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octoberclidan · 9 months

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Can You Look at Me?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: She hunts with Sam and Dean for a long time, they are inseparable best friends. She has feelings for Dean, but doesn't have hope he feels the same (he feels the same) because he often has one night stands with blonde busty barbies. When this happens reader is super sad,because she's more the small and petite type and not the busty tall model. One night the three celebrate in a bar and Dean as always flirts with a bitch, to distract himself from his feelings for his best friend. Unfortunately there's a guy hitting on her and he's super intrusive and she tries to defend herself but the guy is three her size. He spiked her drink and she slowly begins to feel faint. He violates her. After some time dean notices that a creep violates her in a corner....

She's out of it and Dean brings her to the bunker. She has a worrying reaction to the drugs and he takes care of her. She has a respiratory depression and later she's suffering from being violently sick. I really like Dean and Sam to be protective and worried care taker =)

Note: this is 18+ and contains sexual harassment and assault.

Masterlist

Story:

"Hey, you up for a bit of a celebration tonight?" Sam found [Y/N] in her room, updating her journal with details from the witch hunt they'd just arrived back from that morning. She glanced up at him and smiled, nodding at him.

"Sure, just our local bar?" She asked and he nodded once.

"Yeah, and just the three of us, Cas has heaven business to attend to". He walked over and pulled a chair over to sit down beside her bed. She closed her journal and raised an eyebrow at him, clearly something was on his mind. "So, you uh, think you'll see someone you like there?" He asked and she rolled her eyes.

"Sam, come on".

"What?" He grinned at her.

"You are far more invested in this than I am".

"Why don't you make a move tonight? You're on a high from the hunt, he's on a high from the hunt...". She glared at him and he raised his hands in defense. "Look, all I'm saying is, you two stare at each other all the time. Cas has even pointed it out. You can deny it all you want, but I know you have feelings for him, and I know he has feelings for you. I say you take your shot tonight". He shrugged before he stood up and put the chair back. "We leave in ten". He smiled at her annoyed expression before leaving the room.

Sam had been nagging [Y/N] about her feelings for Dean for months. She hadn't admitted anything, but he knew her too well, seeing right through her. She always found Dean attractive, anyone would, but her feelings for him evolved into something more solid after she'd moved into the bunker a year previous. She'd spent a lot of time with both Sam and Dean, and Cas too, and she'd come to genuinely love all of them. Cas was someone she could talk to about anything without fear of judgement, Sam was someone who she trained with, researched with, worked well with, and cared very deeply for. Dean was someone who she got along with without having to put in any effort, they just clicked. They got each other, they knew how to read each other, they looked out for each other, they knew when something was wrong with the other, and they enjoyed each other's company, even in silence.

Sam seemed to think that she just didn't have the courage to tell Dean how she felt, but courage wasn't the issue, at least not entirely. She had never been too scared to tell a man how she felt about them. The main issue was that even on the off chance that he did like her too, it would never work. Their ability to hunt together would be affected if there was a relationship involved. They often argued after bad hunts, when they were tired, physically hurt, and emotionally drained. She knew that put a strain on their friendship sometimes, and even though they always got over it, she also knew that it would do even more damage to a romantic relationship. Besides all of that, she was also almost certain that he didn't feel the same about her anyway, since she simply wasn't his type. Although Dean looked short next to Sam, he was still a tall guy. She'd never seen him go for a shorter woman. She'd also never seem him go for a woman with her body type, he tended to go for women with curves in all the right places, curves that [Y/N] just never had. She tried not to dwell on it too much, but that wasn't something she succeeded with.

She picked out a simple black dress from her closet which hugged her thighs, decided to leave her hair down, added some simple pieces of jewellery, and put on a pair of plain black high heels; something to give her a little bit of height. She didn't dress up often, they didn't really go out much. A lot of the time they were on hunts a few days away from the bunker, and when they were over they'd usually celebrate in whatever bar was closest to the case before heading back, meaning they usually went out in whatever clothes they brought for the hunt. Their last hunt wasn't that far away though, so they'd driven through the night to get home instead of going out. It was a rare opportunity for [Y/N] to dress up and feel pretty for once, and who knows, maybe there'd be a new local or someone passing through who she could make a good first impression on.

Once she was happy with how she looked, or as happy as she could be with what she had to work with, she picked up her purse and walked out to the war room to meet the boys. Sam raised his eyebrows when he saw her, and even though she had no feelings other than platonic for him, she couldn't help the blush on her cheeks under his stare. "Wow, you clean up well". He said, and his remark pulled the attention of Dean, who'd been distracted looking under the table for something when [Y/N] had walked in. He looked her up and down before clearing his throat and looking to Sam. Although she'd been building a wall between herself and her feelings for Dean, she had to admit that his lack of acknowledgement of the effort she'd put into her appearance stung a little.

"You sure you haven't seen them?"

"I told you, you were wearing them when we got back and then you disappeared off into your room, so if they're not in there and they're not out here, then I've no idea where your boots are Dean".

"Well I can't go out in just my socks".

"You seriously only own one pair of boots?" Sam asked him, crossing his arms with an amused expression on his face.

"No, but my other pair are covered in ghoul".

"Dean, that ghoul hunt was two months ago. You're telling me you've had those shoes rotting in your room all that time and haven't cleaned them yet? No wonder every time you open your door it makes the entire corridor smell like something's just died".

Dean just waved him off, muttering to him to go ahead and he'd meet them there as he wandered off back to his room. Sam and [Y/N] decided to walk to the bar since they intended on drinking properly, and it wasn't very far from the bunker. Although, she knew her feet would probably be hurting before she even got there with her not being used to wearing heels that much anymore. She figured it was worth the pain for one night.

The bar was busy when they got there, and [Y/N] grabbed a table while Sam went off to order drinks. She used the opportunity to scan the room, trying to see if there was anyone there that looked interesting. She noticed a man leaning at the bar ordering a drink ahead of Sam. What drew her attention to him was how similar he looked to Dean; same sort of height, build, clothes. Even his stance and they way he was smirking at the bartender looked like Dean. She watched him until Sam made his way back to the table with their drinks, looking away before he got back to the table, but he'd already caught her staring at him.

"He's not the real thing, you know that, right?" He chuckled as he sat down opposite her. She blushed and brought her drink up to her lips.

"I'm just looking, there's nothing wrong with that". Sam leaned forwards on the table, ready to start nagging again but she cut him off before he could start. "I want to enjoy tonight Sam, maybe find a nice man who's interested. I'm an adult, and I don't think I look too bad tonight, so I can do that if I want to". She took another sip of her drink.

"Yeah but Dean-"

"Sam. I said I want to enjoy the night, so drop it, okay?" They sat in silence for a few minutes with their drink, until Sam started talking about the type of magic that the witch they'd just killed had been using. She was half listening to him, half keeping an eye on the Dean lookalike while they made their way through their drinks.

"[Y/N]?" Sam waved his hand in front of her as she watched the man continue to flirt with the bartender, even his mannerisms were the same.

"Hmm?" She took a final sip of her drink.

"Are you listening? I asked if you ever found out what language she was speaking when she started to cast that spell".

"Oh, yeah, it was Irish, she was saying something about setting fire to either a man, or to the grass, one or the other, I couldn't remember exactly what she said". She looked back over to see the man now turned away from the bar, catching her eyes and smiling at her. She smiled back at him and Sam cleared his throat in an attempt to win back her attention. "Hey, you think Dean found his boots yet?" She asked, still looking at the man. The more she looked at him, a feeling of uneasiness started to grow inside her. He looked like Dean but he was missing the kindness in Dean's eyes, the warmth of Dean's smile, the aura of safety that she felt around Dean.

"He uh, found them awhile ago". She looked back at Sam in confusion, to see him looking over her shoulder with a grimace on his face. She turned around to see what he was looking at, and there Dean was. He was sitting in a booth with his arm around a girl that fit his type exactly, a smirk on his face as she giggled to something he'd just said. A wave of pain and jealousy flowed through her, but she found it difficult to look away. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and stood up.

"I need another drink". She didn't meet Sam's eyes, not wanting to see his pity, and made her way over to the bar to order, deciding to go to the far end from where the Dean lookalike was, now avoiding his gaze. Once her drink was on the counter, she turned back around to where she had been sitting with Sam, but there was another girl sitting where she'd been, and Sam was already completely immersed in conversation with her. [Y/N] sighed and leaned back against the bar watching them, leaving her drink on the counter beside her. She knew it had been awhile for Sam, and she was happy to see him smile. She took a long gulp from her drink and couldn't help but let her eyes wander over to Dean's booth, where his tongue was now definitely inside the girl's mouth. She tried to ignore the nausea she felt and was about to throw down some cash and head home early when someone cleared their throat beside her. Looking up, she saw a pair of green eyes. Cold, not warm like Dean's. Now that he was right next to her, she could see that he was taller than Dean, closer to Sam's height, and very broad.

"Hey, what's your name?" He smiled at her.

"[Y/N], sorry, I was actually just about to leave". She pushed off the bar but he stepped in front of her.

"What's the hurry? Not gonna finish your drink at least? I'm David". He held his hand out to her, and she glanced around him to Sam, but he was now facing away from her, having pulled his chair around to be closer to the girl he was talking to. She sighed but smiled and him and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, but I really am just gonna head home". She went to move around him but stumbled a little bit, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. She'd only had one drink with Sam, and half of a second drink, not nearly enough for her to feel tipsy. David's large hand grabbed her shoulder, steadying her.

"Woah, you okay?" He scrunched his eyebrows together, and she was almost convinced, but his concern didn't seem genuine.

"Yeah..'m just tired. Gonna get my friend". She made another attempt to step around him, but she tripped, and this time David's arms were around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

"Looks like you need some support". He chuckled and she tried to push his arms off her, but she felt strangely weak. She was a hunter, she was small, but she was strong, she had been trained by the two best hunters in the world, and even though this guy was over a foot taller than her, she should've been able to manuever out of his hold with ease. Her body just wasn't cooperating, it wasn't doing what she wanted it to.

"Get off". She meant it as a demand, but her voice came out quiet. The room was now spinning, she couldn't really see anything properly, but she felt the edge of the counter of the bar against her back, and David pressing her into it.

"You seem tense, I can help you let off some steam". He murmured into her ear, now close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath. She brought her arms up to push his chest, but again she couldn't find any strength in them. He chuckled, gripping her waist hard with both hands and pushed his knee in between her legs, pushing his thigh up under her dress to grind against her underwear. She was confused as to why she couldn't think straight, why she couldn't see properly, why she couldn't get away, and she started to cry, continuously trying and failing to push him away without success. She didn't know how long she'd been there, it could've been less than a minute, or it could have been half an hour, but suddenly the pressure from David was gone, and she was falling to the floor on her hands and knees.

***

Dean had found his boots not long after he'd left Sam and [Y/N] to go to the bar. He'd arrived only ten minutes or so after they had, and he'd gone up to the bar to order himself a drink with the intention of joining Sam and [Y/N] at theirs. He'd been waiting for his drink when a pretty woman had said hello to him, had complimented his smile, and had asked to touch his muscles. Dean never had to try very hard to get attention, and he knew it. However, it wasn't the attention he really wanted. He glanced over to [Y/N], but she was staring at another man on the other end of the bar, not noticing Dean at all. So, he decided that the pretty girl touching his muscles would be a good distraction, and maybe if he got talking to her, she'd be half as interesting as [Y/N].

He hadn't bothered to make himself known to Sam and [Y/N], and pulled the girl over to a free booth and wrapped an arm around her, ready to try and get lost in her. He made eye contact with Sam, who nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to [Y/N], but Dean could see that she wasn't paying any attention to Sam, she was still looking over at the guy at the bar. Trying to keep the jealously at bay, Dean chuckled and nodded at whatever the girl had just said to him, and leaned in to kiss her. When he finally decided that he wasn't having fun and wasn't into it when he knew [Y/N] was right there and interested in someone else, he made an excuse and got up from the booth. He turned to go over to Sam and [Y/N]'s table to tell them he was going to go back to the bunker, but [Y/N] wasn't there, some other girl was talking to Sam. Dean scanned the room and when he found [Y/N], his heart sank. The man she'd been looking at earlier was caging her in against the bar, and she was clearly crying. Dean had never felt anger like he had in that moment, and without thinking he marched over to the man, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off [Y/N]. He shoved him, and David stumbled backwards.

"What's your problem?" David asked, squaring up against Dean.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Dean's face was red with anger.

"Fuck off, find your own slut". David shoved Dean and Dean punched him without hesitation, right in the jaw. He stumbled back again, this time falling down onto his back. Dean hadn't noticed, but the people around him had cleared away and everyone was watching. Sam had immediately run over to [Y/N] who was on the ground, but Dean's attention was on David. He crouched down and grabbed a fistful of his collar, pulling his head up and getting in his face.

"If I ever see you again, if you ever touch her again, I will kill you". He waited for David to submit and nod, then let go, letting him fall back down, and with the look that Dean was giving him, he stayed down.

"Dean". Sam's voice called to Dean and he stood back up, gave David one last warning glare, and turned around to see Sam and [Y/N] on the ground. She was sitting in Sam's lap, and he was cradling her in his arms, rocking slightly in an attempt to comfort her. "There's something wrong with her, she's not breathing properly". Dean knelt down beside them, his anger turning to panic as he watched [Y/N] struggling to catch her breath, the tears still streaming down her face. He pushed her hair back off her face and wiped her tears away.

"Hey Sweetheart, you're safe, Sammy and I have you. Can you look at me?" He cupped her cheek but her eyes weren't focusing on him, she was looking all over frantically. "Okay, okay, come here". He looked to Sam. "Give her to me, we need to get her out of here". Sam nodded and carefully pushed her into Dean's arms, before getting himself up and helping Dean up with her. Sam walked ahead of Dean, clearing a path through the crowd and opening the door as Dean carried [Y/N], his hand holding her head close to his chest, determined not to let anyone hurt her or even get close to her.

Dean kept his eyes on her the entire walk home, and Sam kept trying to talk to her but got no response other than confused expressions. "She's completely out of it, how much did she drink?" Dean asked as they walked down the steps inside the bunker.

"Not enough to affect her like that. He definitely spiked her drink Dean". Sam had suggested taking her to a hospital, but Dean knew she wouldn't want that. He'd prayed to Cas during the walk home, and hoped that he'd be finished in heaven soon. He walked to her bedroom, Sam following quickly behind him. He laid her down on her bed and pulled back, and she started to panic, grabbing at his arm trying to stop him from letting go.

"Hey, hey, [Y/N] look at me". He put his fingers under her chin and angled her face towards his, but she still wasn't focusing on him. "I'm not going anywhere, you're in the bunker, you're gonna have to breathe properly for me, okay?"

"Dean, her colour is off, I think she's gonna be sick". Sam said from behind Dean. He stood back just in time to avoid being thrown up on as [Y/N] leaned over the side of the bed. He held her hair away from her face and rubbed her back, looking up to Sam for help. "I'll get her some water, move her to another bed and I'll clean this up".

"Thanks Sammy". Dean looked down to [Y/N] once Sam left the room. "Hey, do you think you're done? Or do you think you're gonna be sick again? Hopefully you've thrown up whatever was in that drink". He rubbed circles on her back and watched as tears formed in her eyes again.

"I'm sorry". She whispered, avoiding looking at him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. How do you feel?"

"I feel weird".

"You weren't really with us for awhile there, you had both of us worried". She apologised again and sniffed before wiping her eyes.

"I don't feel like throwing up again". She mumbled.

"That's good, you're doing good. You wanna sleep in my room tonight? I have the most comfortable bed in the bunker". He reached over to wipe away another tear that escaped her eye and she nodded shyly at him. She tried to push herself off the bed but she still felt like she had no strength. "Don't push yourself, I'll carry you".

Dean carried [Y/N] to his room, noticing how she clung to his shirt as he did, and gently laid her down just as Sam walked in with a glass of water. "Thanks Sam". She said quietly, and he smiled at her and turned to Dean.

"Cas called, he's just finished in heaven and is on his way, should be here in a few hours. It's a good sign that she's talking now". He turned back to [Y/N]. "How are you feeling?" She just shrugged and took a sip of the water before handing it to Dean, who put it on the bedside table for her.

"I'm gonna stay with her until Cas gets here". Dean said, and Sam let him know to just call him if he needed anything. "You wanna move over a bit and let me in beside you? Or if you want your space I can sit in my chair instead, but I do want to be close by just to keep an eye on you". Dean wanted more than anything to hold her in his arms and protect her from everything, but he was also mindful of the fact that she may not want to be touched by someone after what happened, especially by someone who looked like the guy who hurt her. He smiled when she moved over in the bed and made eye contact with him. "Thank you Sweetheart".

He kicked off his shoes and pulled off hers too before he helped her under the covers and slid in beside her. She immediately lay her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his waist, and he wrapped both of his arms around her. She felt safe in his strong hold, and her thoughts were starting to clear up a bit. The tiredness was also setting in though, and she just wanted to fall asleep and forget that evening. Dean pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered reassurances to her until her breathing evened out and deepened. She was safe, she was going to be okay, he was going to tell her how he really felt about her when she was better, and both Sam and Dean would make sure they were there to protect her in future.

The end

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canyourfavesurvivecastledracula · 3 months

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Arthur Holmwood is I believe the only one of the men whose fate hasn't been analysed?

I can see him accepting the crucifix to be polite, but not to keep on wearing it for more than a night or so. He's very English.

But the dynamics would be interesting if he survives accidental cutting. This is a young Lord who travels with his friends around the world for fun without worrying about funds or parental disapproval. I thiiink he's a Viscount's son, and they are close. Dracula treated Jonathan like the mere commoner he is and ordered him around and abused their power imbalance unchallenged, but perhaps a fellow liege lord shan't tolerate to be treated so 'vulgarly' (unless Dracula uses different tactics with him). Jonathan thinks of protesting about writing fake letters as ordered once, sees Dracula's eyes get a bit fiery, and cowers to submission. I don't think Arthur would.

Either way he dies inside when he learns he cannot get a Special in Transylvania.

Yes I've been doling out the Dracula characters a bit at a time. Poor dear Arthur. He never really does know what's going on.

When I thought about this last year, I concluded that Arthur very politely and sweetly declines the crucifix. Arthur knows how to say "no thank you" and Arthur is accustomed to getting his way. He's not a papist and anyway he's not going to take some poor lady's stuff, he's richer than God, he doesn't need other people's stuff.

Okay, serious question, does Arthur know how to shave himself? Like, he has servants for that. ....on consideration, he spent all that time going on adventures with the boys, so Arthur does know how to rough it. And that's good because there are no servants at Castle Dracula.

God, Arthur probably tips his driver. Dracula takes the money and is just like "...huh."

Yeah, you're right about the rank - Victoriana side of tumblr did a lot of research and determined that Lord Godalming (and later Arthur) is likely a Viscount. So Dracula technically outranks him slightly and Arthur knows it. Arthur is also used to the whimsical oddities of the upper classes which means that he is less wigged out by Dracula's behavior than Jonathan. He plays cards with crazier people every Tuesday.

I think Arthur is therefore reasonably likely to actually achieve the sort of obliviousness that Jonathan is so frequently accused of. He's not going to be gathering evidence and doing tests. He's certainly not going to be writing it down. What Arthur is good at is people. Like he can tell that Dracula is desperately unwell. Maybe he invites him to play Tennis. Arthur is sporty and Dracula could clearly use some fresh air and exercise. I think Arthur is less likely to go exploring and so it takes him much much longer to discover he's a prisoner. He writes letters to Lucy every day when he learns to his horrorthat there's no telegraph. It never occurs to him that Dracula isn't sending them - a Gentlemen would surely never behave like that.

(Sorry, I've been reading the Woman in White - can you tell?)

I agree that Arthur will not do the sort of silent cowering that Jonathan does. I certainly don't see him going feral enough to start climbing the walls. He will either confront or accept Dracula's insults. You bring up the letter burning - leaving aside that Arthur doesn't know shorthand and just is not that sneaky, he'd either call Dracula out on going a bridge too far at last or confusedly apologize to him or both. (If you think I'm being unfair to Arthur he does both of these with Van Helsing).

Ultimately even if Arthur doesn't die shaving, he's unlikely to respond to Dracula's psychological torments in a way that will be entertaining for very long. I can't think of any good reason for Dracula not to just let the Girlies have him.

Arthur Holmwood can not survive Castle Dracula

#dracula daily #arthur holmwood #I love him very much but no #gothlit #aristocrats #dracula cast

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butchspace · 8 months

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I guess I kind of just use this account for PSAs now, and this has been on my mind a lot lately.

I figured out that I have OCD a few years ago, and recently I’ve seen a lot of bad advice around dealing with intrusive thoughts and obsessions.

There’s that post that goes around occasionally about “taking pictures of your oven knobs before you leave” or other things I’ve seen that say to “make a weird face when you lock your door.” THESE ARE COMPULSIONS. If you have/suspect you have OCD or you often struggle with things like that, please do not follow this advice. Instead, try to accept your intrusive thoughts and move on, not argue with them. Over time, they will get easier and easier to deal with. Ruminating, stressing, or arguing with them just makes them worse in the long run.

If you think you might have OCD and want to seek a specialist, the IOCDF’s home page has a lot of resources under the “find help” tab, including a locator.

I’m going to put the rest under a read-more because I’m going to talk a bit more in depth about intrusive thoughts and compulsions. This mostly because good OCD info is so sparse on line, and I’ve spent many hours compulsively researching OCD lmao.

Content warning:

discussion of unreality/doubting one’s own perception

discussion of specific compulsions

I’m not going to push this point too hard or shame anyone who doesn’t want to follow it, because OCD doesn’t really just go away. It’s a constant struggle. I give in to compulsions regularly, even though I am medicated and have seen a specialist to learn actual coping skills. It’s hard to resist sometimes and you don’t always have the energy, the awareness, or the power to ignore them. You do what you have to do to get through your day. The main difference is that the right medication and the right therapist make it easier to stay out of the spiral and to leave a spiral when you’re in one. They still happen. You still kind of have to play everything by ear.

Similarly, it is super fucking hard to get help or even get diagnosed. No regular therapist actually knows what the fuck it looks like, and specialists are few and far between and often don’t take insurance. It’s not fair or easy or necessarily productive to try and do exposure response prevention on yourself. Your “good coping skills” can even turn into an obsession or compulsion, where you’re constantly worried about what is an intrusive thought and what is not, or if you’re responding to them properly.

What I want to do is try to give at least some useful advice to people who are struggling with intrusive thoughts.

The best way to respond to them is not at all. This is especially true with OCD, because the response to them is sort of the root of this disorder. Sometimes, it’s recommended that with depression or anxiety you challenge your thoughts. In OCD, it’s the opposite. Challenging them can so easily lead you down a compulsion spiral. (More about that cycle from a professional.)

Compulsions can be entirely mental, but I’ll use a common behavioral one to look at how engaging with compulsions can go:

You start by taking a picture of the your stove knobs to make sure they’re all off. That works for a few hours or days, but then you start wondering if the knob is ever-so-slightly in the “on” position. You wonder if the picture proves they’re off enough. You forget to take the picture at all, and have to go back in to check anyways. You check your phone a few times before leaving to ensure that the picture is still there. You take several pictures because you can’t tell if you actually took any at all. You start to wonder if you can even trust what you see before your very eyes. What if you’re just imagining that the knobs are set to off? What if you’re just imagining the whole picture to begin with? The picture allows you to engage with your checking compulsion throughout the day, strengthening the connection between the intrusive thought and the urgency to do something about it. That means it gets worse. That means you find new ways to doubt your perception or your memory or whatever.

It can eventually get really bad. It’s hard and awful to try and deal with this on your own, but sometimes you have to.

It’s so shit. It’s so fucking shit how long many people suffer with mental illness without even knowing what’s going on. I didn’t know that my constant, overwhelming guilt over almost everything I’d ever thought or said or done or maybe did and couldn’t remember was the result of a disorder. It was so freeing to realize there was actually something that might help me, and I could learn to just live with myself and my weird ass thoughts that don’t necessarily mean anything at all. It’s so shit that OCD-awareness is so low among therapists. I was never going to get diagnosed until I found an OCD SPECIALIST (bold, italicized, all caps. Don’t trust people on psychology today who just put OCD in the list of what they treat.) and went over the Y-BOCS with her. It’s all so shit that several therapists I came to with textbook examples of OCD either ignored me or didn’t have the tools to help. I told one of them I “didn’t feel connected to reality” and he kind just went 🤷.

I just want everyone who is in that/a similar situation to at least have this information available to them.

If you want to learn more, these blogs from Sheppard Pratt were the best discussion of OCD I found online that really described what I was going through. They’re written by licensed therapists, several (all?) of whom live with OCD. They’re very healing to read if this is something you’re struggling with, or something you think you might be struggling with, and great in general if you want to learn more about OCD.

Whatever’s going on, OCD or not, have some grace with yourself. Take a few minutes today and do something kind for yourself, even just think one nice thing about yourself. You’re doing the best you can.

#actually ocd #ocd #ocd awareness #do with this what you will but I stresses me the hell out when I see people #uncritically reblog posts suggesting new compulsions to people #because they worked on me and made my ocd worse #im sure a lot of those suggestions came from others with ocd so I’m not trying to come after anyone about this #I just feel like I don’t see a lot of discussion about this stuff in general and even in the notes on those posts

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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AITA for telling my sister that I didn't find her instagram post funny and that I didn't want her to send me things like that again?

I (32f) have never had a good relationship with my sister (34f). We have gotten somewhat better over time, but we have always had a strained relationship. We are about as opposite as you can be. Social rights issues? No compromise. ACAB? Constant disagreements. Politics: best never mention them. TV Shows? No interest at all. Music? We cannot stand each other's music. We genuinely have nothing except our blood and the fact we were raised by the same people in common.

I am currently in the process of finishing my PhD and live on a different continent to her. We have been vaguely trying to talk and maintain a cordial friendship from afar.

For the past four months I had been preparing for a conference that I was organizing, leading, and moderating. It was a massive project that will be a huge part of my dissertation research, and it went very well. The day after the conference I had a long career planning discussion with some academic advisors, and spent about three hours talking in my second language with my own advisor. The combination of everything left me genuinely exhausted to the point that I woke up the day after it all still too tired to move.

After I woke up, I realized I had a text from her containing an instagram link - no comment, no notes, no context, just the link. I know I wasn't in a perfect headspace and still needed more sleep, but I clicked it because usually she just spam sends me instagram videos about random baby rearing things she finds funny. I don't find any of them amusing, but tolerate them because she seems to enjoy it. I usually just nod my head or offer a few responses to show I've seen it and move on.

But this video was different. This video was, as far as I can tell, an influencer attempt at selling an AI. It had a young woman walk into a classroom with the onscreen text describing how "my professor is the same age as us and she has her phd!" and when she was asked how she got it, the video shows how the "teacher" went onto Youtube, put Youtube videos into this AI which created an algorithm to summarize the video. It ends with the words "University is a joke in 2024".

I was....genuinely offended. After everything I had been through working on this conference and with years of thesis work, I was just hurt. I watched it a few times, trying to understand what it was even trying to say, and could come up with no good reason for why she would just send it to me. So I wrote back to her "idk how you even want me to respond."

She said she thought it was funny, and I asked her if she understood why I wouldn't find it funny. She wrote back "because you lack my sense of humor smh." I tried explaining why I was upset and reframed it in the context of her job. She doubled down that she thought it was funny, but that it was because she thought it was amusing anyone would think they could get any kind of degree like that.

I explained that AI is genuinely a problem in universities right now and that our students are using it to get through their classes and it's causing a lot of chaos with profs trying to crack down on it. Then I told her it felt like she sent me something just to annoy me.

The argument continued from there. I asked her not to send me stuff like that again, and she asked how she was supposed to know I would be triggered by an AI video, and that I was being oversensitive, and how it was my fault for always assuming that she is plotting to piss me off and that she can never show an interest in my life without me having a "feelings dumpfest" and calling her out for being a bully.

I don't understand how she could think sending a video to me saying "university is a joke in 2024" with no context at all would be taken as a joke in the first place. And I felt like if I didn't tell her I didn't like this kind of video and why it made me upset she would keep sending things like this to me I'd have to keep seeing and ignoring future posts.

AITA for telling her I didn't think it was funny and to stop?

Should I have just ignored it and gone back to sleep? (At this point that's what I felt like I should have done...)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year

Text

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER TWELVE

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: in which it is the year 2159

word count: 2.4k

author's note: hello hello! TYWA part two has arrived! now updating is going to be a bit different for this. i'm thinking posting each chapter once a week will be what I will do from here on out that way I can have time to write future chapters whilst you all read the one's I have already written! just remember, don't demand me to post, it doesn't help with motivation or make me want to keep writing it! anyways, thank you for the patience! and without further ado, part two!

AO3 | prev | next

“I keep having these dreams. About this girl. Every time I saw her, it felt like I knew her for years. Like she was my best friend in the whole world. And I couldn’t imagine a life without her.”

“Tell me about these dreams.”

“Well…they always start with fire and…”

“What’s wrong? Baby girl, what is it?”

“You’ll think I’m weird, Daddy.”

“I won’t, I won’t. I promise.”

“When I wake up, I’m sad. Like I’ve lost someone. And it feels so heavy…Daddy, I hate it!”

“Sssh, ssh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.”

“I miss her, Daddy. I miss her so much.”

“Miss who, baby girl?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t even know her name…”

Year 2159

It had been five years since the RDA were exiled off of Pandora and Dr. Chloe Parker was still trying to find her footing on this planet.

Before the battle, she had been well into the late Dr. Augustine’s Avatar Program. Trained and studied learning to control her own avatar and then using her time to explore all of Pandora’s plants and herbs. And it was interesting, learning about all the medicines here, the potential use for them.

Then the battle at the Tree of Souls happened. Killing dozens of wildlife, many humans and Na’vi alike. It was a sad day to say the least. But after Jake Sully took over as the clan leader for the Omatikaya Clan and exiled the RDA off of Pandora, things began to change for the better.

Dr. Chloe had been one of the humans allowed to stay on Pandora, mostly because she didn’t contribute to the war that struck the planet and because Dr. Max Patel vouched for her and some of the other scientists and avatar volunteers. Now she had spent her time continuing to explore all of Pandora, working with the Na’vi in different clans to study their ways of medicine and perhaps teach them some of the stuff humans do, even though she knew they would probably never use it.

For the past few months, Dr. Chloe, and her small research team, took their avatars and their next journey to the Olangi Clan. A very nomadic clan that worked very closely with the Omatikaya so their home wasn’t too far from the former’s. Their clan leader, Akwey, had allowed them to stay and start their research there as long as they didn’t pose a threat to his people and were respectful of the lands and their ways. Which wasn't a difficult task, especially when there were no more military men flanking the planet anymore.

But as of recently, Dr. Chloe had been requested to retrieve the Tsahik of the Omatikaya Clan, Mo’at since the Olangi’s Tsahik had died in the battle against the RDA. So, instead of researching like the rest of her team, she had been made into a messenger, going back and forth from each clan speaking of something called Eywa…Dr. Chloe wasn’t really too spiritual to care much of who this Eywa was. But if it made the people happy and content, and kept them from shutting down her research, then Dr. Chloe would take one for the team for now.

On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely too comfortable leaving her very first patient alone so much. A patient very important to her research.

When Dr. Chloe found Mo’at, she was with her daughter, Neytiri if she could recall correctly. Dr. Chloe never really had a conversation with the woman—mostly because of her obvious distaste of Dr. Chloe’s presence—and today was no different. Once she arrived in her avatar form, Neytiri hissed and walked away. One of her children, a young boy, followed after her closely.

“Why has Akwey sent you now, Chloeparker?” Mo’at greeted her while crushing up what looked like herbs in a small wooden bowl. Dr. Chloe’s Na’vi wasn’t perfect but she could understand a lot of it after years of listening to both Dr. Augustine and the people talk expertly in it.

“An elder died yesterday.” Dr. Chloe informed her, stuffing her hands into her shorts. “Akwey wishes for you to perform the ceremony.”

Mo’at hummed, not looking up from her work. “One day, he will have to come to my daughter as she will be the next Tsahik of the People. And I will finally rest.”

“Let’s hope that day isn’t soon then.” Dr. Chloe commented with a thin smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your daughter doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“You are Sky People. Of course she doesn't like you.” Mo’at stood with the bowl and finally looked at Dr. Chloe. “I am not too fond of your people either.”

Dr. Chloe could understand that in a way. But she was a bit tired of being grouped with the people that tried to destroy Pandora and take it over. Then again, she really couldn’t blame them. If she were in their shoes, she’d hold a grudge too. It didn’t matter if they were the same or not. That anger, that resent, it was uncontrollable and rightful. Dr. Chloe could do nothing but shrug.

“Touché.”

“Mmph.” Mo’at then handed her the bowl. Dr. Chloe took it, surprised at the sudden gesture. “I understand you are a doctor among your people. This can be more useful than whatever technology you Sky People insist on using.”

Chloe held the little bowl delicately but frowned, “The technology is not all useless, you know. It does help sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” Mo’at pointed out. Dr. Chloe tried not to roll her eyes.

There was small movement behind Mo’at and Dr. Chloe did a double take. She hadn’t realized they weren’t alone until Mo’at had stood. It was a little girl that didn’t really look like Na’vi. Actually, when Dr. Chloe looked at her closely, she realized the little girl looked awfully similar to someone.

Before she could wonder just who the little girl reminded her of, her earpiece suddenly beeped, alerting her that one of her team members was calling her from back at the Olangi Clan.

Dr. Chloe excused herself before answering her earpiece, “This is Dr. Chloe—”

“You need to get back here fast!”

She blinked in confusion at the urgency in her fellow researcher, Simon's voice, “Why, what’s happening?”

There was a pause, “…Okay, don’t get mad but we decided to take her out of cryosleep—”

“WHAT?!” Dr. Chloe covered her mouth when Mo’at gave her a disapproving scowl and the little girl watched her curiously. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice before continuing, “Why the hell would you do something like that—she’s not even stable enough to take her out—”

“Just let me explain!” Simon interrupted with an exhausted sigh. “We connected her to the machines we’ve been working on for months ever since we first started working on her, remember?”

“Those aren’t even ready yet!” Chloe hissed into the earpiece, walking out of the tent where Mo’at and the little girl still were. “Simon, what the hell were you thinking—”

“It worked, Chloe.”

She went quiet. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around the forest, unsure if she had heard him correctly. When Simon called her name again she finally responded in a hushed whisper, “You’re not shitting me, are you? Y-Your saying—”

“It worked, Chloe, it worked.” She could practically imagine the growing smile on his face as he said this. “She could wake up at any moment now. But with her condition, it’s not exactly permanent and I don’t imagine she herself would be happy with the results, but they are supporting her. They're keeping her alive until we know how to deal with the heavier wounds.”

This was definitely a development. This had been something she had been working on for two years now, hearing that it worked, on a person no less? Chloe couldn’t help but start packing up her things and leave.

“I’ll be right there! Don’t do anything without me!”

And with that, Chloe rushed back toward the Samson she had arrived in, ordering the pilot to take her back to plains.

There was a lab within the tall trees the Olangi Clan lived in. Chloe had it built when she first arrived in the plains. Even though she technically wanted to build one in one of the trees, having a lab hanging from a tree wasn’t exactly the safest position. So, they went with having it on the ground.

Plus, if they had done it in the tree, then the lab wouldn’t be as spacious as they needed it to be.

When Chloe arrived back, she came out of her link bed with Simon waiting for her.

“How is she?”

The two walked side by side with each other, leaving the link room and walking down the long hallway. Simon carried a holographic pad in his hands as he spoke, “She’s stable, still has yet to wake up, but things are looking good so far. The doctors want to start on the severe wounds right away.”

“How exactly bad are these injuries?” Chloe found herself asking. Really, when they first saw the patient, they had already decided to quickly put her in cryosleep with how badly injured she was and freeze her wounds before it became any more lethal to her body. Chloe hadn’t exactly seen it for herself but she’d always kept hearing about how bad it was.

Simon frowned, “Third and second degree burns, a broken rib, and a her lungs might've collapsed, I'm not entirely sure.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, I hear she was a lot worse and the doctors managed to work on some of the less lethal burns, but she’s not exactly out of the woods yet.” Simon sighed as they stopped in front of the closed door. “We have twenty minutes with her before the doctors get to work.”

Chloe frowned, staring at him incredulously, “What should we say to her if she does wake up?”

Simon shrugged, “Tell of the situation, maybe fill her in since she’s missed basically five years of her life, and…I don’t know, comfort her the best we know how?”

“Comfort is not either of our strong suits, Simon.”

Simon rolled his eyes before finally opening the door.

What did death feel like? Was it this bright? This cold? Were you supposed to feel so heavy, so numb as if you couldn’t feel your body. Maybe your consciousness was floating above your body. There were stories like that, you remember reading about people who have died for a few seconds and were able to see their body outside of themselves.

Okay, maybe you weren’t actually dead. You may not have known what it felt like but you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to be able to recall a memory as if it were another day. Then again, your body didn’t feel like a ton of anvils had fallen onto it and was pinning it down, preventing you from moving.

You hadn’t realized your eyes had been open until a shadow came into view, blocking some of the light above. Your vision was blurred, really you didn’t know when you had woken up or how long you had been staring up at the ceiling. Yes, that was definitely a ceiling.

Either hell was some bright room or you were somehow still alive.

Muffled voices echoed into your ears. You hadn’t realized, at first, that the voices were coming from the shadowed heads above you. It was like using your ears for the first time, like you were a newborn baby. Hell, your eyes felt like they hadn’t been used before.

Soon, you started registering the voices.

“You think she fell into some sort of vegetative state?” This voice belonged to a woman.

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. Coming out of a cryosleep can be a little much.” This voice belonged to a man. Neither of them were familiar to your groggy mind. “We might need to get the doctors.”

Soon your vision began to clear.

“Wait, hold on…” The woman above you whispered. She was staring directly down at you, eyes wide with wonder. “I think she’s…”

Your eyes then moved to the second head, the man, when he came back over and appeared in your vision. And like their voices, they were both unfamiliar to you. Even in your foggy mind, you could not recall a single memory where it included these two strangers. Wait, maybe the woman. Back before you had stopped going to Hell’s Gate, you might’ve seen her a few times in passing.

Wait.

Hell’s Gate.

The bombs.

The ship crashed.

You should’ve been dead.

“Dr. L/N?”

The woman’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, you refocused your gaze on her and she grinned excitedly. “You can hear me? Understand me?”

With great difficulty, you nodded. Or maybe your head shifted slightly similar to a nod, you didn’t really know.

“Holy shit.” The male muttered in amazement.

The woman continued grinning, “Welcome back, Doc.”

Before you could ask her where you were, before you could question who these people were, it suddenly hit you.

And it really hit you. Worse than a pile of anvils. More like an out of control train that crashed right into your body and dragged you along the way.

That was the type of pain that struck your body once your senses had begun coming back. This pain was unimaginable. It was unlike anything, unlike any pain you had ever felt in your short life.

This was worse. This was what death felt like.

You didn’t remember much of what happened after your chest jolted forward from the shock of the pain. All you saw was the two that had been standing over you, rushing away, shouting for what sounded like help. And in the next few seconds you kept blacking out a few times. The world went in and out. Every sound clashed together around you. Most of the pain, you realized, was coming from your waist, hell, just your entire upper body.

You wanted to scream. But all that came out of your mouth was choked gasps, barely any words or cries. You were crying. You were crying. Yes, you were sure of it.

There was a sharp prick against your neck.

And in the next second, it was like you were falling out of the world and back into the blackness.

Falling.

Eventually, you would hit the ground…

And Jake Sully would wake up.

#to you worlds away #jake sully x reader #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar jake #avatar jake sully #jake sully #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar fanfiction #avatar 2 #finally!!!

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oliveuku · 7 months

Note

After a lot of research on Twitter (my head hurts let me tell you) I have info on the Scott drama The person who came out about Scott calling them childish and immature. When they were 12, being childish and immature, said they aren't calling Scott a groomer. People decided that, even though it wasn't grooming. That it was grooming and now are using that against him, gotta love twitter A lot of events happened in 2015-2016. But he responded to some people saying they need to get the bigots out of mcc in an immature fashion. Which he apologized for, but I do agree they need to be gone

Some people are taking it out only on Scott, but he doesn't own MCC. MCC is getting backlash for collabing with Youtooz which is known to be a bad company, again it's not on Scott for that choice People are being homophobic to him now, which its pretty obvious they are going after him for being gay More on the MCC thing, they held it on a big Jewish holiday. While not Jewish myself, a lot did say it was disrespectful for them to hold it. But again Scott isn't the owner of MCC, he might have a say, but we don't know how it works behind the scenes From what I seen on the racism front. Scott said "tacos are Mexican" in 2015-2016. In that time frame, he could easily have changed and grown. I seen no other examples, but there could be more. While they also mentioned and showed, Oli had made some songs at the same time that were. Not great, one mentioning Screw the Africans. But again, he could have changed in that time I didn't see anything else mentioning that either have been racist since then People are bringing up the lack of POC and women creators in MCC as well. Another, we don't know what goes on behind the scenes, and if people are actually being invited and declining or asking to join and not getting in that are POC or women. Since not all creators want to play MCC or be competitive If that is true, then yah it's going to be gross of Scott and Noxcrew's front. But it's speculation and until they share who actually signs up/wants in we won't know A lot of it boils down to he did some stuff in the past but could have grown since then. He was immature himself and said stupid things, a common human mistake. But yes, he SHOULD remove the bigots. If MCC is meant to be inclusive and safe As someone who spent far too long on Twitter. This is often their way of thinking, far too often, even if you HAVE improved. People will hold things over your head, assume you are still the same person, or can never change Kids needs good adult figures in their lives to know who the bad adults wanting to take advantage of them are. Twitter has a history of, if you are x age, and you talk to a minor, you are automatically a groomer no matter what. It's highly depressing, so because of that Scott is now labeled a groomer for just talking to a kid He's apologized for being human and being immature. But people aren't letting him have time to improve and show that he's improved. They are just ready to ruin him. While, yes, he needs to take responsibility for his actions. Twitter is taking things way WAY too far once again

Your friendly twitter deep diver (Seriously, it was bad, but I wanted to help)

this was like. extremely helpful. people just being bad people. yep. thanks! so basically #scottisnotbadparty

#scott smajor #smajor #mcc

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blueiskewl · 3 months

Text

Have Researchers Found Amelia Earhart’s Long-Lost Plane?

A new sonar image shows an airplane-shaped object resting on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, not far from where Earhart and her navigator, Fred Noonan, went missing in 1937.

On July 2, 1937, pioneering pilot Amelia Earhart vanished somewhere over the Pacific Ocean near the end of her historic around-the-world flight. For decades, her mysterious disappearance has perplexed explorers, who have spent millions of dollars trying to find her missing Lockheed 10-E Electra plane.

Now, a possible new clue has emerged in the case: A sonar image captured during an expedition last fall shows an airplane-shaped object sitting on the ocean floor, not far from where experts believe Earhart likely crashed, reports the Wall Street Journal’s Nidhi Subbaraman.

The blurred object is far from definitive proof, but Dorothy Cochrane, an aeronautics curator at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, tells Smithsonian magazine it’s “an intriguing image” that warrants a second look.

The expedition was led by Tony Romeo, who is a former intelligence officer with the U.S. Air Force, a pilot and a commercial real estate investor from South Carolina. In 2021, he sold his real estate properties and spent $11 million to fund the trip, including buying high-tech equipment to aid in the search.

“This has been a story that’s always intrigued me, and all the things in my life kind of collided at the right moment,” Romeo tells Business Insider’s Katherine Tangalakis-Lippert and Rebecca Rommen. “I was getting out of real estate and looking for a new project, so even though I really started about 18 months ago, this was something I’ve been thinking and researching for a long time.”

Last September, a team from the exploration company Deep Sea Vision, which Romeo founded, departed from Tarawa, Kiribati, in the South Pacific aboard a research vessel. Working in 36-hour shifts, the 16-person crew used an underwater autonomous vehicle equipped with sonar to scour the sea floor, scanning roughly 5,200 total square miles.

About 90 days into the trip, the team was reviewing sonar images and noticed something unusual in the data from some 60 days prior. The mysterious object looked to be about the same shape and size as an aircraft, and it was identified roughly 100 miles from Howland Island, which is within the region where experts think Earhart’s plane went down. The object is around 16,400 feet below the water’s surface.

By then, however, the crew had determined it was too late to return to the site for a closer look. The camera on the underwater vehicle was also broken, which meant they wouldn’t be able to see anything if they did circle back, reports the Post and Courier’s Tony Bartelme.

But Romeo is undeterred and hopes to revisit the area in the future.

“This is maybe the most exciting thing I’ll ever do in my life,” he tells the Wall Street Journal. “I feel like a 10-year-old going on a treasure hunt.”

In the meantime, the sonar image is not detailed enough for experts to draw any definitive conclusions.

“It definitely appears to be an aircraft of some sort,” David Jourdan, who has searched three times for Earhart’s missing plane and is the co-founder and president of the ocean exploration company Nauticos, tells the Post and Courier. “It has aircraft-like features. But sound is funny. It can mislead you. We can’t say it’s her plane until you put a camera on it.”

To truly identify the object, future missions would ideally capture detailed images that contain the registration number of the plane, says Cochrane. Or, at the very least, they might more clearly show the submerged object’s dimensions and shape to see if it matches the model of Earhart’s vehicle.

“It really requires further research,” says Cochrane. “Finding something that’s really worth investigating further is step one. Verifying it’s the actual craft is step two. And step three becomes: Is it possible to recover this or not, or should it just be left where it is?”

At the time of her disappearance, Earhart was a global celebrity—speaking with the Wall Street Journal, Romeo likens her to Taylor Swift today. In June 1928, Earhart became the first woman to fly across the Atlantic Ocean (as a passenger of pilots Wilmer Stultz and Lou Gordon), a feat that propelled her to international stardom.

Nearly four years later, in May 1932, she made history again by becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. Later that year, she became the first woman to fly solo across North America and back. And in 1935, she became the first person, regardless of gender, to fly solo from Honolulu, Hawaii, to Oakland, California.

In the summer of 1936, the renowned pilot began to plan her most ambitious trip yet: a circumnavigation of the globe. On May 20, 1937, Earhart and her navigator, Fred Noonan, departed from Oakland for the first leg of the trip. They flew nearly 22,000 miles, making stops in Miami, South America, Africa and India along their eastward route.

By late June, they had made it to Lae, Papua New Guinea. After a few days’ rest, they departed for Howland Island, a small, uninhabited outcrop in the Pacific where a refueling station had been built for their journey. The U.S. Coast Guard had a vessel, the Itasca, stationed nearby to help with the landing.

Operators aboard the Itasca heard Earhart’s radio messages as she got closer and closer to the island. But eventually, they lost contact. Earhart and Noonan were never seen or heard from again.

The U.S. Navy and Coast Guard spent 16 days searching for the missing duo without success. About one and a half years later, on January 5, 1939, Earhart was declared dead.

Theories abound about her mysterious disappearance—some onlookers have speculated that she was a spy or that she was captured by a foreign military. But Cochrane believes the simplest explanation is the most plausible: that Earhart and Noonan ran out of fuel near Howland Island.

“She’s got to be around there somewhere,” she adds.

By Sarah Kuta.

#Amelia Earhart #Have Researchers Found Amelia Earhart’s Long-Lost Plane?#Fred Noonan #Howland Island #Lockheed 10-E Electra plane #mystery #history #history news #long post #long reads

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luis-block · 1 year

Note

loving the (specifically Heket) headcanons so far! uhh any headcanons for what kinds of dates the Bishops prefer/how dates would go?

Thank you! I thought that these asks were similar enough that I would have them be together. I also added Narinder, I just couldn't help it!

Warnings: Narinder's is angst at some points

The Bishops +Narinder date and wedding headcanons

Shamura

Dates would probably be spent looking for newly evolved species of bugs/spiders in Silk Cradle. I would like to think with their vast knowledge that they like to study how the creatures in their realm evolve over time. Other times you sit quietly in front of a fire and listen to them tell you tales from long ago times.

A wedding that they would likely have would be a moderately sized one. Both of your families and close friends would be in attendance. It would be an elegant affair at their temple. Isn’t picky as to what they wear, they can do a dress, suit, or dress their robes. But they would like to wear the same type of clothes as you. To them it symbolizes that you two are going to become one in a sense. You couldn’t have dreamed of a better day than this.

Kallamar

Dates will always be outside. Going out for a swim, finding tarot cards on the beach, or even counting how many skulls you guys found walking in Anchordeep. Being out in the water is always what makes you guys happy. There is an old wife’s tale that when you soak or bathe in the water, that it can wash away your negative emotions and make you happier. It has always proven true for you both.

The thoughts of weddings are a bit daunting to Kallamar. Worried about it being prefect and living up to the expected expectations of his siblings make him more nervous that he would like to admit. But once you assure him to will work out, and you want nothing more than to marry him, it works out. You both have a wedding on the beach that surrounds Anchordeep, letting whoever wishes to come attend. You both had the times of your lives.

Heket

Dates are often at home for you two. Heket is a home body at heart and would much prefer to make a calm dinner with you and watch the night stars pass by as you two cuddles. But quiet walks through the fall leaves are also nice. Finding snails has also become a fun pastime for you too, as you think that the little guys are the cutest.

The wedding you both have is, what’s the word, BIG. Not even in a gaudy way, but the amount of details and effort put into the whole thing is spectacular. You had assured her it doesn’t need to be so grand, but she insists. She has always wanted a wedding with all the bells and whistles, perhaps because most bishops don’t get married as their duties leave little time for romance. The wedding is awe inspiring, and you both look back on it with joy and happy memories.

Leshy

Dates usually involve doing something new, and maybe some mischief. Picking mushrooms from Heket realm to slip into a stew being made for the followers in Anchordeep was the latest date, and you guys didn’t even get caught! Other times laying in a tent made from camellia flowers and talking about whatever comes to mind is also a favorite for you both.

A wedding? He loves the idea of getting married to you, but he would rather do something like a quick courthouse wedding. But if you do wish for one, it would be a family event rather than a full crowd. He makes you a crown and veil combo that is made from flowers, with flowers decorating the room of the ceremony. As small and quickly it was put together, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

Narinder

He is a rather reserved person, so long walks in the unpopulated parts of the island are the go-to for you both. Exploring old, abandoned buildings from cults of the past always gets him excited. You both find old coins, relics, and other artifacts that you both then research to see the stories behind these items. Climbing to the top of one of the many mountains to watch the sunrise while he lays his head on your lap will forever be in his heart.

Would have no interest in having an actual wedding in the traditional sense. He sees it as a spectacle made to please others, a common gaudy ritual at best. He suggests you two make your own ‘ritual’ instead, in essence eloping to have it just be you two. Bringing a blanket, candles, wearing white and red robes with black veils on. You both go to your favorite mountain top to do your rebellious wedding ritual. This was very much against old faiths practices, the making of a ritual of your own. But his siblings didn’t have to know about this, and they would never know how much he loved you. You both say your own vows, holding hands with the bishop as your smile never faded. His own smile grew into a smirk as he kissed you. It was the best day of your lives, and it was supposed to last forever. He will never forgive them for locking him up and taking you from him.

He will make them pay, and you will be brought back to him, one way or another.

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kc5rings · 9 months

Text

A short something for the combined holiday of Muzzle Monday and it being Asbetos Arknights birthday, obviously nsfw under the cut

Ever read those stories about the wild sex people get up to in far north research stations? Me neither.

Tags: Bondage, spanking (tail style), bdsm, creative use of spelunking equipment, crying, practical applications of long lizard tongue

Base camps were always cramped.

Asbestos recognized the need for them but even when they were technically larger than her tent they always felt more confining.

Too solid.

Too permanent.

It had been several days journey already and this building was the last stop before the truly wild tundra, without another living soul for miles

Save of course, for the woman currently straddling her.

“There we go! Nice and secure, how’s it feel? Any circulation issues?”

Magallan’s voice was chipper as ever, like she was chatting about having had pleasant breakfast to start her day instead of having spent the last several minutes tying someone up.

“Like I’ve been kidnapped.”

Asbestos also sounded like her usual self, each word dripping with sarcasm and disdain. When her comment failed to dim Magallan’s thousand watt smile Asbestos sighed and flexed various parts of her body to properly triage herself, this would be a stupid way to get an injury and have to call off their expedition.

Magallan had been thorough, Asbestos had to admit. The basecamp only had one permanent cot, a solid metal frame that was firmly bolted to the floor meant it wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was Asbestos.

Ratchet straps used for securing gear now secured Asbestos’ legs to the cot frame at the ankle and thigh, holding them firmly in place and spreading her legs slightly. Smaller straps carefully tightened made for makeshift wrist cuffs that Magallan had then pulled up over Asbestos’ head, one tell tale click of a carabiner and she was well and truly stuck.

At least Magallan had left Asbestos with her thermal undersuit, one solid piece of tight fabric that covered everything save Asbestos’ hands, feet, head and tail. It didn’t have the shine of some of her club wear back home, but the compression was nice and too much direct skin to skin contact made Asbestos antsy anyway.

A quick test tug proved the bindings plenty sturdy, Asbestos couldn’t quite crane her head back to see what her wrists were bound to, but places like this always had hard points everywhere. Asbestos found herself appreciating Magellan’s resourcefulness in mostly using the equipment on hand for her game.

“No numbness, good blood flow, my shoulders are going to start bitching eventually with my arms up over my head like this but I can deal. This though…”

Asbestos jerked her chin up, clearly indicating the one thing Magallan had strapped in place that wasn’t scavenged from spelunking gear.

“Feels like overkill.”

Magallan laughed and reached her hand up to stroke the offending piece of gear, a close fitting cage of carbon fiber and nylon webbing that perfectly followed the contours of Asbestos’ face. You could be forgiven for thinking it was yet more scavenged equipment, but it was far to singular in its purpose to be anything other than what it was.

A muzzle.

“What you don’t like it? I even got Mayer to let me use her workshop equipment to make it for you.”

Asbestos turned her head sharply to the side in a pout, making a mental note to kill Mayer the next time she saw her. All while trying to push down the feelings that bubbled up at the thought of Magallan going out of her way to make something just her.

Outside the wind picked up, signaling a storm would be blowing through shortly, both experienced explorers making a mental note out of habit.

“Oh yes, muzzled like a beast is exactly how I wanted to spend my birthday, a real fucking trea-“

SMACK

Magallan’s smile never faded, even as she reached back and brought the flat of her hand down *hard* on the underside of Asbestos’ exposed tail. The effect is instant, Asbestos’ hips rise sharply as her back arches, accompanied by a sharp cry that slides down to a low moan as Magallan begins to rub the spot she just struck.

“That’s 1! This is your birthday trip after all so of course we’ve got to start things off with birthday spankings right?”

Red had flooded Asbestos’ face, both from the deep heat the slap had sparked between her legs and from embarrassment at the sound she’d made when it landed.

“Fuck you! You know how sensitive my tail is! Besides that’s way too many, I’m turning t-“

SMACK

Another sharp gasp, another arching of the back, this time with Magallan rolling her hips down onto Asbestos. Both of their protective gear was stacked in a corner which made for very little fabric between them, Magallan in only her slightly baggy sweater and tights. No direct contact but plenty enough to feel.

“I know how old you are, and don’t worry, I’ll keep a very strict count to make sure we don’t miss any!”

Asbestos writhed under Magallan, her not inconsiderable strength putting her restraints to the test, but they held firm. Asbestos was helpless against Magallans assault.

SMACK

A truly impressive string of profanity poured through the bars of Asbestos’ muzzle, making use of every swear in every language she’d learned throughout her travels. However by number fifteen or so, profanity had given way to choked gasps and by twenty, to occasional shuddering sobs.

Notably, none of this colorful language included Asbestos safeword, crevasse, nor did her free to move tail give the the established three taps against Magallan’s leg once words failed her. Either option would stop their game in its tracks, but Magallan had learned quite a long time ago that while Asbestos might be the hardest person on Terra to get to admit to what she wants, Asbestos was in no way shy about declaring when she didn’t want something.

So the spankings continued, one for every year that Asbestos had seen.

SMACK

Finally, the last blow landed. Asbestos’ head lolled to the side, mouth hanging open slightly and tears streaking one side of her face from the only eye that could still cry.

Magallan massaged the base of Asbestos’ tail as her other hand reached up to caress that tear stained cheek.

“There now… all done. You did so a good for me Asbestos, so so good.”

Asbestos had long since given up on words, choosing instead to nuzzle into Magallan’s touch. It was only moments like this, after Magallan tone the time to really break her down and crack her defenses that Asbestos could openly express her affection this way.

Ask Asbestos about it later and she’d just say it’s one of many things that make her a freak to be avoided, to Magallan though, it was one of her many charms. Like some of the most breathtaking views she’d seen on expeditions, a sight seen only by her.

“But it’s not a birthday without a treat is it? And you have been so good.”

Asbestos let the praise wash over her, a soothing balm after the hurt that felt all the more warm for being hard earned. She had been good and she wanted her treat.

“P-please…”

Magallan could play the sadist with ease for their games, but she truly didn’t think she could ever turn Asbestos down when she begged earnestly like that.

Magallan slid up from Asbestos’ waist until her knees where on either side of the bound woman’s head. Making sure she could steady herself on some equipment hooks on the wall Magallan reached down to push her tights down her legs until they were out of the way. Carefully, Magallan lowered herself until her slit was close enough to feel Asbestos’ labored breathing.

“Go on, enjoy your treat.”

Asbestos glazed over eyes shifted from excitement, to confusion, to frustration as her endorphin soaked brain tried to process this new situation. The muzzle was still in place, how was she supposed to…

“Sorry dear, but when you get like this you tend to get a bit too enthusiastic when you’re eating and I’ve had quite enough of those sharp teeth going where they aren’t wanted.”

Asbestos flushed red once more, realizing now that the custom made muzzle may not been crafted solely for her benefit.

“Oh don’t go getting shy on me, I had that made so you don’t need to be careful. Take everything you want, no need to hold back.”

Magallan’s ever present smile shifted to a conspiring smirk as she watched Asbestos try to puzzle out what she was meant to do.

“Come now, you’re a smart woman, an experienced explorer can always find the path through adversity right?”

Asbestos was on the verge of getting annoyed, if she couldn’t be trusted to use her mouth than what did Magallan expect her to-

Finally, Asbestos understood. It was embarrassing and surprisingly devious from Magallan but Asbestos couldn’t deny that making it hotter

Asbestos opened her mouth as much as her muzzle would allow, slowly extending her tongue out and up toward Magallan

Long, blue and thick, Asbestos’ tongue pushed through the confines of the muzzle, saliva letting it slip past with ease. While not quite as dextrous as her tail, Asbestos’ savra tongue could work wonders.

From her helpless position underneath her, Asbestos slid into Magallan, tongue twisting and coiling deeper into Magallan until the bars of Asbestos’ muzzle grew slick with her need and Magallan’s moans replaced Asbestos’ cries from only moments earlier.

The base camp had become a small smoldering spark of heat amidst endless frozen tundra, any sound that escaped from inside was carried off into the night by the howling winds.

Outside, the storm now raged. Inside, both explorers new they were likely to be snowed in for awhile. But neither of them could find it in themselves to care in that moment.

They had plenty of ways to pass the time.

#my writing #NSFT #Arknights #I’m a little late getting this done for muzzle Monday/Asbestos’ birthday but it’s DONE #Asbestos: so what you’re gonna make me wear this thing the whole time we’re stuck here?#Magallan: Well it’s just us for kilometers in any direction so really you /could/ wear it for the entire rest of the trip!#Asbetos: You’re joking.. right? right??#Magallan: :)#anyway happy day late birthday to one of my favorite weirdos from this game

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weenwrites · 10 months

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Heyo! Could I have some headcanons about TFP Ratchet with a younger cybertronain s/o who can’t go out on the field due to past injuries and feels useless/is dealing with depression? Maybe Ratchet could help the reader stretch or give them a massage so they could possibly move faster, and the reader doing the same in return? The writing would mean a lot to me, thank you!

✎A/N: Please let me know if I've gotten anything wrong, and I hope you enjoy it!

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Ratchet

Ratchet was there when you were first told that your injuries were too severe for you to continue going onto the field. He was there to comfort you, to listen to you, to keep you company, and to take care of you through your recovery. And the chances are that he was the doctor who fixed you up, which means he feels immense guilt that he wasn't able to treat you well enough so you'd make a full recovery.

While he knows that feeling guilty won't change anything, he can't help but feel horrible anyway whenever he sees that you're having a hard time. Still, he tries to use this guilt to motivate himself to help you do simple exercises or stretches to try and improve your mobility.

He'll take 50 minutes out of his day to do some wrist and ankle rolls, knee marches, torso twists, heel slides, calf raises, etc... Or if possible, he'll have you do some curls with some relatively light weights. And the moment you start feeling any discomfort or pain, he'll have you stop and try something else or sit and rest for a while.

He's told you before that you should do your stretches and exercises without him, but you've managed to convince him to join you anyway. Sometimes, other members of the team will join in on the exercising and stretching sessions just to keep you company and talk with you.

Since most of—if not all your time is spent at the base, he'll have you assist him with some of his work at times, just to give you something to do (he's started doing it ever since he learned that you felt useless). Though he won't have you doing any heavy lifting or rigorous physical activity, he'll have you help him with cleaning up his workspace, or perhaps bringing him light-weight tools. Or if you have some scientific or medicinal knowledge, then he'll have you help him perform regular checkups on the team, or simple patch-up jobs whenever they get injured. Or if your strengths lie elsewhere, in things such as military strategizing, mission coordination, or managing communications, then you can do that from the base as well.

He then learned about aquajogging online and performed some extensive research on its benefits and drawbacks. He was curious, and so using his connections with Fowler, he managed to find a massive indoor pool to use. Of course he tested it out himself to see if it would be beneficial for cybertronians before allowing you to try it out. Or if you don't like that, then he's taken the kid's advice and rigged an exercise video game set-up, if you want something more entertaining to motivate you to exercise.

At times whenever you feel down, upset, or mourn the loss of what you used to be able to do, he'll remind you that you've made much progress towards improving your mobility thus far. He'll point out things that used to be much more difficult, and how you're now able to do them easier after taking the time to exercise and stretch for however long it's been, and he'll place a lot of emphasis on how proud he is that you've made it so far.

Or if you're upset about being useless, he'll keep emphasizing that no matter what you think of the work you for the team from back in the base, it's still valuable and it helps them greatly. And depending on what you do, the team will be sure to back him up and tell you about how helpful your strategies were for winning a key battle, for example, or how your coordination during missions helps them work together better, so on and so forth.

#tfp imagines #tfp headcanons #tfp x reader #tfp ratchet #ratchet x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites

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bee-ina-boat · 5 months

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hi friends :D! i FINALLY finished my concept art for mythos!Jon and im so happy with him- look at him. plese. i spent so long on this

the sketches were all of my initial concept art for him! he's. so fun to draw. even if it did take me a bit to figure out how to do so. i love his hair ;_; <3

overall his design is very inspired roman Catholicism but. like. more fun? idk lol i just vibe with it. might make the tie darker? and the gloves with his cassock might look good with another color? eh! whatev, i might change it i might not- but this is it so far :D!

for context the Magnus Mythos is an au where the fears are gods rather than paranormal entities like in canon- here is my initial post on that if you want to know more! or if you just want to see art of the Ceaseless watcher :3!!! im really so happy so many of y'all seemed to like it ;w; it makes me feel so warm aa ilu all <3

putting all Jon's lore stuff under the cut!!!

highly recommend you read the linked post because alot of this probably wont make much sense otherwise dsjgfdjgfdb-

so, as a young child Jon grew up neutral on religion. his grandmother didn't favor any one of the gods more than the other and that sort of thinking carried over to him for a good while

when Jon was 8, he had a close encounter with a creature born from the Web: a giant spider that would tell you your fate (and possibly offer you a gift) if you gave it a sacrifice

Jon had found an old fable book with a map to it's nest. of course he had no intention of following it, just enjoying the stories inside! but a thief snagged the book from him- and upon realizing what the book led too -took Jon with him as his sacrifice

when they reached the nest after a long journey, the thief presented Jon to the spider. but the spider did not take him, it took the thief- and the little Jon could only watch, frozen in terror, as his captor was eaten by the giant spider.

after it finished its meal, the spider told Jon that his fate was of a cosmic importance, "I'm quite excited to see how this plays out," it said.

naturally this was kinda traumatizing for the child that literally just wanted to read but ok :l

the whole experience brought jon a phobia of spiders, a distrust and fear of strangers, general paranoia, ptsd, and a rejection of the webs power and the concept of fate as a whole

now- its not uncommon for some people to reject the powers of certain gods? some things born from their power are quite unpleasant, so there are steps one may take to protect themselves from the powers of one or more of the gods. (its complicated to explain but i hope that makes sense-)

suffice to say jon does NOT want to be controlled or have his fate decided by anyone or anything like that! being THAT important is scary!!! so he tries very hard to prevent any powers of the web coming near him- and he also tries to keep a low profile so he can live a calm and peaceful life without. yknow. being an important part of the fate of the entire bloody world.

he turns to the cult of the Beholding for salvation. after all, its whole thing is being aware and knowing things, and jon wanted nothing more than to know what wanted to hurt him and what didn't.

moving to London, he joined the House of Magnus, and went from a devotee to a researcher.

he became friends with Tim: a man who turned to the beholding out of his own rejection for the Stranger, and Sasha: a young woman who'd worshipped the beholding and worked at the house of magnus her entire life.

things were great for a while, and then the head archivist, Gertrude Robinson, disappeared.

normally the previous archivist would choose someone to pass the position down to, but her disappearance meant that the current head of the church, Elias, would have to choose instead. and he gave the position to Jon

it was absurd! Jon didn't want the position of archivist- everyone knew about the prophecy and Jon certainly didn't want that much pressure on him!!

not to mention- it became pretty much expected that Sasha would become the next archivist! given her history of devotion, her skills, all the work she did for everyone, hell- Gertrude even mentored her for half her life for god's sake!

Elias's reasoning was that Gertrude had broken the Archivists oath: to always protect and preserve knowledge. he claimed that the Ceaseless Watcher itself had requested Jon rather than Sasha, as Gertrude's choices were not to be trusted. and it was not up for debate what their patron wanted...

so there was no choice. jon was terrified, sasha was devastated, and tim was furious for them both.

the ceremony went on, jon was given the Watchers Crown (the sacred headpiece of the archivist) and then he went down to the archives with tim and sasha as his chosen assistants.

Elias sent down another down with them- Martin, a librarian who devoted himself to both the eye and the web. Jon was not so keen to be trusting a devotee of the web, especially with all the stress going through his head at the moment- so he wasn't very warm to martin.

as the archivist- jon does his best to do the work he was given, frequently requesting help and teachings from sasha as she clearly knew more about this than him. all throughout, he squished any spider he found. and stubbornly refused to give in to any possible notion of him being the one from the prophecy. he couldnt be. he refused it.

but the will of one man is far outweighed by that of a god, and at some point he just might have to accept the responsibility he deep down knows is his...

AAAAAAAAAAA THAT WAS ALOT- if you read this entire fucking essay then just know i love you so so so much and i am hugging you tightly ;_;

thanks for dealing with another round of my brainrot!! im thinking of working on sasha, martin, or the web's design next :3

#my art #myart #religious themes #religion tw #tma #magnus archives #the magnus archives #magpod #tma fears #the fear entities #tma au #the magnus mythos #the archivist #jonathan sims #tma jon #jon sims #jarchivist #digital art #long post

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be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie · 1 year

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Okay no so I need to get this out of my head and what better way than to plop it into somebody else's lap so that they can add their two cents: I am convinced that the Sully family, at some point, would have an intensely divided war amongst themselves following an argument regarding what pet to get. If it was a human AU, then you best bet they'd be split down the middle on whether to get a dog or cat.

Neteyam is fully in the cat corner and has compiled a hefty amount of research devoted specifically to how to care for/own a cat, along with all of the benefits of having a cat vs. having a dog (for some reason I feel like when Neteyam goes he goes all in or else why bother? He's the oldest in a line up of future deviants, he has no time for half-assed attempts). He already has a name picked out for it and everything (Mittens, because for some reason I picture him being both basic and valid at the same time) and assures his parents that his choice is the best one to go through with.

Kiri is team dog, though she would settle for a cat. A dog would just be so much better for all the outdoors-y shit she and her family does. A morning walk? You can take the dog! Going to the beach? You can take the dog! Camping? You can take the dog! Sure, cats are pretty self-sufficient, but do you really want to have to spend time wondering what you're going to do with the cat while planning every trip?

Lo'ak, surprisingly, is team cat. Why exactly? He couldn't tell you. He just likes their "fuck off" vibe (okay and maybe their fluffy fur and cute little paws and how they meow and how they lie in a sweet little ball of fluff and have you seen how they yawn oh my Eywa their eyes close so adorably and, oh fuck it, he admits it he's in love just get the cat already).

Tuk is team dog and it isn't even close. Dogs are do cute! Dogs are so friendly! Dogs would definitely play with her whenever she wanted and she could train their dog to do the cutest little tricks! It would be her best friend and love her forever!

Neytiri is team dog. She just feels like dogs connect more to their families than cats do and she thinks that the main thing a person should want in a pet is for them to become integrated deeply into the family and all they do. You can take a dog far more places than you can a cat, too, which is also preferable (much like in Kiri's opinion).

Jake is, strangely enough, team cat. I have this little headcanon that he and Tommy spent a good deal of their life in the foster system in this huge city and throughout the many miserable homes they were placed in their only constant was the plethora of stray cats skulking around the city (that has long since stopped trying to get the problem under control because I said so this it my fantasy thank you very much). I also like to imagine that his mother died when they were very young and one of the only memories he has of her is this one time when she was crouching down to try and coax a cat into taking some of her tuna sandwich so he's always just had a soft spot for them because one of the only things he remembers about her is that she must have at least liked cats. Anyways, there's just something about a cat's quiet comfort that he digs. They're warm and small and just feel amazing to hold (plus, he's a sucker for the purring maybe if dogs could purr there would be more of a contest). They already have four rambunctious children (plus Spider whenever Norm fucks off to wherever his research takes him next) and he's not about to get a dog and take a shot at five.

I imagine it gets so out of hand that pretty much everyone around them places bets on which side will win. Ao'nung has zero faith in Lo'ak, so he's betting on team dog. Tsireya has a cat of her own so she's biased, team cat. Neytiri terrifies Norm, team dog. Tonowari has to side with his bro despite being a dog person, team cat. Ronal refuses to participate in this (team cat to spite Neytiri). Kiri has the Spider advantage, team dog.

Who wins? Fuck if I know. I say let chaos reign, I hope they never come to a decision.

ANON. THANK YOU FOR THIS GIFT HOLY SHIT. I AM ~OBSESSED~ WITH THE MINDMELDING WE ARE ALL DOING.

Okay, but consider this?? A dog AND a cat. Mo'at suggests it because it's the obvious solution and they are all dumb for not thinking of it earlier. So then they get a puppy and a kitten and it ends up being one of those fucked up situations where the cat turns out a little more dog like than usual and the dog gets a little bit more cat from the situation. All of a sudden they have a dog to take camping and on RV road trips and hiking and to the beach, and aLSO A FUCKING CAT. Mittens is basically free range dude, Neteyam straps the life vest on the cat and they go canoeing and shit. He and Lo'ak make fun of Kiri because her dog (River) barely fits in the canoe with her, and whenever he jumps out he capsizes her. Mittens can jump after him with little to no disruptions. It's all fun and games until River's trying to get up into Neteyam's canoe right after.

The cat and dog very much enjoy the Sully (and Spider and Mo'at)'s family cross country road trip. River sleeps with Kiri and to Neteyam's utter disappointment Mittens sleeps with Mo'at. Jake likes to throw Mittens overboard while he's throwing Tuk when they get to the sailing and wakeboarding part of their journey, and Mittens LOVEs it. He's the most broken cat of all time. Neytiri has a special raw food diet going for both animals, and they are both so obscenely well trained it's not even funny. They are better trained than Lo'ak, Kiri says. It also takes Lo'ak and Spider that entire summer roadtrip to teach River to skateboard so they can make a viral instagram account. They have to start all over when it comes to surfing, and Ao'nung is disturbingly dedicated to helping even though he "hates" them.

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things-about-cars-in-posts · 7 months

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So I had my dad talking to me about cars today, telling me how I should basically avoid getting any cars except those made by Japanese companies because of how shitty other countries manufacture their cars (mileage and life span)

Do you have any thoughts on this? I don’t know much about cars and I thought of this blog while I was having this conversation so that’s why I send here

Do I have thoughts on this. Do I have thoughts on this. Babygirl (gender neutral) I have thoughts on aspects of cars you wouldn't even conceive of. I have thoughts on aspects of cars that aren't even real. Up the ante, folks! Ask me which cars are most bisexual!

That aside, for my opinion: Italian food is good. But of course, when I eat out in Italy, I don't go to any random place because "this country does this well", because I'm not ordering from a country, or a region, or a city, but from a specific joint - and some of them suck, some dropped or rose in quality, some are exceptionally good/bad with certain things, hell, some serve foreign food and then what's the adage matter now! That's why Yelp doesn't have country reviews.

Much the same, Japanese cars are usually pretty reliable, but Nissan spent the last two decades making a case against that claim (especially with their CVT transmission, a known ticking time bomb they've done fuck all about for years) with the help of whatever's left of the shell of Mitsubishi, and Infiniti is just the luxury brand of Nissan so ditto for it... indeed, another point to make, some cars are just based on, or outright are, cars from other brands. Infinitis are built by Nissan, and usually based on the equivalent Nissans. Except the QX30, which is just a Mercedes GLA - which probably was part of the same deal through which Mercedes got to sell the Nissan Navara as the X Class.

And there's a lot of cross-nationality brand partnerships like that, past and present, like the four-decade-long Mazda/Ford one, or the time Saturn had such a crappy engine they had to get Honda to give them a proper one. And by the way, the guy who posted that? He owns a different Saturn which took 360k miles of bare minimum care like a champ, because reliability can vary wildly within a lineup, and also a Volkswagen that's been a thorn in his side, which definitely wasn't the experience I had with mine, because mine is over twice as old, and a brand can completely change over time too! (You'd think they were run by people or something.)

In fact, reliability changing over time and models is the norm - not as drastically as, say, "older German cars were unstoppable tanks and now they're overly fit-prone electronics messes where everything is costly to buy and dastardly to replace" (which, however, is actually a notable trend), but usually in terms of "in this model, through these production years, this component was overly keen on failing" (as per my Accord post). Part of how Toyota (and by extension its luxury brand Lexus) rightfully earned its reputation of King Reliability is such cases in their production being especially few and far between, and none notable enough to become an automotive meme like Subaru head gasket failures (and no, the Camry dent doesn't count). So, say, Hondas may not be less reliable, just a bit less consistently so (but even there, Honda interiors tend to hold up much better than Toyotas', yadda yadda yay for nuance).

So if you are buying a used car (as you should) it's always important to research for potential common problems (for instance, pre-90s Toyota frames are to rust what the letter X is to Elon Musk) and thoroughly inspect the car, to check that nothing is broken and that it's been properly serviced.

That last part is very important, because reliability is not a tickbox, it's a spectrum, and a function of how a car was built and how it was maintained. Carelessness will kill any car sooner or later. Every car has fluids that will at some point need changing, wear items that will at some point need replacing, and the occasional part failure. Even yours. So even when it comes to your car, keep up with that stuff, or it will eventually catch up to you. (And if regular services would tax your finances, look into how to perform them yourself - you'll find it's a lot easier than you thought, you'll give it a shot and it will be very rewarding and save you a lot of money!)

And also, if a hinge starts squeaking, if something starts sagging, if some trim breaks, if you get a dent or scratch, take care of those too. Not because they make your car work less or worth less, but because they foster an indifference that snowballs into neglect. Working on those little things will keep you feeling like your car is nice and your loving effort is going to keep it nice, dammit - in much the same way as it's important to take care of yourself and your environment for your mental health, to keep yourself feeling like you are making it and with your loving effort you are going to keep making it, dammit.

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

#i am genuinely so sorry for how long it took me to get to ya #i just spent ages perfecting this #writing and looking into a lot of things I ended up trimming and such #hope you like it!#japanese cars #maintenance #infiniti qx30 #mercedes cla #nissan navara #mercedes x class #toyota #lexus

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years

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Words: 10,097 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the prison, post-Negan Alexandria, The Commonwealth Warnings: language, chronic illness Summary: Daryl has always watched out for the reader and done everything he can to help her bear the weight of her chronic illness. They've been close ever since she confided in him during the flu epidemic in the prison. Now, with Alexandria needing repair and medications almost unfindable, Daryl comes up with a plan to make sure she gets what she needs. A/N: The patron and requester for this fic is the lovely goddess ellerelly! Thank her for the existence of this fic, without her it would not have happened! Thank you SO much for trusting me with writing this fic, love. Seriously. A/N: The reader in this fic suffers from a real condition, postpartum cardiomyopathy. I did some research on this so hopefully it is fairly accurate, but I'd encourage everyone to give it a Google for awareness and further info. MUAH! Much love to you, ellerelly! I appreciate you so much.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl was drenched in sweat, having spent the better part of the day burning or burying the dead. The flu swept through the prison like a poisonous gas, seeming nearly indiscriminate in who it seeped into and who it passed over. But Daryl was beyond grateful for one thing; so far, you weren’t sick.

He made his way through the catacombs of the sprawling prison and into the administrative part of the building with its neat rectangular little offices. He needed a break from all the death and dying… and hearing your voice was all he wanted. After checking on Beth and Judith, he made his way to the small office you were in and knocked lightly on the door.

You shot up onto your feet, your heart pounding as you waited for the delivery of bad news. Who else hadn’t made it? “Yeah?”

Your voice sounded thin through the heavy door of wood and glass. “Hey. S’me. Ya alrigh’?”

Daryl. You sighed with some relief. “I’m fine,” you said, moving toward the door. He could see you press a hand to the frosted glass, see the shadows of your fingertips and the blurred shape of your hand ghosting behind them. He had to suppress the urge to place his hand against the glass too, to line up his fingers with yours and see how small your hand looked against his. “How—how are you? Are you okay?” He easily heard the worry in your voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m okay. ‘M alrigh’. Ain’t sick,” he drawled.

You wrung your hands even as you breathed in a sigh of relief. “Good. Thank God.”

Daryl wiped the drips of sweat running down from his hairline with his forearm. “Somehow I dun think God’s got anythin’ to do with it,” he said. He was surprised when you didn’t respond, a thick silence lingering. “Y/N? S’goin’ on?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and wondered where to start. “I—I have something to tell you,” you started. “It’s—not easy to talk about. But I want you to know.”

Daryl’s heart did a full stop and dropped through the floor. “Alrigh’… Ya ain’t sick, righ’?” he asked urgently.

There was another long pause, longer than was needed to answer that question.

“Y/N? Hey.”

“No. No, not exactly…”

Daryl gulped. That wasn’t the response he wanted or expected.

“I don’t have this flu or whatever it is but there’s a reason Dr. S and Hershel rushed me in here as soon as they realized what was happening.” You had to stop and force air into your lungs. “I—I have heart failure. A heart condition called postpartum cardiomyopathy. I’ve had it for a long time. It’s not new.”

He heard the words but he couldn’t process them. “Heart failure,” he repeated, and this time they materialized and loomed in the air in front of him in a dark cloud, greying his vision.

“Yeah…” You wished you could see his face. Somehow, even through the frosted glass and heavy oak of the door, you could feel his tension and anxiety. It seemed to only inflate your own.

“What—what’s that mean? You’re dyin’?”

“It’s manageable. For now… but there are special medications I need and—I can’t count on having those forever. Not in this world. It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to find them as long as I have. And it does make things harder…”

Daryl had to lean heavily on the door and hung his head, shutting his eyes. His jaw clenched and a tightening across the back of his head manifested, like a band someone was stretching tighter and tighter.

Inside, you sank back down to sit on the floor, your back leaned up against the door. You could sense that he was still there, even though he was silent. You always felt him like a warm fire, comforting and secure and glowing.

Finally, Daryl’s southern drawl slipped back to you again. “What’s it—I mean, how and why? What’d ya say it’s called?”

You wet your lips. “Postpartum cardiomyopathy.”

There was a beat where he mulled this over. “Wait—postpartum… Ain’t that like—like babies? After pregnancy?” Oh. Oh… The sinking feeling in his core intensified until he felt like he may be pulled down through the floor.

Your voice was even quieter now. You sounded fragile and faraway as you answered. “Yeah…” Idiot. Dumbass. Fuck. Why didn’t he fuckin’ think for a goddamn minute before he spoke? “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “Shit… ‘m sorry. Y/N, ‘m so sorry…” He rubbed both his hands over his face and you felt the door move as he leaned against it more heavily with his shoulder. “Uhh—I—”

It had been a while since you’d have to give someone what you thought of as “the talk.” Dr. S had been the last person you’d told, out of necessity for continuing to monitor your condition and keep up with necessary treatments. It wasn’t an easy thing to explain to anyone, but was especially difficult to tell to someone close to you. And with Daryl, it almost felt like you’d lied to him, not explaining until now. You knew he wouldn’t see it that way, but it felt like a significant lie of omission to you. And then there was the realization it carried with it—that you had been a mother, and now you weren’t. Or you still were a mother, and always would be, and yet you were childless. You were speaking again before you even realized it. “I had two kids before The Turn. A son first, and then my daughter. Not too long after I’d delivered her, I couldn’t catch my breath… I was weak, tired. My heart rate was too high. We ran tests. The doctors told me that I had this rare kind of heart failure. Basically, my heart was weak and not pumping blood efficiently the way it should. It can happen at the end of pregnancy or just after. Many women recover most, if not all of their heart function over time but—I didn’t.” You paused and shifted, wrapping your arms around your bent knees, steeling yourself for a moment. “If I catch this flu,” you hesitated for a moment, “I’d most likely die. I’m already prone to fluid collecting in my lungs, and I just—I wouldn’t make it, not without a hospital and special treatment.”

Daryl hated the door between you at that moment. He wanted to see you. He wanted to look into your eyes while he told you everything was going to be fine, but he also knew that that door was going to keep you safe. He cleared his throat and shifted again. “Well, that ain’t happenin’,” he said forcefully. “Yer gonna stay righ’ here until this all blows over and ya ain’t gettin’ sick.”

He didn’t ask about what had happened to your kids or their father. He didn’t need to. They weren’t here. That was enough to know.

Daryl straightened up from the way he had been slumped against the door, leaning on it to keep himself standing while he tried to absorb blow after blow. “Listen, ‘m goin’ on a run with a few people. We’re gonna get meds to get everybody who’s sick through this. Just tell me what ya need and I’ll find it while ‘m out there.”

“Daryl, you should just focus on what the others need. I—I don’t want to be a—a burden any more than I already am.”

“Hey,” he said, now pressing his hand to the glass. You felt the door move again behind you with his weight. “Ya ain’t a burden. Dun ya ever think that, ya hear me?”

You felt tears start to well up in your eyes. “I am,” you insisted.

“No, ya ain’t,” he said again. “Ya ain’t. This thing—we’ll take care of it. S’just somethin’ ya need a little extra for, tha’s all. Righ’? That ain’t bein’ a burden.” He heard you sniffle and that ache in his chest became even more pronounced. “Righ’, Y/N?”

You climbed to your feet and stood at the glass again. You could make out the vague shadow of his broad-shouldered frame. “Okay,” you said.

He nodded, but the pit in his stomach was still there, like he’d swallowed a weighty stone, cold from frigid water. “Good. Now tell me what ya need and I’ll find it.”

“Hershel or Dr. S can give you the names of the meds,” you said. “Or if you happen to run into a heart transplant surgeon with a new one available that’d be even better.” There was a hint of sarcasm and laughter in that second part and Daryl felt a small sense of relief.

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said. His tone was lighter now too. “Just stay safe in here and this’ll all be over in no time,” he said.

“Daryl…”

“Yeah.”

“Please be careful,” you urged him, your fingers coming to the glass again, right toward the center of his shadow.

“Pfft. Ya know me. I’ll be back better than when I left,” he said.

“One more thing,” you murmured. “If you could just keep all this to yourself…”

“Of course. Nobody else knows?” he asked. That was like you to want to keep it quiet. You didn’t want anyone to worry about you, didn’t want to be a bother.

“Just Dr. S and Hershel. That’s it.”

He nodded. “Alrigh’. It’ll stay that way. Ya have my word.”

“Thanks. I know. Stay safe,” you breathed one last time.

“You too.” And with that, his footsteps retreated.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Many Years Later

You knew that knock on the door of your apartment easily. It was Daryl. He always knocked the same pattern. You wondered if he was aware of that fact. You were glad you’d left the door unlocked so you didn’t have to move from your place on the couch, ensconced beneath a blanket and your little gray cat, who hardly twitched an ear at the rapping sound. “Come in,” you yelled back.

You lowered the novel in your hands and looked up to see Judith bursting through the door, trotting toward you with a smile on her face and a paper fluttering in her hand. Daryl ghosted behind her, his hands shoved into the back pockets of his dark pants.

“Well, hi there,” you greeted Judith, mustering the best smile you could. Your cat leapt down from your lap and Judith threw her arms around you in an embrace. You gladly hugged her back tightly. “Wasn’t expecting you!”

“Rosita said you weren’t feeling well. So, RJ and I made a card for you,” she said, holding out the paper in her hand. Daryl was standing across the room still, now leaning on the top of an armchair and chewing on his bottom lip anxiously.

You had to fight back a few tears as you looked at the little folded paper, charmingly decorated with sweetly drawn hearts and flowers and a big orange, glowing sun. “You did make me a lovely card, didn’t you?” you cooed to her. Judith beamed proudly. “Thank you.” You hugged her again and she sank into it, turning her head to rest it on your shoulder. “I’m going to keep it right here where I can see it.”

Daryl straightened up with his heart equal parts warmed and worried. You were pale and seemed somewhat listless. “Alrigh’, Jude. Ya gotta go meet up with Gracie and Aaron. Let’s go,” he drawled.

Judith gave you one last long look, her warm brown eyes a bit wide. She always had that look, the one that was understanding and perception beyond her years. She grabbed your hand in both hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Feel better,” she said softly, and you gave her a small smile.

“I will. Say hello to Gracie and Aaron for me?” She nodded and bounded past Daryl to the door. He glanced back at her.

“Ya good gettin’ there?” he asked her. She nodded. “Alrigh’. I’ll see ya back at the house later.” And with a small flurry of energy, she was gone. Daryl turned back toward you. You were still holding the card and looking down at it with a faraway expression on your face. His attention was broken when your little gray cat, Ashes, rubbed against his ankles and purred. He bent to pet her and heard you hum a noise of amusement. Your eyes met his when he glanced up, still running his hand along her silky fur. “Hmm?” he prompted.

You shrugged, setting the card down on the coffee table beside you. “She knows you so well now. Remember when she used to hide when you came over?”

Daryl nodded and crossed the room to sink down beside you on the couch with a sigh, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on your face. He shook his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah. I remember,” he drawled. “Tell me how ya are. Really.”

“Daryl, I’m fine.”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, looking skeptical, his brow knit. “Y/N… c’mon. Tell me.”

You ducked his gaze and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just… tired,” you said. “Feels hard to breathe today,” you admittedly quietly. “But I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer, but frowned softly. Daryl stared at the dark circles beneath your eyes and the pallor of your skin. The ache in his chest became more pronounced. “Ya eat anythin’ today? Lemme make ya somethin’.” He knew the answer without you answering and got up to go into the small kitchen. “Ya still got them eggs I brought over yesterday?” he called over his shoulder.

“On the counter,” you answered, shivering a little beneath the blanket over your lap. You huddled more deeply beneath it. You heard him putting the kettle on the stove and lighting the burner and clinking around with the skillet. In a few minutes he returned with a plate of eggs and hot cup of tea for you. You accepted them gratefully and felt warmed already as he sunk back down beside you again, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a bite. You paused and warmed your hands around the mug. Daryl watched you eat in silence, absently petting Ashes when she jumped up and rubbed his arm with her head.

When you’d finished and he was satisfied that you’d at least had some sustenance, he shifted anxiously beside you. You picked up on the action immediately and glanced back over at him. “What?” you prompted him.

“How’re yer legs today?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Swollen. The usual.”

He shifted again, grabbing a throw pillow and placing it on his lap before sweeping an arm beneath your legs, blanket and all, and resting them over his lap.

“Daryl, you don’t have to—”

“Hush up,” he scolded you. “Jus’ lemme make ya feel a little better if I can.” Your ankles and feet were often swollen, a side effect of an inefficient heart, and when Daryl had found out he’d insisted on propping them on pillows to elevate them and sometimes gently massaging them to help your circulation. You still often felt stupidly embarrassed about the swelling, but he never acted like it was anything… His rough hands were surprisingly gentle and you always felt yourself melting into relaxation when he was around. “‘M sorry,” he said suddenly after several long minutes of comfortable silence, snapping you out of your quiet musing.

You looked over at him with a question on your brow.

“I keep tryin’ to think of anywhere else to go look for yer meds and I—" His voice caught in his throat as it suddenly tightened. You realized then that he was fighting hard not to cry and you felt a vast emptiness in your chest. You swung your legs off him and scooted closer.

“Hey,” you soothed him. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” you said. “Don’t do that. You’ve always done everything for me. More than enough. And I’m so grateful to you. Hell, I’m probably alive still because of you.”

His head was bowed and his face screwed up a little as he struggled to force the emotion back into some dusty corner in his chest. “It just—” he cleared his throat so his voice would come out more freely. “It just ain’t fair that ya—that ya gotta go through this. And I can’t do shit about it…” His hands fiddled aimlessly, his eyes fixed on this little nick or that callous or the scar that was still pink.

You sighed and linked your arm through his, tipping to lean your head on his shoulder. He glanced over at your touch, his anxious fidgeting stilling immediately. You sighed, settling in against him. “Whoever said life was fair?” you mused. He knew it wasn’t as much as anyone. You’d seen his scars many times over the years. He’d confided in you about his childhood, his past. Life wasn’t fair most of the time.

His other hand came and rested on top of yours and the two of you sat tucked together that way until the afternoon light cooled and he had to get back to Judith and RJ. “Alrigh’,” he sighed, climbing to his feet. You could sense that his mood was still significantly dampened. He was inside himself, in his own head. It made his voice sound somewhat thin, like it was fraying at the edges. “I’ll come back and check on ya in the mornin’.”

You reached for your book on the coffee table. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, well, ‘m gonna. Hey—ya got bread in there and some of them canned vegetables. I want ya to eat ‘em,” he instructed you, pointing toward the kitchen. “’M serious, Y/N. They better be gone when I get back in the mornin’.”

You couldn’t help smiling at this and gave him a salute and a small smile, earning a head shake in return. You laughed. His heart jumped at the sound. Fuck, he wanted to hear that more often. He couldn’t help but think back to times when you had your meds more consistently, when your health was better, and you had been… something to see. You still were. But back then you were vivid. Trouble walking around in boots. He’d found every possible excuse he could think of to invite you outside the walls, just you and him together. Hunting. Scavenging. Teaching you to shoot different kinds of guns. Recon. Tracking lessons. Anything. And somehow even when everyone was struggling to survive, when that line between life and death became thinner and thinner, you still always had this light that didn’t dim. Sure, you had your dark moments just like he did. He could remember prying a whiskey bottle out of your hand one time as you went on about the pointlessness of it all, raged and broke down about what you had lost, struggled to cope with the reasons why. Why you? Why this world? Why any of it?

He’d grabbed you by the shoulders and made you look at him, practically shaken you out of it. And he’d almost kissed you then. You were red-eyed with tearstained cheeks and messy hair, but he still thought you were the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever seen, and probably would ever see. But you were drunk. And that was somethin’ he sure as shit wouldn’t do. He couldn’t do that in a vulnerable moment of yours. He couldn’t take advantage. He wouldn’t. So, he didn’t. And then he just never could seem to find the courage or the right time or… or any other stupid excuse he told himself. And now so many years had gone by and he knew you were afraid of how much time you had left, knew you were tired of the constant struggle… He’d squandered so much time.

Daryl suddenly realized he was on the front porch back at the house. He didn’t even really remember saying goodbye to you. He hoped he hadn’t seemed as distracted as he was as he left you in your little apartment. He pulled in a deep breath and arranged at least a neutral expression before pushing inside to find Judith and RJ with Rosita, who had baby Coco in her arms.

That night Daryl slept even less than usual. Your face swam in his mind’s eye, pale but smiling, and it was like there was a tether attached to his heart being yanked over and over again, like someone was trying to jerk it right out of his chest. He rolled from one side to the other, kicking off his blankets before pulling them up again the very next moment. And as he laid there on his bed, staring up at the shifting shadows, he came up with a plan.

When he knocked on your door the next morning, your voice sounded even thinner and farther away than it had the day before, and he felt as if he’d swallowed a stone. He pushed inside and the first thing he did was make his way into the kitchen to put the kettle on for you and check to see if you’d eaten the bread and vegetables he’d “prescribed”. The bread was gone, but the veggies were still sealed in their glass jar, the top undisturbed. Better than nothing though.

He came back out into the living room. You were sitting up now from your previous prone position on the couch and looking at him with curiosity. He had the sense that you could read his anxiety, knew already that he had something on his mind. You pulled your blanket aside to create an empty space beside you. “Come sit with me,” you asked. Of course he would.

He sighed as he sank down next to you, glancing over and trying to compare the color in your face to the day before. He thought you looked paler. There was still light in you, but it was colder, like the light of a distant star compared to the bursting warmth of the sun. You’d always been his sun. But now he felt a sinking feeling in his midsection and bit his bottom lip anxiously.

“Daryl,” you prompted him.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“You look worried sick,” you said. “Do I look that bad?” you asked with a wry laugh.

He ducked his head, his face tightening and drawing lines between his eyebrows.

You linked your arm with his, the way you had the day before, resting your other hand on his forearm, leaning toward him so he could feel the weight of you. “Talk to me.”

He glanced over as you rested your head against his shoulder. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of your blanket and you felt the muscle in his forearm tensing and relaxing. “I can’t just sit here while ya get sicker,” he said in a low murmur.

“Daryl—”

“No. I won’t.” This he spoke louder, with determination. You lifted your head and angled your body toward him, your eyes meeting his. Yours were sad, questioning. It almost looked like pity, and that flared his resolve further. “I—I came up with a plan last night.”

You straightened, looking apprehensive. “What plan?”

He gulped. “We go to the Commonwealth.” You stared back, unmoving. “And ya get what ya need. And who knows, maybe somebody will die and they can give ya a whole new heart.”

You stiffened. “Daryl—” you said again.

“Nah, jus’ listen to me!” He seized your hands in his and you were surprised by his vehemence. “The Commonwealth is helpin’ with repairs here. And I know they want me up there. They know I can fight. They know what our group can do.” He hesitated, nervous now that it came to it. “If I can get in good with ‘em, I can make sure ya get what ya need. I’ll pull whatever strings need to be pulled.”

You shook your head, looking apprehensive. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’d be taking on some kind of debt, and I don’t trust them. Everything costs something. We’ve seen it over and over again. Daryl—”

“Ya didn’t ask. S’my choice, my idea.” He found himself smoothing his thumbs over the silkiness of the skin on the back of your hands and you looked down at the action, your brow furrowed. “And ya really think I trust ‘em? Me? Hell nah. Somethin’ ‘bout that place stinks like black mold. I just ain’t quite figured it out yet… But if it can help ya I don’t give a shit. I ain’t just gonna give up. I can’t.”

Your eyes searched his face, wide and uneasy. “But what if what it costs is—is you? What if they send you out somewhere, send you to do something dangerous and—and you don’t come back? How could I ever live with that?” He saw your eyes welling up with tears at just the thought and it was with a shameful sense of satisfaction that he watched your emotion at the thought of him gone. It felt shitty to be pleased by your worry, but at the same time he couldn’t help it… Could it be that you couldn’t bear the thought of him gone, just as much as he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you? “What if it’s just trading a little more time for me with your life? Or if not even that, then your freedom. Daryl, we—”

“Hey. C’mon. That ain’t gonna happen. This is me we’re talkin’ about.” His mouth twitched up in a small half-smirk. “‘S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than those assholes or the dead to take me out. Ain’t happenin’.” He tried to swallow the nervous lump in his throat again. “Just hear me out on this… You, me, RJ, and Judith. We go as a family. It’ll be… better for the kids there anyway. They’ll get enough to eat, go to school again, see other kids. I let ‘em assign me whatever bullshit they wanna come up with and in exchange they treat ya. They—they gotta take care of my wife if they want my skills,” he said, glancing up to gauge your reaction. Your hands were still in his. You were stunned for a moment.

“Your wife,” you repeated, a lilting question in your voice.

He shrugged nervously. “Yah. I mean—I think that’s the best way for me to make sure ya get what ya need. S’weird, right? S’almost like the old world… Fuckin’ health insurance or some shit.”

Your eyes were flitting over his face again. He could almost see the revolving of your mind. “Wouldn’t they know by now if you had a wife?”

“Nah. ‘M a pretty hard to read kind of guy. Righ’?” he added, with a pointed look at you that did make one corner of your mouth twitch up. “Beside, ‘m private. And it’s safer not to go around tellin’ everybody what yer weakness is these days—Err… wait—not that yer—Shit,” he hung his head. “Goddammit.”

If you weren’t so worried about this idea of his you may have seized on what had accidentally just spilled out of him. But you were worried. Terrified, actually.

He cleared his throat again. “Y/N, lemme do this for ya. Please.”

His voice cracked slightly and you crumbled. You always crumbled when it came to Daryl. “I can’t say ‘no’ to you, Daryl,” you breathed.

He tugged you in against him and wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Thank you. Thank you.” He got away with tucking his face into your hair and breathing in your smell as he held you. “Ya ain’t gonna regret it. S’gonna be—s’gonna be worth it.” He finally became self-conscious and pulled back, a fluttering in his chest and a wash of relief drifting over him.

A small laugh bubbled up out of you and Daryl thought just maybe it was hope. “Um… Does this mean you’re asking me to marry you, Daryl Dixon?”

He gulped. “Uhh… “ he hummed a vague noise and you laughed again, annoyed that you felt a warmth growing in the apples of your cheeks.

“I know… just for the plan,” you said, ducking your eyes a little bashfully. “A fake marriage.” But Daryl’s heart was pounding in his chest. This felt somehow dangerous. He was suddenly picturing what day to day life would be with the four of you living together under one roof. You were of course all family, but this felt different… you’d feel like… his. He could take care of you even more than he did now, see you first thing in the morning when he woke up and last thing in the evening before he tried to chase sleep. What if he got used to it? He would. He knew he would. He tried to remind himself this was just the way things needed to be for the plan to work, for you to get all the care you needed. You couldn’t possibly work enough in your current health to pay for the services and medicine you needed on your own, so he would shoulder it. And he didn’t mind. In fact, it felt like part of his purpose right now; caring for Judith and RJ and taking care of you the best he could.

“We’ll need a ring or something,” you said. Your voice snapped him out of his deep well of thoughts.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, righ’. I’ll see what I can find,” he drawled, looking at you with bright blue eyes that seemed at once both soft and uncertain.

You sighed, trying to release some of your stress. “So… when is this happening?” you asked anxiously. “I mean, when are we going?”

Daryl shifted beside you and his arm brushed against yours. “Soon as we can. I’ll talk to Aaron and Rosita ‘bout it today. She’s been thinkin’ of goin’ with Gabriel and Coco anyway, ‘til things are fixed up around here. Judith and RJ will be excited.”

“Are you going to explain to them…?”

Daryl nodded. He knew what you were implying. The kids would have to be in on the plan, have to know you would be Daryl’s “wife”. “Yeah. Jude will be fine. And RJ will do what she does,” he said.

You gulped nervously, nodding again. “Okay… But Daryl—if we get there and it’s too much—too dangerous for you or—something… I don’t know, if something isn’t right, we stop. We stop, and we get out, and we just come home. Promise me.”

He studied the worry line near your left eyebrow. Finally, he nodded. “Alrigh’. I promise.” But it wouldn’t be too much. Not if it made all the difference for you.

You seemed satisfied and relaxed somewhat. He noted again how tired you looked. The kettle whistled on the stove and he managed to force himself apart from you, even though he didn’t want to.

Daryl stayed with you for a few hours while you drank tea and tried to shake the cold that seemed to sink into your bones every night. But then he couldn’t wait any longer to set things in motion and he headed to the door, looking back over his shoulder, and hoping that within a couple days you’d be getting what you needed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were nervous as the four of you approached the checkpoint, each with only a small bag of belongings. The journey could have been smoother—the car had blown a tire and then the radiator had sprung a leak at some point. You all had to walk the last stretch. Daryl tried to carry your bag for you, tried to give you water from his canteen, but you stubbornly refused, always refocusing on Jude and RJ. His heart ached as he watched you with the kids, making jokes to cheer everyone even when he could read the exhaustion on your face. Luckily, you hadn’t run into any herds of walkers or troublesome people and you’d even happened on a patrol from The Commonwealth that escorted you all the last few miles to the checkpoint.

You stared straight ahead at the nondescript buildings and the long stretches of chain link fence topped with razor wire. You gulped and your stomach churned. “I’m—having some flashbacks to Terminus suddenly,” you said in a low voice to Daryl.

He glanced over at you. “Yeah… I get that. But that ain’t this.” Whatever was rotten in The Commonwealth, and he knew something was, it was more subtle. At least for now.

“Do you think they’ll separate us?” you asked nervously, moving closer to him as the entry gate loomed closer and closer. Your shoulder brushed against his arm, and his stomach jumped at the simple contact. Jesus Christ. He needed to get a hold of himself—a hold of his feelings. He didn’t need emotion clouding his judgement now of all times. But it was nearly impossible when he was around you.

“I dunno,” he finally answered you. “But hey—we ain’t gonna have a bad time of it. S’gonna be okay. Alexandria has already got a relationship with ‘em. Our group has been vetted. Hopefully it’s just a few questions and we’re in. A formality, ya know?” He could still read anxiety on your brow. “Y/N. S’gonna be alrigh’. We’re almost there. And then ya are gonna get the care ya need, okay?”

You nodded, still wide-eyed, and surprised both of you when you moved closer to him again and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

He looked down at your hand in his, bewildered, but managed to hold it together and fix his eyes ahead on the gate, even while his heart hummed in his chest. He felt you give his hand a gentle squeeze as you all stopped in front of the uniformed soldier.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl had been right. You’d had a reasonably easy time at the border. The only questions they asked more intensely were about you, challenging him about why he hadn’t mentioned his wife before, asking what your condition was, what kind of medications and other care you would need. He’d squared his shoulders and told them firmly that his family wasn’t any of their damn business and that seemed to shut them up. But you had answered the questions about your heart as clearly as you could, anxiety building in you all the while, worry that you would be turned away as being too needy, something you’d told yourself your whole life—that now you were a burden. Daryl had always told you differently, treated you differently. You held tightly to his hand the entire time, and held RJ’s in the other.

But they hadn’t turned you away, They’d only instructed Daryl on where the barracks were where you would all stay while he “trained,” whatever the fuck that meant. You’d almost laughed. You had a feeling that he should be the one teaching the training.

Now the four of you were standing in a small dingy room in a tiny apartment. There was a couch and a bedroom with a bed, but not much else. You’d have to make up some beds for the kids in the living room with their bed rolls. They’d told Daryl that the accommodations would improve after his training, depending on how he advanced.

As Judith and RJ ran to stare out the window again at all the bustling activity and people below, Daryl was all too conscious of the small space that you’d occupy together. He felt a fluttery nervousness in his stomach as you walked to the doorway of the bedroom and looked inside at the scant furnishings. He came to stand beside you.

“Sorry it’s kind of a shithole compared to what ya had at home,” he said, his cheeks coloring a little with shame. He’d hoped to do better for you from the beginning here. But you only glanced over at him and gave him a small smile.

“Don’t apologize. We’ve both had worse,” you said kindly. You looked back at the dim space. “There’s a roof. And we’re safe. And the kids will have food and school. That’s more than enough these days.”

Daryl glanced down nervously at his hands, picking at the side of his thumb nail. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.

You laughed. “Don’t be silly,” you said, a lilt still in your voice. “You’ll sleep in the bed with me. There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor. It’s plenty big.”

He felt his ears and face grow hot and he had to avoid looking at you out of fear that you’d see and somehow read his mind.

Instead, he simply felt your fingers lace between his again and he gulped nervously.

“Daryl, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you,” you breathed to him quietly. His head was ducked and you wished he’d meet your eyes, but you allowed him his shyness, sensing his nerves. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “ ‘S’nothin’,” he drawled. “You’d do the same thing for me.”

You leaned against him and rested your head on his shoulder, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “Yeah. I would.”

He cleared his throat and snuck a glance down at you. “Ya know where to go for yer appointment tomorrow?” You nodded. “‘M sorry I can’t go with ya, but those assholes said I gotta report first thing.”

“That’s okay. And actually, Yumiko said she’d go with me. She wants to introduce me to her brother. He’s a surgeon… she seemed more hopeful than I am about a heart transplant…” you trailed off. Now you avoided Daryl’s eyes.

He couldn’t help but seize on that. Maybe it was possible. God, he hoped so. If he’d been a religious man, he would have been praying for that every damn day. “Good. That’s good,” he said. “Listen, why don’t ya get settled with the kids, alrigh’? ‘M gonna go see about gettin’ us some food.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, and he regretted speaking. When your hand slipped apart from his, he regretted it even more. But after he grabbed the first decent meal you all would have in days, after you were all settled, he realized he’d sleep beside you that night. That instead of lying on his back on his cot in Alexandria, wondering whether you were getting any rest, wondering if you were cold or hungry or awake from an endless cough, he’d be right beside you. He’d know. And he could help. And that was worth anything they could throw at him in this new place.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Yumiko had accompanied you to your doctor’s appointment as promised. You’d been given the medication you needed and they’d marked down something about the cost beside Daryl’s name. You still felt anxious about it… You were determined that once you had more energy that you’d find some job to do to help contribute, but for now you desperately needed to rest and let the medications work. The doctor had also told you the same old things about diet you’d practiced as much as you could. So often now, you didn’t have a choice about food, but maybe here you would. The kids were still at school and you walked with Yumiko over to the part of the hospital that Tomi worked in, a small bag of your meds in hand.

The surgeon was kind and warm to you, but he told you to be realistic about the chance of a heart transplant. “Even in the old world it was like winning the lottery,” he said. “If anything, it’s worse here.”

Yumiko had stiffened at this. “I’ll pull some more strings for you if I can,” she told you. “I’m sure Daryl is doing the same.”

“Please,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t. I don’t want any special treatment. It’s enough just to have some medications again that will help.”

Yumiko sighed and put a friendly hand on your shoulder. “There’s something you should know about this place…” she started. Your brow furrowed deeply over your eyes. “There’s a certain segment here that is always pulling strings.”

“…what do you mean?”

She sighed, wondering how much to say. “This place is more like the old world than you realize.” She glanced around at the couples meandering on the clean sidewalks, the busy shop windows, a nearby man emptying a garbage bin. “Just—they don’t play fair here. Everyone isn’t equal.”

“Yumiko—”

“It’s alright. My point is that you should let me and Daryl help you. Because the system is already rigged. We may as well take advantage of it for someone who deserves it,” she said. She gave you a friendly smile and suddenly started, glancing at a nearby clock. “Dammit, I have to go. You can find your way home alright?” she asked. You nodded and thanked her again, still puzzled by what she’d told you.

You recounted it to Daryl that night when you couldn’t sleep, lying on your back on your side of the bed. You could feel the mattress sloping toward his weight and he was unusually quiet and still. “Daryl,” you murmured. “Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” came his voice in the darkness near you. “Ya alrigh’?”

You rolled onto you side so you could face toward him. “Yes…”

He sensed the ‘but’. “But?”

“It’s just something Yumiko told me…” You repeated the conversation to him as best as you could remember.

You heard him sigh in the darkness. “I get why yer worried,” he started. “But she’s righ’ ‘bout the system and ‘bout you. Ya deserve whatever good things we can get to come yer way.”

“But what if helping me means someone else doesn’t get what they need, what if it—"

Daryl suddenly reached out and his fingertips grazed your cheek. Warmth and electricity shot through you. He could barely make out your silhouette in the dark. “Jus’ let us do this for ya.” His touch lifted almost as quickly as it came. “Jus’ for once, think about yerself before e’rybody else.”

You didn’t say anything, but you quieted. Daryl heard you shift softly in the sheets beside him.

“I ain’t tryin’ to tell ya yer wrong, or dismiss ya, Y/N. I just—I need to do this for ya. Alrigh’?”

You moved closer toward the middle of the bed until you could almost feel his warmth. “Alright,” you agreed softly. And then the two of you were soon asleep.

You all fell into a comfortable routine over the next few weeks. As the medicine had more time to work, you began to feel better and have more energy than you remembered having in a long time. Daryl would rise early to report for work most days, but sometimes he had to work late shifts, and then the apartment felt empty without him. You were sharply aware of his unoccupied side of the bed, and realized that you almost needed him there to be able to sleep.

One night, he’d had a late shift and collapsed into bed beside you at nearly three in the morning. You weren’t sure if it was because he was so tired or what, but shortly after he’d gotten home and fallen deeply asleep, you felt him move in against you. His arm draped over your waist and his body pressed against yours. At first you were so stunned you weren’t sure what you were feeling, but then a warmth and joy washed over you, and a feeling of such complete safety and belonging that you could scarcely bear to think about how in only a few short hours you’d have to separate to start the day. You wanted to stay there with him tucked up behind you… You pressed back against him and smoothed your hand over his where it was resting over your waist, lacing your fingers between his as was becoming a habit. And you slept deeply and soundly, until the sound of the kids in the other room, up and preparing for school, roused you.

You extracted yourself from Daryl’s embrace as gently as you could, hoping you wouldn’t wake him, but he stirred almost immediately. You were already on your feet by the time he was fully awake and his blue eyes blinked open.

He realized he was in the middle of the bed instead of over on the edge where he usually tried to stay, too fearful of encroaching on your space or making you uncomfortable. But you were smiling at him with a serene sort of look he hadn’t seen before and he pushed himself up stiffly and sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit… looks like I was takin’ up more than my fair share last night,” he drawled, his cheeks reddening. “Sorry.”

Your smile widened and you ducked his eyes. He thought he could see a blush on your face too but he didn’t know why. “No worries.” You watched him try to stretch but a wince quickly crossed his face and you frowned. “Are you alright? Did something happen at work yesterday?”

He hummed a non-committal noise in an attempt to put you off, but you wouldn’t have it. His muscles had stiffened overnight. He and Rosita had had quite a time clearing out an unexpected herd while on patrol, and he’d apparently been slammed around and more banged up than he thought.

“Let me see,” you insisted.

“Nah, ‘m fine.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a stern look. “You have to change anyway; you might as well let me take a look.”

Daryl sighed and started trying to get his shirt over his head, but his shoulders were stiff and achy and his movements were labored. You crossed the bedroom to him and tugged it off over his head. Your face flushed at his strong chest and torso and broad-shoulders bared before you, but then your heart sunk as it always had when you saw his scars, many and varied now from a life that began hard and only stayed hard. He deserved so much better than what he’d been handed.

“Daryl…” His back and ribs were bruised and scraped in wide, darkening marks. For now, they were various shades of dark red but moving toward purple. In another day, they’d be black and deep blue.

He glanced down at his own body and pressed a few fingers over a smudge of blood on his ribs. “Ain’t that bad,” he drawled. “I’ve had worse.”

You shot him another look, but your eyes were soft and sympathetic this time. “Of course you have. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t—” you couldn’t find the right word and pushed your hair away from your eyes.

“Auntie Y/N!” Judith’s voice came from the front room. “We need to go to school or we’ll be late!”

“Oh—okay, Judith! Just a minute!” you called out. “Just stay here,” you ordered Daryl. “I’ll be right back.”

“Y/N, I gotta go to—"

“It’ll take one minute!” you argued. “Don’t move.” You let yourself out into the main room of the apartment and asked if Judith was okay walking herself and RJ to school. She agreed eagerly and even seemed excited at the prospect as you quizzed them about strangers like you always did when they went anywhere without you or a member of your extended family. “Okay. Have a good day at school. Daryl or I will pick you up later, okay?” You kissed both of them on the tops of their heads and sent them off with lunches in hand. Then you went to the little sink and filled a small bowl with warm water and a washcloth and returned to the bedroom.

Daryl was still sitting there without his shirt on, fidgeting. He tried to argue as soon as you came back in but you quieted him with another look. “Just let me at least get this dried blood off you,” you said, sinking down beside him. You squeezed the excess water from the rag and dabbed at a cut on his side. Daryl licked his lips and let himself study the focused expression on your face, the contraction of your eyebrow and the way your tongue occasionally poked out the corner of your mouth as you concentrated. He felt like he was filling up with warmth, feeling the bruises and bumps less and less with each pass of your gentle hands and the warm cloth. He couldn’t take his eyes off you but you hadn’t seemed to notice.

An involuntary shiver ran up his back as you moved behind him and your fingertips lightly tickled his skin. “Sorry,” you said quickly. But you didn’t know it was an electric shock that had shot through him from your touch, not some result of sitting bare-chested and the cooling water. You worked your way around to his other side, and though it had probably only been a few minutes, Daryl felt like time had slowed. You wiped away the last bit of dried blood on his ribs and dropped the cloth back into the bowl, shaking the now faintly pink water from your fingers and setting the bowl on the nightstand.

Now you caught his eyes and were stunned by the look in them. “Thanks,” he said vaguely.

All you could do was nod, your throat suddenly tightening for some reason… Flutters erupted in your stomach and your heart started to race, something that was all too common for no reason at all. But right now… you knew why. You raised a hand and pressed it over your rushing heart and Daryl’s brow furrowed.

“Are you alrigh’?” he asked quickly.

You nodded again. “Yeah. It’s just—my heart is racing a little,” you managed. Your voice came out slightly breathy.

Daryl’s eyes darkened as his brow furrowed even more deeply. “What can I do?” he asked. And for some reason you smiled. His heart jumped.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said softly.

He was mildly confused, and you watched it flash across his handsome face. “Like what?” he drawled.

Your eyes lowered for a moment and then lifted again, your eyelashes fluttering. His heart jumped again. “I suppose—the way you always look at me.”

Daryl felt suspended. He shook his head slightly. “Nah. I can’t,” he drawled. Was this a dream? Was he still asleep? But he was awake. He knew it, because the intensity of feeling welling up in him was far too profound for any dream, and it was only another moment before he crashed his lips into yours, his hand clasping your face and his fingertips reaching into your hair.

You reached for him in turn and kissed him back eagerly, sinking into it, reeling with electricity as his other hand pressed hesitantly into the small of your back. You smiled into his lips. You were breathless, weightless, consumed by only the sensations of him, and he was consumed by you.

It was far too soon when you pulled back. Your eyes flickered between his. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, to find his voice.

“Ya got no idea how damn long I’ve wanted to do that.” That wide smile that drove him mad graced your face again.

“Same,” you said. You leaned in and kissed him again, but this one was softer and sweeter. He never wanted to stop kissing you. Your lips were silky and tasted like the cinnamon tea you drank, and you moved together like you belonged, like you’d always been kissing. You were almost shaky with adrenaline. “You’re gonna be late for work,” you said dreamily.

Daryl shook his head slightly. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, running his fingers through the ends of your hair briefly before resting his hand along the graceful curve of your neck. He was just about to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you again when there was a loud banging on the apartment door. You both startled apart.

Daryl was on his feet in a moment, pulling a shirt on hurriedly. “Stay here,” he said. But before he could even get to the threshold, a familiar voice was calling out.

“Y/N! Y/N, answer the door! It’s urgent! It’s Yumiko!”

You and Daryl rushed to the door, still feeling vaguely rootless, and he opened it wide. “Yumiko? What’s happened? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?” you asked. She breezed right into the apartment past you and spun in place.

She had a hurried and bubbling kind of energy, like a pot of boiling water about to overflow. “Somebody fell off a ladder,” she said suddenly.

Your hand flew to your mouth. “Oh my God. Who?” you asked with horror.

“No,” she said, stepping up right in front of you. She grasped both of your hands. “Y/N. Somebody fell off a ladder.” You still weren’t getting it. But a nervous and wildly overjoyed smile broke out on her face and she laughed. “Y/N. There was an accident, and—yes, it’s very sad—but you’re getting a new heart.”

You stared at her, suddenly frozen and wide-eyed. You blinked once. Twice. You were trying to process what she’d just said. “What?”

“You’re getting a heart!” she said again. “Tomi is doing the surgery and we need to go to the hospital now!”

You were just frozen again. But then Daryl was suddenly beside you and Yumiko withdrew, dropping your hands and apparently sensing something between you two for the first time. Or maybe not for the first time… maybe she’d always known. Her smile was a little knowing.

Daryl clasped your face. “Y/N. Are ya okay?” he asked you. You reached up to grip his wrist and nodded slowly, in disbelief, your vibrant eyes still wide. “Ya wanna do this? There’s risks but—” He felt suddenly sick as the realization crashed into him. This could be everything, give you everything, or if something went wrong—it could take everything.

“I—I don’t know,” you said suddenly. And then another voice inside you answered. “Yes. Yes, I want to do this.” You studied Daryl’s face. You had too much left to do. You had to live this new life with Daryl and you wanted it to be long and happy. You wanted to do all the things you hadn’t been able to do for so long, to hunt with him outside the walls, to run, to climb, to explore, to rebuild Alexandria, to play and lift and toss RJ and Judith as much as you wanted. And even if something went wrong, you’d go to sleep knowing that you had kissed Daryl Dixon, a man you’d loved for so long, and he loved you back. “Yes. I want to do this.”

Daryl gulped and nodded, emotion sticking in a lump in his throat. “Okay. Okay, then we’re doin’ this,” he said. He didn’t care that Yumiko was standing only a few feet away. He kissed you and he tried to put every thought and every feeling he had about you into that kiss, and it never would have lasted long enough, but it built courage in both of you. Then he grabbed your hand in his and gave Yumiko a nod. “We’re ready,” he said.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl paced the length of the sterile, white corridor endlessly. The surgery was long and each passing minute increased his anxiety further. He heard footsteps down the hallway and hoped that it would be Tomi emerging to tell him that everything had gone perfectly, that you were coming out of anesthesia well and that he’d be able to see you in a moment. But instead, it was Rosita and Gabriel with Coco, Carol, Yumiko, Kelly and Connie, Magna, Judith and RJ, Ezekiel carrying a bunch of daffodils… it was all of them. It was his family. Carol rushed up and hugged him.

“Any word?” she asked, her brow knit.

He shook his head and pulled away, shifting anxiously on his feet. “No. Not for—not for a few hours.” Three hours and 26 minutes to be specific. Yes. He was keeping track. He glanced at his assembled loved ones. “Thanks for bein’ here, ya’ll,” he said. His voice was a bit weak with worry. He sounded unlike himself. He was sick over this. Had they made the right choice? Open heart surgery during the fuckin’ apocalypse… what the hell was he thinkin’? He collapsed into a nearby chair, his stomach churning with nerves. The others exchanged a few glances and settled into chairs nearby, except for Connie who stopped in front of him and bent down so she was in his eyeline.

“It will be okay,” she signed to him. She gave him a reassuring smile. She spelled your name and then signed “strong.”

Daryl sighed and nodded, but the tension in his face was unchanged. He got up and resumed his pacing, tearing the cuticle of his thumbnail with his teeth until he tasted the metallic tang of blood.

It was another hour before Tomi stepped out, mask and gloves off. Daryl had paced down to the opposite end of the hall and he tore back at full speed to meet the surgeon. As he got close, he saw that Tomi was smiling…

_ _ _ _ _ _

You’d been sleeping for some time since you’d been wheeled into the designated ICU. Daryl had gowned and masked up, insisting on being there by your side when you woke up. The day had been such an insane whirlwind and seemed to have passed in a blaze of emotions. It was dark now and Rosita had taken the kids home and the rest of your collected family had eventually drifted off too.

Tomi had warned Daryl that you’d be groggy when you woke and that the most important thing was for you to rest. He sat perched on the edge of his chair, your hand in his, watching your peaceful face for any change, good or bad.

Finally, you began to stir against the pillow and he rocketed to his feet. He smoothed his free hand over your hair and kissed your forehead. “Y/N?”

Your eyes opened with some tremendous effort. The fog of your breath was steady in the oxygen mask. You were on a ventilator and connected to so many wires and tubes it was hard to bear, but despite all this, despite having your chest cracked open, despite the fog in your brain, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was Daryl, and you smiled.

And that was the way it would always be from then on.

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