#there's a lot of depressive stuff and self hate all over the place

[vampirebunny2]

Incoming a bunch of posts for a very niche fandom with a lot of heavy stuff, old followers beware lol 😬

[flowercrowngods]

based on an idea i had about steve getting a bad migraine from the sudden bloodloss after kas feeds from him

post-canon, steddie don't like each other, hermit kas, depressed brain injury steve, kinda gloomy, anxiety & compulsions

Steve cuts the engine with a sigh, feeling heavy and alien, like a lone survivor in a ghost town. He’s not a lone survivor, and Hawkins isn’t technically a ghost town because there’s still enough of them here to build it back up or to watch it crumble and cave in on itself, front row seats to the fourth wave of destruction. 

Maybe the real ghost is Steve, actually, floating through his days just waiting for his brain to decide it’s had enough. Just waiting for the perpetual ringing in his ears to rise in pitch and frequency and for his skull to fucking crack open from the never ending waves of the never ending buzz.

Robin asks him about it a lot, notices how he will stop and listen to his body on every inhale that feels slightly wrong, or every movement that’s just a little too fast or just a little too sudden, the blood rushing into his head or out of it, the doctor’s words ringing in tune with the tinnitus: You watch that head of yours, young man, and do not hesitate to call emergency services when the headache won’t stop after a few hours, or when anything feels off, you hear me? 

The truth is, he barely heard him then. Blood was roaring in his ears, the tinnitus still quiet, but his hearing still dull from impact and screams and shock wave after shock wave of the world sewing itself back together. 

He sighs again, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel and trying to catch his breath. Taking stock of his head, the heartbeat he can only feel in his hands right now and nowhere near his temples, and the quiet little tap tap tap of his finger nails hitting the leather, wanting to make sure he can hear it. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t imagine the sound. 

Always fucking needing to make sure. 

Soon, he breathes a little steadier, convincing himself that getting out of the car won’t be the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s so stupid, too, that fear, all that anxiety living inside him just waiting to boil and spill over until he does something stupid just to spite it.

The cool breeze hits his face, working in tandem with his calming breaths to alleviate his obsessive thought spirals, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does nothing but breathe for a minute there. 

He’s up. He’s standing. He can walk through the forest to the vamp’s hiding place, it’s fine. It’s fine. Although standing so suddenly makes him aware that he hasn’t eaten much today, too busy hating everything about this town and helping to rebuild it anyway. 

Forgetting to eat and drink is another thing that’s new to him. There’s quite a few things he forgets a lot, but those are the worst. Robin is always on his ass about that, but at some point he stopped telling her. It feels like he’s stopped telling her a lot of things. Maybe that’s something else that comes with severe brain injury, young man. 

He feels plenty guilty about it at least — but not enough to tell her about all the horrible things that are happening to him, or the horrible things he thinks are happening to him. The Upside Down is gone, Vecna is dead. These bad thoughts, they’re all him. But knowing that doesn’t fucking help.

Pushing away from the car and turning around to lock it, Steve decides to wallow in self pity no longer and to just get on with it. As much as he hates it. As much as part of him wants to just go home and claim that he forgot about that, too. 

It’s no secret that Steve never liked Eddie. The boy’s a hypocrite, he’s loud, he’s annoying, and he just likes to shame people as publicly as possible, spitting proclamations of conformity and sticking it to the Man while at the same time turning anarchy into despotism under the guise of rebellion — and he’s the dictator. 

Or, he was. And Steve never cared about him or his larger than life attitude that was worse than any of the smiles Steve ever wore to fit in in high school. Steve mostly ever just wanted Munson to shut up and eat his lunch, stop pretending he’s better than any of them just because he liked different things.

Although it wasn’t even about liking other things, it was only ever about disliking. And shaming and denouncing. Steve always wondered what kind of a miserable life that dude must have lived, shaping himself not from what he liked but from what he hated. Creating an identity that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because it was so fragile and contradictory and, frankly, so fucking annoying. 

Still, he’d never wished for Munson to get involved in all of this. He’d never wished for the man to die. And then to come back only to be turned into some kind of vampire, doomed to live an even worse existence than he did as a human, hidden away in some shabby cabin. 

Steve feels a little bad for him now. For Eddie. Or Kas, as the kids like to call him because he never reacts to his name anymore, more monster than human these days, although Dustin is sure they can domesticate him into becoming his old self again. 

“Like Dart, remember?”

“Dude, don’t compare our friend to your sick little creature.” That was Lucas, affronted and annoyed. Steve could relate, although… 

“You gotta admit, he’s kind of a sick little creature himself now.” 

“Steve!” they’d both yelled, and Steve just playfully shoved their heads back before going to grab a coke from the fridge.

And Kas, because vampires are apparently a thing even after the end of the world, needs blood to survive. The forests are void of animals most of the time, like nature has decided to give Hawkins an ultimatum before returning and the day hasn’t come yet. Maybe it’s something to do with electromagnetic fields, or maybe it was something else entirely leading them all to safety while Hawkins was turned into a war zone. Either way, there is nothing for him to feed here. 

Kas can’t just stalk around the woods at night and drink up a deer or two. Nor can he go rob the blood bank at the hospital, they’re running low as it is anyway. That left them all with only one option that Mike so disgustedly pointed out back then: Kas needs their blood. And Steve feels just bad enough for him to play along. 

So now he is out here playing blood bank for the monstrous version of a guy he never even liked, and his hometown is in shambles, and his head might actually sign the fuck off at any moment now, apparently. 

Things are going great. 

Saving the world is just… really fucking isolating. 

Still he has no choice but to announce his presence with a firm knock on the door, the pattern easy but memorable. 

“This is Steve,” he adds as his hand falls to his side, waiting. 

Kas always takes a while to come out and open the door, hiding away from any noise like a feral cat. Steve can kind of relate — he and Kas don’t have the best relationship either. He has no idea how sudden vampirism works, but just like feral cats will be able to tell when someone wants to hurt them and when instincts should be kicking in, Kas seems to realise how little Steve wants to be here and help him. How little he wants to have his blood sucked out of his body leaving his limbs to feel numb and uncomfortably tingly. 

Eventually, though, the door opens with a creek, just enough for a pair of eyes — too large, too wide, too wild — blink back at him. Steve just lifts his eyebrows, really kind of not in the mood to deal with this barely human vampire and his absolute lack of learning curve about this situation.

When he’s sure Kas has blinked at him for long enough now, he pushes open the door and shoves inside rather roughly, immediately feeling bad when he hears the slight whimper. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and trying not to grimace at the stale, disgusting air in the cabin. “Jeez, you really gotta open a window every once in a while. Thought vamps were supposed to have heightened senses or some shit.” 

Kas growls at him, mirroring Steve’s move and shoving past him this time, his shoulder slamming into Steve’s with painful strength. Glowering at the stupid vampire, he rubs at his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Listen, buddy, I can just leave and have you deal with your hunger, okay? No big deal for me, I even get to keep my blood.” 

Kas snaps at him, showing his fangs and crossing his arms, too; a laughable copy of Steve’s own stance. 

“Or you could just cut the crap and get on with it so I actually can leave again without taking shit from the peanut gallery. Your choice.” 

The huff that follows is so indignant, Steve wonders if that could be what gets Kas out of Munson’s body and let the human win over the monster. Maybe indignation and annoyance is what will break the spell eventually, lift the curse just enough for Munson to get back into his old habit of monologising and spouting nonsense out of that big mouth of his. 

Steve is half tempted to try, but he really does want to just go home and lie on his large couch with no sensory input whatsoever, tuning out the world and his anxieties that might be about to turn into compulsions just for him to gain a little control over everything again. So he squares his shoulders and takes off his jacket before tilting his head to the side, allowing Kas full access to his neck. 

It’s always a little scary but still oddly fascinating, filling him with that same rush that came with witnessing all the supernatural shit over the past few years. Kas is the last remnant of all that, and somehow, buried beneath piles of rubble and trauma and the teenager he had to give up on being, Steve feels weirdly protective of that. 

Not of Eddie. Of Kas. Of the monster that lies dormant. Of the last bit of danger in his life, because he doesn’t know how to live without it anymore — so much so that he has to make it up.

Maybe it’s a symptom of his self destructive tendencies, as Robin would call it. But Steve might be as fascinated with the vampire as Robin is with fire; so she doesn’t get to have a say in this.

There is always a strange intimacy in the way Kas approaches him. Slowly, carefully. Like a hunter his prey. Steve doesn’t feel like prey, not really, but a part of him wants to. A part of him needs to be prey again, if only for those instincts that manifest with a perpetual tremor and a restless feeling in his chest to be of use again. If only so he can have a point again. Something to fight that’s outside oh his own head. 

Now, his point is standing still entirely and feeling those chapped but warm lips trail up and down his throat a little before Kas finds the right spot that won’t really hurt Steve, the right spot that will make it all go by quickly and without any hiccups. 

Still he shivers, like always, and Kas holds him close when he finally bites down. Like always. 

He stands motionless as he feels his blood flow alternating, rushing in his ears and his head, his heart thump-thump-thumping, putting up a fight against the strange intrusion. He hardly even breathes at all, focusing instead on his body and burying his finger nails in his palm for five seconds before releasing his hands and repeating the process three times before he gets it right. 

But then his head is pulsing, his heartbeat slowing down as his vision briefly blacks out in the same way it does when he gets up too quickly, and his heart falls. It’s too much. Too sudden. 

“Kas,” he says, but the vampire doesn’t hear him, drinking more and more of the blood that must be so thick with how little he’s had to drink today — something he only just remembered. “Kas,” he says again, more urgently this time; but still the vampire drinks. 

And where before Steve had a clear vision of the door in the dark room — the light of day streaming in through the cracks and framing it almost mystically —, it’s spotty now. Just slightly off. Like something is missing but his brain is working overtime to complete the picture anyway, reducing the blind spot to merely an illusion. But Steve knows what’s happening. He knows what the sudden pulsating of his head means, especially when it’s followed by his vision just going AWOL on him.

No, he thinks as the situation really settles in, and he begins to push Kas away. Not like it matters anyway now; the damage is done. No, no, no, no, fuck! 

He frantically shoves at the vampire now, blinking against the blind spot even though he’s painfully aware it won’t help. Kas breaks away from him, wiping his mouth and smearing his face and the back of his hand with Steve’s blood. If he looks just right, he can’t even fucking see it. 

Heart falling further, Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, hoping that by some kind of miracle he can just pull the migraine out of his head before it can really settle. It’s his only chance. He can’t drive like this, he shouldn’t walk like this, and soon he won’t be able to do anything at all. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” be hisses, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice and caring very little about that right now. 

Kas is on him again in a second, and Steve waves him off, tries to shove him away but the vampire is stronger and persistent. 

A high keening sound builds in Kas’s chest, and Steve knows he doesn’t really speak, doesn’t really use his words, ever — maybe he doesn’t know how. But the keening sounds more like a whine, and the way he pulls at Steve to look at him is as much an indicator of worry as he’s going to get.

But Steve doesn’t want Kas’s hands on him, wants to just get out and away before the pain comes. So he takes another step back and holds up his hands, hoping that the vampire will just fucking take a hint. 

A little too quickly and a little too frantic, Steve shakes his head, his eyes flitting about the room to see if there’s still pieces of it missing or if phase two is about to start. He has about twenty minutes left before his body will be composed of nothing but skull-splitting pain that is only equal to someone ramming actual nails into his head — and even that would be preferable right noe, because at least that pain he wouldn’t need to explain. Or justify.

Another keening sound interrupts Steve's burgeoning spiral, and his eyes land on Kas, who really looks like a kicked puppy right now. 

"I gotta go," he says, voice a little unsteady with apprehension and panic, but just as he's about to rush out of the cabin, Kas crosses his path and won't let him move. 

A strong hand lands on his chest, and Steve really, really doesn't want to deal with that right now. He tries again, tries with more force to sidestep and push past him, but Kas won't let him budge. 

"Let me go." But Kas doesn't let up. "Kas. Please. You gotta let me go, I gotta get home, I—“ 

The first flash of white in his peripheral vision catches him off guard, moving his focus away from the clawed hand on his chest and toward the flickering line that cuts through the left side of his vision right now. 

Curious or worried or maybe just really fucking stupefied at having Steve act so weirdly, Kas inclines his head and ducks to catch Steve's eyes. 

"Move," Steve says again, as assertive as he can manage with his brain and body scattered between following the flickering lights that are invisible to everyone else and the pain that is about to consume him, leaving him incapacitated for several hours at least.

Instead of moving out of Steve's space and allowing him to leave, Kas shoves him backwards with that superhuman strength he has now, forcing Steve to stumble back helplessly. Fear rises in him again, and it's a different flavour this time that mixes horribly well with the anxiety and apprehension and all the waves and waves of blinding panic he feels out of nowhere almost all the time now. 

His knees buckle when they hit something rather violently, and then he's falling, landing on the worn couch with a breathless gasp, his instincts running wild. He needs to fight, he needs to run, he needs to get home and be safe and get the fuck away from this monster who won't let him go now. Steve doesn't know Kas as someone who will just take what he wants, but, well, he is Munson, in a way. So that tracks. 

But instead of attacking him, instead of going for his neck again and sucking the rest of his blood, instead of beating Steve to a pulp to keep him pliant and unmoving and turn him into some sort of personal livestock, Kas just... sits down next to him. Hands in his lap. Worried look trained on Steve, who needs to catch his breath and calm down.

"Hurt." 

It startles Steve. Kas has never spoken to him. But what’s more, Steve shouldn't be that obvious. He doesn't want to be that obvious, especially about hurting and being hurt. 

So he shakes his head, his hands coming up to press into his eyes, hoping to get rid of the flickering lights even though he knows that once they stop, the pain will come; and it will come badly. 

"'M not hurt," he says, lying through his teeth and the heel of his hand. "I just gotta go home." 

"Hurt," Kas says again, and it's more assertive this time, less of a question. Like he's telling Steve rather than asking. Like he's making him understand. 

He reminds Steve a little of Robin in that regard, and he almost has to smile. He would, too, if he wasn't so aware that it would become a horrible grimace, wavering and pale even by vampire hermit standards. 

So he sighs instead, letting his hands fall into his lap and wringing his fingers. There are about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. Not enough to get anywhere safe on foot, and he sure as hell ain't driving when his vision is halfway through its rendition of a TV without signal, zig-zagging in white and red and green, flickering and flaring and leaving him a little disoriented even when all he's doing is sitting on that dusty old couch. 

"Hurt," Kas repeats for the third time, and Steve tenses, ready to snap at him to shut up, that he's not hurt yet but will be any minute now and that Kas should really just shut the fuck up and leave himself if he won't let Steve go anywhere. 

But looking at those wide eyes, he doesn't snap. He deflates. His shoulders fall and his eyes close, which only makes the flickers worse, he feels.

“I’m… I’m gonna have a migraine," he sighs, letting that hang in the air between them, letting the words take up the whole room and suffocate him while he knows that they won't touch Kas. That he won't understand. Nobody does. 

It's just a headache, Steve, get over it. 

They leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's just waiting for the huff to come. 

But it doesn't come. Instead, Kas just keeps looking at him; same worried expression, same unobtrusive posture, same everything. Right. He probably doesn't know jackshit about what that's supposed to mean. 

So Steve explains. “I, well. I kinda can't really see right now, but that'll pass. That's when the pain comes. I won't want to move. No light. No noise. No nothing. And all I can do about it is wait it out, which is why I need you to let me leave..." 

It's one of those moments where he hates that he's the only one of their group with a license; that he can't just radio with a code red and have someone come get him no questions asked. 

"I just wanna go home, man," he sighs, hating his voice for the weak whine around the edges. 

A beat passes between them, and Steve pretends like he's not counting the seconds. Like he doesn't notice that the flickering zigzag line is getting smaller and dimmer, and that agony is imminent. 

"Here," Kas says then, and somehow it's both an offer and a command. "You. Here."

Steve blinks, the words not really translating through the tired fog of his brain. 

"Huh? Sorry, uh, what?" 

"You," Kas says, shuffling closer to him, like that sort of helps him translate what it is he wants to say. 

"Me." 

Kas nods, then motions around the room and pats the couch cushion, releasing a cloud of dust from it. "Here."

“You—“ Steve frowns. "You want me to stay here?"

The nod is decisive and in another world Steve would have called it eager, with the way Kas is shuffling on the spot. 

"Kas," Steve sighs, rubbing his face, not quite sure how to make the vampire explain that it's gonna be bad. Really, really bad. The flickering shimmer is already waning, and phantom pains are already setting in, settling along his skull like little pinpricks of warning. 

A clawed hand reaches for his wrist, making Steve flinch away, but Kas doesn't hurt him. He pulls Steve’s hand away from his face almost gently, slowly, and makes sure Steve looks at him. 

"Safe." And he looks so genuine about it. He looks like he knows what that word means. "Safe." 

With a sigh, Steve accepts his fate. Kas isn't gonna let him go anytime soon, and at this point Steve really doesn't want to face the gloomy weather outside, stuck as it is somewhere between drizzle and downpour and so endlessly grey for days. 

Still he feels pathetic about it. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like a last bastion falling, the castle walls crumbling, the fragile house of cards finally falling, because suddenly this agony isn't something he keeps only to himself. 

Even if it's only Kas who witnesses it. Kas, who’s endured worse than that, Steve knows. Brainwashing, manipulation, the agony of shaping human into vampire so excruciating his mind has gone into hiding still. 

"Okay," Steve breathes at last, pretending that his voice didn't break on that single word. "Okay."

Kas hums, the sound resembling more a gurgle than anything else, and before Steve knows what's happening, cold hands are pulling him up and off the couch. 

"Jesus," he mumbles, barely catching his footing and pulling away from Kas's grasp, but following nonetheless, not even thinking about fleeing now. "I'm coming, I'm coming, man, don't touch me." 

Miraculously, Kas does stay away, walking just one step ahead of Steve, turning towards him every two steps to make sure he's still following. It reminds Steve of a mama duck herding her ducklings across the street and making sure they're all still there. It's weirdly endearing. 

"Why do you even care?" 

He doesn't get an answer, but that's no surprise, and he doesn't really mind either. It was more about wondering, about putting that question out there and letting it take up space for future contemplation. 

Kas leads him to an adjoining room, the north-facing windows all barred shut, ripped and moth-eaten curtains drawn to block out the last of the light. Right. Fitting, for a vampire's lair. 

The bed in the middle of the far wall is surprisingly large, though, and looks surprisingly soft. It's unmade, but that's just as well. There are no belongings in the room otherwis that Steve can make out, the framed pictures on the wall look as dusty as the rest of the cabin, so they can't belong to Kas. Or maybe he likes them enough to keep them, to claim them as his own now. 

It’s a heartbreaking thought. 

Stupidly and out of nowhere, Steve wonders if he could take care of this cabin. Dust it and clean it and only fill it with things Kas likes. Maybe things Munson used to like — surely the kids would know how to go about that. Or Wayne. 

He's about to ask; about the pictures, about the stuff, about Wayne — if he's been around lately, if he's still telling stories to bring back the dormant Eddie parts of his modified and manipulated mind.

But just as he's about to turn to the vampire and ask, the blinding flickers disappear from his field of vision in the dark room, and within seconds something inside his skull bursts, leaving his body awash with pain that nearly has his knees buckling. A whimper escapes him that he tries to steer into a groan, but then his hands are flying to his head and he stops caring about how he expresses this immediate agony to the world. 

Kas is on him again with a whimper, suddenly just as fucking tactile as his once-human form. 

“Don’t touch me,” Steve rasps, wrenching himself free from the gasp once more. He really wishes Kas would stop touching him. "You want me to lie down here, yeah? Take your bed?" 

Kas nods again, looking at Steve with those wide eyes that seem to glow in the dark — or maybe that's his migraine-addled mind seeing things where they aren't, making up for the blind spot and the flickering. 

Steve looks away, the motion hurting his entire face, and he closes his eyes as pins and needles are moving along the inside of his face, pricking up against the skin but never breaking through. 

"Right then," he whispers, his voice barely audible and still too loud, making his ears click and pressure collect around them, making him wonder if they're going to burst. "'M gonna lie down." 

Struggling with the heavy blanket, Steve is close to giving up and just lying on top of it, but Kas is quick to help him once he realises that Steve needs it. He pulls back the blanket, still looking so damn stricken about everything, like he's genuinely worried about Steve. It doesn't make sense. 

He doesn't have the strength for a Thanks or even a smile, but he nods just once, just barely, before sluggishly falling onto the bed and fumbling with the blanket once more. Every movement hurts. Every twitch of a muscle is too much, and just moving his pinkie is enough to douse his body in never-ending pain that travels from his skull all the way down.

Something Steve has always wondered is why migraines make his body shut down like that, leaving him in a state where all he can do is lie down and fall into a near-catatonic limbo until the pain has lifted enough to face the rest of the world again. Fighting inter-dimensional monsters and posing as a feast to demonic, modified monster bats was also agony. It also made him lose his footing and almost pass out from blood loss and pain, his back scratched open completely where the bats dragged him across rough stone. 

Migraine pains don't really compare to those, though, and it scares him. Because he knows that's all up in his brain. His fucked up, mangled, thrice-concussed fucking brain he never got cared for because the government goons never took them seriously. Never took him seriously. 

And now here he is, lying in a stranger's bed in a pitch-black room that's still somehow too bright, unmoving, too weak to even pull up the blanket, and hoping to pass out from it all. Hoping he won't hallucinate again this time. Hoping that he won't throw up this time, his body convulsing because it knows it shouldn't be feeling like this. 

Throwing up from pain. There's really nothing more fucked up than that. Or, there is. Throwing up from pain and begging an invisible man to make it stop, only to realise hours later that the most painful migraines can also make you hallucinate. 

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of that ever again, and certainly not in a strange, dark cabin with a vampire forged from a human he never even liked. 

Tears spring to his eyes, but they're not the kind that'll fall and bring relief. They just stay in the corners of his eyes, his only way to express the waves and flares of pain washing over him, wishing he could just pass out now. 

Kas tucks him in. Steve didn’t know he could do that. It strikes him as extremely non-vampiric even in this state he’s in. Steve doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as blink his eyes open as the pain travels up to his hairline and settles there, flaring over his forehead to his eyes and down to his cheekbones and then up again, a never-ending motion that he never stands a chance to get used to. 

“Safe,” Kas says again, and it zings through Steve’s body with violent force that doesn’t match at all with the gentle tone he’s using. 

Scrunching his forehead to stave off more words, Steve hopes that Kas will take the hint and know to shut up. 

But he has no such luck. 

“Here.” 

“Shhh.” He shakes his head minutely, shushing the vampire with a barely there noise, keeping the damage to a minimal amount. “You can go,” he slurs, trying not to speak at all. “Please.” 

A beat of blessed, blissful silence, before there’s shuffling again. Kas does walk to the door, but then stops in the doorway. Steve doesn’t want to look. 

“No.” Kas sounds surprised about it. Mystified. Like he wants to leave but can’t. 

What?

“Stay. Here.” 

Whatever you do, just please be quiet about it, Steve thinks desperately. Instead of saying any of that, he shushes him again, hoping that the thump he hears means that Kas is sitting on the floor now. Though he doesn’t understand why. 

Why do you even care? 

“Safe,” Kas says again, whispering the word into the room, and it doesn’t zing through Steve this time. 

With Kas refusing to leave and his pathetic state of existence so blatantly on display, and with waves and waves as his nerves fire signals to his overworked and tired brain, more tears sprint to his eyes. And this time they fall. Silently, and without a sob, without even a sniffle of acknowledgment. But they fall. 

And Steve just wants to go home.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @hammity-hammer (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

part 2 here

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Lunar's mental health. An update.

TW: bad mental health, EDs, depression, s/h, personal stuff, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, vent, self hate, heavy topics.

Sorry I haven't been posting!!

An update on me.

...Hi, you might know me as Lunar, or, TheLunarSystemWrites! I'm just an artist on here, trying to do things I like.... right?

Well, unfortunately, real life doesn't really... care. It doesn't care if I have friends to talk to, art to make, things I like to do.

I've been exhausted, physically and mentally. I've been busy working a lot in our home. (Painting, building, packing, inside work, cooking, etc) and it's always stressful... we're starting to get a little tight on money.

I've spent majority of my time in my bed. I don't wanna face my family members, so I've hidden away. It's hard to get up every day, and try to find the will to take care of myself.

I also recently relapsed with Bulimia, a disorder that, essentially means I throw up whatever I eat. I've been purging since September 16th, 2022. But I had awhile where I only purged once a day or none, but I'm back at it with full force. So my body doesn't have any energy left. I've also now lost my periods do to it.

I don't sleep well. It's much easier to stay up all night than waste my only free time sleeping. So I have no energy from sleeping well unless I sleep a whole day away, which makes me groggy.

Self harm is also something bothering me too, I'm too tired to do it and yet I keep doing it. Wasting precious spoons on it, I literally can't be clean for a whole year this year, that dream is dead. But, I am a few days clean as I type!

Suicidal and intrusive thoughts have been.... pesky. But I can't just leave my friends, plus I have prizes to make.

But, I'm unmotivated. I can't seem to write or draw anything. All my art is looking... regressed, to me. Everything is repetitive.

I've hated myself now more than ever in my life, I'm in a pretty bad place and I hate how self aware I am.

SPEAKING of regression! I have like, regression block. My brain isn't working with me, isn't regressing unless Involuntary. So my main coping mechanism is.... out of order.

I've been angry at the world, really pissy and moody. Tired, hungry, sad, then happy but not much. Numbness is a huge factor, I'm feeling depressed.

Not to mention, there's drama everywhere I look. This creator gets bullied, that one turns out to be disgusting. People get doxxed over opinions... it's constantly anxiety that I'll be wrongly accused, ridiculed, or abandoned. It's terrifying that people will go at each other's throats. It's exhausting to deal with it and be dragged into drama with problematic people.

Every day has been the same for me for the past 3 years. I'm tired, bored, understimulation controls me.

My friends are my lifeline right now.

I feel uncomfortable in my own body all the time, unsatisfied with my art, everything is essentially falling apart in my life.

Depression, anxiety... not a good mix to wake up disoriented and anxious, then gave zero spoons throughout the day. I'm not in a good home situation right now.

So... I kinda just... haven't been posting, role-playing, answering DMs, answering asks, etc...

I'm burnt out.

I feel like I'm a walking corpse.

Useless even.

I don't feel like myself anymore, I barely have the energy to talk to friends, every little bad things sets me back. I just can't bring myself to really engage much anymore.

So... sorry. I'm sorry, if I wasted your time. Or if this isn't like what you wanted to hear. I'm just not okay anymore, April was the last good month I had this year. APRIL.

I just wanted to update you all, there's a lot of other stuff I didn't share because it's nit important. I swear I'll get to the prizes eventually, I just ain't up to it right now. Might not be for awhile, apologies in advance!!

Hope you guys can understand, I might or might not be back to doing art, who knows. But I'll definitely get things done before that if I ever stopped. It just doesn't bring me joy, I used to hope I'd make an AU people cares about, and I've barely achieved that ^^"

Hope you're all well!! Stay safe, take care!! Remember to hydrate and to try eating if you can, you're spectacular!!!

Daily clicks!! ^^

Previous pinned post.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Hiya! It's me again, ya horn boi, that is just THIRSTY for your writing 😫🙏

I was wondering- when you're able and if this one shot idea interests you (don't write it if it doesn't, this is just my sick little mind needing some fuel because AO3 is down and I'm starting to tweak).

But I was wondering if you could do a little one shot set in the Deadpool x Wolverine au? Specifically Adam using his claws on Lucifer? (It doesn't have fo be stabbing or making him bleed if you're not into that, mainly just cutting his clothes off-)

They definitely start flatting together after the film, so I like to think that this takes place at the flat and Adams been drinking cause he's still depressed (if you've seen the film he has a perfectly good reason for this), so he basically spills his feelings to Lucifer, who then takes him to bed to sleep the alcohol off. The dirty stuff happens in the morning when Adam feel super embarrassed but Lucifer tell him he feels the same.

After been hated in his own universe, Adam just baths in Lucifers praises and touches.

They get a little rough but what do you expect from two immortals that have a pain kink-

So, that's basically it, just some soft love for Adam with a lot of filth mixed in.

I just need more beefy Adam with Logans cute hair ears- if Lucifer makes a comment on them I'll buy you a car for your 21st birthday-

Anyway- thank you! 🍳

I'VE FINALLY SEEN THE MOVIE!! I was waiting to do this one when I saw the movie and now I have.

Even though they had saved their world and everyone in it, Adam couldn't fight off the depression that still clawed it's way into his mind when the dust was settled and everything was over.

He was living with Lucifer now, really he had nowhere else to go he didn't know why he even bothered trying. It was still weird to him that the Adam of this world that died was the anchor being keeping it all together.

Adam wasn't that important, he could live in any timeline apparently.

Adam raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a deep drink, he enjoyed the way it burned going down his throat. He wasn't sure now just how long he's been drinking but it's been enough to get a good buzz on.

Lucifer: Hey there- Woah, what's with the self inflicted pity party?

It was easy to see that Adam was drunk, that bottle was new but more than half gone already.

Fuck, that wasn't good.

Lucifer: Come on baby girl time for bed before we find out if you actually can drink yourself to death.

Lucifer gently reaches down and removes the bottle from Adams grip and sets it down before picking him up like he weighed nothing. Because to Lucifer he really didn't.

Adam held onto him and buried his face in Lucifer's neck.

Adam: You smell good.

Lucifer: Thank you it's called soap.

Adam: I ever tell you how much I love you?

Lucifer grinned: No, but why don't you tell me now?

Adam: I love you so much, but you've never loved me.

Lucifer was confused until he remembered the version of himself from this Adams world. So they had history there too....

Lucifer: I love you too.

Adam: You do?

Adams claws came out making Lucifer jump.

Lucifer: Woah! Watch the murder mittens cute stuff.

Adam giggled and that's how Luicfer knew he was fucking wasted. Adam never giggled especially over a silly joke he makes.

Lucifer laid him on the bed but Adam pulled him down and held him while he slept off his drunken stupor.

Lucifer: There are worse places to be than in between these perfect titties.

In the morning woke up to being held by Luicfer, his face got warm and he tried to get away.

Lucifer: What no morning kiss?

Adam groaned: Oh fuck me....

Lucifer: Well if you really want to.

He laughed nervously when Adam unsheathed one set of claws and it looked like he was going to stab him in the dick, but instead he used them to cut off his clothes.

Lucifer: Well this is a pleasant surprise.

Adam: I can change my mind.

Lucifer: Nope! Come here beautiful.~

The sex they had was a mixture of hard core rough sex and making love. Adam melted under his touch and soaked in all the praises that Lucifer showered him with as he pounded into him. The headboard was banging the wall like it was Morse code.

It could be heard throughout the apartment, good thing Charlie was out for coffee.

When they were done they laid there basking in the afterglow of their euphoric blissful state.

Luicfer: Addie.

Adam felt his eye twitch at the nickname: What?

Lucifer: You're my favorite person.

Adams face got hot again: Shut up.....

[glade-constellation]

Long ass text post here we go. All my thoughts and feelings on the current TSAMS lore.

Just a warning, there are 2496 words under the cut, lmao.

MOON :

(Warning, there is a brief mention of suicidal ideation in this section.)

First off, the whole thing with Moon. I’m personally not the biggest fan of how the fandom is handling his situation, considering he’s most likely dealing with some form of psychotic PTSD. Solar literally died in his arms. That is going to have repercussions on his mental health. He’s not crazy or insane, he is severely traumatized. And it’s not like this was a sudden change in how he behaved, he’s been showing signs of decline since Solar’s death. Monty literally saw Moon hallucinating three weeks before this confrontation happened, and just decided not to tell anyone about it. Jack heard Moon mumbling about his plans for Ruin, but Jack is young and didn’t know how to handle the situation. Moon’s computer saw the signs and also told no one. It’s not like he just snapped. This has been a steady decline built up over months. People were either too scared to share, or saw the signs and just wanted to believe nothing was wrong with him. Moon got this bad because no one tried to help him. It doesn’t help that people are viewing Moon’s self destructive actions at his literal feelings on certain things. Sun literally told Earth that Moon will say rude things to get out of an argument quicker. Everyone is so upset about the things Moon told Earth, but they aren’t understanding that Moon very likely meant absolutely nothing of what he said. He was trying to run, but Sun and Earth were standing in front of the door. He was currently running on the mindset of “hurt someone enough and they will just let you leave”. Earth has every right to be upset that he even said those things, yes, but Moon is not thinking rationally right now.

Some of the stuff he kept repeating really shows how far he’s fallen into his depression. He doesn’t care how much his family currently hates him. He doesn’t care if Solar hates him after he brings him back. He doesn’t care about pretty much anything that isn’t directly related to bringing Solar back. He even said he doesn’t care if he himself dies. He has one goal in mind and is completely blind to everything else. This is suicidal ideation. He may not want to die, but he doesn’t care if he does.

That being said, Moon has crossed so many lines. His morals have been skewed way past what most people consider wrong and right. He’s hellbent on getting Solar back, no matter the cost. He’s genuinely not thinking of anything but his end goal, which is going to, probably literally, blow up in his face. The whole point of why he’s doing this in the first place is to make his family happy, and he’s putting in a lot of effort to make it happen, but isn’t liking the real reaction he’s getting. His family isn’t just upset with him, they are scared of him. Moon may not have heard this, but both Earth and Lunar’s first question when hearing about Moon’s current state was “Is he safe to even be near right now”. Which is a valid question considering how physically violent Old Moon was. Lunar even states remembering these reactions when they used to share a body, and how much it scared him. For being so dead set on reminding people he’s not the Old Moon, it’s almost funny how far he’s crossed the line of what Old Moon did.

Even worse, Moon is using Old Moon’s sacrifice as a way to push his own current ideals. He feels he has a legacy to live up to, considering Old Moon gave his life to save Killcode, and also feels he is failing miserably at it. Killcode still ended up dying later on, Solar died in his arms, his family is still going through hell. He blames himself for everything going wrong, even if we as an audience know none of it is his fault. He won’t stop until he feels vindicated of these “failures”. Eclipse had a comment in a recent episode about how all Moons run on a hyped up sense of ego, and that’s very clearly showing with what Moon’s feeling right now. Moon takes extreme pride in being the protector of the family, and feels he has failed in every way imaginable.

( I would also like to point out how Moon keeps saying he’s getting back a Ruin for what he did, but that’s not even his plan anymore. When Bloodmoon took Ruin, Moon sent Molten after them and said he could have Ruin. Ruin was the whole reason Molten even showed up in the first place. Moon changed trajectory and decided to use Bloodmoon to bring Solar back, because he agreed to let Molten have Ruin if he could find where the two had gone. Bloodmoon may be a reoccurring villain, but he had nothing to do with Solar’s death. He’s honest in mourning as well, over his brother that Moon helped kill. Bloodmoon is a bystander in this situation that is being dragged in unwillingly. Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea considering Bloodmoon is going after Monty, but this feels morally wrong. )

Sun :

This episode showed a lot about how far Sun has come in the past two years. Back when the show first started, Sun would have immediately caved in an argument like this. He would have made a point to get his side across, but his voice would shake and he’d stutter over his words and physically cower away from Moon. Now he faced Moon and very clearly spoke his side of the argument. He walked right up to Moon while talking too. It’s almost got this bittersweet feel, because he’s grown past his trauma with Old Moon, but like. It’s sad that his reaction is what it is in the first place. The moment he learned what was happening with Moon, he acted resigned. Like he knew he was going to be the only one to be able to deal with it. He never should have needed to learn this reaction in the first place.

Eclipse comment about Sun being the most stable in this situation is so sad to me, because it’s true. Sun has spent his entire life dealing with Moon. Most of Sun’s problems that he’s had to deal with, for his entire life, have been due to Moon. It’s the sad truth. Sun woke up, then Moon appeared and straight up told him that he would make his life a living hell. When they finally began functioning as siblings and decided to split bodies, Moon created Eclipse. On top of Eclipse, Moon still acted out and would both verbally and physically berate Sun. When Moon was reset, he then had to deal with Moon misjudging his grief over what he had lost. He’s had years of experience handling Moon and his outbursts. Sun may not be perfectly fine, but he is currently the most equipped to handle this situation.

There’s something poetic about how this current situation parallels Sun’s past. He also dealt with a psychotic episode after he killed Bloodmoon, and was locked in a box as Moon’s attempt to stop him from killing Eclipse. There’s a lot of similarities. I think the biggest difference is simply how Sun is handling this versus how Moon handled it. Moon trapped Sun in a small box that he could barely move around in and stripped him of his magic, leaving Sun completely defenseless. The fact that the box was invisible was probably also not helping with Sun’s hallucinations. Sun was left alone in probably one of the most defenseless positions he could have been left in, and didn’t seem to be planning on ways to help him after Sun was trapped.

Sun is going in with a plan, something Moon didn’t have. He also has help from the rest of the family. What I’m hoping is that Sun won’t do the same to Moon, and that the containment room that gets built is an actual room. I’m hoping Sun plans for after Moon gets captured. Earth probably won’t want to hold a therapy session with Moon after what Moon said to her, but that doesn’t mean they give up on giving him therapy. That doesn’t mean they give up on getting him help. (With the luck of the TSAMS characters, this probably won’t happen, but I wish.)

Earth :

Earth as a character in general is probably the most relatable to me besides Lunar. It sometimes makes talking about her situation hard for me, so I apologize if this section doesn’t do her justice.

It’s obvious that Sun isn’t the only one dealing with revisiting old trauma. Earth has brought it up in many episodes how much she can’t bring herself to trust her own family due to the Creator. She wants to, so badly. She makes excuses for her brothers when she sees signs of them not being truthful, because she wants to believe they would never hurt her that way. She wholeheartedly did not want to believe something was wrong with Moon until Eclipse brought her irrefutable truth.

She’s stumbling. She already deals with a heavy amount of self doubt, and now she is dealing with everything Moon said to her. A lot of who she is is built around this idea of needing to be perfect, to be good at what she does. That was the whole point of why the Creator made her. She is the Better Daycare Attendant. Moon calling her a fake therapist and telling her that she’s bad at what she does tore down that already wobbly sense of perfection. She’s been trying to logic her way through every time she feels herself become imperfect or inadequate, but she can’t work past what Moon told her using the same tactics. Not only is Moon someone whose opinion matters a lot to her, he was blunt in the way he worded things.

Her trust is shattered, her pride is destroyed, and it’s bringing up a lot of past trauma she hasn’t fully worked through. She’s also still dealing with Solar’s death on top of this. The only person who will sit down and listen to her problems, that she is comfortable talking to about them, is Eclipse. He’s one of the most unqualified people to help deal with these problems, in all honesty. Everyone else is either busy or dealing with too much of their own shit. There’s a lot she needs to work through, but there isn’t a clear or easy way to do that. There never really is, but this situation is definitely terrible circumstances for it.

I do think we might see an argument between her and Monty soon. Learning that they kept Moon’s condition a secret did not make her happy. In my opinion, a valid reaction. I don’t really care how good Monty and Moon’s friendship is or used to be. They absolutely shouldn’t have kept this information to themself.

Lunar :

There isn’t much to say for him as he didn’t have a large part in the episode (understandably on Reed’s part). He honestly has so much going on right now that I’m not really surprised by his reaction. It’s just one more thing going on. He’s stressed constantly and can barely handle what’s happening just with his own stuff.

It’s interesting to me that he said the situation would make him cry. Currently, I feel like Lunar hasn’t really cried since he was revived. He’s more prone to bursts of anger nowadays, or just some form of dissociation. Him saying he would cry and talking about his past when sharing a body with Moon feels like falling back on old trauma responses.

I’m interested to see if we get his reaction to this situation in future episodes.

Eclipse :

Obligatory Eclipse mention on my part. I’ve already talked about him recently, but I will always take any chance to talk about my guy.

I absolutely love how he keeps trying to tell himself he doesn’t know why he’s helping. He obviously knows why he’s doing it, he’s just too prideful to admit it. I’m still not over the “I’ve come to learn with Moons, they’re really egotistical. Reminds me of myself.” He is so overly self aware, and finally seems to be at the point of realizing that.

It’s upsetting that there’s a real chance he’s going to leave once Solar is back. Dark made it sound like he was going to have to die in order for Solar to live, which is even worse. Despite Moon saying that no one will ever love him, I do think Earth will mourn him when he’s gone, regardless of if he dies or leaves. There’s a slight possibility Lunar would as well, considering Lunar still has a part of him that wishes for the brotherhood they could have had. After that one conversation in the atrium, Lunar seems to have calmed down a little, and Eclipse has definitely grown a little past where he was.

Solar :

This section is pretty speculative, and more about stuff I couldn’t really fit in Moon’s section that related to Solar. (Warning, this section briefly talks about suicide.)

I am still reeling over what Moon said about Solar’s reaction when he brings him back. The whole line about letting Solar die again if he wants. Like, there are several layers of “fucked up” to that statement.

First, I don’t believe Moon one bit on that statement. I don’t truly believe that Moon would ever, under any circumstance, let any of his family willingly die. He is much too prideful of his role as protector, and he cares far too much for his siblings to let them get that far. He’s also grieving for Solar, I don’t think he’d ever let go of him if they’re able to bring him back. He didn’t let Killcode die when they separated, there’s no way he’s letting Solar right after he gets him back.

Second, that’s not how that works. If Moon brings Solar back, he is then responsible for the life he brought back. Willingly letting Solar die again because Solar wants it is literally enabling suicide. That’s just, no. I wouldn’t ever be able to look at Moon the same if he allowed that.

But I doubt Solar would want that if he was brought back. As much as he’s probably going to hate what Moon’s doing right now, I highly doubt he would throw away another chance at life. He would absolutely respect the effort put into getting him back, even if he didn’t necessarily like the actions taken. I don’t think Moon’s plan is going to work anyways. I really do think Eclipse is going to be the one to pull it off, probably after Moon tries, which is going to cause a lot of things between them.

[starrysnowdrop]

Why Hermes?

So, some of you might have wondered why I decided to ship Hali’s Azem, Urania, with Hermes instead of your usual Emet, Hyth, or even Elidibus. As I have been asked this particular question before, I decided to write out my answer here for all that are curious to know. And what better opportunity to do so while celebrating #AppleSyrcus Week! This was supposed to be the entry for the Free Day, but I’m a bit late for that, so I apologize for the delay.

See below the cut for the full details.

I want to start by saying that it’s been difficult at times for me to talk about Hermes, for multiple reasons, but possibly the biggest reason is that so many in the fandom seem to hate him. I mean he is the one that is easy to point to and say that he caused the final days in the first place and that he’s to blame for literally everything that happened afterwards. I won’t get into a debate here about how much of it was Hermes to blame, or the Ancients’ society at large, but there’s no denying of his role in the Final Days, being the creator of the Meteia and letting Meteion escape after knowing what the Meteia planned to do. So I get it, I really do. But it also means that it makes me really anxious about even talking about him, let alone gpose or write about him. Over time it’s gotten easier, so I’m okay with writing this out now.

Here’s the thing. From the beginning, I was in the “love to hate him” camp about Fandaniel. I was intrigued with his character and wanted to know more, but I wasn’t exactly excited about his total nihilism, especially in the Pre-EW patches when we first got a taste of him. He got a bit more interesting after the Amon reveal right before Tower of Zot. As a fan of Allag stuff, I liked the reveal and all, but I still didn’t know at all what to expect next. When we got to Fandaniel’s death when he became the heart of Zodiark, I felt like he was an interesting villain, but not my favorite in FFXIV, and I thought that was that. I actually didn’t think we’d get anything more about Fandaniel, let alone his Unsundered self.

Then came Elpis, and the more I heard and saw, the more I realized that I was going to fall in love with this character, or should I say the Unsundered Fandaniel anyway. The reveal that his name was Hermes got me so damn giddy already because I have always loved Hermes from Greek Mythology. Then when Hermes first spoke in Elpis, I recognized Jeremy Ang Jones’ voice, as he was clearly Amon/Fandaniel, but he spoke so softly and it just hit me with the feels instantly. I have no idea why, but I find a great voice to be a huge turn on, and Hermes just did it for me. His beautiful green eyes also greatly help in the sexiness department for me.

Seriously though, the more I learned of Hermes, the more I felt for him. His caring nature and compassion for all of the creations that entered his care, his devotion and fatherly love for Meteion, and his kindness towards the WoL, who was just a particularly odd familiar to his knowledge, just made me love him so deeply. And he was so unique amongst the Ancients, with his love for all creatures, not just his fellow people.

Another major reason why I got attached to Hermes was that I saw a lot of myself in him with his depression, as I myself have chronic depression, anxiety, panic attacks, PTSD, and I am also neurodivergent. Hermes spoke to me in a way that not many of the other characters had before. Though he was this all powerful Ancient, an immortal being who had the power of creation, and held an important position in his world, he still was not happy, and he was disillusioned with Ancient society. Hermes feels so real to me, and I couldn't shake how much I felt for him.

Even way after I had finished 6.0, I still couldn’t shake him from my mind. Though I had no intention on shipping my Azem with him for the longest time, since it took me nearly 2 years to do so, he had stolen my heart, just as Aymeric, G’raha, Cid, etc. had done before. When I created and developed Hali, I actually got some inspiration to flesh out her Azem, as I didn't do anything with Yume's, but I soon created Urania. And when I was writing out my ideas, my heart knew what the right choice was. I knew that Urania would love Hermes, but it ultimately is a tragic love story since it doesnt work out, as they are broken up before the summonings of Zodiark and Hydaelyn and the Sundering. Unlike how I had written Yume, Hali's Unsundered self would be the kind-hearted, compassionate, and understanding person that would be perfect to see Hermes for who he is and fall in love with him, even though Hermes will ultimately sabotage the relationship and push Urania away over and over again.

Lastly, I wanted to point out that my love is very much for Hermes, and not as much for Fandaniel as the sundered ascian. I very much see Hermes, Amon, and Ascian Fandaniel as all separate characters, even though they all share the same soul whose trauma can be first attributed to the suffering that Hermes experienced. Though I still sympathize with Fandaniel to a point, I certainly do not ship Hali with Fandaniel, nor Hermes even. This is because Hali's heart belongs to Aymeric, and although she recognizes that she has some feelings for Hermes when she meets him in Elpis, Hali ultimately attributes that to Urania's feelings and not her own.

As of right now, I am still figuring out not only a canon timeline, especially with the newest short story coming in and wrecking a few things that I had planned, but I also have a few headcanons for the Modern AU with Urania x Hermes. So for now, I’ll give you a handful of headcanons for the Modern AU.

Hermes is a single father who adopted Meteion when she was a few months old, and she is obviously not a familiar in this modern setting but a little girl who wants her papa to find love. He is in graduate school working towards his master’s and eventually his PhD in Astronomy, but he still doesn’t earn enough to support himself and his daughter, so he is a barista at the local coffee shop. It is at the coffee shop where he meets Urania, who is a regular customer. They then bump into each other at the university and realize that they are in the same Astronomy graduate program. Some other hobbies that Hermes has include cooking, bird watching, and stargazing, along with spending his free time with Meteion as much as he can. I’m still figuring out how I want the romance to develop, but I’m very excited about this AU because it can just be a sweet love story and no big bad stuff happening like the Final Days.

That's about it for why I love Hermes as a character, and ultimately why I decided to ship my Azem with him. Please feel free to send me an ask or a message if you have any further questions or comments.

[vanillafalvoredcoffee]

X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡

My personal views on Kianna as a Yandere!

X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡

[ !Warning! This blog mentions : Bad writing, Stealing, very brief mentions of kidnapping (not attempted...maybe), Depression, Obsessive behavior and Overall toxic behavior teehee ]

[ ♡ BE CAREFUL DARLING ♡ ]

I couldn't help but see Kianna that would be that kind of person to be in denial about her love for her love interest...at first ofcourse!

Maybe she'll be more distant to her love interest or even unintentionally became more cold and mean towards them, because she doesn't know how to express her feelings properly at that time, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't love them...it's the opposite in fact

She'll try to make it up for it though! She does feel bad about making her beloved cry that one time...would just an apology be alright? Or should she buy some biscuits for them? Oh That reminds her! The bakery across her school has limited edition cheese cake right?

Occasionally she'll visit the place her love interest usually go to just to hang around in there until she finally see who she wanted to see all this time...

she would glance at them from afar but as soon as they notice her she'll immediately act like she didn't see them at all, it's not like she came here to see them or anything! She just happened to be around here that's all! >:T

Anyway...

Day after Day her affection for them only grows and grows, she finds herself in her darling's house holding a stuffed doll...Ahhh it used be their favorite when they're a kid right? Hopefully they don't mind...but they'll probably forget alll about this dirty little thing anyway <3

It's not time she's been here, her darling invites her there all the time! But they don't know that she has her hands on every little thing her darling has, the old toys that they have, the book that they never care to read...all the small things that her love interest wouldn't even notice, it may not be all that important to them but...it's important to Kianna 'kay?

Even after that, everything is going quite well

The only thing that's different is that...her darling seems to be a lot more clingy to her lately...strange...but it's not like Kianna really mind <3

Soon, her beloved began to buy her favorite foods for lunch, complimenting her looks, and even spending more time with her...what's with all the sudden attention she's getting? Are they trying to flirt with her or something? Oh well...she'll entertain them

She actually kinda enjoys her beloved's presence all this time, ever since she met them...it's the very first time she met someone like them...someone that's so incredibly nice to her despite...well everything about her.

Deeper down she feels very guilty about what she feels about them...she knows that it's wrong but she couldn't help but wanting absolutely anything to fulfill the hole in her chest and to not feel so disgusted when she's looking in the mirror.

She always hated how she looks...that flat chested, ugly, fat looking thing in the mirror...no matter how many times she tries to forget about it. The only time she could put that feeling aside is to have her beloved by her side :(

Suddenly they're the one confessing their love to her with a pink envelope in their hand with an embarrassed look on their face...cute.

Kianna never thought they would love her back but... she was delighted to finally see that her angel is finally hers and hers alone ♡

♡ It's too late for them to escape from her grasp now because if they do...she'll do anything to keep them with her...forever ♡

♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X

(Note: This is a character made by @nunezs-stuff, and the purpose of this is for anyone wanting to self-insert themself into this shitty short story or any character that you think Kianna should be shipped with to be getting obsessed over by Kianna...including me :'])

[jbbuckybarnes]

How Peter Parker would comfort and care for a depressed loved one

(don't mind me, just some self-indulgence I wrote when I was in the trenches of depression)

• "No, no, no, what we're not gonna do is feel guilty. This world is a depressing place when the rest of you isn't stable. And the world loves making people unstable."

• He'd meal prep for you, wake you up on time to keep your rhythm in check, bring you sleep tea, watch movies with you on particularly bad days.

• "What's your current take on going outside? Vitamin D might do you good." He'd ask cautiously.

• You'd tense up at the idea of spending more energy than you had but knew it was needed to get better.

• "I can...carry you to the rooftop?" He'd raise his brow.

• You'd do grabby hands at him from the bed.

• You'd chill on the sunny rooftop for 45 minutes every now and then, not talking much, just existing.

• "What are your thoughts on therapy?" He'd mumble a few weeks down the line.

• "The only thing my insurance covers is CBT. I fucking hate CBT."

• "What if we figure out a way to pay someone you can choose?"

• "I don't wa-" "Na-ah, friends help friends survive."

• Please imagine Spider-Man making a couple extra bucks by helping people install solar panels and carrying heavy stuff.

• He'd sit down next to you with a laptop and you'd search for therapy options.

• "DBT. IFS. EFT. The other EFT. Hypnotherapy. Logo Therapy. Integrative Therapists for Psychedelics. Somatic Experiencing." Even he was overwhelmed with the option.

• "IFS. Hypnotherapy. Maybe Logo Therapy." You mumbled and he decluttered the tabs.

• You landed on a woman doing both IFS & Hypnotherapy. Both things that intrigued you.

• "I mean if nothing else works...drugs still exist." You'd shrug and he'd smirk at that.

• He'd bring you to your first appointment giving you the biggest hug before you went in.

• The woman would explain to you that you needed to get mentally resourced first and that she'd try with a specific type of hypnosis to see if that helps.

• When Peter saw you get out of the building he'd instantly put his arm around you while walking.

• "I'm so tired." You'd mumble leaning against him while walking, trusting him to lead the way while you were spacing out, "Gonna tell you about it after a long sleep."

• You'd wake up the next morning with energy. Still depressed, but not quite as depressed as the previous days. He slept over to make sure there were no weird aftereffects.

• You would look at him sleeping and get up to make yourself something simple to eat.

• He'd peek his eye open before both of them were wide open seeing you standing in the kitchen.

• "Woah." He mumbled before getting up and hugging you.

• "How was it?" You paused for a second, "That's what he said."

• You told him what the hypnosis felt like and that you went back to the origin of your depression and did some inner child work thing. And the hypnosis took a lot more out of you than you expected. And now you had more energy and hoped it wasn't short-form placebo.

• "Even if it is, she can still do the other work with you." You nodded.

• "Can we go for a short walk?" He'd eagerly nod.

• Over the weeks you'd get better and better at coping with your symptoms and connecting to your inner parts. You'd figure out your triggers and how to calm yourself out of them.

• He'd love to see you flourish and take you on little friend (👀) dates all across New York City the more energy you'd have.

• He'd make sure you'd keep seeing the beautiful things in the world. He'd program your TV to not show news. He'd actually send you good news deliberately.

• "We should live together." You'd suggest.

• "If you can handle the feds searching the apartment at some point." He'd giggle.

• "I'd be good with that. I'd hide little things making it awkward for them." You both laughed.

[burntnotices]

you know, fandom is weird for me.

im in a lot, passively and actively. i love a lot of things. but burn notice, you know?

its been the literal Sun to my Earth for over nine years now. sure, the fandom certainly predates me even being aware of its existence. (i was indeed in the single digits when it first aired.) but there was a period of time, roughly around 15-19 where i WAS the fandom.

of course people were around, here and there. burn notice was an incredibly popular show, but not a Popular Show.

it was one of those that dominated the public eye for a couple dazzling years, fizzled out, and then entirely forgotten.

it has had its resurgence lately. not a “big” one, but a notable one no doubt. and it made me realize,

i have hinged my whole adult (and teenage) identity on this show. being this show’s number one fan. and when it gets down to it, and i see people enjoying the show that i literally have been a walking advertisement for, for the greater part of a decade, its bittersweet.

finally, people listen. but also, i feel a lack of a sense of self.

of course dubbing myself “THE burn notice person” when there was no fandom was egotistical and pointless at best, i never really imagined that identity being challenged.

and, no, obviously nobody is challenging it. that’s silly. it was never a serious title to begin with, but just a joking testament to my dedication and passion for the series. but in a way, it was.

but with the spreading of the show, i realize that being a vessel of transmitting Burn Notice Brainworms is pretty much moot now. like im not needed?

and god it sounds so dumb to say. im so depressed and self-hating but have such an elevated sense of self and worth about the dumbest stuff. it just sounds so (for lack of a better word) narcissistic of me to want to disappear the second im not “important” anymore. so on brand, and i really hate it.

its just all so fucking dumb. i know how dumb it is to feel this way, but i also still feel a sense of grief and loss over something i never had a say over in the first place.

i think part of it is that i wasted all of my teen and young adult years being a hermit, doing nothing but watching the show over, and over, and over, and over, and over, with nothing to show for it. i feel like i have entitlement to it because of that, and thats so fucking dumb. i don’t know why i am that way. i wish i wasnt.

i wish i could just be happy to have people who i share an interest with, but it just makes me want to disappear?

im no stranger to self-sabotage, but something about this feels different than that. i can’t explain it.

i don’t know. i can’t really explain why i feel such a sense of ownership over something i absolutely have no business feeling entitled to.

maybe its one of those “i suffered so everyone else should too” mentalities?

yknow, being bullied by my peers for being weird, or being told to shut up about it by my friends, both online and off, and my parents and family completely tuning me out whenever i spoke. “carrying” the fandom into the 2020’s by being annoying and loud.

i know i didnt DO anything for this fandom. i didn’t carry anything. nothing would be different today whether i was here or not. im owed nothing. people deserve to love the show, i want people to, but i still backslide into feeling like i should just throw in the towel because someone will love it more. someone will do better than me.

maybe thats why i liked competing for the title of “the best” in a ring with no opponents. so i could feel important for once. i know i stand up to no one, in anything i do. my art. my video game scores. my trivia. my money. my collections.

and when that “”title”” is challenged, i feel lost again. not because im in the ring with a bunch of people, but because nobody else is even competing, and yet i still lose. because everyone else is at the bar next door.

im the fool for trying to win at a social setting.

but then, i never really was equipped for socialization anyway. somewhere the wires got crossed.

anyway, i don’t really remember what my point was. i guess im just complaining. nothing new.

im just glad that burn notice has people who care about it.

[hms-no-fun]

Currently struggling a lot with getting very excited about a project, writing a lot, editing that writing until it's way more polished than what I can come up with off the cuff, and then being too intimidated to add to the document anymore since the previous good writing still gives off this looming intimidation if that makes sense? The more I write the greater the fear is I'll crash the story into a ditch that reveals the premise can't work. have you had that "its not all coming together shit theres a snag thats really important that i missed" moment? I realize it's pretty inevitable for that to happen, but whenever I write myself out of a moment like that I always second guess that I'm still overlooking something important or taking the easy way out. I know it's probably just all about pushing through but I worry that by pushing im just further diluting the original spirit of the project? Sorry for the all over the place ask, hope you have a good day :3

this is always a tough situation to navigate as a writer. happens to me often, and it has taken me a very long time to come even remotely close to being able to deal with it productively. believe it or not, i actually have quite a lot to say about this, so prepare for that below the break.

first of all, no, it's absolutely NOT all about pushing through. i find "pushing through" can just as often make the problem worse. keep in mind that i can only speak to my own experience and process, so any advice i might give here should only be taken insofar as you personally find it useful.

this is a form of writer's block. there are many different types of blocks, each with their own causes and hypothetical treatments. a big part of becoming A Writer as such is learning the difference between them, and developing methods for dealing with them on a case by case basis that don't involve substance abuse. don't do cocaine. that's step one.

most of my blocks are in the vein you describe. i'll be writing a scene that feels good, until i cross a threshold somewhere and suddenly the whole thing feels dead in the water. the first thing i do when this happens is stop writing. it's hard to stop when you're on a roll, i know. life is short and it's hard enough to write even on a good day, but sometimes you can just tell that you're on the wrong track and at that point you're probably not gonna be able to write your way back on.

once stopped, i check the basics. have i eaten recently? am i hydrated? have i taken my medications? these are rarely my problem (i keep a big water bottle with me at all times and my gf makes sure i'm fed), though you never know how useful a snack break can be. most of the time if the problem isn't with the text, it's that i've been writing for too fucking long and i need to clock out. learning to clock out is SO hard. but as i've been getting into the habit these last couple months, while i generally write less per day i ultimately end up writing more over time. i can feel my brain cooking when i've been writing too long. it's a muscle like anything else. if you did a bunch of overtime shifts at a more physical job, you'd need time to recover too. your body isn't a machine, your brain isn't a computer, and living things are inconsistent. it sucks but you'll have a better time all around when you learn to work with your body instead of against it.

another question is, have i showered recently? i find showers tedious and boring. also i still have depression even though my life is a lot better than it used to be. i lived on my own for a very long time as a deeply closeted self-hating trans woman, so my hygiene habits are not always up to sniff. as much as i hate to admit it, showers help. i can't tell you how many times i've sat at a godfeels chapter or video script and just felt fucking miserable, only to come back forty minutes later from a shower, full of creative energy. i despise self-help shit. just not a fan of the culture of positive attitude wellness check stuff because you can't self examine your way out of your class position. sometimes the problem is that you're broke. sometimes life fucking sucks and you just don't have the art in you, and that's okay. there's a common misconception that if something bad happens to you, at least you can make an art to get through it. but in my experience it's actually a lot harder to make art about bad times when you're still in them. most of the time it takes months if not years of safety and recovery before you can really face it head on artistically. so like, be nice to yourself. it's not your fault that you live in a society.

but also sometimes literally you just need a shower or to eat some leftovers or to go to fucking bed. i hate it every time that is true because i want my problems to be real and philosophical and not just some dumb body thing that happens to everyone. alas, no one can escape the quotidian obligations of simple mortality.

THAT SAID! this stuff isn't usually my problem, and often i find that what's solving the problem when i do step away to eat/drink/shower isn't even the specific activity, but the act of stepping away at all. getting my mind off it for a sec. when i hit a block that doesn't feel completely insurmountable, i like to back away from my computer and pace around a bit. then i'll stare at my big whiteboard with a marker in hand and just let my mind wander. i don't even write anything half the time! but the mere act of trying to compartmentalize the problem into something brief enough for shorthand helps me spot the pain points.

one of my favorite books is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which despite what you might assume from its title is NOT a self-help book but instead a work of philosophy from 1974 taking the form of a travelogue. what Robert Pirsig explores in this book is what he calls the Metaphysics of Quality. basically he's trying to understand the split-second judgments we make of things we like and things we don't. i absolutely do not have time to go into the specifics, just know that his Quality refers to the abstract certainty you have when something is Good or Right or Correct or Qualitatively True. like how you pull your hand away unconsciously when you touch a hot stove, but for ideas. you just Know.

a scene that really sticks with me from that book (probably the most famous scene) is when Pirsig describes needing to fix a mechanical problem with his motorcycle only to be stopped dead in his tracks by a stripped screw keeping him from removing the engine cover. he talks about being so focused on the obvious solution to the primary complex problem that, on encountering a smaller, simpler problem that has to be dealt with first, he finds himself completely stuck, calling this "a zero of consciousness." it's a problem so annoying and minuscule and stubbornly unsolvable that you just want to hit the thing with a wrench and throw it in a river. addressing this new problem, this block, requires an adjustment in thinking. and here i'm going to quote a pretty lengthy passage, but don't worry, i'm typing it out by hand with the book in front of me so there's no time saved on my end:

Consider, for a change, that this is a moment to be not feared but cultivated. If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then you may be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas. The solution to the problem often at first seems unimportant or undesirable, but the state of stuckness allows it, in time, to assume its true importance. It seemed small because your previous rigid evaluation which led to the stuckness made it small. But now consider the fact that no matter how hard you try to hang on to it, this stuckness is bound to disappear. Your mind will naturally and freely move toward a solution. Unless you are a real master at staying stuck you can't prevent this. The fear of stuckness is needless because the longer you stay stuck the more you see the Quality-reality that gets you unstuck every time. What's really been getting you stuck is the running from the stuckness [. . .] Stuckness shouldn't be avoided. It's the psychic predecessor of all real understanding. An egoless acceptance of stuckness is a key to an understanding of all Quality, in mechanical work as in other endeavors. It's this understanding of Quality as revealed by stuckness which so often makes self-taught mechanics so superior to institute-trained men who have learned how to handle everything except a new situation. Normally screws are so cheap and small and simple you think of them as unimportant. But now, as your Quality awareness becomes stronger, you realize that this one, individual, particular screw is neither cheap nor small nor unimportant. Right now this screw is worth exactly the selling price of the whole motorcycle, because the motorcycle is actually valueless until you get the screw out. With this re-evaluation of the screw comes a willingness to expand your knowledge of it. [. . .] What your actual solution is is unimportant as long as it has Quality. Thoughts about the screw as combined rigidness and adhesiveness and about its special helical interlock might lead naturally to solutions of impaction and use of solvents. That is one kind of Quality track. Another track may be to go to the library and look through a catalog of mechanic's tools, in which you might come across a screw extractor that would do the job. Or to call a friend who knows something about mechanical work. Or just to drill the screw out, or just burn it out with a torch. Or you might just, as a result of your meditative attention to the screw, come up with some new way of extracting it that has never been thought of before that beats all the rest and is patentable and makes you a millionaire five years from now. There's no predicting what's on that Quality track. The solutions all are simple-- after you have arrived at them. But they're simple only when you know already what they are.

this is, in brief, my entire creative philosophy when it comes to writer's block. i share such a lengthy passage because i think it's useful to underline that we're not talking about a problem that is necessarily unique to the labor of writing. this process is a human process. it's just that with writing, the nature of the block itself is often much more difficult to identify than a stripped screw.

there's a couple things i do to try to identify what's got me stuck. a lot of times what happens is that everything in a scene felt good until it didn't, and then everything after that moment fell flat. so i'll go back and read the whole thing and just try to feel the scene. is everyone in character? is their dialogue too quippy, or too aggressive, too expository? are we in the midst of a conversation that has simply gone on way too fucking long? i know it can be torturous to reread your own stuff but idk what else to say except get used to it. especially when you're still early in the drafting phase! like if you know you're not gonna release this thing imminently, there's no reason to be precious about the stuff that's good or to beat yourself up over the stuff that's bad. i know that compulsion to try to Get Everything Right The First Time is strong, but it's completely unsustainable.

sometimes the block is that i just don't feel like writing narration. i've always sucked at grounding a scene with descriptions of the place. lately i'm trying to get away from relying solely on descriptions of staging/blocking, but it's hard for a bitch like me who mostly prefers writing dialogue. i've gotten a lot more comfortable with putting notes between dialogue exchanges like [character moves, looks at picture, has a dramatic thought, other character fiddles with object]. it can feel like cheating sometimes but it's not. there's no such thing. no one will know the route you took to get to the end. they will only see what you show them, when you decide to show it to them.

sometimes the block is in some minor or major betrayal of the story's spirit. the (Terezi) & Jade scene i talked about in this ask is a good example. i hit a point where nothing was working anymore. no one would talk to me. the light was gone. i can always tell when i made the wrong choice. it's such a particular sensation. as though i'm walking and i realize i no longer recognize the road i'm on and must've made a wrong turn somewhere. the solution to this particular block is introspection, retracing my steps, because the wrong turn isn't always obvious. maybe it's that someone in the scene is being too mean, or that i've failed to accomplish what the scene exists to do in some way, or that someone's made an uncharacteristic choice that now everyone in the scene is arguing about and it's like, man, this is taking too long, i'm not enjoying this anymore.

another example from A1 is the second half of the solo. i'd had most of the jasprose scene, the karkat-calliope-roxy scenes, and the vrisrezi-jade scenes written since i posted the A1 chorus. where i ran into trouble was that i needed to get jane, jake, and (terezi) to show up. my original plan was to have them arrive one by one, thus allowing their individual dramas a moment in the spotlight before being subsumed into the group. not a bad idea in theory but in practice it was fucking tedious. here we have a bunch of characters already immersed in the scene captured by the intrigue of Jade being enigmatic, and then some unawares jagoff wanders in and suddenly everyone has to stop what they're doing and be like "hey hello how are you what's up" and then they explain how they got there and then they ask what's up and it's such a DRAG. honestly i would say the majority of my creative blocks by volume are moments when the story really wants me to just cut to black for a smoke break and come back when somebody gets mad enough to throw a punch. i mean that's the the development of A1 in a nutshell. originally everyone was gonna start the track locked up in space-jail on the hopebringer, jade would show up all apologetic and say what she expects padua's deliberation to be, then the whole cast would see her throw a fit over a decision she knew was coming, they'd all be absolved of guilt and let free, then they'd all argue about who's staying or going with Jade in the morning, they'd split up to go pack their stuff and then...

well that was exactly the problem. i wanted to get all the pertinent things out of the way. jade's code switching, voidthought, some EWL teases. give the whole cast a chance to react to it. i thought that would be expedient, because it got the Plot out of the way and gave time to characters for Feelings. if that version of the scene had come at the end of chapter 8, it might have worked. but i realized that as soon as jade's audience was no longer captive, i had no fucking clue what to do with them anymore. we already knew who would go with jade, so acting like that's some kind of mystery is just lame. i started writing A1 from a place of desiring informational density & a quick pace, because we've got places to go and things to do. but if the real purpose of A1 is to explore why these characters choose to go with Jade, then that needed to be done with a lot more care and precision. that's when i decided to let Jade spend two days underground making the earth right again, so that she has to come to everyone individually rather than the other way around. and it muddies her motivations, if you don't mind the pun. it puts her at an appropriate remove from the others. i ultimately wound up conveying all the same information as in the original version, but i did it in a way that was more appropriate thematically and artistically. it wound up being longer road than i anticipated, but this is a long story and in this case the longer road was better for the journey.

take the chapter where Jade visits Roxy. i needed some time with Roxy alone to set the scene, since she's the first person Jade decides to visit and i like writing about the insides of trailer homes. i wanted to get some politics from Jane in this chapter, so hey, why not throw in a televised speech? oh, and then i can have some tucker carlson types remind us that Earth C is a fucking mess. i wrote all that, and it was good, but it was just Roxy watching tv. i tried to get into Jade's arrival and couldn't. so i went back and realized, oh, Roxy should be yelling at the tv the whole time! now we get Jane's politics, Roxy's reactions to those politics, as well as bits and pieces of context re: Jane's relationships with Karkat and Roxy. now when Jade arrives, we can play with the question of whether she heard the speech from outside Roxy's door, and why neither of them was physically at the speech in the first place. there's tension and imbalance in Roxy's state of mind when Jade does arrive, so we're more inside her perspective than we usually are, which in turn helps us identify with her when Jade starts infodumping about antimemes.

so often for me, working through a block is a matter of doing a better job utilizing what's available to you. going back to the A1 solo and trying to bring Jake, Jane, and (Terezi) into the scene. i finally returned to it after a couple months of being sick and dealing with life problems. i was frustrated because i'd hoped to be several tracks in to 3.2 by now, and instead i was confronted with just how much more of this thing is left and how long that might take if i couldn't pick up the pace. this thing NEEDED to get done.

and then i remembered that Jasprose is literally right there.

and that was it! problem fucking solved! i had jasprose drop all three of them into the scene completely unceremoniously using manic teleportation through a fenestrated plane, and from there the entire rest of the chapter erupted out of me in a single go. it's such an obvious solution to the problem that you as reader probably assumed it was the plan from the very beginning. but it's like Pirsig says: the solutions all are obvious-- after you've arrived at them.

then there's the problem of overwriting. i actually did i think four different versions of the opening to the A1 solo. the first person narration was a late addition. i tweaked that scene so so so many times. it kept feeling close but not quite. when i did the thing where i reread to find where the block happened, instead of actually reading the thing i just kept finding spots where i could write more. i can extend this anecdote. this line could be better. maybe a comma here would work better than an ellipsis...

this can be good because sometimes what's blocking you is that you skipped over something that needed more time. maybe some information or a dramatic emphasis that gives the stuff you can't yet write the momentum it needs to get going again. but i've gotta be real careful doing this, because i can do it forever. and then, as you describe (hey look, i'm actually talking about your specific problem now!), that hyper-polished section sets everything else up to fail by comparison.

i think the trick is knowing the difference between when a scene needs an editing pass vs when a scene just straight up isn't working. when it's not working, sometimes you do just have to throw it all out and start over. but if it's good enough that you feel like all it's missing is better dialogue and some more description, then you can hold off on that polish until the rest of the thing is done. this conundrum is most common at the beginning of a chapter or story in my experience, precisely as a result of the process i've been describing this whole time. when you hit a block and retrace your steps, you can always find things to fix. so it's sort of natural that any given chapter becomes less polished the further along you get in to it. that's why it's so important to understand the differences between all these different types of blocks, and to remind yourself that literally nothing you've written is finished until the moment you've made it public.

a big part of getting the A1 solo out the door was me swallowing my desire for perfection in every exchange and saying, no, this is good enough. it's not 100% what i want, but it's close enough that it just isn't worth the effort it would take to get there. sometimes there are scenes that are worth that effort, but they are always rarer than you think and they're never the ones you'd expect. i will freely admit that there are a lot of characters expositing their motivations in this chapter. i tried to embed as much of that in humor or drama as i could, but sometimes you just have to shrug your shoulders and walk away and hope your readers will be nice to you.

of course the funny thing is, once i finished the chapter and had all the panels sketched out and wiped my hands clean of the whole affair, janet needed two weeks to make the images. so i ended up having time to polish up a couple of those things that i felt were lacking after all. but those additions were radically small and intuitive, because i'd divorced myself from the raw production and had committed to so many directions that i *couldn't* change much. i'm so used to writing for release that i don't know what to do with myself when my part of the job is done before i can kick it out the door. i've come to find that waiting, taking breaks, walking away and coming back, do wonders for your ability to egolessly examine your work and identify what's wrong. sometimes you just need a day or two to sleep on it.

and sometimes you realize that you've really just over-written a scene, out of preciousness or insecurity or whatever else, and the result is so much bigger than everything else you want to do that it's more expedient to just scrap it. i hate when this happens, man. i did this with an early version of the A1 chorus, when Jade is stuck in space alone and shouting about how unfair her life has been. you know sometimes there's an emotion in a scene that's addictive. some bit of pathos that you just feel down to your bones, fuck me man, this is so GOOD, this is so JUICY, this shit has QUALITY. it's so good you don't want it to be finished. so you keep writing it, and writing it, and you rewrite it, and you add to it, because you really want to squeeze every drop of emotion you can from the thing. and then you wind up with a bloated melodramatic mess that's so overplayed you've annihilated everything that compelled you to write it in the first place.

i want to be clear that this isn't wasted work. nothing you ever put to the page, no matter how ultimately useless it might prove to be, is wasted work. the way i see this whole process, top to bottom, is that there's this thing. i don't know what it is, but it's there. maybe it starts with an image, or a line of dialogue, or a relationship, or a natural vista, whatever. it can be anything. what matters is it's a sign pointing you in a direction. it's something that has Quality that you can feel with such potent immediacy that you have no choice but to write it. the act of writing is something of an expedition, because the real magic of it comes when those disparate signs start colliding with one another. an image becomes a scene, a house, a world, a universe. sometimes these signs lead to dead ends, but with experience you learn to tell the dead ends from the rough patches. you learn how to make your own way. you do this by listening to what this thing is telling you. every story i've ever written has known better than me what it wants. i can impose so much onto it, i control 90% of the process at least. but that other 10% cannot, should not be quantified or controlled but simply understood. if you try to bottle the flame, you'll just end up snuffing it out.

no artist really knows why they do what they do or how they're able to pull it off. they can tell you their methods, their process, their coping mechanisms, they can write ludicrously lengthy diatribes on tumblr in response to an innocuous ask, but you can't pin down the soul of the thing. Quality is ephemeral, because it's first. it happens before you've had time to think, like putting your hand on a hot stove. you just know. and you have to trust that knowledge to carry you forward, not second guess it too much, not try to wrangle the thing into a shape it doesn't want to assume. sometimes this requires writing scenes that you don't love, because it's easier to build a messy bridge between the moments that drive you than it is to perfect every single moment out of an artificial commitment to like, Being A Good Writer or whatever.

a lot of this is just practice. you get better at communicating with your creative impulses. but also i think it helps to internalize that nobody sees the rough drafts, nobody sees the duct tape. and nobody knows the perfect vision you'll be convinced you failed to meet. nobody has ever made a perfect thing, and no one ever will. who wants to be perfect, anyway? godfeels wouldn't be what it is if i wasn't willing to let it be messy. if i'd tried to do it better, it never would have gotten done, and nothing i'm doing now would have even conceptually gotten to exist.

also, it's okay to abandon shit when it stops feeling good. i have so many unfinished books kicking around from my 20s, dude. i feel bad about some of them, but ten years not finishing books is still ten years spent writing. it's actually quite rare for good ideas to result in finished works, because good ideas are cheap and they're not all for you. but you gotta keep trying anyway because sooner or later you'll catch a spark that has real gas, and if you've done the work you'll be ready for it. it'll feel like destiny. it'll feel like magic, how matched that idea is to your skill level. but it won't be magic, it'll be skill. if you hadn't put the work in to know how to follow that intuition, it'd be just as dead an end as everything else you never finished. you do the work so that when you get lucky you can take advantage of it. so in that context, writing is quite low stakes. if it's not good enough, fuck it, try something else!

anyway i hope there's some decent insight buried in here somewhere. thanks for such a good question!

[sutherkins]

peter sutherland x neurodivergent!reader 💌

this is very self indulgent lmao. i tried to keep the mental stuff vague so you can hopefully imagine any mental illness in place of stuff besides the reader clearly having adhd because i have adhd. i hope anyone who reads this is able to relate and feel understood and comforted <3

warnings: mention of recreational drug use, reader is in between ages of 21-25 (i’m 23, so)

it’s not like you were opposed to telling peter about your medication. if he asked, you wouldn’t lie. you just didn’t want to be the first to bring it up. you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed of having to be on medication, and you knew he would never judge you, but you couldn’t help it.

that lasted for a couple months. your meds wore off around four or five in the afternoon and because of this, a lot of the time you got to spend with peter before he had to go to work was spent holding yourself back and trying to keep your symptoms closed off in an area he couldn’t see.

but now there was a problem. peter was somehow able to manage a couple weeks of vacation time in order to spend more time with you, real time he had always called it. he hated only getting to spend a couple hours with you each day just as much as you did, which was why he asked you to stay with him at a cabin he owned during his time away from work.

you said yes, of course. you figured he’d eventually find out during the trip, so you tried to relax at the thought of the conversation at the very least happening in a comforting environment. you’d just finished packing your bags when peter walked down the hallway of his apartment complex to your door and knocked. you smiled, you’d given him a key already so he didn’t need to knock, he came over all the time anyway. you liked that he did it anyways, always respectful of your privacy and space.

“you ready?” peter asked while grabbing your bags and walking them down to his car.

you nodded excitedly and hopped into the passenger seat, the car already full with snacks for the drive and your favorite music playing on the radio.

the two of you sat in comfortable silence until your meds started to kick in, kicking your energy into high gear and making it practically impossible for you to keep your mouth shut. you were worried he would start to get annoyed by so much chitchat but he didn’t seem to mind, intently listening to everything you had to say and responding when needed. he even laughed a couple times which was a victory in your book.

you arrived at the cabin soon after, beaming at the cabin and then at peter. “sorry for talking so much. i didn’t annoy you, did i?”

“of course not, pretty girl. it’s just your meds kicking in. nothing wrong with that. besides, i love listening to you.” he quickly grabbed the bags from his trunk and started leading you to the front door.

once you got inside you tilted your head, peter setting the bags down on the floor. “wait, how did you know i take medication?”

“i’ve seen it in your bathroom cabinet. ‘take one every morning’.” he quotes the label that’s printed on the bottle. “it’s for adhd, right?”

your face scrunched, “well, yes. i never outright told you so i just assumed you didn’t know. you don’t mind?”

peter grabbed your hand and led you to the couch in the living room, silently telling you to get comfortable while he got a fire started. “why would i mind? there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“no, i know. i mean, i know you know that too. my brain just…likes to lie to me sometimes. im guessing this also means you saw the other meds i take, then?” sighing, you squeezed his hand in need of reassurance.

“yeah. and just to repeat myself, there’s still nothing wrong with you or taking medication. whether it’s for adhd, anxiety, depression, insomnia… anything really. it doesn’t change the way i see you and it never has.” peter squeezed your hand in response, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

cheeks quickly turning red, you groaned and leaned your head onto his shoulder, hiding your face behind your hands.

he was having none of it, moving your hands and replacing them with his own, cupping your cheeks. “hey, hey, hey…none of that. you don’t need to hide with me.”

“i know, i know. i just need reminding sometimes.” smiling softly, you gazed at his loving expression, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth on your skin.

“i’m happy to do it.” moments pass before you hear peters voice again, now wavering from trying not to laugh. “im happy to try some of those edibles you have too. i saw you packed ‘em in your bag. did you really think i wouldn’t notice you getting high?”

“peter!” you poked his side until he fell backwards laying on the couch, your legs straddling his hips. “it’s for my anxiety. and for fun.” his hands immediately shift to rest on your waist, grinning up at you. “i think i’m a bad influence on you.”

he snorts. “oh, definitely. i kinda like it though.”

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Still beating

What - dealing with grief as the dust finally starts to settle. Dealing with grief regarding one specific character's death in particular. You know the one.

Genre - heavier, but we get devoted husband/father Daryl out of the mix. And we don't end the chapter on a bummer, never fear. This ain't a French movie, slowpokes

Relationships - wife Reader and husband Daryl as well as your baby. Familial affection with Rick, and that balance between friend and clergy for Father Gabriel.

Perspective - 3rd POV Daryl, and 2nd POV You

Pronouns - she/her

When - time jump! we've briefly hopped to post season 8, pre season 9 (but before The best kind of damn weird). This chapter takes place during the earlier phases of recovery and rebuilding after the war. The previous chapter, Scary as a sleepy kitten, took place during season 2.

TWs - grief, PTSD (including after SA), depression, self-loathing, and some cussing. This chapter is also kinda lengthy, friends, and had to have exposition. (Might should've sliced the chapter in half, but then we'd have another two-parter on our hands :P)

But how long though? - ...20 minutes or so?

Story references and Masterlist link? - under the cut

And is there a pic at the end as a prize for finishing? - yes :D

Have fun and happy reading!

References to other chapters - what we learned in The Interview. There is also grieving/anger as seen in The first Christmas 'without' Part 2 and its conclusion in I don't hate you, a happy reference to Happy 8th of July!, reference to those lovely tugging strings as found in Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 (Part 2 I reckon is still glitched and showing as labeled mature, the poor thing's been cleared about 7ish times via help ticket XD ).

There are a lot more details you might recognize, pop on by to the Official Masterlist here, or for those who prefer linear over non-linear, the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

-----------------------

Still beating

She was doing real bad. The past few days had been especially bad. Grief has nasty ways of settling in and rearing its ugly head.

He didn’t know too much about what to do to help her, he’d never been good at that stuff. And there was no fixing all that happened, especially not when the last thing that happened was the worst thing that could’ve.

Just like if TJ or Judith died, it was the worst thing. And part of his wife died right alongside Carl.

Hell, she’d been the one to wait after Carl died, then turned, to pull the trigger.

Now, she felt dead, too.

Gabe had to suggest that she check her pulse when it got bad enough.

Just at that moment, as Daryl was worrying and worrying, TJ started to wriggle and hum in an attempt to root at Daryl's bicep, which pulled him out of his own head for a second.

Gently, he began to bounce to try and keep his baby lulled. He knows Y/N wanted to breastfeed only to get her production up (and so TJ’s suckle could get stronger after the surgery), but Y/N was finally asleep.

Beginning with when Denise was killed, Y/N hadn’t been making as much as she first had. Then, the Saviors stopped the RV and surrounded them, and Negan did what he did. Then Daryl himself got taken away, then there was all the fighting.

And then Carl died.

Getting her milk to come back had been proving damned hard.

A handful of not-very-good times, they’d supplemented what milk she did make with watered-down formula and/or watered-down goat's milk.

One very bad time, they’d used sugar water to fill the babies’ bellies until Jesus got back with goat's milk. Just the one time they had to use sugar water, everybody made damn sure of that.

For now, Daryl could crack into what was still left of the goat's milk in the cooler, right? The two women in the Kingdom who had little guys had sent over actual breast milk with Carol a few days ago, but it was used up yesterday. That stuff had been a God-send, he couldn’t thank the ladies enough.

Between the two babies in Alexandria, TJ and Gracie, everyone had to be smart about using what (non-expired) formula was left. And given that the power got cut, keeping the goat's milk fresh was another problem, hence the cooler. The panels and power were back on, but it was spotty and he didn't want to risk the milk spoiling.

There was still a shit ton of clean-up had since the Saviors nabbed Alexandria’s storage, then firebombed the town. To make things worse, those assholes had their own compound destroyed, and Hilltop and the Kingdom got screwed, too. Even the beach women took another beating. Hell, and them junkyard people were literally all fucking gone except their leader chick.

So, Y/N breastfed the two babies as much she was physically able, all while working as the only other doc left standing in all five communities; she was running herself into the ground.

And with Carl gone…

It ain’t fair that she couldn’t make enough — it was Negan’s goddamned fault.

Which leads to what just went on: so Mich had told him, Y/N’d lashed out at Negan and the new doctor kid with the facial hair, what was his name, Sidney?

Daryl hadn’t been at the infirmary when it happened, but, according to Mich, she’d had to pull her out of the room. Once out, Y/N asked her about TJ, Judith, and Gracie to make sure they were safe, then disappeared after Mich had turned around. Straight up and bolted.

Daryl had checked the escape-closet first, but she wasn’t in there or the attic it connected to, wasn't on the roof that lead to.

He’d then checked the burned church. She’d been there, he recognized her boot prints, but she'd moved on. From there, he was able to follow her sooty tracks in the direction of the place he should’ve known to check first.

Sure enough, Y/N'd been at Carl’s grave.

His wife could barely look at him when he approached. He'd simply kissed her on the head and quietly walked her back home. Once home, he'd cleaned and bandaged her hand while she, again, tried to pump enough for the little guys.

Mich had told Daryl she’d get Rick for her, so he’d be here soon.

Daryl wracked his brain, he even prayed to learn what do to try to help carry Y/N through this shit.

At first, Y/N’d been pacing around the room, crying but trying not to, arms wrapped around her picture frame with a photo of Carl in it as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He'd been able to persuade her to lay down, and ended up laying in bed with her and holding her tight, their baby next to them in little bassinet.

Initially, him holding her and pressing kisses to her neck had made her feel worse. More guilty, that is. A handful of days ago, something got into her head that she needed to give him a damn "annulment."

Nah, for real, she’d even said (to Gabe) that the two of them not having ever done the deed yet was "grounds" to give him one. “Grounds to free him,” were her exact words. It was a whole thing, and the couple of failed attempts at trying to do the deed after getting hitched some months back probably made her feel guilty, as if not having sex yet would make him not love her, or?

Father Gabriel had Daryl's back the whole time during the conversation, though, decent dude.

And no, Daryl wasn’t angry or even real hurt that she’d thought she had to ‘free him’ and shit, he knows it was the grief and physical exhaustion that got her to that point. His woman had full-on blacked out and hurt herself that day, which is why he'd brought her to Gabe in the first place.

But the, um, the walls were thinner than Daryl had expected, which is how he overheard from the person that he was gonna love and stay with and stay faithful to until he dropped dead softly confess that she was “selfish” to keep him “stuck” with a “batshit m-mess” like her and “a baby that ain’t his.”

The fact that Y/N kept maintaining how much she loved him and how she didn’t want no annulment helped it hurt less when she’d sounded just about convinced that it was “loyalty to me ’cause we’re close, loyalty to Rick,” and because of “he’s got so much shame. He feels responsible for what the Claimers did,” that made him marry her those months ago. "He loves our ch—my child, and might love me, but it's not fair to him. He deserves better, h-he needs better, the man's been trapped all his life. I-I don't want him trapped, I want him happy!"

Gabe never played into her fears. He been no nonsense about all of it, told Y/N that she needed a damn rest, and asked her to tell him what she thought about it when she woke up.

The good thing was that after a 5 hour period of uninterrupted sleep (during which they used some of the goat's milk for TJ and Gracie), she woke up in a daze at why she’d thought an annulment was something Daryl needed or wanted.

The bad thing was, she was then socked in the gut with more unearned guilt for it, then with worry that she was too far gone, or crazy, all that.

Been a bad, bad few days.

Been a lot of Daryl showing her love that she felt not worth being shown. So that she fell asleep in his arms today was such a damn win!

After getting up to take a leak and finding that Y/N was miraculously still asleep, he thanked whoever was up there, then tried to figure out what else he could do to help her get through today…and right at that moment, TJ started to rouse, so he got his answer: keep their baby comforted. More shut-eye could only do his woman well.

Deftly lifting the little bundle into his arms, he'd kissed the scar above the baby’s upper lip and tiptoed out to the hall, where he was now.

Lightly he bounced, softly he shushed. He held TJ like a football and moved back and forth, back and forth. Babies smell so damn good, and make the cutest noises, goddamn.

After a couple minutes, through the open door, he peeked at his Y/N.

Shit. She was already sitting up and blinking off the sleep.

Whatever it was she did and said today, she felt low as hell about it, that much was clear. Without looking, she grabbed the now-broken picture frame and clutched it to her middle.

"You're supposed to be asleep, slowpoke," he tried to tease.

Her clothes had ashes from where it looked like she’d knelt down then sat down in the burned church. There was some dirt on them, too, from when she’d been at Carl’s grave. Daryl made a note to shake the sheets out later and pick the tissues up off the floor.

That's when the front door opened downstairs.

Was that Ri—good, that was Rick’s voice, he was finally there. There was a second voice, too, was that Father Gabriel’s? It was soft like Gabe's voice was.

Daryl looked downstairs.

Yup, it was Rick with the rev.

He waved them upstairs, but it must’ve been the clunking of the Gabriel’s new cane that got Y/N stumbling out of the room.

“Rev! I would’ve come to you, y-you need to be takin’ it easy.” She hugged the picture frame in one hand, gripped the banister in the other and started to go downstairs, asking Gabe how he felt, urging him to sit down, had his vision worsened, all that stuff.

“Y/N, more rest won’t stop me from losing sight in this eye,” Gabriel responded in his quiet way, remaining on the second step, not going up or down the stairs. He smiled. “You could say I’m the one making a house call to a patient this time."

She held back a sob and bowed her head. Then, she subtly slipped two fingers around the inside of her wrist…

Rick stepped the rest of the way up the stairs and put his hands on her shoulders. “What's going on, weirdo?”

“Ricky, I'm s-sorry."

He leaned closer and took her in for a hug. “Heart still beating?” he murmured.

Her inhale was shaky. “Mmhm. Yours?”

“Beating strong.”

TJ perked up and began to whimper upon hearing her voice. Y/N unzipped her hoodie to—she still had a gun on her?

Okay, that'd been stealth as fuck, it hadn't even been printing. It was the mini one she'd kept on her when they first got here, when Deanna insisted on keeping the weapons locked up. Still, he'd been literally holding her, how in the hell had he not noticed?

Daryl shared a glance with Gabe. Minus her screwdriver, she'd turned in her weapons after what happened the other day.

Y/N handed the small gun to Rick, who looked wary, but accepted it without question. She hesitated before reaching into her boot to hand over her screwdriver, too.

Daryl slid his hand around his wife’s waist to guide her back to the room. Without looking him in the eyes, she cupped his cheek and told him he was a good father. Then, frame still gripped under one arm, she took the baby into the other.

“Let’s try havin’ a snack before I go with Uncle Ricky awhile, okay, chickpea?” she murmured, then unbuttoned the top of her shirt.

Daryl took off his vest to give her some more coverage, then helped her with her top buttons. When he draped the vest around her, she'd turned her head to kiss his hand. He felt his cheeks warm when she did that.

Walking into the room again, she softly told Daryl that he and Rick could sit on the beds. First, she placed the picture frame on one of the mattresses. Next, with their baby latched on and suckling, she went to the end table at the window to sit down on the floor beside it. The way she sat, it was kinda as if she were using it as a shield.

“Rev, please take the chair,” she mumbled to Gabriel with a glance at the only piece of furniture in the room at the time, other than the bassinet, a nightstand, and the end table. Negan had specifically left the rocking chair as a 'gift' for her. The piece of shit...

Anyway, Daryl had got them their two twin mattresses back (hey, squish them together and you get a big-ass bed) the first trip to and from the Savior’s compound after the war ended, once the folk from Alexandria had begun to move back from the Hilltop. Only, no bed frames yet.

“And sweetheart, I’ll-I’ll take the pumps with me for while I’m in there. Wanna make sure you and Aaron have enough for them,” she said to him, voice still raw. Y/N turned to him and gave him a wobbly smile. “Sorry I used up so much of the tissue supply,” she tried making light, but got close to tears again, so stumbled through asking “Can I, um, Rick, m-might can I bring my pillow? Is that okay?”

Go with Rick where, and take the breast pumps and her pillow, why? He made eye contact with Gabriel, who looked just as puzzled. So, he turned to Rick.

Rick lowered his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what she meant, either. He squatted to sit down on the mattress beside Daryl, and looked at his sister. “Y/N, where are we headed?”

Glancing up from the baby to him then to Daryl, she adjusted TJ’s position on her breast while she figured out how to answer, by the looks of it. Another glance at her husband as if she were worried about his reaction...

“Rick, I thought you was here to…escort me?”

?

Daryl had no clear idea what she meant, it was the rev who understood first.

“No,” Father Gabriel told her gently. “Y/N, you aren��t under arrest.”

Under arrest? Daryl fought between the urge to get angry or dead-ass laugh. 'Under arrest??'

It was for real, though. His wife’s tears started flowing again as she turned her attention to Rick and began to stress, “There can’t be no special treatment—”

“—Is this why you handed me your weapons? Why would you be under arrest?” Rick cut her off to question.

She stared as if he’d grown antlers. “I s-struck a patient, and, and—”

“—And I slit his throat open, which is why that 'patient' is in there in the first place,” he cut her off again, firm.

Thankfully, TJ let out a wail the same time she wailed, “Ricky, y-you weren’t his medic!” pausing any further arguing.

Y/N gulped, pressed down on one breast, then the other. “I know there’s not much in ’em, Teddy-bear, but it-it’ll get better. It’ll come back,” she shushed, lifting him up and tucking herself back in. With a few kisses, she shushed, “You’ve gotten so much faster at drinkin', babycakes.”

Daryl got on the floor with her and took TJ back.

She avoided eye-contact again, and her lip wobbled again as she pulled the top of her shirt higher. That told him there’d been not much milk in there. And he could see all over her face that it was switching her on the legs with more false-ass, unearned guilt.

The familiar string in his chest suddenly tugged in her direction—next thing, he was resting his forehead on hers. “Hey. You’re makin’ more every day, angel,” he whispered in her ear. "And you're a damn good ma." Then, he started to help her button back up.

The way her expression softened and her body relaxed toward his felt better than fireworks going off on the Fourth 8th of July.

And as if he were back in that Georgia-in-July heat, Daryl just about melted right there on the floor when he saw his TJ, neck lifted high, making a face-scrunching, gummy smile at him. "Look how strong your neck is getting, ’lil badass, you’re rockin’ it!”

Shit, their kid was the best damn thing.

Y/N leaned against him and reached to lightly fluff their baby’s hair and rub their baby's teeny feet.

Gabriel sat in the rocking chair quietly, hands resting on his cane. He caught eyes with Daryl and nodded his head toward Y/N, glad to see her no longer convinced she needed to ‘free’ her husband.

Absorbed in the photo, Rick exhaled, then spoke up. “Y/N, how about we start from the beginning? What happened at the infirmary?”

She pressed tighter against Daryl as a pained noise left her throat. “Did you talk to Siddiq yet?” sounded very small.

“I want to talk to both of you.”

“And Michonne?”

He nodded. “She told me some.”

The big watch she’d kept from Dale tick-tick-ticked on her wrist. Then came the sound of light metallic clinking. Daryl didn’t have to look to see that she must’ve pulled out her brother’s necklace and was tugging on it.

“What I did ain’t excusable,” came out raspy and thick.

“It is," Rick answered.

“It’s not, especially not what I said to Sid—” a sob choked her response. She used Daryl's leather vest to hide her face before hugging it around herself like a blanket.

“Walk me through what happened first, kiddo, before you hit Negan with this?” Rick subtly gestured to the broken picture frame.

So she had smacked Negan in the face? Hot damn, Daryl was more in love with her already.

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “They’d been lookin’ at it, the both of 'em.”

“At the picture?”

A tiny nod. “I’d left the room, and when I got back, they was looking at it. Siddiq brought it over to him. Tried to make like Negan was sad, too. Fuck that!”

TJ started rooting on his bicep again, but Daryl was on it. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I don’t got the right parts for that.” He started to massage the baby’s belly, and TJ quieted.

“It’s okay to let ’em cry a little, it-it helps restock these,” his wife tried joking, nodding down at her chest.

“Y/N.” Rick was delicate about coaxing her for more details. “You got back into the room, Siddiq and Negan were looking at the picture.”

“Negan’s filthy hands were on it,” she grit. "Lookin' at Carl and me, you with Shaney." The sounds of the pendant being pulled across the chain filled the room along with TJ’s soft cooing.

“Is that when you hit him with the frame?” Rick asked.

“No. I told him not to look at it again or touch it, and if he did, I’d hurt him.”

“Angel, slow your breathin’,” Daryl interjected at the same time that he figured out why those words sounded familiar: it was similar to how she'd warned the last Claimer fuckhead, the one who’d had Carl pinned down and was gon——Daryl shut down this brain for a sec, it was best not to think about that night.

He turned his head to see Rick, red-eyed, tracing his thumb along the photo of Carl, Y/N, Shane and him. Seems as if Rick had recognized her words, too.

“And when was it that you did hurt him?” Rick pressed on.

Y/N swallowed. “About half a minute later when he tried to act like it wasn’t his fault.”

Rick’s composure staggered and collapsed. His voice was hoarse when he managed to say, “It’s not his fault.”

But Y/N was fast to shut it down. “Don’t for one more second make like it’s yours, Ricky, you get that monkey off your back,” she comforted and somehow scolded both at once. “Negan was doing what Negan does when he, when he told you that. It was manipulation, nothin’ real. How C-Carl—” another choked-down sob, more tears.

Daryl noticed her press her fingertips to the spot under her chin, beside her jaw, checking her pulse to prove it was still beating.

“Negan had nothing to do with how Carl got bit,” Rick whispered. “You know it’s true, kiddo.”

“No—our boy wouldna ended up out there, w-with-with Siddiq, if it hadn’t been for Negan.” Her tone got louder and angry, her stress stutter became more noticeable, the way she tugged the necklace turned rougher. “He and his followers was why we weren’t able to trust no n-newcomers like Sid, which is why Sid was still out there alone, and, and, and why Carl went to him! It, it was because of Negan and his, and his, his-his cult!”

TJ seemed freaked out by the louder voice, the baby’s dark, blue-black eyes grown big.

Daryl spoke Y/N’s name to try and bring her back to herself, but she seemed to have very suddenly calmed.

She was blinking at her hand.

Daryl looked, and then saw the two halves of her brother Shane’s chain, broken.

“How many times did Carol warn me that this would happen when I tugged it,” she muttered to herself. "Good thing I didn't decide to tug on the rosary, huh?"

Inhaling, she leaned her head against the wall behind her, staring into space, fingers to her wrist to check her pulse again.

From beside her, he covered her hand in his. Then, pressing his lips to her fist, Daryl took the necklace from it. He could fix it.

“I lost my temper again, I’m sorry,” she spoke to all in the room, her hand cupping Daryl's cheek a moment. Then, more quietly, she looked at Rick. “How many days’ll I be in there?”

Which sent Daryl straight back to disbelief he was hearing those words, what absolute bullshit. “Y/N, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re not going to a cell, Y/N,” Rick echoed.

“No special treatment,” she softly repeated. “If I were anybody else—”

Rick interrupted her “—It’s not about who you are.”

Father Gabriel had gotten up and was making his way to Y/N by then.

Y/N shook her head at the conversation, tired. “If I were anybody else or had any other role, and if he were anybody else,” she caught her breath, “there’d be reper-re-rep—” a few more tries, and she had to choose a different word, “consequences. Assault and battery on an un-unarmed person—a patient—from their medical provider, that’s serious.” Her hand was back to covering her face. She sat pressed against the wall, knees at her chest.

“You and Siddiq are the only doctors left. We couldn’t just put you in a cell even if you had earned it.”

“I ain't a doctor, at best, I’m a medic,” she grunted. “And I did earn it, just ask him and Michonne. As for my,” she made a shaky inhale, “my duties, I can be escorted out.”

“And TJ? Gracie?” Daryl put out there, hoping to guilt her out of insisting she get jail time, like, what the fuck. What kind of conversation was this?

Screw this, he couldn't even sit. He stood, shaking his head and pacing around the room, still holding TJ.

The expression on Y/N's face should’ve been enough to calm him down, along the defeated, quiet way she reasoned, “I’ll pump and y’all will visit. It’s—no, sweetheart—it’s only for a few days,” when he started to dead-ass leave. As if her being in there ‘only for a few days’ would help this bullshit make sense.

But that’s when he ended up snapping, “This is goddamn bullshit! You bopped a sick fuck on the nose with a picture frame, who in the hell will care? Rick, why you even entertainin' this shit?” and he regretted doing so as soon as he barked it out.

The old, invisible knee rammed him in the nards harder when Rick cautioned, "Brother," and Gabe finally opened his mouth, and louder than Daryl had ever heard him speak. “She cares, Daryl. So do I.”

And to make it all worse, their baby had given a start in fear when he’d shouted, and now the poor kid was screaming—and TJ doesn’t scream, shit, shit, he blew up while holding his child?

“M’sorry! M’sorry," he hushed to his baby, "I love you so much, kid, I’m so sorry I scared ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” With a kiss on TJ’s wild head of hair, he murmured, “Pipsqueak, your old man is an idiot.”

Y/N rushed over when TJ screamed, but she didn’t take the baby away from Daryl. Instead, she caressed her husband’s forearm and triceps and spoke to their child. “Your daddy’s got you safe,” she soothed.

He knew she was trying to look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t return it. He’d just scared an infant because he couldn’t check his temper. Their infant.

His wife’s quiet assurance cut through the rushing in his head. “Daryl? TJ ain’t hurt, sugar, and you’re not a bad father. Do some skin to skin, okay?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “And that's a dollar for cussing, pay up later.”

She then sat back down on the floor next to where the rev had made his new seat. Daryl took the now-empty rocking chair, unbuttoned his and TJ’s shirts, then nestled the kid on his chest.

Y/N then told the room the rest of what happened, how after Negan croaked out with what voice he had left, saying it 'wasn’t his fault Carl was dead', that she’d turned around and whacked him across the face with the frame.

Siddiq had reacted by grabbing her shoulders from behind to pull her away from Negan — so she had shoved back and kneed him in the dick plus rammed her head against his, dropping the frame in the process. The frame broke as a result—and when it broke, she'd lost her cool, said some shit, and threw some shit. Mich heard the hubbub and intervened, then Y/N hid herself away cause she 'knew' she was 'gone crazy.'

As far as Daryl was concerned, the new doc was lucky all he got was a shove, a knee to jewels, a clunk on the head, and some words and maybe a clipboard thrown at him, because Y/N could fight damned well. She'd had it drilled into her how and when to do it. Freely taught others moves, too.

When she’d showed Carol some techniques, way back, it was one of the things that sent him falling for her.

And…Y/N might’ve not said it out loud, but when she described how Siddiq grabbed her from behind to pull her away, everyone in that room got why it caused her to react strong.

What she described herself as doing would’ve been instinct.

Siddiq wouldn’t know why. Negan might, the fucker had watched the tape of her Deanna interview.

“See?” Y/N blew her nose again, sniffed, and stared at the floorboards. “It’s not right to Sid or the community to, to have what I did go unchecked. And what I said to Siddiq was so cruel. What’s worse is I meant it. Fuck, I still do.”

What she'd said was basically that she wished he’d gotten bit instead of Carl, and that it was just as much Siddiq's fault that the boy was dead as it was Negan’s. That 'he should be dead.'

She grimaced, then caressed the watch on her wrist. Must’ve been thinking of Dale. “Ain’t fair to…Negan, neither. If there’s anything Carl wanted us to understand, it’s that,” she whispered.

Rick lifted the frame to kiss his son’s picture, wiped a couple tears away. “When I talked with Sid, he was…alarmed. Worried. He thought it was off-character.”

Y/N went rigid where she sat. “Siddiq wasn’t there two years ago.”

Daryl lifted the baby higher on his chest and snuggled closer.

Rick shook his head. “You wishing someone dead, or, dead instead of another, is very off-character, it’s not you. No—don’t shake your head, Y/N.” Her brother maintained, “Even back then, after what happened, you didn’t wish me dead. You wished that Shane was still alive, not that I was dead instead. Even if you did say those things, it wouldn't have been the truth, just the hurt speaking.”

“I attacked you and told you I would kill you. And I-I meant it at the time, you know that.”

“And for a couple days, you left, because you didn’t actually want that. You knew it was wrong.”

“Which is why I need to get put away for a couple days. I decided to hurt a patient and his doctor, my own fr—” She wasn’t able to say what was probably the word ‘friend.’ Y/N bit her lip, and continued, “Then hurled words at him what nobody should get hurled at them.” She swallowed a cuss and grabbed another tissue.

“You’re exhausted, Siddiq knows that.” Rick pointed out. “We’re not ourselves when we’re—”

Y/N wasn’t having it. Probably too exhausted, to tell the truth.

“We’re all exhausted. C’mon, man, you just lost your son!” A sob left her and she tried to breathe through her nose. Checked her pulse again.

“You were also reacting to how he yanked you back, kiddo. That's not nothing.”

Daryl gave Rick a warning glance.

Rick saw, nodded, and held up a hand, which made Y/N turn to see what Daryl was doing. But Daryl simply kissed TJ on the head, not saying nothing.

She wasn’t fooled. When Y/N looked back at Rick after giving her husband a look of it’s okay, Daryl gave Rick another warning glare, then a nod.

“You didn’t react like that without reason, Y/N. There’s no shame to admit it was a trigger.”

She grumbled at the word. “Trauma ain’t an excuse to traumatize others.” After exhaling, she ran her hands over her face and took a moment. Hardly louder than a whisper, she challenged, “Ricky, not all my problems stem from the rapes. I’ve always been too hot-headed.”

At that moment, Daryl wanted to scoop her and TJ up and drive them away from everything, keep the two of them safe and unbothered for a month or two or four.

“Getting grabbed like that m-might, y’know, might could’ve reminded me of it—when they—" She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it did get me going. But, I,” she paused. “It wasn’t that I saw red or blacked out, I chose to keep goin’ once I’d started. I threw stuff because I was raging, I didn't want to stop because I thought he deserved it.”

Y/N fiddled with Dale’s watch, and turned to Father Gabriel beside her and almost smiled at him, close to the way she used to smile at Glenn, as if he were in on a joke. “Here I’d hoped I was re-domesticated by now.”

“Let us give thanks that you’re still housebroken,” he responded, taking Daryl by surprise. "You're...still housebroken, are you not?"

The way Y/N then cracked up and grinned woke up the butterflies in his stomach.

“Y/N, you’ve come miles since I first met you,” Gabriel told her softly, smiling back.

“All the way from Georgia,” she joked back, then grew more serious. “You’ve grown a whole lot, too.” She wiped her eyes, and Gabe closed his.

“And Y/N,” he shook his head. “You aren’t losing your humanity. I know you’re frightened of that, after what you told me happened to your other brother.”

It hadn’t even registered in Daryl’s mind that Shane’s memory would be scaring her. She loved her brother like hell, but she was always terrified of going down the same path he did.

He looked to Rick to see what his reaction was. His reaction was tear-rimmed eyes and a nod of his head toward TJ, silently asking if he could hold the baby awhile. Daryl nodded, Rick stood, and returned Y/N the frame as he walked by to pick up the little one.

Hands empty, Daryl took out his army knife and the broken chain from his pocket so he could fix his woman’s necklace. Wasn’t gonna be hard.

He heard Y/N whisper, “Hey, punk," to Carl in the photo. "Miss you. Miss you, too, loser,” she said to her brother's photo. He let his eyes travel to where she sat under the window, and watched her kiss the picture and well up. It was the old one of her and preschool-age Carl photo-bombing Rick and Shane, after one of them got some kind of cop award.

Clutching the frame once more to her belly, she and Father Gabriel then started to talk in low voices with one another.

“The red haze in your right sclera is so close to bein' clear. Did you talk to Rosie today? She’s been seeming less depressed.”

“I thought this was me visiting my patient, not the other way around,” Gabe gently hinted. “Y/N, please talk to me.”

Daryl heard her sniffle. “Rev, but I don’t want to have meant those words. I’ve been workin’ on it. It-it might be his fault, but I know he’s innocent, he’s humane—Sid even counts walkers like I do, man, yet still, I—” her breathing shuddered. “After whatever this mess is kicked in, every time I see him now, I hate him. Why do I hate a decent person?”

“Grief,” he offered simply. He gave her another shrug and small smile. “Keep doing what you have been. It will get easier every day, the same way your, um,” he was careful about his wording regarding her tits, “that you have more for the little ones every day.”

She huffed but didn’t raise her voice again, she stayed quiet as could be. “It don’t feel like none of that’s happening.”

“Our perception of things doesn’t always equal the truth, Y/N.” Gabe seemed to take a moment. Maybe he was praying.

Y/N’s fingers found her pulse again.

“We are all healing,” Gabriel next said, and smiled again. “Your heart is still beating, is it not?”

Y/N stared for a few moments, caught in the act. Eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moment, she removed her fingers from her neck, and inclined her head at the reverend. “What about yours?” she asked softly.

“Still beating. And that’s the proof,” he assured her just as softly. “Y/N, as for the way you understand your actions and your emotions toward him as not being right, I would like you to take it as a comforting sign. And, you just handed over a weapon you plainly wanted to keep concealed, you didn’t use said weapon to hurt Negan, either,” he pointed out, for which Daryl was grateful. “Perhaps, if you begin to make excuses, begin to feel no sense of having done wrong when you have, I will worry.”

Weirdly enough, he next grinned up at the ceiling. “But I am not, because you are simply broken and in need of healing. You’ll get there, as will I,” he held his hand out to the room. “As will your brother, your husband. All of us.” He sighed. “So long as our hearts are still beating.”

Daryl looked back at his wife in time to see her bit her wobbling lip and nod. Her gaze turned to Rick with the baby. He was kissing TJ’s scrawny little feet.

Her face softened seeing them, and as Daryl’s stomach fluttered again, she turned to look at him. His stomach full-on did a happy flip (and, yeah, he lost his grip on the necklace’s broken link and dropped it).

Y/N said to Rick, “Well, we still need to show ’em that Alexandria—that you—are accountable and fair. How many nights will do, you think?”

Rick shook his head. “Zero. But, because you have a point and won't take 'zero' as an answer,” he quickly added, “how about one?”

“For a piggy, you’re actin’ awful chicken.”

He was unmoved by the cop joke. “Bawk, bawk.”

And Y/N laughed, for what it was worth. And it was worth everything, hot damn was that laugh the best sound.

Daryl figured he might as well check, “What about bail, that still a thing?”

“Not with you owing a whole dollar. That’ll take weeks to pay off,” she said, back to doing her best to lighten up things. He loved her so fucking much, goddamn.

“Supervision when outside the cell,” she stated to Rick.

He shook his head again. “I have a better sentence in mind. When I saw you wearing Lori’s belt earlier today, it reminded me of it. See, and you left this at the infirmary.” He reached into his jacket pocket.

Recognition swept across her face when he held it out. “Do you think he’ll feel safe?”

“The headphone cord is too thin to choke him with, it’d snap.”

“Ricky, that joke was very dark,” she lightly chided.

He squinted, kissing TJ’s feet one more time first. “I hereby sentence you to one night—”

“—Three.”

“One in lock-up,” he spoke over her, then was fast to tack on, “with Daryl and this one as guards.” He motioned to the baby.

"Women shouldn't have male guards," she dryly droned.

"Overruled. You'll also get supervised outings for your duties tomorrow and the day after, including the trip to the Hilltop for Maggie’s prenatal visit. And,” he held up the music player, “you’ll need to listen to music with Siddiq on this. We know it works.” He cocked his head. “Let’s start with 20 minutes per day, like you and I had.”

Some tears slipped out even though she was smiling. She mouthed I love you to him, then asked out loud, “How many days?”

Rick squinted. “Fourteen.”

---------------------------

You

“You pick the songs. Whatever you like,” you told him, staring at the photo and rubbing the ‘22’ pendant over your lips. Daryl fixed the chain for you shortly after you’d broken it. You really love him.

Sid accepted the mp3 player out of your hand.

You and he each had one earbud in, one apple beside you, and Michonne sat nearby with Judith. Supervision was your stipulation, yet being proactive about ensuring it had done nothing for how humiliating it was.

Still, you took an objective look and figured Siddiq should know that his safety mattered, that your people were fair and held themselves to standards.

Just looking around the place, it looked as if standards were a given here. That Alexandria’s power grid and some panels were already repaired within two weeks of Negan’s razing was almost unbelievable.

Sucks for the Saviors that cult that the Alexandria community had been built to withstand up to magnitude 4.1 earthquakes and be fairly fire-safe as part of its self-sustaining (and for-politicians) model, so in the least, a good number of the homes were still standing.

Carl's gazebo was another story, as were other similar structures, like the church, but the ash had been washed off by the rain, and the communities' walls were back up.

Next to you, Siddiq asked you how to work the mp3, citing, “Carl had been the one to…”

Had been the one to work it when he borrowed it to visit you out there, in order to show you some kindness. Before he got himself bit because of you.

The words festered inside of you. Whatever. Let them fester, you felt dead anyway.

As you went to point to show him, the picture hung from your outstretched, bandaged hand. The pic you'd chosen this time was another older one from the before-times, not one of the newer polaroids. You'd been the one to take it, actually, using a disposable camera about five and a half, maybe six years ago.

It was blurry, Lori and Carl had been being silly and stopped posing, Rick was mid-comment. You loved this one.

It felt so unreal now, felt fake.

Felt dead.

You checked your pulse. Still beating.

“The, um, just use-use those two buttons there for up and down to search,” you mumbled, tucking the photograph into your shirt pocket. “That one is for back, that one for options. Press down on the middle to click.”

He went huh. “Here’s the Indian music playlist,” he chuckled. Appears he’d found the Desi Party! playlist. Carl told you he’d played it for him.

Before he’d gotten fucking bitten.

How could your heart rage and ache so much if you were dead?

“It’s got all sorts on it,” you replied blankly to Siddiq. Remembering your oldest sister who’d made all the playlists before handing her mp3 down to you, it felt like she was made up. All your siblings except Shane felt made up. Your own mother, the foster siblings over the years, they felt made up, too.

Felt like everyone before was made up.

Fake.

Dead.

“My mother was a big filmi fan,” Siddiq shared.

But you simply repeated, “Pick whatever you like, you’re in charge of the songs.”

There was no emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to chat with him, didn’t want to nerd out about Bollywood music, and also didn’t want to face him after saying such awful things to him early today.

Hating him felt right. It felt "deserved," which is a word you'd learned to not use, thanks to Dale.

Granted, hating Siddiq felt wrong, too, which invited shame to take a seat on your lap.

So, you followed the rev’s advice and took comfort in the shame because it meant your conscience was still ordered in a good direction. It meant you weren’t fully dead yet.

You checked your pulse again to remind yourself that it was still beating. Life was still going. You even have a child that fills you with such an intense, aching, healing love.

Father Gabriel also told you that feeling dead didn’t make you a bad mother or a bad wife or bad person, it simply meant you were broken and grieving.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you growled — and immediately wished it hadn’t come out that way. In your head, you told Carl you were sorry, you’d do better next time. Then, you prayed to stop hating the sight of Siddiq, the sound of his voice. Wished Dale or Hershel or Glenn or T-Dog or Deanna or Denise or Sasha were there for, for—advice, support, you don’t know…

And because the rev has enough on his plate and needs to rest, maybe later you’d risk everyone’s ire and sneak away to visit Mr. Jones at the junkyard. At least he wasn’t dead yet, too. Maybe visiting him would convince him to move back to Alexandria.

“I never apologized for pulling you backward like that,” Siddiq said to you, a little short. Couldn’t blame him.

In truth, you had done all you were going to do to Negan after smacking him the once, but Sid wouldn’t have known that. Wouldn’t have known how grabbing you like that would flip an alarm, either.

No use moping, if your positions were reversed, you’d have wrangled him back, too.

And yet, you just caught yourself licking your teeth and sneering in response to his apology.

But it wasn’t out of anger or hatred so much as…you still aren’t certain what the emotion was. Grief, depression, shame, all three. You supposed it didn’t make a difference. Didn’t feel like much of anything.

Briefly, you put two fingers to your neck to check your pulse again. Still beating. Still alive.

Alive, and needing to eat some crow, as it were.

“Don’t apologize, you were protectin’ our patient. What I did was wrong,” you recited. “I-I threatened a patient and then whacked him across the face.” Your conscience then prompted you to apologize again for what you’d said to him. “And, just—Siddiq, what I said to you was bullshit and lies and m'sorry I said it. Cruel bullshit, naught else. Don’t go believing a word of it.”

He wasn’t clicking through the playlists and songs anymore.

Appearing uncomfortable, he peeked at you before he put his attention back on the mp3. “Michonne said pulling you like that was a trigger, which is why you, um…I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t know.”

First, you relaxed your jaw. “Ain’t your job to know. It’s mine to learn past it.” Next, you spackled on something of a smile and added quietly, “It’s good that you, that you stepped in. Thank you.” You did mean it, for what it was worth.

How many minutes until the twenty was up, you wondered, and tried to not be obvious about checking the time on your wrist. Eyeing Michonne, she seemed more preoccupied with Judith than with being punctual regarding your penance/sentence.

“PTSD is serious. That’s why I’m sorry, I, um,” Siddiq faltered. He went back to clicking through the music choices.

“We all have at least a little PTSD, bud.” With a light nudge to try and convey camaraderie or something, you attempted to tease, “C'mon, you chosen at least one song, yet?”

“Sorry, let me just, uh…” and with a few more clicks, the first song started. It was Bohemian Rhapsody.

“You chose the playlist ‘Songs Everyone Likes.’”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, figured I couldn’t go wrong with that one.”

The memory of belting out this song with Carl, Glenn, Beth, and Maggie before your group even found the prison whooshed back and you started to smile—until you remembered that Carl was gone now. He was dead.

You’d forgotten all of that for hot second, but your Carl was dead. So was Glenn. So was Beth. So was Lori, who'd joined, so was T-Dog, so was...

Maybe you were dead, too. You felt dead—so, you pressed your fingers to your neck to feel for a pulse.

Still beating.

The lyrics of the song began to register. You know, the early parts like ‘I don’t wanna die,’ and ‘carry on, as if nothing really matters.’ Sounded a little too personal, tell you the truth.

And just like that, the song was skipped. You glanced at Siddiq.

He shook his head. “Not the right mood for it.”

“Mm.”

The intro to the next song in the shuffle was very bouncy, and ‘Dance to the Music’ started to jive through the earbuds. You didn’t sway along like you naturally would have. No urge to.

The song played, finished.

“First time I heard this was in Shrek,” Siddiq made small talk while munching on his apple. “Love that movie.”

You might’ve hummed in acknowledgment, you aren’t sure. He handed your apple to you, you took it. Held it.

The next song started, ‘Young Hearts Run Free.’

The song played, finished.

Siddiq made more small talk. “I remember that one in Romeo + Juliet, the one with, um, Claire Danes? We watched that version in high school after we finished reading it.”

You hummed again. Pressed your fingers to your wrist, just in case. But no, your heart was still beating.

The next song started, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

“A lot of oldies,” he commented once the singing began. He took the final nibble off his apple.

“But goodies,” you responded, willing yourself to sound less stiff and monotone. “Modern stuff is on this playlist, too, don’t worry.”

The song played. Finished.

The next song started. ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Siddiq promptly skipped it once the refrain started and the lyrics sank in.

“Good call,” you grunted.

The next song started. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’

“Oh n—please skip this one, too." You loved that one, but you’d queued it up for Glenn at his and Maggie’s wedding, and it was not the time to go reminiscing. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Checked your pulse. Still beating. "Please skip 'Thunderstruck' if it comes on, too?”

The mp3 player clicked as Siddiq skipped the song. Next on the shuffle was ‘Under Pressure.’

He adjusted his seat and coughed. “This one fits.”

A combination sigh/groan was your contribution, because he was right. The two of you were the only doctors major medical personnel left standing.

The song played. Siddiq’s knees and wrists bounced to the rhythm where he sat beside you. You stared at your boots. Where’d all the soot and dirt on them and your clothes come from, you couldn’t remember…

…

It was when a strong gust of cold wind blew that you noticed that the music had stopped, your earbud was out, and the sky wasn’t as cloudy anymore.

When did that happen?

You sat up and blinked a few times, your apple still in one hand, Shane’s necklace in the other.

“Hey,” you heard Siddiq call.

What, why were your cheeks wet? “S-sorry, I,” you dropped the necklace, wiped your eyes with your sleeve, and put the apple down, “must’ve, um, checked out.”

“I’m not sure how long it was after it began when I noticed the change,” he let you know. “Is…this what happened earlier?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Earlier was somethin’ else. This was just—” ‘Dissociation,’ was a misunderstood word, so Denise taught you. And you didn’t want to use the word for that reason.

You really wanted to keep a shred of dignity for yourself in the eyes of that guy. He didn’t even know that you’d hurt yourself when you’d ‘blacked out’ the other day…so, you decided upon a white lie highly euphemistic layman's term. “I spaced out.”

He nodded, but his brows sunk, as if he weren’t buying it.

And when he did that thing where someone slightly opens their mouth because they’ve put together a response, you changed the subject. “Listen to anythin’ good while I was in space?”

Siddiq wasn’t swayed. “Do you still feel detached?”

“A little,” you answered truthfully, inhaling deep and checking your watch to try gauging how long you’d been out. Except, you had no recollection of what time it had been earlier, so it was a bust. God save you, you were a mess.

“Sid. I’m sorry you’re trapped dealin’ with this shit, it ain’t fair to you. If, if you wanna bounce early, don’t feel obligated to stay, and, and—like, if you don’t wanna do this whole music thing, it’s fine. W-we don’t want you feelin’ unsafe.”

“Unsafe? Y/N, I…” he paused. “I forgive you for what you said earlier. And I’m not scared of you. Hitting Negan wasn’t okay, but…” another pause. “Compared to the way most others are baying for his blood and how you defended saving his life, I mean—you helped me save him, Y/N—” He lifted his hands, palms to the sky. “You’re my friend, we work together, it’s not like I can’t see that you’re drowning.”

Nothing prepared you to hear that.

He was calling you a friend and was still trying to be understanding, after all that…

You wanted to slam your head on a hard, rough surface and cry from the shame and simultaneous relief. You also didn’t want to accept it, and so pushed back: “You were alone out there too long. Friends d-don’t tell friends they wish they were dead.” And mean it, you did not confess.

But of all things, he merely raised one shoulder and snorted. “I’m a really good friend?”

Tears spilled at the same time that you almost laughed.

No, it's true, you almost laughed. Things felt a little unreal again, but in not a bad way. The most you could do right then was send up thanks for the mercy that came out of the mess. You pinched your wrist first, then felt for your pulse.

“Compared to a few minutes ago, do you feel more like yourself now?” Siddiq made sure.

Huh. You used to ask Shane a very similar question, when he was forgetting his goodness.

You kept feeling the small beats at your wrist, reminding you that you were indeed alive, therefore capable of healing and growth.

“Heart’s still beating,” you sniffled, making yourself smile at him. The hatred and disgust you’d felt earlier seemed to you less like a fact and more like a bad dream.

Then, from the far right of the oak tree, you heard Aaron’s voice saying, “Not yet, man, they’ve got four minutes left.”

Aaron and Daryl then came into view. They waved to you as they walked by with the babies, another reminder that you that you weren’t fully dead inside. Gracie was in a stroller, TJ was bundled in Daryl’s arms. Your husband lingered behind, eyes on you as he absently pecked a kiss to your baby’s covered head.

Something stirred, and your chest fluttered and tugged in their direction, reminding you again that your heart was still beating. So was Maggie’s, so was her and Glenn’s baby’s, so was Rick’s, so was Aaron’s. Life was still going. You had a child, a husband; lifelines. Their hearts were still beating, too.

The unexpected wink and the way Daryl’s gaze softened as he looked at you made you feel as if you’d been freezing and someone just handed you a cup of cocoa with mini marshmallows. The way he next moved his lips to pronounce ‘troublemaker,’ however, you ought to have seen coming a mile away.

The heaviness in your body eased a bit. A smile started prodding the corners of your mouth. Shyly, you returned the wave and mouthed ‘mangy hick,’ your wrist bumping against the photograph sticking from your shirt pocket.

Aaron noticed him acting like a dope lagging and gestured for him to keep up. “Four more minutes and we’ll come back to get her.”

Daryl called out "slowpoke," and waved your baby’s little arm to the two of you as they walked away. He kept peeking behind him, too, it warmed you. When they reached far enough, you once again took the photograph out from your pocket.

With a final peek at Carl’s picture, you sent up a prayer and reaffirmed the promise that you’d made to him. That you’d live for him, do him proud.

So long as your heart was still beating, you’d try to do him proud. “Seems you and I got four more minutes, Sid. What’ll we pick?”

-------------------------

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---------------------------

And here's the picture prize for getting through the long chapter!

[yuukei-yikes]

i extended on something i wrote months ago in the subject of shinene codependency (and shinaya breakup) but its hidden in a Much longer post under a read more so i wanted to make it into its own post for my kagenalysis tag❤️:

to rant a bit abt the "personal narrative" of shintaro. i think it's interesting that shintaro is essentially a very self centered character and kagepro is very meta in the way it treats him as a main character. because inside of kagepro, he really gets as much focus as any other character, they're all "main" character to us. its rather inside the story he plays a very important role therefore he is the protagonist and as the protagonist he puts an end to the story itself too. i think this is all interesting together and fun to dissect shintaro's character as inherently self centered because that's what the story is. the initial premise is that he's a depressed guy living in regret he used to be "such a bad person" to someone he cared deeply about.

his self centeredness shows not only in the way he acts even without retaining activated, but he is really in the center of it. shintaro IS the protagonist and deep down even if he hasn't remembered yet, he knows that. so does everyone else. they all know they depend on him, sooner or later.

and i like to think of all this in a post str context thinking that the way he handles all that in everyday life once this story is over and theyre free from a narrative in the first place, is self destructive because its not compatible to being a normal person. he's a protagonist but there's nothing to be a protagonist OF anymore

so it IS taking him a bit to really LOOK at his friends and stop looking only for himself. technically he's lived a hundred doomed lives and now he's here trying out this one and again it is scary and new and... ene, who's been the most dedicated to centering her life around shintaro, is a clear safe place while navigating this.

he takes takane totally for granted because of this. in the narrative she has always been his sidekick. she has been the second main character to him. she has always lived and served him in all timelines, in all the time theyve known each other that she can't remember and he can, takane has been more ene than she's been takane to him, and ene has always been his annoying lap dog he hates as much as he needs in order for the story to move forward. takane of course reciprocrates the dynamic because it's also all she's known for a year. but... it's a year, vs. shintaro's God Knows How Many resets.

so eventually... as she is free from the narrative and very much her own person outside of him, capable of finding love and priorities somewhere else away from him and OUT LOUD tackling issues like hey we have a codependent dynamic going on we should work on, bc she does normal people stuff like going to therapy, takane moves on. which is mind blowing for shintaro AND HE DOESNT LIKE IT

he shuns it completely whenever takane brings it up, which she does a lot as time goes on. because time keeps going on. it keeps passing by. and everyone around him seems to be growing up and that's so infuriating and so terrifying and then stuff like ayano dating him and dumping him is as much of a reality check as ayano being alive in the first place, and he doesn't know what to do with it other than cry and thrive off the attention takane gives him again upon seeing him broken again.

he's in PAIN but it's familiar. it's comfortable. it's classic. it works. because the story he was a protagonist of was a tragedy, so he doesn't know how to behave when there is hope in the future. ❤️

[bots-and-cons]

That time of the year again...

This is pretty much purely a vent post, so if you don't feel like reading, don't. I'd like to start with saying that I'm in a larger scale okay, and this too will pass

I remember writing a similar post around the same time last year. I guess this is going to be a repeat thing, at least for the next couple of years. My grandma died in June 2020, and I honestly don't remember much from around that time, probably because of the depression and general bad times. I found an obituary from the first of July that year for my grandma, and I'm pretty sure the funeral was somewhere in the middle of June. It honestly wasn't as hard on me as I had imagined, probably because even though she was alive, she had been gone for a long time already. That of course doesn't mean it wasn't hard or that it didn't make me really upset for a long time after she passed. She was one of my favorite people in the world, and I loved her dearly.

Two years later on the first of July in 2022 Technoblade's passing was announced by his family on his YouTube channel. I had started watching him in 2019, which was the time I was badly depressed, suicidal and actively self harming. I was still in high school back then and would be until the end of May in 2021. It was a bad time for me and his videos were a big source of laughter, which was a rare thing for me at that time. I don't remember much from that time tbh, but I remember watching the potato war videos and having a genuinely good time, even if it was only for that 20 minutes. I originally heard about Technoblade from my younger brother, and we also bonded a lot over his videos. His videos brought us closer as siblings and we talked a lot about a new video whenever one was published. Techno's videos and streams helped me through a lot of tough times, which is probably why his passing was so hard on me. The two years since his passing, I always get recommended tribute videos and memorial stuff like animatics people have made around this time of year. I've been crying my eyes out for pretty much every night again for about the past week. I've just not been having the best time recently.

Another thing I've been thinking about because of the anniversary of Techno's death is that I'm going to be 24 in a bit under a week. Techno died when he was 23, he was so young. I don't really know how to articulate how I'm feeling about this, but confusion is probably the best word. I don't know how to feel, how am I even supposed to feel? The world isn't fair, it doesn't matter how amazing of a person someone might be, cancer doesn't discriminate. Shitty things don't care how old you are or how much good you've done, they will come all the same.

Anyway, I guess I'm just feeling stressed and kinda sad. My summer courses suck and I hate that I took them in the first place, it's just constant stress, and I'm annoyed all the time. I'll survive, even if what I'm currently feeling sucks ass ＞﹏＜

[autisticlee]

any other autistic/adhd/dissociative/disabled-in-general person forced to do thjngs that you know you shouldn't do because huge safety issue or can't do it correctly or causes severe pain and do it so poorly it affects your health or safety or life in very negative ways? but you have no choice but to out yourself in danger?

for example, I always see posts like "other people complain they were forced to do a thing but they can still do it so that means they cant complain since i literally cant do it at all" basically. no sympathy for people forced to do dangerous and unsafe and painful and scary things! sounds very dismissive! I see driving as one example a lot. others say they simply cannot because *list of reasons*. but what if you were forced even though you have still those reasons?

another common one is making food for yourself. "I'll be very malnutritioned if i'm forced to" what if you are forced to make your own food and live off bare minimun so ARE malnutritioned and just have to accept health issues that come with it? sometimes see people can't go places alone because it's dangerous. what if you had to anyway and just have to deal with people harassing you and trying to kidnap you and can't ask or scream for help and no one takes you seriously when you tell the stories if you're lucky to get away? or can't do a thing because it's painful. imagine accepting the pain without treatment and giving up on living a good life. or cant get a job but forced to work a job with family who makes you stay even when job tears your body apart and makes you very depressed because you hate it but have bills and parents wont pay for everything and dismiss your struggles and force you to be "adult" alone.

anyone else forced to do these things they know they can't and just have to suffer consequences of it alone? I never see posts like this. saw a couple posts by people who don't do these things and dismiss people struggling and being forced to do them because they decided it means we "can" so arent allowed to complain because it "dismisses/talks over people like them who cant" but that's doing the same thing! right???? dismissing other people by claiming they talk over and dismiss you is still dismissive. there can be multiple voices at once! is not a competition!

often see posts talking about "I can't be forced because I cant do it" but people recognize that and help them in life. i'm glad they have help! don't see as many posts about how hard it is to be forced when you know you can't and should not but still have to. because!!!!! just because you are forced to do a thing doesn't mean you ~actually can do it~ or should be. you can be forced into danger every time and have very bad things happen. no choice but to accept the bad things and deal with them. and that can be super scary and frustrating and stressful!!!!! not fair if we can't talk about that!!!!

for food, of my mom doesn't make something j can eat, I have to make my own. cannot cook. can't follow directions. cooking is sensory overwhelming. can't stand in place for long. for some reason makes me really dizzy and pain and stuff. so go sit down and get distracted and ruin food every time. lose appetite after cooking and can't eat it. so now only eat cereal and protein bars and microwave meals. very not healthy. probably ads to health issues. am malnutritioned. can't get everything needed. but have no choice because mom won't cook extra meals.

going places alone? tried for last 15 years to make friends to go places with. family hardly ever does things with me. can't make friends. have to go places alone. can't advocate for self. have speech loss every time I leave the house (most days can't say words in general. talking very hard. have very bad intermittent/selective mutism/speech issues. most days can't say words at all. sometimes can recite scripts but usually can't even do that) so can't ask for help. physically can't yell, just unable. talk very quiet when saying any words so no one hears/understands or people misunderstand and either not get whst wanted/needed it people get angry.

somehow bad people attracted to me and always single me out. homeless people always sprint over to me from idk where. ignore everyone else. always jumpscared by them because look at ground or phone when walking. they follow and [[[tw ahead]]] make gross sexual comments and describe things they will do to me. some threaten to kill me and describe in detail how. had one follow for an hour and not leave. had creepy white van parked against my car with back door and saw no one inside and I still got in my car quickly. van suddenly turned on and drove away so someone WAS in it. and didn't realize until I got home how dangerous thst was. had many people follow me at night. had one person grab me and not let go and try to drag me away. dissociated so bad have no memory of how I even got away....autistic brain so sensory overloaded it blocks everything out. dissociates. cannot be aware of my surroundings to spot danger. just incapable! but no one takes me seriously when try to talk about it!!!!

driving? yes I drive. should I be allowed? absolutely not. I know I should not. but don't have a choice, so do dangerous things, hoping people around me can avoid when I do wrong things and pay more attention.

was forced to learn. took 4 years to get license and barely passed the last time. was 1 point away from failure. but live in rural-ish area where everything is far away. is 35-45 minutes to doctors for example. parents womt drive me. they work. don't have friends or other help. was forced to try college (or face being kicked out of home if I didn't try. was 35 minute drive so had to drive self. failed out after a year) and etc. did not want to. fought and argued and cried and melted down begging to not but was punished and threatened. didnt want kicked out in streets alone. is always my dads threat when I don't do what he wants.

so tried my best. drive slow and cautiously as possible. takes at lest 10 minutes longer to get anywhere. brain often dissociate while driving and don't even know how I got there. don't remember the drive. when not dissociating i notice many wrongs. very adhd brain always distracts me. drive off side of road often looking at things. go through red lights all the time and forget to stop at stop signs. accidentally change lanes without noticing I even chnaged. accidentally run people off road/out of their lane all the time.....and etc.

autistic brain always very overwhelmed. too many rules to remember. never remember them and di it wrong. always breaking rules accidentally. too much sensory stuff. too much happening. very! slow! reaction! time! almost hit others many times. have hit things. hit a car once but for some reason they kept going and didn't stop????? guess they didnt care??? idk. confusion!!! but somehow nothing severe yet...have to rely on others to out maneuver my bad driving. brain gets mixed signals a lot. will see break lights ahead way down street and think oh stop. so stop on middle of road for no reason when no one stopped directly in front and light is green or opposite will see light green and ignore break lights in front and almost slam into car. have almost run over many people because don't notice them and they run away in time then scream and are mad. always get lost even with GPS. struggle to understand GPS. go wrong way. drive up one ways wrong way. drive where there's no road, over curbs, through grass, confusing myself and everyone around. cant see at night barely especially when raining so is always extra scary and more broken rules...and many other reasons driving is bad and unsafe for me.

so am forced. have no choice. but KNOW I shouldn't. am danger to myself and everyone around me. I KNOW that but no one believes or cares because no one wants to drive me anywhere and says im lazy. doesn't understand my struggle and how dangerous. when people make me drive them they yell and freak out entire time making it harder!!!! try to avoid driving as much as possible. only haven't gotten in major accidents so far because i live in more rural area and not city so less people/cars. try super hard to concentrate and go slower than supposed to and let other people avoid my bad driving usually. concentrating makes me fall asleep so another bad thing. always fall asleep while driving. because too stressed so brain tries shutting down. if not falling asleep then dissociating.

know I shoukd not be on road because it's dangerous for me and others. but have no choice. so will keep being danger until something very bad happens and have "valid excuse" to not drive......no one listens to my concerns so need to drive to not miss appointments and stuff anyway. sighs.

where is sympathy for people like me? why is it always "can drive vs can't drive" why there never anyway who can't drive but still has to??? just because you do a thing you were forced to doesn't mean you should!!!!!!!!!! and doesn't mean you *can* if you always do it wrong and it's super dangerous!!!! "can" meaning allowed is different from "can" meaning able. you can be allowed to do a thing you're unable to do, so that means you do the thing, but very poorly and unsafe and wrong.

do you know how scary and frustrating it is?! how stressful?! I feel so sick every time I have to drive. catch so many mistakes and probably not catch all. people mad and beep horn constantly. makes me drive worse every time!!!! ban horns! hurts my ears!!!! go around! disabled driver trying their best. stop making it worse and harder! 😭😭😭😭 just pretend it's a video game

I know someone might read and think i'm saying "I can do it so you can" NO OPPOSITE I know you can't do it. but doesn't mean I "can" and should! I also should not. but don't like when people say "I literally can't so stop complaining you're forced/have no choice so have to do it anyway. I don't have choice either and dont. that means you can do it so stop complaining" and stuff like that. glad you weren't forced and threatened to be kicked out of home if you dont pass and can get others to drove you when you need. sometimes desperate times means you do dangerous things you can't. imagine of you actually have to do it anyway and just have to accept you will break rules and hurt yourself and others. it's scary!!!!! and not fair!! dont want you to suffer that. but not fair I can't complain about it! not fair I cant say "I can't do this bit am forced anyway" when clearly I should not be allowed a license!!!! or operate vehicles!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 sometimes intrusive thoughts tell me crash car on purpose so lisence is taken and don't have to drive anymore. but then will be isolated in house and never go to appointments ever again and family will punish me and cant escape them because can't leave. don't want that on anyone and sorry to everyone who experiences that! trying my best to avoid that though...

this isn't to everyone who is disabled/autistic and can't drive or do other stuff. just dont think people will understand and will think i'm attacking when i'm not. Just talking about personal experience and hoping others relate and hoping to not be dismissed again. higher needs people cannot. I know! Just trying to see if anyone else understands!!!! i'm probably medium needs? need help but pass enough to never get any and always have to put self in danger and sruff. but some lower needs make posts they cannot drive and didnt even try fkr example. just afraid because they know they can't. (again not saying they can and should try. good for them keeping that boundary!) but they have choice not to because have people to drive them or have public transport i dont have. understandable. is scary. glad you don't have to and stay safe.

but sometimes feels like they dismiss my struggles and say they think just because I do it means I *can* and they would never. but that "can" is being forced to break laws and rules and causing accidents and being very dangerous to everyone and myself!!!! but having no choice but to do the bad dangerous things anyway because the alternative can be worse. that's the problem. 😭😭😭😭 where are posts about this? anyone understand and have same experiences? or sympathy for people like me that doesnt feel dismissive? 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"I can't do it. I know bad thing will happen. so i dont" VS "I can't do it. I know bad thing will happen. but i'm forced to make bad thing happen anyway" are 2 ideas that can both exist!

[marilynthornhilllover]

Larissa weems x fem!reader

Name: " when the pain cuts you deep"

Warning: indecent language, depression, insecurities, self hatred,panic attacks, childhood trauma, low self esteem, FLUFF.

Request: hey darling! Can I request a sad reader x larissa please! Also can it be based off the song remedy from adele, including some stuff like depression, insecurities, self hatred,childhood trauma, anxiety, panic attacks, low self esteem etc rissa comes home to r crying in the bathroom saying shes not good enough and no one cares about her. BUTS LOTS OF FLUFF FROM RISSA!! I kbow that you would use your imagination and make this into art BTW i love your fanfics keeping working magic and have a good day!!

A/n: thank you darling!! And I hope your doing well just know that your gonna be ok :)

○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○

Growing up you had a pretty fucked up childhood. While other kids were busy being happy and playing with toys you were busy being miserable and suffering. Depression is something everyone can relate to. Either it be serious or not.

We all faced a time when we once questioned our existence on earth. You've been a broken child growing up. And because of that it destroyed many of your relationships. Because people didn't know how to cope and relate to you mentally.

But when you met larissa that all changed. You first met her at a conference meeting. That's when she helped you with through your first panic attack in public. After that the both of you got really close.

Larissa was always gentle with you. Never pressured you. Never belittle you, underestimated you, made you feel scared, lonely, hurt, nothing that people would normally make you feel.

You always thought that you weren't capable of loving. But the day larissa proposed to you would forever be a eternal memory to you. It's been 5 years now, and you haven't regret a thing.

♧

Larissa knew when you didn't come to hug her at the door when she came home something was wrong. Big time. Fear rushed over her as panic filled her body, as she called your name once and didn't get a response. " darling? Where are you, I'm home" she said running up the stairs to the second floor.

She heard you. Your quiet sobs of pain. Her heart immediately shattered. She hated seeing you hurt so much. Especially when she knows sometimes she can't help. You just have to get over it yourself in your own time. In your own space. Which she highly respected.

She gently knocked on the door causing you to jump from inside. You were so lost in yourself you didn't even hear her come home. " baby you ok?" She asked voice dripping with care and love but hasten with worry. You sniffed as you pulled in a cold long breath.

" Yes but I'll be out soon" you said barely getting it out before you broke down into tears again. As much as you wanted to be alone in your shit you wanted to be in her embrace. With her soothing words of affection. Her soft touch, her kisses. Oh you wanted it all.

You always hated physical touch but larissa was different. Far different. Her touch was magical. And you hated pushing her away when she so desperately wanted to help you.

" my love you can't hide forever, dont do this to yourself please" she whispered the last word coming painfully. She sat on the ground on the other end of the door. You pulled your knees closer to your chest and placed your head on them. You couldn't face yourself and now you couldn't face her. You've been here a million times before.

And she was always there every step of the way. So why are you shutting her out now? Why the distancing. It was the self doubt again. The little demon in your head telling you no one loves or care about you. That's what it was, larissa thought to her self.

" What's troubling my dove?" She asked voice soft as ever. She really was meant for you. You couldn't help the sobs. When she asked you the question your heart suddenly gaved out. You suddenly had the urge to tell your lover everything.

You slowly opened the door. Larissa immediately stood to her feet taking a good look at you. Puffy eyes, messed up mascara, messy hair. Her heart ached at the sight of you. It seriously broke her heart to see you in such state.

" I don't feel like I'm good enough for anything or anyone rissa, not even for you. I hate myself, I'm always messing things up. I dont wanna hurt anyone. I wanna let go riss" you said voice breaking. Soon the tears came flooding your eyes and cheeks again.

"Oh honey" she cooed as she pulled you into her arms. "Let it out" she whispered, placing your face into her neck. You cried harder. Her grip around tighten as she was trying to get you as close to her as possible. She allowed you to cry and cry til you couldn't anymore.

You became numb to the pain.

♧

After larissa gaved you a bath she placed you in bed. She got dressed into something more comfortable and took her place beside you on the bed. For a while there was completely silence. You stared into the room avoiding eye contact with her.

You could feel her staring at you. "Baby" she whispered cupping your face in her hands. You melted into her touch, whimpering at the sensation.

" look up" she whispered and you did just so, as soon as your eyes met her gaze she kissed you softly. You didn't have the energy to kiss back so you just let her do all the love and affection. Her soft lips against yours was always a feeling you would never get tired of.

You moaned into her mouth as she deepened the kiss. This is what you loved most about larissa. She could take all your pain away in a instant. Make you feel safe. Important.

" why didn't you tell me the feelings were coming back?" She asked proceeding to leave kisses all over your face. You pulled away from her eyes meeting her gaze. " I didn't want to burden you with unnecessary things" you whispered looking away from her.

She immediately brought your gaze back to hers. " y/n you are not a burden and your feelings and mental health is not unnecessary, my love" she said smiling softly. Her eyes were filled with hope and love.

" I love you beyond stars, do you know what I'd do for you?" You sniffed and barley was able to look at her because your eyes were hurting so bad. " I'd jump off a cliff for you. Get hit by a train for you. Die for you" she said, kissing your cheek.

Suddenly your chest started to feel tight. Your breathing became more erratic. It was a panic attack. Larissa noticed immediately. She pulled you closer to her and placed your head on her shoulder. " remember what we participated darling" she whispered, she slowly inhaled and you followed.

Then she slowly exhaled. You followed her breathing steps for a good while before you were ok again. You pulled away from larissa and looked up at her.

" thank you for being so patient with me, rissa" you whispered looking down at the sheets and slightly pulling them. Larissa used her hand to rise up your chin. She took both your hands in hers. She kissed you on your forehead softly. " I meant what I said in our wedding vows" she whispered.

" that'd you be by my side forever?" You asked low laying your head into her lap.

She slowly Bagan to run her fingers through your messy hair. Fingernails brushing your scalp lightly. Soon you started to fall asleep. Larissa fixed you probably so that you were comfortable, by placing your head on a pillow and your blanket over you.

You were completely asleep now. Larissa looked at your sleeping body and smiled. She loved you beyond stars. She smiled at your before kissing your forehead.

" that I'll be your remedy" she whispered softly. That was her vows to you. To understand you. Help you. Stay be yourside and most importantly to be your cured for your sadness and broken heart.

☆

The next morning you woke up with kisses being placed all over your face. during your sleepy state you heard. " love yourself today, you deserve it" it was below the average tone of how a person spoke but above a whisper. There was a soft kiss to your cheek before she left for work.