with the help of you. And then made your way into the lobby. If you remember correctly, Jason had said that the elevator just started running again. Thankfully, you did remember correctly.

You pushed the button that you needed and let yet another sigh fall from your lips. Judith's hand carefully grasped yours, brung you out of the daze you didn't even know you were in. "It's okay, I don't need a suprise."

Her head turned to look up at you, and you mustered up the best smile you could. "Oh, but you're going to love this."

The elevator finally reached the floor you needed to be on. You and Judith walked down the hallway hand in hand. Hesitantly, you reached in your pocket for the key that Jason had left you, his apartment key. You looked down at Judith's face one more time before you lined up the key and twisted the lock open. As the door opened, Judith peered inside, trying to see what was so special about some apartment. A body coming around the corner made her look up, a lamp casted light on a familiar face.

"Daddy!" Judith screamed. Her little legs ran as fast at they could, just to reach Jason.

"Hey, Sunshine." He smiled, reaching down to engulf her in a hug. One of his hands held her to him, and the other cradled the back of her head, keeping her in place as he pressed kisses to it. The corner of his eyes prickled, preparing for the tears that were rising. Jason stood up with Judith still in his arms, causing a small squeal to escape her, before he took an arm off of her and reached it out for you, welcoming you into their embrace.

"God, I've missed you." He whispered to her, still pressing his face into her hair. "I've missed you so much."

His arms hugged the both of you tighter, trying to lock you into place forever.

Eventually, you pulled your head away to look at both Judith and Jason. Watching as they too slowly pulled away so that they could look at each other.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, voice breaking from the emotions he's experiencing.

"Yeah!" Judith's eyes lit up. Jason let a wet laugh fall from his lips before he carried her into his kitchen. Holding her on a hip as he stirred something in a pot. You followed after them and smiled to yourself, unknowingly to the both of them you also happened to have your phone on you.

A picture of this would be nice.

"Are you hungry, baby?" Jason asked, staring down at the girl in his arms.

"Mhm.." She mumbled, laying her head against his collarbones. Jason gave you a quick glance before walking over to a room that was connected to the kitchen.

His apartment was far different than the one you shared on the "bad" side of Gotham. That apartment was dingy with one bedroom and no space for a kitchen table, leading to many nights of eating on the couch. Most of your furniture there had been hand me downs from Jason's many siblings, but it was your home. When you and Jason split ways, he had moved out and stayed with Roy for a bit before he eventually got himself another apartment where he got even more hand me down furniture.

This apartment was cleaner and more barren, almost like he never spent any time here. But he had the necessities to make it a starter home, a couch, TV, kitchen supplies, and a dining room set.

Despite your dislike for the man you used to love, you are happy for him. He seems healthier, physically and mentally.

"Where do you wanna sit?" He asked, pointing to the four chairs in the dining room.

"Next to you!" Judith yelled, pointing up at her father.

Jason noted that you had followed them into the room and rested upon the door frame. He looked back at you, silently asking if she could. You nodded your head, giving Jason the chance to set her down next to where he was about to sit. He rounded the table and pulled out a chair for you, motioning for you to sit down.

After he scooted you I to place, he retreated back to the kitchen, coming back a second later with a plate for you and Judith. As you looked down, you noticed what it was. The one thing you constantly craved when you were pregnant, and what just so happened to be Judith's favorite food.

"Chicken Alfred!" Judith yelled. No matter how many times you told her the correct pronunciation, she still called it 'Alfred'. It was a miracle that she liked it, no matter how many other pastas you get her to try. This is the one she loves.

Jason smiled down at Judith then walked back to the kitchen, returning with his own plate.

×

After dinner, you helped Jason clean up while Judith sat in the living room watching TV. The two or you worked side by side to do the dishes.

You noticed the glances that Jason would throw at you. After the fifth one, you sighed and put down the plate you were holding.

"What?" You asked, annoyed by his actions.

Jason, too, set down what he was holding. "I just didn't expect you to let her see me." He whispered.

You pursed your lips and thought of what to say. "Just because I have a problem with you doesn't mean she should too." You picked up the plate again and continued to wipe it with a sponge. "This doesn't mean I want you to be in our lives, I just want her to be happy."

~☆~

My mom makes this bomb homemade chicken Alfredo on my older brothers birthday (sometimes mine as well) and it's so fucking good. We call it "Birthday Alfredo".

Taglist: @keira324 @dakotali @22nranjan @skepvids @harpy-space @godknows-shetried @mirrorball-6 @macncheese69420666 @parkjammys @yyxy27 @burningkidanchor @elleclairez @amecchii @chickennugghon @marvelworldlover @oakexists @p0tterhead934 @makhaia @cassini-among-the-stars @tsukishimarawr @flowestallen @attackonnat @90s-belladonna @sucker4seresin

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Johnny, Baby

Summary: Based on the lore release, this short is written from the perspective of Johnny as a toddler when his mom knocks on Nancy's door.

Word count: 970

Warnings: Johnny is a toddler and watches his mom die... So there's that

Mama’s left eye is fluffy and purple. She tells me it's okay, but daddy says it isn't. Daddy says mommy is a bitch. Daddy says he wishes we weren't his problem to deal with, that he'd be better off without deadweight like us.

Mama is crying, she takes my hand and I barely have time to grab my stuffed dog Blackie before she lifts me onto her hip and storms outside in a flurry of tears, refusing to look back when daddy yells, “Where the hell do you think you're goin’, dumb slut?!”

“Away from you!” She screams in return. The key to the beat-up old car forms an indent in her palm as she hurriedly buckles me into my car seat.

“Not with my son you ain't!” The angry rumble of my dad's baritone rattles in the back of my skull. I clutch Blackie tighter.

“Mama?” My lower lip trembles, fear reflected in my dark brown eyes.

Mama hurries into the front seat, slamming the creaky door closed and locking it. She turns on the car then looks back at me, her dark hair wild.

“It'll be okay, baby,” she says in a soft, soothing tone.

And I believe her, my nerves slowly untangling.

CRACK! The sound makes me jump in place. When I look up, the windshield is sprayed with a collection of delicate spiderwebs.

Daddy stands outside of the car, jiggling the handle. In his left hand, he holds a baseball bat. When the door fails to open, he reels back to hit the windshield again.

Mama slams on the gas, peeling out of the driveway. Daddy throws the baseball bat at us—it glances off the left rearview mirror, which now hangs by a wire.

Before now, I felt frozen, in a daze. But now, the feelings bowl me over. I scream and wail, and mama tries to help but I can't hear her over the blood rushing behind my little ears. It's a good thing Blackie isn't alive or I would be squeezing the life out of him right now.

“We'll find help baby, I promise, please Johnny stop crying,” she says, her own tears beginning to flow. She drives too quickly for someone half-blinded without any real direction, but she can't slow down. We aren't safe yet.

After a while, my tears subside to sniffles. Blackie is covered in tears and snot, but I cuddle him anyway.

“I'm lost, baby. We need to stop for directions,” mama says, pulling up in front of a beautiful house with rows of flowers.

“Mama!” I cry, holding out my chubby arms desperately. It took me so long to stop crying, mama doesn't want me to cry anymore. She reluctantly takes me from my car seat, and I cling to her so tightly she barely has to help hold me. Blackie dangles by a paw from my fist, swinging as we approach the front door and knock.

Almost instantly, as if she'd been watching us from the window, a woman with curled black hair and glasses answers.

“Lost, sugar? Wouldn't be the first to stumble up to my house,” she says.

“Yes ma’am. We just need directions, then we can get out of your hair.”

The woman's eyes dart from mama's purpled face to my still-red one. “Sure, sure. I can help you. Come on in!” She steps aside, her eyes glued to me as we enter. “I’m Nancy. And who is this little cutie?”

“His name is Johnny, I'm Judith. Nice to meet you,” mama says, but Nancy didn't seem to register her name. She's entirely engrossed in me, to the point where mama shifts me to her other side, trying to provide a barrier between her and I while looking around the house.

This visibly upsets Nancy, who gives mama a scowl she barely manages to conceal before mama looks back over to her as she finishes locking the complicated door lock. “Go on and sit down. Want some tea?” She asks, heading for the kitchen as mama takes a hesitant seat at the dining room table, me on her lap.

“We just need directions to the nearest hotel, no tea thank you,” she says, her leg bouncing anxiously beneath me.

Nancy comes back with a tray and two teacups. Mama raises her hand to wave Nancy's tea glass off, but instead Nancy pulls a knife from under the tray and slices her palm open.

Blood pours onto her pristine carpet, and I burst into tears.

“Gimme that baby and I might let you die quick!” Nancy hollers, lunging for me. Mama quickly turns me away, and when Nancy misses, mama jabs the car key between her knuckles deep into Nancy's left eye.

Nancy howls like a banshee, eye jelly running down her cheek. She starts swinging wildly, and Mama throws her chair back and stands, clutching me and backing away from Nancy.

“You get back here you stupid bitch! Ain't no way you can open that door lock!” Nancy screams, stumbling over the chair in her path.

“Johnny,” mama says, setting me down. I look up at her desperately, my entire body shaking. “Johnny baby, you have to hide. Someone will see our car and-”

Nancy’s hand reaches around mama’s shoulder, dragging a blade across her neck. A red streak follows the knife, and red rains down on me, splattering over my blue truck shirt and soaking Blackie even worse. Mama's eyes go glassy, and my little legs give out as I collapse to the floor.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Nancy says, picking me up and cradling me against her chest.

And I don't believe her.

[judith-buckle]

[fic-tional-fiend]

Stress Reliever

MY FIRST POST HI LMAO I'm not super familiar with Tumblr yet so pls be patient with me :,)

WARNINGS: swearing, smut Word Count: 1,962 The nagging tension Carl felt throughout his body was quite common now, but feeling the same cramps and aches in every one of his muscles every damn night was getting old. And after making an especially long, and rather anxiety inducing run earlier that day, it somehow became that much worse. Nearly getting bit, no matter how many close calls there've been, never got any less terrifying. He forced his legs to carry him up the stairs after hastily finishing dinner with Michonne and his dad, the old floorboards moaning under his weight at each step. 

   Carl's legs threatened to give way beneath him, and the irritation only grew hotter in the back of his mind as he tripped over the last step. He stumbled his way down the hall, and into his room before shutting the door behind him and kicking off his boots. He carefully unraveled the bandage that covered his missing eye, rolled it up and set it on the bedside table. Then grabbing his hat, he tossed it onto his dresser, and let himself flop onto the bed with a light bounce.

   Carl took a slow, deep breath in, rolled over onto his back and let the tightness in his muscles fade as he let out a long sigh. He sat up to tug his flannel off of his tired shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Lifting a hand up, he dragged it down his face. He still felt sticky from sweating off the relentless heat of the summer day, his shirt uncomfortably sticking to his back, and only then did a shower come to mind. He thought about it for a moment and looked over to the door, light leaking in from the space underneath it. He debated whether he had enough energy to drag himself down the hall to the bathroom, but begrudgingly turned his head to face the wall instead and tried not to think about how filthy he likely was. 

   He reached down to the belt around his waist, undoing the buckle and sliding it through the loops of his jeans. It clattered to the ground with his pants and t-shirt following shortly after. He stared at the textured wall just a few inches from his face, studying the small bumps and hollows that were randomly scattered under the plain beige color that painted his room. The weight in his eyelids seemed to become heavier with each passing moment, and he let them shut as he pulled his sheets up over his waist. Letting out a long breath, he rolled himself onto his stomach and slid his arms under the flattened pillow beneath his head, burying the side of his face into the fabric.

   The silence lingering in the air was somewhat soothing, only broken by his own quiet breaths. But his mind was still racing as it replayed everything that happened that day. Out of everything, the anger at himself for bringing back so little was what kept him stirring. His dad, Rick, had finally trusted him enough to go on a run on his own for the first time, and he basically blew it. He had only managed to scrape together a few rags, and a dirty stuffed giraffe that he thought Judith might take a liking to. 

   He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, convinced that if he just kept his eyes shut then sleep would eventually come to him. But the frustration was only serving to wake up his exhausted brain more. In defeat, he came to terms with the fact that no matter how tired his body felt, his mind wasn't going to stop working anytime soon. He groaned and sat himself up to reach for the small lamp on the table and turned it on with a click. He squinted and he felt his eye begin to water as it adjusted to the sudden light. He then got up to walk to his dresser and kneeled down to open the bottom drawer, rummaging through the dozens of comics he had haphazardly tossed in there after reading them. He sat there looking through each of them in turn, trying to decide which one he could tolerate reading for what had to be the millionth time. He kept moving them one by one, none of them catching his eye for more than a few seconds. Ultimately he gave up and just sat back down, giving himself a mental note to start looking for more comics if he had extra time on his next run.

   He shut off the light and laid back down, settling one arm under his head and lightly toying with the hem of his boxers with the other. He couldn't stop fidgeting, bouncing one foot constantly, his eyes scanning the ceiling back and forth, his brain going over every little detail of the run, he could practically feel his whole body vibrating. His skin felt like it ached against anything that touched it. Somehow the harder he tried to relax, the more his own body resisted. Carl forced himself to sit still, and focused his thoughts on controlling his breathing. He vaguely remembered something his mom had taught him years ago, something about controlling his breaths, and how bringing more oxygen to the brain promotes clearer thinking. "Breathe in for three, out for five," or something along those lines. 

   He kept at it for as long as his patience would allow, counting each second in his head, retaining control of each slow breath he took, but his mind wouldn't cease it's wandering. This time however, it had come up with what might be a solution, or at least a way to get himself to relax or pass the time. It had been a long while since he had felt the need to do so, let alone tried to. He usually fell directly to sleep when he was in his room, and if he didn't, he was usually either too angry, too anxious or too depressed to even think about it. 'Well I don't really have any better ideas,' he thought with a half-assed eyeroll.

   The idea of self pleasuring wasn't foreign to him. Carl had experimented with touching himself on a few occasions, and had awkwardly sat through that portion of "the talk" after his dad had walked in on him trying to relieve some stress one morning. He knew this was a typical thing people did in their spare time, especially young men around his age. And he knew that he could feel himself getting pent up and irritable if we went too long without that relief, but it always felt like more of a chore and less of something to do for fun. 

   Carl hesitated for a moment before he reached down between his legs and palmed himself through his boxers, gently massaging himself. Slowly he slid his hand under the elastic band and gently gripped his soft shaft. He gave himself a light squeeze then continued with a few experimental pumps of his fist, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to form a decent rhythm. He let himself relax as his imagination began to roam. His mind wandered around to anything he could think of that might get him hard, the women he had seen in the magazines he's read, the dirty things he used to overhear Ron talk about, but his thoughts kept trailing back to Enid, the only girl his age around. He liked Enid just fine, he didn't have any negative feelings for her, but she didn't seem quite that interested in any of the people in Alexandria, much less the kids her age. That suited Carl just fine, he wasn't a huge talker anyway, he was more of a "people watcher" as his dad called it. He liked to observe those around him; watch what they did and how they acted, how they moved and how they carried themselves. Like the way Enid's hips swayed when she walked by, that in particular always caught his eye. 

He adjusted his grip slightly and kept slowly pumping until he felt himself twitch rhythmically in his hand as his erection began to grow. He sighed at the feeling and he suddenly wondered why he didn't do this more often. His expression softened and he felt himself begin to relax as he let himself give in to the pleasant sensations. A few quiet moans escaped him as he propped up his leg, but then paused for a moment to slide his boxers down his hips just far enough for his now fully hard cock to pop out. 

   He sat up on his elbow and spat into his right hand before getting back to his rhythm. Every few strokes he would use his thumb to play with the tip and smear the small amount of precum around the head. Carl began to pant as he picked up his pace, closing his eye and letting his head fall back. His wavy brown locks pooled around his shoulders and he could only partially bite back a moan when he continuously tightened his grip, his hips bucking up into his hand. Every pump felt like it sent electricity from the tip of his dick, all the way up his spine and into his foggy brain. He hissed through clenched teeth when he wasn't cursing under his breath, only focusing on the feeling that was overtaking his entire body. For just a short time, there were no more sore muscles or aching joints from long days, only this, only the pleasure shooting its way through every nerve and settling in his stomach. 

   The coil in his groin was making itself known, and the intensity was quickly becoming overwhelming. Nothing else was in this boy's brain as he jerked himself off, the only thing he could think was "just a little more, just a little more". All of it was too much but somehow not enough at the same time, he couldn't get enough of it. The desperation for his release was becoming unbearable, and he was struggling to keep himself quiet. The moans he tried so hard to keep inside were making their way out, in short, quiet bursts. Carl took deep breaths to try to calm himself and hopefully make himself last longer, but the result was only dizzying himself further into a spiral of hormones. But suddenly he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. His arm slid out from under him and he bit down onto his knuckle when the coil in his belly finally snapped. 

   White hot pleasure shot through him and he tensed as a groan ripped its way out from his throat. He was sure he tasted blood for a moment as he bit down harder in attempts to keep quiet. Spurt after spurt of his cum splattered onto his bare chest and stomach as he rode out his high, his eye squeezed shut and his mind went completely blank. Then all of his muscles relaxed and he gave himself one last firm squeeze in attempts to milk everything he could out of the feeling. A few more drops of cum dripped down his softening shaft, and the utter euphoria left him feeling more than satisfied after ignoring his needs for so long. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relaxed, and sleep suddenly felt like a possibility again. He lazily pulled up his boxers and he let his eye stay shut, ready and waiting for the long restorative rest he desired. He raised a hand to rub at his chest and stopped when he felt something sticky. He looked down to see ropes of his drying cum plastering to his skin. “Shit..”

[incorrect-house-of-nine]

Gideon: *carrying all the groceries*

Harrow: *holds out hand to help*

Gideon: *aggressively moves all groceries to one hand to take Harrow’s in the other.*

.

.

days later.

.

.

Judith: *struggling to carry groceries*

Corona: *holds out hand to help*

Judith: *aggressively moves all groceries to one hand to take Corona’s. Buckles under the weight.*

Corona: *rolls her eyes. Hefts Judith over one shoulder like a rug. Picks up the groceries one handed.*

Judith: *hangs there limply like a petulant cat.* 

[bobbyseyesmile]

Pride and Passion | 4

Chapter 4

Note: Chapter 4 takes place AFTER chapter 5. It may seem weird but I tried to play with the timelines a lil' bit. I don’t always continue the story where I left it off. Hope this helps a bit heh

⤝ Previous chapter | Next chapter ⤞ ➻ Pride and Passion masterlist

“Ding Dong!”

Rick turned his head around, the low and raspy voice way too familiar to his ears. He rolled his eyes and turned towards Daryl: “They’re here.”

Daryl nodded and buckled his crossbow over his shoulder. “I’ll tell the others, Tara’s with Carl and Judith in the house.”

“Good. Tell her to stay put there, I don’t want my other kids near this psychopath…”

Daryl’s eyes lingered on his best friend for another second before he nodded again. “I know. I’m sorry.” He felt like shit- even though Rick assured him hundreds of times that it wasn’t Daryl’s fault, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the only reason you weren’t here was because he had to lash out that fateful night.

Rick on the other hand knew how his friend felt, the guilt-ridden expression never leaving his face, but he didn’t hold any grudge towards Daryl. It wasn’t his fault.

Even though Rick was angry at you and your decision, he knew it was the right one in that heated moment. If it wouldn’t have been for you, others would have died- maybe even Carl. You were a grown-up woman and could handle yourself, but it didn’t change the fact that you were his daughter. And he cared. A lot.

“Ricky!” Negan’s voice echoed over the streets of Alexandria “How’s my favorite Rick doing? Ya got some new shit for me?”

“How is she?” It was the first question Rick asked every time the Saviors arrived. It made Negan chuckle every time, and he babbled about how good you were treated in his Sanctuary. But this time he didn’t chuckle and he didn’t babble his usual cocky responses.

“Well, Rick, I have to say your hot-looking daughter is a little force of nature. She causes me some troubles, not gonna lie.”

“W-what did she do?” Rick was sure whatever you did wasn’t your fault- you would never do stuff to endanger the group.

“She’s got a mouth oh her, ya know that? Talking back when she should be quiet, humiliating me in front of my people, even in front of my other wives… Tsk, tsk, tsk. You and I got a little problem there, you see where I’m coming from?”

“I’m sure if you would let me see her, I could-“

“Are ya shitting me, Ricky? What do you think, that I’m stupid?” Negan showed a row of his pearly whites before licking his lips “She’s a lot like you, Rick, and to be fair and square- I don’t fucking appreciate it, ya hear me? So maybe I should punish her by punishing you, ya think she would get that little message?”

Rick looked down to his feet, he started to feel dizzy. He was lost in his own thoughts when a loud bang ripped through the air, interrupting both men in their conversation.

“Fucking bitch!” a man yelled and both men started running towards the noises.

“What happened?” Rick asked and looked around staring in flustered and shocked faces. After a second he saw Rosita on the floor, a knife to her throat while she was held down by two men.

“This fucking bitch shot me!” the man held his bloody hand, clearly losing a finger in the whole process “I’m gonna kill her!”

“Woah, woah…” Negan walked in the circle of people that had formed and stared down at Rosita. “Did ya really just shot one of my men?”

“He didn’t stop molesting my friend- Tara didn’t do shit, she just kept the kids safe in the house.”

Negan stopped at her face for a while before turning to the wounded man: “Is that true? Did ya harass the nice lady who watched the kids?”

“They had shit hidden from us, I just wanted to check out what it was!”

“It was the baby food.” Tara suddenly intervened and had Negan’s attention “I-I had just finished making a bottle for the little one and put the formula away, I didn’t hide it- it was just bad t-timing, I swear.”

Negan looked around before nodding and slowly putting Lucille to his side. “Alrighty… See Rick, that’s exactly the fucking problem with you people- always causing me some trouble, we can never finish a trade in peace…”

“We’re sorry.” Rick muttered while rubbing his eyes. He started to get a migraine.

“We?” Negan repeated and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t ya mean, you are sorry for not having your people under control?”

“Yes.”

“Splendid.” Negan’s usual smirk was gone, he looked pissed and growled a few commands to his men that they should hurry and start the trucks. “And Rick?” Rick looked up, sweat dripping down his temple. “This shit today? Your daughter will pay for that.”

Rick’s head started spinning, the helpless feeling that he couldn’t do anything for you manifested in fear, whatever sick things Negan had planned for you. “Wait! Negan, I’m sorry what happened, I’m sure we can talk about it-“

Negan turned around, now pointing Lucille right at Ricks face: “Talking-time is over, Rick, gotta teach your people a lesson or two here: We take the hot Señorita with us." Negan pointed at Rosita who was immediately taken and shoved into the trucks while she screamed and struggled.

"You don’t fuck around with me, ya hear me? You do what I say, and for god’s sake! Keep your people in line or next time I’ll bring you a finger from your beautiful daughter, got it?”

Taglist: @toxic-ink @jaywinchestersalvatore @crosshajr @neganswoman @tone-stark (if you want to be added, pls let me know)

[punikai2020]

Happy Valentines Day 💘

to My Favorite Britcom Couples.

@flatnumberseventeen @comedyfan2013 @bbcmyhero @bbcghostsupdates @stathletscaps @kitmarlowe @local-blog-for-local-people @notfspurejam @judith-buckle @fuckyeahwildwest @tjevo9-my-family

[metmuseum]

Belt buckle. ca. 1900. Credit line: Gift of Judith H. Siegel, 2014 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/236771

[celira]

4/5+1 (cw: violence against prisoners, neurological aftereffects of electric shock)

When the retaining wall around her composure finally caved in, it gave way like his skull must have – and she stared that thought head-on, now: explosively, irreversibly, inopportunely. 

Indubitably, Warden, she thought to herself, a negative made less rare in its repetition, and then again: Warden? at the little bag around her neck. 

He didn't reply. 

Truth over solace, but truth as a matter of belief in degrees – after long weeks of silence followed by long weeks of disbelief in confinement, she woke up the morning after her first conversation with We Suffer thinking: this is not the end. After the second: He would want to know more. After the third: We have work to do.

We was a thought that required dispensing with solace, as befitting her house, emerging from the remnants of her disassociation, and still it made her inwardly twitch. She chose belief like knowingly placing a hand to red-hot metal, less exposure therapy and more enduring overwhelming pain in hopes of a cauterization to follow. Did that hold up? She let herself, for the first time in many, many days, imagine what he might say: well, Cam, not your finest work, but an apt metaphor in some ways–

"Hect?"

She hadn't realized she'd frozen, head spinning with familiar neural pathways finally released from suspensed animation, trembling minutely but not so imperceptibly that it avoided the notice of Judith Deuteros, who she had been in the middle of examining – a routine review of her vitals, rote and familiar to her, which apparently had occupied only enough of her attention to let the rest of her brain go wandering through reconnecting wires willy-nilly.

The Captain's face, drawn with fatigue, still managed to convey bemusement with pinpoint clarity. "What happened?"

Before Camilla could collect herself, the door slammed open. Three masked figures streamed in, two unfamiliar and one wearing the mask used by We Suffer. Obscuring their facial expressions somehow did nothing to make hostility of the first two less evident.

The voice confirmed the mask. "Ah, we do not mean to interrupt you both,” said We Suffer in her careful, clipped House. “Camilla Hect, this topic of discussion only concerns you.”

“Anything you have to–” the Captain began, but Camilla stepped toward the three and cut her off, watching the two likely-guards tense further. “Yes?”

We Suffer said, “After conferring with other members of this wing, we have come to a slight impasse. Some of our officials find it difficult to assess your, ah, clarity of judgment.”

Camilla did not ask on what basis; she’d spent her first four weeks unresponsive to input. She thus still managed to be surprised when one of the other masked figures spoke out of turn, voice dripping with derision still discernable through a clumsy accent: “The Commander is a diplomat. In truth, we cannot trust the mind of a minion who yet carries wizard bones around her neck.” The person stepped forward and extended one hand. “A basic compromise. Hand them over. If you cannot do this simplest of tasks, we cannot work together.” “No,” said Camilla promptly.

“That tells us all we need to know,” said the other, who made the mistake of grabbing at Camilla’s neck. 

Even with slight rustiness, Camilla had a higher baseline of agility – and likely age – on her side; she dropped immediately into a deep side lunge and braced herself on her hands, sweeping out the extended leg into the person’s kneecaps. 

They buckled, and Camilla’s leg ignited. Reality went up in static briefly, and her muscles seized; she hit the floor next to the person, hard. Her would-be assailant reached for her again, and Camilla convulsed, shaking out the arm that was jerking less spasmodically and managing to swiftly shove her elbow back toward their face. She heard the crunch of cartilage and felt a moment of brief satisfaction before her leg went up in pain again.

And again. And again. Her vision went dark.

—

When Camilla woke to the walls of a medical bay, it took her a few moments to realize she was still in the same room – but now occupied the cot opposite Judith’s. One of them would likely be moved soon, she thought hazily, since shock recovery didn’t warrant the same level of long-term care. Probably. Maybe. When she attempted to flex her foot, her ankle screamed, searing fire up her right side; her vision briefly sparked and swam. She wondered what kind of nerve damage she might be experiencing. She started to wonder what else was wrong. She grabbed at her neck, and relaxed imperceptibly when her hand met rough, lumpy sack-cloth.

“They claimed you weren’t supposed to have lost consciousness,” said the Captain, apparently still awake. Camilla started, still clutching the bag. 

“Those three were all Blood of Eden officials,” she continued, gesturing at the door. “Whatever parlaying you thought to do with them clearly didn’t take, and you set yourself back by not giving up those bones. They left them with you because they seem to think that it’s better that you come willingly. It’s treason, Hect, no matter how you justify it.” So declaimed, the Captain’s hands dropped back to her chest limply, outburst exhausted.

Camilla didn’t feel called to justify it, but given the state of her leg and the so-called discussion that had landed her in this cot, it probably made sense to check her work. Judith Deuteros, she supposed, was as good a sounding board as any. Camilla tried to relax her fingers, gave up, and said:

“The commander – named We Suffer –” (“do we ever,” she thought the Captain may have muttered) “– has information about the Sixth House that should be impossible for her to know.”

“So they have spies you weren’t aware of. Unimpressive.”

“They can’t be active spies,” Camilla said, ignoring the roundabout slight. ”The references they make–” parts of the station long-dismantled, systems long-since updated, but in essence, still about the release mechanisms that no one outside of Oversight should know of – “are all…incredibly antique.”

“What kind of leverage does outdated and obsolete intel have over the Sixth, then? What utility could it have to you now?” The Captain’s weakened voice nonetheless managed to support a good deal of disapproval.

Camilla turned the allegations over in her head and back again and forth once more. Cassiopeia the First, founder of their House, the original Reason of the Emperor. What, she wished she could ask her, were you thinking? She returned her focus to diehard ranked Cohort officer Judith Deuteros and said instead, “The source they cite was themself a member of our House, a known and documented one – one involved in its earliest days.”

She heard the rustle of the Captain shaking her head slightly. “It would suit insurgents to claim that they can destabilize us from within, to have us believe they have been successful and canny for thousands of years.”

Fair enough, if you were the Captain. Camilla remained uncertain. Even if Blood of Eden were to have patched together an inexpert facsimile of information from fragments gathered over the years, hitting on something that sounded adequately convincing only through luck and her own wishful thinking, how could they have known about the break clause?

As if calling a recess over this quandary, the seizure decided to hit then. 

—

Camilla remained hospitalized. The stun cuff wasn’t, the medics reiterated, supposed to render her unconscious; given that it had, it had seemed likely that she would suffer additional neurological side effects. She supposed she could grant them an eighth of a point for correctly surmising this, and revoke it immediately for having caused the situation. “Supposed” implied a typical use, and however many times she’d been shocked certainly suggested a serving size above the daily norm.

Droll, as the Third might have said. Coping mechanisms, as the Warden might have said.

Warden, are you in there? she thought again. 

He still didn’t reply.

The thought didn’t rankle as much. Consecutive days in Judith Deuteros’s company, mentally mapping chess pieces to ceiling tiles and debating the merits of playing out Blood of Eden’s negotiation for information, resulted in her proverbially wiping the floor with the Captain in the former pursuit and wishing to physically wipe the floor with her after the latter. But it’d also aided her mental acuity as her neurons unscrambled, and further desensitized her to the brain zaps that had nothing to do with shock recovery and everything to do with one missing adept.

She vaguely recognized Judith’s engagement as inroads toward some kind of allyship, by necessity and by solidarity, even if it had taken being thoroughly incapacitated and unable to leave the same craft – or same room – for extended periods of time to engender it. 

It was nearing the end of a full week in the same ward when the Captain said to this effect, abruptly, “Hect. However you choose to act – remember we remain behind enemy lines. Whatever perspective I have as a Cohort officer who has seen active duty is at your disposal. Please avail yourself of it –”

Camilla just as abruptly realized that this – all of this – was what Judith Deuteros attempting to be helpful while still incapacitated looked like, and she thawed a fraction.

The next words out of her mouth iced that back over. “– before you compromise your values as a House dignitary, for the memory of a man who himself died in service of the Houses.”

The Warden would want to find out, Camilla had told her earlier, and that was a misjudgment.

“The Warden would dispute that characterization,” Camilla said levelly, and those were her final words until she was discharged.