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theteasetwrites · 2 years

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Go With the Flow

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 3/4 Interim (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: menstrual blood, period, mentions of malnutrition/starvation, mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 5.2k

❧ Summary: Daryl doesn't know much about women. When you have your first period since the two of you got together, he's not so sure what to do for you, but he'll try his very best, that's for damn sure.

❧ A/N: Another oneshot from The Beginning universe! This one takes place during the prison era, after the Governor's first attack but before the incident with Jerome (see chapters 23-24). I wanted to write Daryl going on a little adventure to find period products for his gf. I also just know he would be so good to her. Oh, and I included Glenn and Tyreese too! I never see people writing about Tyreese, so I wanted to have a fun little mission with those guys. Also shout out if you can detect the subtle (or not so subtle?) It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia reference lmao.

Just a few weeks after the Governor had been defeated, and what was left of his former community sought shelter with your group at the prison, you’d begun keeping track of time again.

Your journal had been sitting at the bottom of your pack for a while, but with renewed hope and the beginning of what you believed would be a period of relative peace, you decided there was no better time to begin again. After all, if your group was trying to rebuild some kind of civilization, someone would have to write it all down, right?

When night fell and all the day’s duties of repairing and revamping the abandoned prison were done, you lit a few candles to illuminate the pages of your journal as you wrote, sitting snuggled up in bed and waiting for Daryl to return from his watch.

Trying to get the hang of writing again was difficult. It’d been so long since the simple act of holding a pen was an everyday, monotonous task instead of a luxury. You felt a calmness settle in your bones, realizing that just a month or so ago, you were on the road, foraging for berries and wondering which day would be your last. For once, the world of the dead felt completely removed from you, behind that sturdy fence. Maybe you’d never have to see blood again, you wondered, but of course, that was a little too optimistic.

Just then, in the middle of your musing, a dull pain seared in your abdomen. “Oh, God,” you mumbled, reaching down to rub your hand over your stomach. More uncomfortable strains developed there, and soon your back and thighs began to ache as well.

Your first fear was sickness, something akin to the flu. There was a bad cold that had gone around your group during the winter, but you had had that, and this was different. Then, there was the brief drop of your heart in your chest when you considered the fact that you could be pregnant. Granted, you and Daryl had been quite careful, always using some sort of protection or intervention to keep you from meeting the same fate as Lori.

Still, it was always a possibility, one that terrified you. Perhaps you wanted a baby with Daryl. He was sweet with little Judith, and someday, maybe when the prison would be safer, you’d like to consider the possibility with him, but not now. Certainly not now.

Your fears worsened when you noticed a tenderness in your breasts that night, and when the pain in your abdomen got worse, you gently cried into your pillow, sure to do so before Daryl came to bed. But then, you realized what it really must’ve been, though the phenomenon had, mercifully, avoided you for so long: period.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself. “That’s what it is.”

When you reached down to allow your fingers to graze underneath the front of your underwear, dark streaks of brownish crimson coated your fingertips. There was a sense of relief to this revelation. For one thing, you weren’t pregnant. That in itself was a cause to celebrate. Not only that, but finally, your body was healthy enough to start menstruating again. A year of constant near-starvation and malnutrition was what kept away the crimson tide for so long. Now, you were finally eating enough to kickstart the cycle again, but then again, the whole ordeal was, for lack of a better word, a major pain in the ass.

You rose from your bed quickly, lifting your nightshirt to examine your underwear—stained. You grabbed the nearest pair of pants, Daryl’s, to put on, and fast walked to Maggie’s cell in the hopes that she’d have something to help you, though you were already incredibly close to Maggie, and you knew she hadn’t had her period in almost a year either.

“Maggie,” you whispered from beyond the curtain of her cell, hoping you wouldn’t interrupt any intimate moments between her and Glenn. “Maggie,” you whispered again, with more insistence and frustration. “I need your help.”

A shirtless and half awake Glenn pulled back the curtain. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to find your face. “(Y/N)?” he asked. “You okay?”

You peered over his shoulder, trying to find your other friend in the darkness behind him. “I’m, uh… Where’s Maggie?”

Her face was soon illuminated by the light of the lantern she’d just lit. She sat up in bed, eying you with concern, and pulling a confused face at the baggy, holey jeans you were wearing. “Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just…” You looked between Glenn and Maggie. “I’m really sorry for waking you, but… Maggie, do you have any…” You mouthed the word tampons, in the hopes she’d be able to read your lips.

You knew that periods were nothing to be embarrassed about, as they were a natural part of life and a simple fact of owning a uterus, but you also knew men could be very squeamish about the whole ordeal. It was silly, since Glenn was like your brother, but force of habit told you to always expect men to be unforgiving and immature in regards to a woman’s period.

“Oh,” replied Maggie. “Um, I don’t… Haven’t started mine again yet.”

You nodded solemnly. “D-do you think anyone else might have them?” The longer you stood there, the more you feared you’d bleed through Daryl’s jeans. Not that they hadn’t been covered in blood before, but these ones were freshly laundered.

“Maybe some of the Woodbury folks?” she said.

In the darkness of the prison, you went on a brief mission to interview the few Woodbury women you had met, all of whom were either no longer having periods or hadn’t had the time to pack their pads and tampons before making the move to the prison. You were out of luck, and there was definitely no way of finding any female sanitation products in a former men’s correctional facility. No, it was clear—a run needed to be made.

In the meantime, you’d scurried off to the bathroom to create a makeshift pad out of toilet paper, layering several pieces of the one ply sheets along the crotch of your underwear, which had already become soaked through with menstrual blood, and the inside of Daryl’s jeans hadn’t been spared. “Shit!” you said to yourself. You felt like a twelve year old again, experiencing your very first period at school and leaking through your favorite beige corduroy pants. You remembered a few of the older boys making fun of you, calling you “Carrie” and making jokes about staying as far away from you as possible. You tried to laugh along, but it hurt.

With your lover’s jeans around pooled around your ankles and your underwear halfway up your thighs, you leaned against the open bathroom stall as you tried with all your might to will away the horrific cramps that had come back with a vengeance.

Your brief period of contemplation was interrupted by a heavy push of the door as some unseen person entered the room. Your eyes darted open as you quickly latched the stall shut, intending to preserve your dignity.

You couldn’t see the person’s shoes, but when you heard the sound of pants unzipping, then the loud stream of urine hitting the porcelain of the urinal, you knew it was a man.

And when he let out a short, familiar grunt, you knew it was your man, making his usual stop in the bathroom before he would head to your cell for the night.

You sighed and felt a bit of relief—at least it wasn’t just some guy, and you were in need of a bit of comfort.

“Daryl,” you peeped quietly, still locked in the stall.

He lifted his gaze from the urinal, and he wondered at first if maybe he was so tired that he was imagining your voice, but when he turned to see your fuzzy pink slippers in the stall, he knew you were really there.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, a slight chuckle to his gruff, tired voice. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothing,” you answered, still holding your head against the stall door. “I don’t feel good.”

He tilted his head and sighed, getting slightly worried now. “What’s wrong?” You were silent for a moment, until you doubled over in pain, holding your belly as another cramp hit.

“Ah,” you hissed.

He came closer to the stall, zipping up his pants. “Why don’t ya come out,” he said. “You got me worried now.”

Unlatching the lock, you pulled back the stall door slowly to reveal your uncomfortable state. Bloated, bleeding, and about ready to pass out from the pain.

In your emotional turmoil, you stepped forward to fall into his arms, squeezing him tight and breathing a big sigh into his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hold you, rubbing your back up and down. The warmth of his abdomen touching yours soothed your pain for a moment, but the cramps were too strong. You’d suspect it would only get worse, since usually the second day of your period was the worst.

“I started my period,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “My cramps are so bad… I—I don’t even have any pads or anything. I feel awful.”

He turned to face you, a little confused. He had just assumed you’d been having periods since he’d known you. He didn’t know when, or how you dealt with them, but he just assumed you did. After all, he didn’t know much about periods—he grew up with one brother and a dad who didn’t care enough about women to tell Daryl anything about them. His mother died when he was five years old. You were, in general, the first woman he’d ever known so well. Sure, he’d had meaningless drunken trysts with random women before, but he hardly remembered any of that, and besides, he only knew those women for approximately one night. Not enough time to figure out their menstrual cycles.

“You ain’t been havin’ ‘em?” he asked.

You furrowed your brow and scoffed, irritated by the assumption. “No, Daryl. Don’t you know anything about periods?”

He should’ve, he knew that, but he didn’t. He hadn’t had the time to figure that out, not with everything else he’d been doing. Still, he knew that, as a man who loved a woman, he should know everything about her, including her cycle.

“I’m an idiot,” he said bluntly. “Sorry, I—I don’t know nothin’.”

You sighed and rubbed your head, trying to not lose your patience. The pain of the relentless cramps was really getting to you, and the uncomfortable pooling of blood on the flimsy makeshift pad made you even more irritable. You could feel the blood flowing out of you.

“You’re not an idiot,” you said. “I’m sorry, I…” You searched his face to see if he really didn’t know anything about periods. He didn’t, you could tell. Daryl was not an idiot, like you said, but there were things he didn’t know. He could learn easily, picking things up very quickly, but education had failed him in many ways. Growing up in the rural south in the 1970s and 1980s didn’t help much—biology wasn’t top priority, especially not women’s biology.

“When… women are malnourished,” you said, “our bodies go into, like, survival mode. That affects our cycle, and we sometimes don’t have periods because our bodies are working hard to do other things, so it gets put on the back burner until we’re getting more nutrition again… Does that make sense?”

You were a librarian, not a doctor, so you didn’t have an expert-level grasp on the whole thing, but you knew that was why you hadn’t had your period in so long.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I think so… Why’re you wearin’ my pants, though?”

You laughed as you followed his gaze to his ripped jeans hanging on your body. “Oh… They were the closest pants I could find. Sorry, I think I might’ve, um… There might be a little blood on them. I’m really sorry, honey. I’ll clean them.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, there’s blood on all my clothes.”

“It doesn’t gross you out?”

“Does it look like anythin’ grosses me out?” he asked. “‘Sides, nothin’ about you is gross. Not even your—”

He stopped himself before he said the first thing that came to mind: pussy blood.

“I just wanna take care of you,” he continued, cupping your cheek with his hand. “What do ya need, angel? I’ll do anythin’ for ya.”

Daryl was every woman’s dream man, that was for sure.

“Well, um… Would you mind maybe going on a run tomorrow? I mean, you don’t have to, but if you could get some pads or tampons, that’d really help me a lot. I’m kind of just free-bleeding right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. First thing in the mornin’.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Maybe you were so used to having low expectations for men, but Daryl was a totally different caliber of man—he was a knight in shining armor, at least to you.

“Really?” you asked. “Are you sure? Is it too much trouble?”

He scoffed and kissed your forehead. “What kinda man would I be if I didn’t get my woman what she needs? ‘Sides, it’s the least I can do.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek, then wrapped your arms tight around his neck. “Thank you,” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He tried his best that night to make you comfortable, laying down a towel in case you bled through his pants (which he let you keep on) to preserve your sheets. Your cramps were relentless, but soon you fell asleep, and in the morning, Daryl moved carefully so as not to wake you.

He did, however, gently kiss your forehead, which stirred you from your sleep. “Mm… Daryl?”

“Shhh,” he said, holding his finger to his lip. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back ‘fore noon. Promise.”

You awoke with a neediness that you were sure would soon morph into irritability, but all you could think about was him holding you a little longer.

“Okay,” you sighed, reaching out to hold his hand. “Thanks, again. You’re so good to me.”

He smiled and kissed your lips, innocently, but still passionately enough to elicit a heavenly sigh from you. “Just doin’ my job. I love you.”

“Love you, and be careful. Don’t get yourself hurt because of me and my uterus.”

He adjusted the pack on his back before lifting his crossbow with a grunt. “That’d be the best reason to get hurt,” he said, turning to peel back the curtain of the prison cell. Before he left, he turned once more, asking a rather important question. “What kind do I get?”

You furrowed your brow. “What kind?”

“Yeah, what kinda tampons? Or pads or whatever.” In truth, his grasp of the difference between the two was shaky at best.

“Oh, um… Super is fine.”

“For both?”

“Yes. Super absorbent.”

He nodded, trying to input that information in his brain. “Does the, uh, brand matter?”

“No, Daryl,” you laughed. “Whatever you can find. And if you can, bring a lot back, for Maggie and everyone else. As many as you can find.”

Thus, the mission was afoot.

He began tuning up his bike at dawn, making sure it was ready to go. He’d almost finished with his maintenance when he heard footsteps and a familiar presence coming towards him. He raised his head from his work to meet Glenn’s gaze. He was wearing his pack and his gear, all the things he took with him for runs.

“Hey,” the younger man said, raising his hand to wave at Daryl. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” replied Daryl, wiping his hands of the grease that had accumulated there. “Boutta head out. Quick run.”

Glenn’s eyes narrowed curiously. “Hey, me too. What are you getting?”

Daryl huffed. Glenn always liked to talk a lot more than he did. He liked the guy, though. He had to admit, when he first met Glenn, he thought you and he were together, and though Daryl didn’t outrightly know it, he was quite irrationally jealous for a short period of time. Now he was family.

“Woman stuff,” he said. “Tampons, pads… For (Y/N).”

“Ohhh,” replied Glenn. “That makes sense. She asked Maggie for some last night. Well, hey, I was gonna go out looking for some, too. I figured if (Y/N)’s starting hers then Maggie won’t be far behind. They… sync up.”

“Sync up?”

“Yeah. Anyway, we should combine forces.”

Daryl scoffed as he stuffed his red rag in his back pocket. “It’s an easy run. Don’t need more manpower.”

“Come on, think about it. Always good to have someone watching your back, and you’re not a strategist. You’re the muscle. Every mission needs brains and brawn… I mean, you have both but…” Glenn trailed off, fearing he’d make a fool of himself. “Anyway, let me help. Besides, I can't let you get all the glory.”

Daryl held up his hands, as if in slightly amused defeat. “Fine. You take the truck, I'll take the bike.”

“Cool.”

Just then, another, much bigger, figure emerged, coming towards Glenn and Daryl. “Hey, Tyreese,” said Glenn to the man. “What are you doing up this early?”

Daryl took note of Tyreese’s appearance—he, too, was dressed for a mission.

“Oh, uh, Karen needs some stuff,” he said. “She says her time of the month’s coming soon… Where are you guys going?”

Daryl’s eyes trained on Glenn, knowing what he was going to say. “No way,” he said. “Already two of us.”

Besides, neither of them knew Tyreese well. He’d just arrived from Woodbury, and though so far he seemed trustworthy, Daryl was a hard nut to crack when it came to being friendly towards “outsiders.”

“Think about it,” Glenn repeated. “I’m the brains, you’re the muscle, and Tyreese, you’re the…” He trailed off, trying to figure out a role for Tyreese within the group. “You’re the…”

“Wild card,” said Tyreese, a friendly smile cracking on his face.

“Yeah, sure. Wild card.” He turned back to Daryl. “So what do you think?”

“Think we’re burnin’ daylight,” he said. “Come on, let’s get back ‘fore noon. Ain’t got all day to sit and chat.”

Despite Daryl’s insistence that his original plan to raid the nearest Piggly Wiggly would suffice, Glenn drew up a new plan, which involved extensive coverage of several supermarkets, pharmacies, and gas stations within the surrounding area. This would account for a lack of pads or tampons at any one location, and would likely yield the highest bounty.

With Daryl leading the way on his bike, and Glenn and Tyreese following in the truck, the three men embarked on their mission, first going to the furthest destination, then planning on working their way back.

First stop was the pharmacy, in some little town on the outskirts of the county in which the prison was located.

It was a family-owned joint, with a pretty good padlock on the door and no signs of breaking in—that was good.

Glenn knocked on the glass door, then they waited for a minute or two, hoping any walkers inside would be attracted to the sound. “Nothing,” he said.

“All right.” Daryl opened the bolt cutters, ready to clip the chain. “Ready?”

Tyreese held his hammer high, and Glenn readied his knife. “Ready,” they both replied.

He snapped the chain and let it fall to the asphalt, then after one last moment to wait for any walkers to show themselves, they headed in.

Tyreese nailed two walkers who’d been holed up in the janitor’s closet, and Glenn made a beeline to the feminine hygiene section, with Daryl following close behind.

“Nice,” said Daryl, nodding as he chewed the inside of his lip. He found himself in a cluttered aisle with the two other men, standing dumbfounded as they examined the myriad of options presented before them.

No one spoke for a while, perhaps because they were each thinking of which products to get, or because they were too embarrassed to be the first one to say, “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Finally, Tyreese spoke: “Ultra thin, maxi, super maxi, with wings, without wings, panty liners, overnight, regular, heavy flow… Damn.”

“And those are just the pads,” said Glenn. He gestured to the left, where the tampons were. “We got those too.”

Daryl chewed his lip, shining his flashlight back and forth over every feminine hygiene product on the shelf. He’d always been told women were complicated, though he hadn’t found that to be the case. They weren’t any more complicated than men, but maybe the only complicated thing about them was just how many goddamn options they had for tampons.

“We should get a little bit of everything,” said Daryl. “Maybe even take it all…” He re-examined the shelves, noticing a lot of empty space—it looked like the place had been looted before the chains were put on the door. “We’re gonna need to stop again.” He pulled a box of tampons off the shelf, and proceeded to open it to dump its content into his pack. “Don’t need the boxes,” he said. “Takes up room. Dump ‘em.”

They did the same with the pads, and soon their packs were each halfway full of an assortment of pads and tampons.

There were three more stops, each yielding a sizable amount of pads and tampons, so much so that Daryl had to find some crates to fill up, once their packs became too overfilled.

Finally, the last stop was a small grocery store not too far from the prison. The closer they got to home, the more Daryl felt relief. He’d been worrying a little too much about you, slightly irrationally afraid that you’d bleed to death, even though he knew such a thing was impossible. He didn’t really like the idea of you bleeding at all though, so he simply couldn’t help but worry.

The last location proved particularly bountiful, with plenty of feminine hygiene products to choose from. Of course, they chose all of them, scooping the packages into their arms and dumping them into the crates, then taking them back out to stuff them in the remaining empty space of the bed of the truck.

Daryl dusted off his hands when he loaded the last of the crates into the truck. He felt accomplished, and quite satisfied with the mission. He wouldn’t have been able to bring back this much if it hadn’t been for Glenn and Tyreese, so he’d have to thank them later, when they got back home. Daryl had a self-enforced policy: never say thank you until it’s done, and they weren’t done yet—they still had to get back home.

“Hey, Daryl,” said Tyreese, helping to strap down the crates to secure them. “You think we’re gonna be heroes when we get back with all these things?”

Daryl scoffed as he jumped out of the bed, then turned to close the tailgate. “Think my woman needs somethin’, I get it for ‘er. Don’t gotta be a hero to do that.”

Tyreese exchanged a smirk with Glenn, and Daryl felt their interaction behind his back, until they broke out into mutual laughter, amused at the usually stoic man’s undying loyalty to you. “What’s so damn funny?” he asked.

“Nothing. Well, I think we’re heroes,” said Glenn. “Got our ladies their tampons.”

“And back before lunch,” added Tyreese.

“Yeah, well—” Daryl’s voice was interrupted by a snarl, as a small herd of walkers came lumbering forward, their rotting heads popping up from beyond the nearby hill seemingly out of nowhere. “Shit.”

Daryl hurriedly strapped on his crossbow as he spoke. “Let’s get outta here,” he said. “We’ll lose ‘em ‘fore we get back.”

“Right,” agreed Glenn. “Come on.”

Daryl hopped on his bike, starting it up and waiting for Glenn and Tyreese to start up the truck. He nervously tapped the handle of his bike, watching the dozen or so walkers stumble closer.

He heard the engine sputtering, struggling to come to life. “Come on!” he shouted back.

Glenn poked his head out the open window of the driver’s side. “It’s not starting!”

Daryl turned back to face the walkers, now within just a few yards. “Shit!” He removed the key from the ignition and hopped off the bike, grabbing his knife and quickly taking out a few walkers.

Soon, Tyreese was running out the passenger side door of the truck, hammer held high as he came to Daryl’s aid. “Shit, they came out of nowhere!”

“I know!” replied Daryl. “Glenn!”

“Working on it!” He was fiddling with some wires under the hood of the truck, frantically looking up every few seconds to make sure he was clear.

“Work faster!” Tyreese added. More walkers started to follow, and soon Daryl and Tyreese were surrounded, with Daryl’s bike close by.

With their backs pressed to each other, Daryl kicked a few walkers away to clear his path to his bike. “Come on,” he said. “Get on the bike.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how Tyreese would fit on the back of his bike (he’d only ever had you, Maggie, and Carol on the back, and Tyreese was quite a bit bigger than all of you), but it was the safest way to get out of the crowd.

The bike roared to life, and Tyreese nailed a few walkers in the head with his hammer as he climbed onto the bike. “Go!”

Daryl punched the gas pedal and zipped through the crowd, while Tyreese killed any walkers that got too close for comfort.

Luckily, the walkers hadn’t yet got to Glenn, who was still trying to get the truck to work when Daryl and Tyreese got to him. Hopping off the back of the bike, Tyreese looked back to see the small herd stumbling around a cage of propane tanks about a quarter of a mile away.

Tyreese looked between Glenn’s nimble, but struggling, fingers and the incoming herd. He quickly retreated to the passenger side door to locate the rifle they’d brought along, just in case. This was a “just in case” situation, he figured.

While Daryl shot his bow to take down the nearest walkers, Tyreese had another plan.

With most of the herd still lumbering around the tanks, he held up the rifle and aimed. Perhaps it was a long shot, but when a rather loud, slightly earth-shaking explosion nearly knocked all three men to the ground, it seemed to have worked.

“Holy shit!” yelped Glenn. Daryl only gaped in breathless confusion, having not even noticed the other man had grabbed the gun.

Only a few unburnt stragglers remained, with the rest of the herd now charred to a crisp and too weak to lift themselves from the flames of the burning wreckage.

“Damn,” said Daryl, holding his hand to his forehead as he blocked the sunlight from his view. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Wild card,” replied Tyreese.

It was almost noon now, and you hadn’t bothered to get out of bed, except to replace your stained through underwear every once in a while, until you were down to your last clean pair.

The nice thing about the security of the prison, along with the basic necessities of having a roof over your head and walls to keep out the dead, was that you could sleep in much more than you could on the road. You supposed that if there was any time you could get your period, you were glad it was now.

Still, you worried when your watch struck twelve and Daryl still hadn’t returned. You made a promise to yourself to wait at least another half an hour before getting up to go looking for him. Your cramps only worsened in the meantime, and when he finally did pull back the curtain to your cell, he found you curled up in a fetal position, trying to find the most comfort possible in your terribly uncomfortable state.

“(Y/N)?”

Your head had been tucked under the covers, where you hoped to block out all sensory exposure for a moment. “Daryl?” you croaked. “Oh, I was starting to worry.”

You sat up with a hiss as another cramp surged through you. “God,” you huffed. “Worst cramps I’ve ever had… Did you happen to find any pads or tampons?”

He smiled a little, then you noticed what he was holding. He proudly held out an overflowing crate of all different types of pads and tampons, one that he’d made sure to reserve just for you when him and the others were unloading. Of course, it had your tea in it, too.

“Oh, wow!” you laughed. “That’s amazing! You didn’t have to get that much for me.”

He shrugged as he set down the crate by the bed, then sat himself on the edge to place his comforting hand on your thigh. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Glenn and the new guy, Tyreese, they helped, too. Was no sweat.”

You tilted your head with a glimmer in your eyes, the kind of sparkle only a particularly bewitching person could elicit. “You’re my hero.” He laughed in surprise when you flung your arms around his neck and brought him in for a tight hug. It felt so good to have him back, even if he was just gone for a few hours. It meant the world to have him by your side, comforting you, even if he didn’t know a thing about what you were experiencing. At least he was there.

“Ain’t no hero,” he said softly over your shoulder. Though he had to admit, it was quite nice to know you thought of him like that. “Told ya, I’d do anything for you. This is just a little thing… If you asked me to bring ya back the Holy Grail, I’d do it.”

You laughed and shook your head to face him, with your hands cupping his infectiously rising cheeks. His crooked, boyish smile changed the shape of his face so handsomely. His high, elf-like cheekbones fit perfectly in your palms, like they were made for you.

“The Holy Grail isn’t real,” you said.

“I’d make it real for you,” he said. “‘Sides… you’re my Holy Grail.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at the predictable line. He was always saying stuff like that to you, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead doing it for anyone else.

“Okay, Casanova,” you laughed. “Hand me one of those tampons. My favorite pink panties are getting ruined.”

He huffed and turned to sort through the crate. “Love it when you talk dirty to me,” he said.

So Daryl felt accomplished, having risked life and limb for his true love, doing his part to make her just a little more comfortable. Maybe he didn’t see himself as a hero, but you’d dealt with men who could care less about such things, and be downright heartless when it came to the monthly plight of the woman. To you, he was so much better, and he’d proven that, not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

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pinkprimrose05 · 8 months

Note

character asks bc other anon was a coward: blade

HAJFTOVNWHYFAGDYSDNTJ

General opinion/How much I care about them: Ren Blade Yingxing my beloved beloathed depressed miserable angsty bastard aaaaaaa-

This man, oh my god. This edgy mess is somehow the second fastest blorbo to be coined as such in my blorbo-having history, and I think that alone says a lot. But even if not, he has his special little spot for being: 1) my first HSR fave, 2) my current main (the gameplay is ridiculously fun holy shit), and 3) the reason I downloaded the game at all (shoutout to Bronya, of course, but it was mainly Ren).

Also I really like the fact that he's genuinely batshit insane. An unapologetic menace to the galaxies. He can be so unhinged and evil sometimes, and that's a new flavor of fave in my collection. Did I mention the story doesn't try to redeem him at all? Because it's true! Extremely uncommon win on the hyv writers' part there; doubly so because they manage to balance this aspect with the subtle gap moe they love to give to all their stoic characters.

Yes. Ren is simultaneously edginess incarnate and a tired grandpa that sucks with words and doesn't know shit about technology. Oh and he keeps getting roped into Situations by his colleagues- and goes along with them all the time! The dude was literally asked to pose for a movie cover and he just. did that. No questions asked. Nothing.

I care about him a very normal amount. He's so neat and- oh my god I forgot to mention the aesthetic. Black/blue/red/gold is such a banger color scheme. He also has a spider lily motif and that looks very cool! And the pretty ribbon on the back of his coat is a 10/10 design choice. His only problem is that the game keeps forgetting to edit his silly beta design sneakers out of splash art, and that the washed out jeans clash hard with the coat. But otherwise? Perfection. I could (and did) stare at him for hours on end.

A ship I love: Kafblade is one of those pairs that you can read as romantic or platonic with equal efficacy and I love that for it. They're partners in crime! There's a great sense of trust and faith between them! They're each other's guardian and tether and the one who understands them best and they're such an awesome dynamic, good lord.

Honorable mention goes to jingren for the old man yaoi potential to take the relationship in a very (bitter)sweet or very sad way. There's something to be explored here and I wish canon could give it consideration someday.

A non-romantic relationship that I love: Stellaron Hunter agenda!!! They're so awesome individually and as a group, and the comedy is just lovely. You have Ren wrangling two terribly reckless women because in some way, by some miracle, he happens to be the braincell holder among the three. You have him trailing after Kafka on one of her shopping sprees with a whole bunch of bags and coats, you have him going to an arcade with Silver Wolf because she wanted to show him this brand new game she's been talking about nonstop for four days, and you have him in an impromptu shooting session with them both because they wanted to make silly movie covers and needed an extra actor.

They're one small hilarious family and I adore them so so much, you have no idea. Can't wait until Sam and Elio make an appearance in the story so I get more fuel for shenanigans.

The NOTP: None here sir, as long as the ship is normal it's fine by me.

My biggest headcanon about them: Ren is autistic and you will pry this hc from my cold, dead hands. He's stuck in his own head 80% of the time. He doesn't do conversation at all. Back when he was still Yingxing, he used to spend so much time at the forge when inspiration struck him, to the point of tuning out everything until his friends physically dragged him out to touch grass. He's an autistic nerd through and through, and even several thousand deaths can't take that from him.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: One idea I've been curious about lately is what would happen in a roleswap scenario, where the Astral Express crew find Ren before the Stellaron Hunters do. He may not make for a great archivist, his state of mind may be less-than-stellar, but it's interesting to imagine the dynamics between him and the crew- and hey, who doesn't love taking sad guys out of situations for a change?

I'm filing this concept for later, just in case. Who knows? The writing ghost visits when I least expect it.

Something that makes me think of them: Everything these days The flute, the sound of wind blowing, red spider lilies, and -to the immense detriment of my composure in public- mentions of the word blade in any context ever. Why gee, thanks for permanently altering my brain chemistry.

#damn thanks yuuto this was a blast to answer. if you wish to hear more just say the word :D #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr blade #blade hsr #hsr yingxing #friend's asks

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rambling-addict · 1 year

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Ranking my favourite Avatrice moments from season 1-2…

a.k.a I have nothing better to do again.. a.k.a I miss them already… a.k.a I did it for Raylla, so I’m doing it for Avatrice too ;)

Just a quick BEWARE: Long post.

And without further ado:

#1 THE KISS SCENE. I don’t really need to say more, but I will, because look at them. This scene definitely takes top spot. It’s such a powerful scene, where both of them had finally let down their guards. It was the softness in Ava’s face and the surprise in Bea’s face, the craving in that brief kiss, the need to chase the feeling after the high, and that reluctant acceptance that this may be their last chance of feeling it all. It’s a rollercoaster of a scene that makes you wanna smile in glee and cry in frustration of what’s to come.

Also, “In the next”.. No words have ever hit me as hard since “May we meet again”. Some things, we don’t want to end and we cling to it desperately. But alas, it does. And so instead, you hope for “maybe someday”. “In the next life, may we meet again.” *dead*

…

#2 THE “I LOVE YOU” SCENE. I debated putting this as 1 or 2, because it’s a milestone confessing your feelings, but this scene was also bittersweet. At first, I was screaming for Beatrice to say it back immediately… but as I watched it again, I realised that she needed those few seconds after Ava said it, to finally accept what those words mean. Beatrice has been emotionally-repressed for probably most of her life. She was ashamed of who she is, and craved for validation. And so for someone to say that they love her, Beatrice took awhile to receive and give back those words.

What I love so much with this scene is how they cling to the last vestiges of what it feels like to touch each other. And Bea smiling back at Ava, despite the pain she feels. *dead again*

…

#3 THE FALL SCENE. A more lighthearted, but slightly dramatic moment— where Ava is classically Ava and Beatrice being the overprotective and anxious gf. These two are shameful for this overly sweet PDA, but slightly respectful in the sense that they probably would’ve kissed if Mother Superion wasn’t there. If anyone had any doubts about Ava reciprocating Bea’s feelings, this scene is a slap to those doubts. It evens slaps Michael in the face, lol. Like, “oh, she’s taken”. Ava has fallen, definitely—both literally and figuratively.

Also, if Mary was here (which she should’ve been), she’d probably be strolling over casually when Ava fell and be like “Relax, Bea. I pushed her down a cliff higher than that. The little shit’s okay.” It would’ve been a great comedic relief. But I guess I’ll take this sweet and dramatic scene.

…

#4 THE OG STARE SCENE. Yup, this is like #3, but in the baby Avatrice phase. It’s awkward, but electric. It’s an eye-opener for these two and there’s definitely an obvious spark. I’m sure this was one of the moments that took away the doubts of fans still questioning if they should ship them or not. Like, look at them. You don’t stare at someone like that and caress their face while your face is centimetres away. *ahem*supercorp*ahem*

Besides, when Ava said she managed to phase through successfully is only because of Beatrice… like c’mon. I knew I was a goner at that point. This scene would be tied with what I’ll call THE CATACOMB SCENE, because of the similar stare and show of trust. And that damn quote they keep exchanging.

…

#5 THE HALO SCENES a.k.a. “Brace yourself, Michael, you’re gonna get blasted off again”. So we see Ava unconsciously using the halo to protect Beatrice in s1. And in s2, we have 2 scenes, but Ava being more in control. And I find it so hilarious that Ava can’t seem to protect anyone but Bea. She has a one-track mind when she’s on protective mode. Others be damned, lol.

And bonus scenes, we get the worried gf hug… then Ava carrying Bea away. Adios Miguel.

…

#6 THE BADASS BEATRICE SCENE. This is classic “if you want to get to her, you’re gonna have to go through me”. Bea to the rescue, and Ava being Ava, stating Bea is a badass. And yup, Beatrice is truly a badass. I’m thinking everyone whooped and yelled when they saw her on screen. I know I did. So yeah, such an iconic scene.

Fierce cinnamon roll. Reminds me so much of Lexa.

This spot is tied with THE CATHEDRAL BASEMENT SCENE, where Yasmine was in awe watching Ava fight… and Bea affirms Yasmine’s statement about how incredible Ava is. Safe to say, I think Bea meant not just in fighting.

…

#7 THE JEALOUS PUPPY SCENE. I loved this scene so much… even more than the scenes where Beatrice is pining for Ava. We all knew Bea had feelings for Ava, and she’s so sure that it’s probably unrequited. But then we get this scene, and it’s like rainbows and unicorns appeared. The hot girl talking to Bea has stoked the fire, and when Ava interrupted them, the girl put even more fuel by leaning in to whisper in Bea’s ear. And my my, it was so satisfying seeing Ava so visibly jealous at the beginning of the season.

Another thing… Ava messing up the drinks and snapping at the customer is gold. Then, she asked Bea what hot girl said. Ava basically ticked all the jealousy checklist, and I live for it. Lol.

…

#8 THE CHEEK KISS SCENE. Ah, domestic Avatrice is such a nice change from all the chaos of s1. It’s been two months and you can really see how Avatrice evolved. It’s in the little things like this—where Ava is completely at ease with showing her affections and Beatrice gladly receives them. Bea didn’t even flinch when Ava did that, which means this isn’t a new thing that Ava’s done. I bet the little shit always does this, and that’s why Bea has to take a deep breath afterwards… because it’s too much at times.

And that look Hans gave, that Beatrice noticed. I don’t think it’s because he’s jealous Bea got promoted before him. I’d like to think it’s because he knows something’s up with Avatrice. He’s curious, and he definitely knows Bea is biased towards Ava.

…

#9 THE BAR SCENE a.k.a. Ava’s awakening. I think we can all agree that this was probably the moment Ava realised she’s got more than friendly feelings for her best friend. Beatrice wasn’t even dancing seductively, but Ava had that look in her eyes. That intake of breath when she was staring at Bea—it’s like she lost her breath because her heart was on her throat threatening to dislodge and offer itself to Bea. Ava was truly captivated.

And Beatrice… oh Bea, you’re so whipped. You’d think she would have more resolve to stay true to her vows, but nope—Ava asks, Ava gets.

…

#10 THE FIRST HUG SCENE a.k.a. Bea’s gay reawakening. Like we’ve said, Beatrice is emotionally-repressed. She will not show affection if it’s not initiated first. This may be the first time someone has actually hugged her… and it’s a new girl, not one of her sisters. You can definitely see the panic in her actions.

Poor baby doesn’t know how to react, lol. Gay panic Bea, and oblivious Ava… classic trope.

…

So that’s that. Would’ve gone on and on if tumblr didn’t have an image limit. I would’ve included every single Avatrice scene. I just have a lot to say, okay! Avatrice gives me so much feels.

Can’t wait for season 3!

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #if you read all of this you’re awesome #i miss them already #i’m a hopeless case lol #ok byeee

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epicstuckyficrecs · 1 year

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Favourite Stucky Fics of 2022

This feels a little bit like a farewell, but don’t worry... I’m never too far away! Here’s my favourite Stucky fics of 2022 :)

Complete

💙 FUBAR by Ginny_Potter/ @hipsterdiva (Post-Endgame Fix-It | 64K | Explicit): Steve jumps in the past to return the Infinity Stones and doesn’t come back. When Bucky travels to 2012 to look for him, the Ancient One tells him just one thing: “Captain Rogers decided to move on”. Back in the present, Sam Wilson is more driven than ever to find his friend, believing him to be lost in the Quantum Realm but Bucky knows, just knows, that Steve made a choice and the choice was to stay in the past. Struggling to cope with a world he doesn’t recognise, Bucky falls in an addictive spiral of jumping up and down the timeline under the vigilant eye of the Ancient One, just to see Steve one more time, just to get his next fix. And in doing so, without even realising it, he heals and in the end finds out if he was right. Or, Time Travel is addictive, Steve is lost, and Bucky slowly realises that healing together is better than healing alone.

💙 he said, there’s a paradise beneath me (she said, am I supposed to bleed) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Hunkyclunks aka Winter Soldier Bucky/Modern Beefy Steve, BDSM | 23K | Explicit): “If you kiss me like that, Rogers, you’re gonna have a hard time convincing me you want to fuck me.” “Can’t have that,” Steve says and— And the fucker bends Bucky back like this is a goddamn romcom and kisses the everloving shit out of him. (Part 1 of some sweet violent urge)

💙 The Devil and Captain Rogers by kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria, zilia/ @ms-zilia (Post-Avengers, Canon Divergent | 55K | Mature): Steve Rogers woke up in the twenty-first century and joined the Avengers to defeat Loki and save New York. But afterwards, he finds himself struggling to adjust to his new circumstances, desperately lonely and missing Bucky more than ever. So when the Guardian of the Soulworld visits him and offers to give him one person back from the dead, he jumps at the chance to get Bucky back. The only problem is, when he arrives in the Soulworld, Bucky doesn’t seem to be there.

💙 Maybe we’ll get it all (If we choose one night) by sourwolphs/ @sourwolphs (A/B/O AU, Sex Worker Bucky | 69K | Explicit): As it turns out, it’s pretty hard to find a job as an ex-firefighter omega with PTSD, no left arm, and no high school diploma. After the accident forced Bucky to leave his job at the fire department, he stumbles upon ComfortCycle— a service that helps alphas and omegas get through their heat and rut cycles— and becomes a trained Cycle Partner. And for the first time in his 34 years of life, lonely, rich alpha Steve Rogers is considering paying for sex.

💙 Blooming Under the Dappled Light by thiccbuckybarnes/ @thiccbuckybarnesfic (Historical AU, Secret Identity | 52K | Explicit): Despite being the son of a gentleman, James “Bucky” Barnes could scarcely allow himself the hope of one day being tied to another in happy matrimony. In a society where the first-born children are revered and inherit all of a family’s wealth, last-born Bucky feels trapped in a life he did not ask for. When he makes the drastic decision to run away and become a tutor for a wealthy family, he is hoping to save enough pennies to someday have a dowry and be worthy for marriage despite his deposition. What he is not anticipating, however, is falling into the rough and skilled hands of his employer, the rakish widow Lord Steven Rogers.

💙 Okay, so he can play… (pretty’s got nothing to do with it) by darter_blue/ @darter-blue (University Hockey AU | 50K | Explicit): This is supposed to be Steve’s year. He’s meant to be taking his team to finals. He’s meant to be the number one draft pick. He’s meant to have it all. Until in walks the new kid, with his beautiful face and his tiny shoulders and his long hair and his graceful skating. Who doesn’t look anything like a proper hockey player. Who’s going to ruin everything. Bucky Barnes is about to bring Steve Roger’s world crashing down. And Steve is about to realise that’s a good thing.Maybe the best thing that ever happened to him.

💙 Rhapsody on a Theme by Astaraiche, Bittersweet_in_Boston (Orchestra AU | 41K | Explicit): in which Steve Rogers, principal cellist at the Boston Symphony Orchestra, meets Bucky Barnes, piano soloist and BSO artist in residence, and the inevitable occurs.

💙 Read, White & Blue by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Shrunkyclunks, Librarian Bucky | 99K | Teen): If Steve was certain one thing would have stayed the same during his sixty-something years in the ice, it was that libraries were still the place to go if you needed information. And Steve needed information. Lots and lots of it. aka Librarian Bucky helps freshly desfrosted Steve learn how to use computers and catch up on everything he missed whilst he was in the ice.

WIP

💙 hey now, you’re an all star (get your game on, go play) by buckyismybicycle/ @buckyismybicycle (NHL Hockey AU | 18/? | 55K | Explicit): Boston Bruins trade notorious party animal/human disaster Bucky Barnes to the Dallas Stars, and captain Steve Rogers is not impressed when Fury puts him on babysitting duties. But, as he gets to know Bucky - really gets to know Bucky - he wonders if maybe the media has got it all wrong - very, very wrong.

💙 Love isn’t always a ‘coup de foudre’ by Becassine/ @becassine, kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria (Bridgerton AU, A/B/O | 6/13 | 26K | Explicit): When Steve Rogers is presented at Court as a desirable Male Omega to the world, he has no idea what to expect. But after meeting the sought-after Duke of Buchanan through a chance encounter, his life is forever turned upside down.

💙 A Story We Must Tell by AHM1121/ @love-ha-fge, MissyRivers (Modern AU, Fisherman Steve, Writer Bucky | 8/15 | 61K | Explicit): Or, the story of how ex-military turned Author - James Barnes collides with ex- Army Commander turned Lumberjack/Fisherman Steve Rogers and all the ensuing fluff, drama, romance that comes their way.

💙 This is (not) a Ghost Story [COMIC] by PottersPink/ @potterspink (Post-WS | 10/31 | General): Steve moves into a haunted house. Well — everyone else is convinced it’s haunted, anyways.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec

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mcflymemes · 1 year

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PROMPTS FROM STEP BROTHERS * assorted dialogue from the 2008 film

this house is a fucking prison!

we're in the bathroom!

i don't believe in belts.

it usually starts by you telling me a little something about yourself.

i'm going to take a pillowcase and fill it full of bars of soap and beat the shit out of you.

this wedding is horse shit.

you guys have an outstanding track record.

i was faking. i used ninja focus to slow my heart rate down.

i smoked pot with johnny hopkins.

you're not gonna come down and say hi to me?

i thought we'd begin talking about your parents' divorce.

i want you out of my fucking house!

i just want you to know i hate you.

oh stop it!

i dont have to swear to shit!

you must feel just terrible.

i owe you an apology.

you gotta keep an eye on it.

you take that back.

we do it because we love you.

hey, can i ask you something?

this is my house now.

what do we do now?

you're failures!

i wasn't fired from my job. i was laid off.

whoa, calm down, man. i'm just joking.

you know what? i still hate you.

you were dead. i saw you die.

sweet jesus! i love korean food!

maybe someday we could become friends.

do you wanna do karate in the garage?

we could hug.

i didn't want the salmon! i said four times!

it sounds a lot like the plot of good will hunting.

how old were you when they got divorced?

why are you so sweaty?

this is what i live with!

this is just like cold case files!

get out of my face, or i'm gonna roundhouse your ass.

was that a fart?

in no way, shape, or form do i feel any feelings of intimacy towards you in any way whatsoever.

what if i were to tell you i could sell this house for 30% above market?

oh, i'm exhausted.

well that's fine.

i always wanted to be a dinosaur.

i can taste it on my tongue.

we're here to fuck shit up!

on the count of three, name your favorite dinosaur.

i swear, i'm so pissed off at my mom.

i remember my first beer.

we can bicker about this all night, but what's done is done.

i would follow you into the mists of avalon.

shut the fuck up!

you're alive! oh my god!

my little brother is even a bigger asshole than you are.

i'm just saying, you need to think about your options.

i'm not gonna call him dad.

did you touch my drum set?

he had the craziest look in his eyes.

you have the voice of an angel.

believe me, i've told him that.

hey, you're embarrassing yourself!

do you want to talk about some of those feelings?

we like to shit with the door open.

guess what? i hate you too.

now the tuxedos seem kind of fucked up.

you better not go to sleep, 'cause as soon as your eyes shut, i'm gonna punch you square in the face.

stop being a fucking dinosaur and get a job.

hey, you awake?

are you fucking crazy, man?

you're not feeling this?

i tea-bagged your drumset.

i know you two are technically married.

i'm not going to! ever!

my best friend is ben affleck.

look, i didn't touch your drum set.

okay, i'll be honest with you. i did fart.

you know what's good for shoulder pain?

we're putting the house on the market.

don't even think about it.

what's your problem?

i would've done the exact same thing.

did we just become best friends?

i feel like i'm smarter than most of the people who go there.

you and your mom are hillbillies.

it stinks. and this is a small room.

obviously... you don't know me.

my penis is tingling right now.

we make our own beef jerky.

you better not get in my face.

where are we moving?

ready? one, two, three.

i think it's time for a change. for both of us.

your voice is like a combination of fergie and jesus.

i know that we started out as foe.

i've seen him do it.

this house sucks ass.

the clown has no penis.

we are living the dream.

i'm just thinking about our life together.

what kind of dreams are you having?

shut up!

it was in international waters, so they couldn't prosecute him.

i hope you stay still when you sleep, 'cause i'm gonna put a rat trap between your legs.

why do you have randy jackson's autograph on a martial arts weapon?

you leave me money for pizza?

well what about us?

we literally have never done any of those things.

what's this all about?

shut your mouth!

what the fuck happened?

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shorthaltsjester · 1 year

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anyway list of some joy inducing moments of the last few eps to get out of my frustrated vibes but

- huge fan of a character voiced by laura bailey. known for her Very Mature sense of humour. saying that there will be less dick jokes without scanlan (and then vex later calling saundor twig dick)

- scanlan and pike everything actually. i wasn’t particularly hype about them in the campaign (not Against them but just kinda vibin my way through their interactions) but i really like the dynamic of pike noticing scanlan’s sincerity and scanlan’s self awareness about failing to maintain it

- scanlan and pike adventuring folk song!!!! making a makingmy way song is so so powerful of them actually. very good vibes

- LAURA BAILEY VEX VOICE MAKING MY WAY SAD FEYWILD VERSION

- i’m . very much enjoying this version of grogs arc. i do get them destrengthing grog instead of killing him bc in the show format the amount of deaths might just get uh. too much. it’s fun knee but also gives a lot more vulnerability to grog then i think we got to see with him in the campaign.

- on that note. the detail that willhand is actually the one that called grog big boy and pike picked it up ? very sweet

- baby pike and grog are So. So important to me. little buddies :’)

- kaylie . Kaylie. KAYLIE.

- also kaylie telling scanlan “no one comes back to save you” thinking about two angry daughters talking in a bar. thinking about a bard playing a song for a shitty and dead father. thinking about a bard who chooses to be a father instead of a hero after his daughter saves him.

- garmelie :) artagan hints and appearance :) knowledge that someday there will be a mighty nein series and the poetry that was the vex does artagan a favour artagan meets a lonely little blue girl and empowers her

- boulder parchment shears

- vex and velora. it always makes me so so like proudsadangryhappy that vex cares so much for this little girl that is what she was punished for not being. i’m glad it’s present in the show.

- i did like the percy and vex scene where percy gives her the arrowhead stabby thing

- travis willingham voice acting extraordinaire (they all are but. holy shit man travis really does kill it as grog both with like silly reaction noises but also when he has emotional moments they’re So)

- god the score and sound in general is So good man i love it so much

#tlovm spoilers #tlovm #critical role

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beachdemonkira · 2 months

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i have a thyroid tumour. the doctors have given me 2 ultrasounds and a biopsy and they say its not cancer. i basically have nothing to worry about. for now. what if it is cancer? i know i'm gonna die someday but what if my days are gonna be cut short, to 6 months to a year? then what do i do?

what happens after i die?

i always act like a dramatic bitch by crying "i wanna die" whenever i'm just feeling bad. i need to stop. because i'm a natural living organism. my undeniable fear of death is hard-wired into me.

my main hope is that dying doesn't hurt. i want death to feel like sleeping on the couch at a family party as a child, and having my mom carry me to my bed and tucking me in and kissing me goodnight. i hope death feels like that. that's comforting and reassuring to think about.

i hope there isn't total nothingness after death. death is a ceasing of brain function. what will i see? nothing? how will i know what it feels like? idk. i probably won't care at all. i won't be suffering or scared, or angry, or depressed, or anguished at all. or happy. or anytging. i'll just be... nothing. its scary. but at least there's no suffering. i think. i hope.

if there's a hell after i die, im gonna take my clothes off and run away from the devil, the demon masters chaining us up, i'll run away and go for a swim in the lake of fire. if i'm in hell forever, i'm sure i'd get used to it after a while and call it home. i'm definitely gonna see some old friends of mine there.

if there's a heaven after i die, it'd be the same. i'd see some familiar faces in the happiest most blissful eternal realm ever, but i'd get bored of it quickly i imagine. but it is nice to think about.

reincarnation? :D oh boy. correct me if i'm wrong but i heard the Hindu tradition says that the soul you have now is passed onto another animal's life, where your life ends, you start a new one as a new animal. which sounds pretty sweet. the concept of anatman says i think, that there is no "self". just consciousness at this moment, socially ingrained behaviour, the body, physical touch sensations and feeling. form, perception, consciousness, fabrication, and feeling, all impermanent. these sensations are carried over into the next life. which sounds pretty sweet. Ship of Theseus.

i want to be a cat bathing in the sun in a nice apartment. or a monkey foraging for fruit in a jungle, climbing trees n shit. chances are i'll be reincarnated as bacteria and bugs a million times before i turn into a multicellular mammalian being, due to the sheer volume of mammals, insects, and bacteria in the world. but still. nice to think there'll be something new to experience after all this.

what if when i die, there's a tiny undetectable part of my brain that lingers on, that allows me to experience my decomposition underground for thousands of years? what if i get to ever-so-slightly feel my flesh and my bones slowly decomposing into the soil surrounding me, my corporeal form becoming one with the mycelium and plant matter surrounding it? what if i get to feel my bones and flesh metamorphose into grass, trees, massive fungal systems, constantly repeating the life/death cycle, over and over again?

or if i get cremated, cuz i'm dead i'm likely not gonna feel it in any way, but at least i get to think about what happens to this body i inhabit. i'm turned into ashes. my family takes my ashes over to Seattle. my ashes are spread across the great vast blue Puget Sound. my corporeal form, this little insignificant, only body i have, which can only be in one place at a time, is now the size of an entire body of water. the individual particles of ash making up my body spreading out farther and farther as time goes on forever. the ash that was once my arms, my legs, my penis, my eyes, my teeth, my heart, my brain, it's all dust. and it all goes into the water, becoming one with it. some of it will stay near the shore, others will hit the shore of other places, like the San Juan islands, maybe Alaska, maybe east Asia, Australia, Aotearoa, or just.... floating all over the water, the great ocean, forever and ever, until the planet gets eaten up by the sun. then my atomic molecular particles will become one with the Sun, the same Sun that gave me life and warmth and light. once my Sun body blows up, it will be a great big supernova. cosmic stardust forever. the stardust going who knows where.

despite my potential loss of consciousness after my bodily death, despite it all, my physical form will go other places. if i can't be reincarnated as something new, the flesh house i inhabit now will become something so much greater. so much bigger. so infinite. eventually, i will live up to my About Me post.

i will never die.

I WILL NEVER DIE!

#thoughts #rant #afterlife #philosophy?

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ventiswampwater · 1 year

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hey hi someday when u have like ten minutes would u teach me how to write please??? just cause that itty bitty lil snippet you just shared made me physically ill and altered my brain chemistry permanently. if u could just like........sneeze on me......maybe everything will be okay????

dsjhjdsfhjfdshjdfs MEG HOW DARE U SAY THIS WHEN EVERYTHING U WRITE HAS MY BRAIN ON FIRE

just for u, I dredged out the rest of that absolute horrorshow. it's been gathering dust in my docs for months

it's weird speculative fucknonsense like, oh shit!!! boseph and the reader are stuck in a timeloop!!!! an ouroboros of pain and misery!!! it's all v confusing out of context but I definitely.........wrote it jdsfhjhdfsjhdfsj

"There has to be something wrong with you." Your mother looks at him across the kitchen table. He brought tulips. You can't tell if she's wearing her face or someone else's.

"There's something wrong with everybody, mama." You've never called her that. Is that your mother? Is that his? You don't remember her hair being that shade, but your memory isn't what it used to be.

"I hurt her on purpose." Sometimes it seems like he's grown more teeth and they're crowding into his mouth. They've gone sharp again. Wait, look at the flowers on the table. Carnation now.

"So, you got a brother?"

He has two. Two and you've kissed both of them. You'll do it again. They know what your cunt tastes like. He doesn’t, he tells you. He never will. Because that's a place of rot, of death. But you wake up with a tongue inside you because he's between your legs again, practicing penance.

He must not mind blood. He must not mind decay on his tongue. He must taste his brothers. Maybe he misses them.

“Where have you been, my love? My sweet girl. You left one day and you never came back.”

And you say

Mama, I'm sorry, I've just been real busy.

Busy doing what? Getting hurt? You're growing up, baby. I can't stop you from getting big. No matter what I do, I can’t.

And you know, you know, because suddenly you're sitting on her side of the table wearing her skin and your son is holding some girl's hand. And she's looking at you and telling you that she hurts him on purpose sometimes. Because he asked her to, he begged her like a slut, and he’s so pretty when he takes himself apart in front of her. She knows what his blood tastes like. She wants more.

Do you love my baby? Do you have any siblings? Will he leave one day and never come back?

Do you love me on purpose sometimes or is it always an accident?

His cum tastes like mercury from a broken thermometer. Oranges with sugar sprinkled over them. Home. Wait. Wrong boy, same face. You got a little confused. It's understandable. You can't help yourself. You want to scoop out your insides and give them to him to eat. He'd do it nicely, if you ask politely.

There are rules here, gorgeous. We weren’t raised by wolves.

You’re leaning on the pool cue. You look like you did the first day, in your pretty little clothes, the flush of health in your cheeks. In this dream, you reached Baton Rouge. He meets you here. He’ll always meet you here. This is his favorite bar. He’s always here, he’s a regular.

“Need a partner?”

“Don’t know.” You wink at him. “Are you okay with losing?”

“Feisty.”

“This time, yeah.” You smile at him. You’ve got lipstick on. He wants to smear it down your chin.

“Why did you do that?” Your voice is small, gurgled around the blood on your teeth. He likes the way the crown of your head is wet with blood.

“Why you think?” He stands in the doorway to the basement. You’re in the chair and you’re dead, but so is he.

“Tell me, please. Tell me.” You hiss. “I love your voice.”

“I missed ya’.” He hears the words echo in his head, fifty feet high in neon.

“I thought I would give it a try again, you know.” Your voice is a dirty croak. “Just to see.”

“And whatchu find out?”

“We always end up back here.” You smile at him. “You took a different road this time. I haven’t been there in a while.”

“Didn’t notice.”

“You know, we got a hotel room up in the city once. I made you buy me wine.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I was hoping this was the one where we walked on the boardwalk. Before.” His initials trickle down your arm. “I don’t know why.”

“How many times we been down here?”

“Couple times." You hiccup out a laugh. "I like your shirt. You look good.”

“Night, baby.”

He's fucked you or you've fucked him. He's not sure where the ache is coming from or where it's all supposed to go but someone can't sit down. There's a bag of peas in the fridge.

You’re a tableau of gore, blood soaked through your nightgown. Your head sloshes unevenly on your shoulders. He can see the window through the shotgun blast in your eye. It’s dark out there. You clasp your hands and hum, busying yourself with the stove. You leave muddy footprints on the floor, the bottom of your nightgown sodden.

He sinks to his knees in the kitchen. You thread a hand through his hair, tugging his head up to look at you. Dripping with murky water, leaving parts of you everywhere.

“Where are we?”

“Heaven.” You smile at him. Blood drips onto his face.

“How long we been here?”

“I’m not sure.”

Are you cooking tonight, baby? Are we having peas, am I having you, down my throat and inside me and in my blood? Are we going to bed again or are we going to church? There’s a hole in your head and I’ll fuck it. I’ll fill you up because you love me. Because we’re having a baby, mama. We’re having a baby! I’m gonna be a daddy. You’re sitting in the waiting room and you’ve had the baby and I’m showing you pictures of him at baseball practice. What are you making? Let me help. Please.

“You ain’t never gonna get tired of this?”

“Of course not. Never. I love you.”

You sit in an apartment living room. There’s Halloween decorations still up—it’s May, isn’t it? and a collection of half-eaten takeout boxes on the coffee table. Lazy fucks. You can hear the city outside the window. Where are you again? Does it matter? You look into the bedroom. They’re playing a card game.

“Lick your partner's boot, yay or nay?”

“Gross. Nay.” The version of you on the bed wrinkles her nose. “Question time. Where did we meet?”

“Uh. Huh…uh.” The him on the bed screws up his brow, sticks his tongue out in mock-confusion. He looks out at the living room, grinning. “Ya’ know this one?”

“House party.” The Him you know leans into the bedroom, resting his head on the frame. He’s bleeding from the back of his head. You shot him. There’s no exit wound. That’s your blood. “It’s a fuckin’ dump in here.”

“Bingo!” The boy on the bed folds his fingers into the shape of a gun. Taps them on the girl’s forehead. She’s wearing a t-shirt they bought in some backwater town last year.

“You can’t do that! I don’t have a phone-a-friend! She won’t even talk to me.” The you that sits on the bed has chipped nail polish. She’s pouting. And suddenly he’s kissing her, and the cards are slipping off the bed.

“Are you ever one of them?” You ask Him.

He shakes his head.

“I’m always out here watchin’. I dunno who the fuck that is.”

And he asks you “Which one do you want?” while you’re reaching for the knife in the kitchen and you want to say him, because you can hear them fucking in the other room and she’s giggling. They went on vacation and he drove. He had his keys, you guess. She’s giggling and there are flies buzzing around the takeout and suddenly you guess that this might just be a dump anyway. He’s right. He’s always right, except when he’s turning down the back roads. Then he’s left.

If you could find your fucking keys, we could get out of here. You stupid fuck. Please kiss me again.

So you tell him “Her.” and he presses himself against your back and you ache because you aren’t full, you aren’t hurt. He hasn’t actually fucked you yet. It might be another thousand years until he does again.

Where were you at the party? Which room did we meet in? Did you fuck me in the bathroom? Did we ever go on that trip? I’ve got questions, please, please, daddy. Haven’t I been good? Don’t I deserve to know? Why don’t we ever wake up as them? Why do I have to listen to him fuck her? Why is she laughing?

“Don’t make us wait all fuckin’ day!” The him in the other room calls out. “The next card is voyeurism!”

“Yay or nay?”

You eat the rest of the chow mein. The maggots taste like love.

Your son calls you by your name. You haven’t heard it in years.

Daddy’s a photographer, baby. He takes pictures of weddings. He takes pictures of the sky.

“I found more in Pa’s drawer.” He chokes around air, his words coming out in watery gulps. He stares at you through your eyes. You see him without seeing him. You see yourself.

“What were you doing in there, baby?” You hear your voice behind you, curled beside your ear. It comes from the door and the window and the wallpaper—and then deeper still, in the core of the house, bleeding.

“I was lookin’ for a gun.”

The floor underneath you splinters and you bottom out. You’re in the caverns snaking under the town and the church pews. You’re not in any of those places, either. The fuzz of television static is back, crowding around you and pushing you between the jagged hopping of the lines as they jitter around your skull.

“Baby.” You gather him into your arms, pulling him into the crook of your neck. He sobs. His grip is too tight. You’ve been here before, but never like this. The static hisses into glittering points of light. The front of your dress is soaked with tears, with the blubber of drool from his mouth as he babbles that

he didn’t know why he did that, because daddy always keeps his guns in the living room, and he knows that, but he went in anyway because maybe he’d forgotten this time—

Your lightning bug boy with baby fat still in his cheeks, skimmed off the edges to make room for a face that began and ended with you. Half-man already, limbs too big for the space he occupied. The remnants of the boy on the roof, a bruise blooming on his cheek. Your heart walking around and growing teeth.

—and maybe maybe mama, I could. I could.

I know how.

“Baby. You gotta go put all that back.” Your voice is a whisper of smoke above the treeline.

“How long you been here, mama?”

You can see yourself on the set of drawers over the top of his head. She smiles at you.

You're at the top of the ferris wheel and you ask him if you can stay here. He tells you that you're stupid, that if you stayed here you would die. You're too high up. Eventually all the air would go out of your lungs and the amusement park would fall out from underneath your feet. You stupid slut, take it, choke on it, choke on it for daddy. Keep calling me that, I'm gonna come. Fair season is ending. Everything's gotta end eventually. Except for this, right? You celebrate the harvest, you tuck a cigarette in his back pocket. For luck, for love. If you stayed here, maybe you could see past the top of the trees. Maybe you could see the smoke.

Are you trying to fucking LEAVE me, baby?

Don't leave yet.

Hold your breath. I like being up here with you.

10.

So many gods, but only one church. An old western plays on the theater screen. It's the idea of a different world. This town ain't big enough for the both of us. It never was.

#u did not ask for this but I gave it to u bc I am INCAPABLE of shutting tf up tonight djhfdjhdfjhdfsj #anyways ily meg can u teach ME how to write #FR!!!!!!#asks #visceravalentines #sinclair brainrot hours #this is pre-writing sanguine and u can absolutely tell lmao hdjhdfjsh #I was on some other shit fr

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17magpiesinatrenchcoat · 6 months

Text

oh yeah, the short story I wrote when I was 14 lol

it’s not very good but here💀

realising that this was the last time I wrote something is not a nice feeling. I didn’t even realise it’s been so long, holy shit, like i knew it had been a while but I didn’t realise it was literal YEARS now that’s just sort of depressing, especially since well.. I still can’t do better than 14 year old me now and she’s probably better bc I have not practiced in years smh💀💀

I wish I knew how to be a writer, it would be so amazing to get my stories out in the world, but I’m just so lazy ☹️☹️☹️ if any of y’all got any tips on how to get into it well. You know where to find me

anyways here (cw for death/suicide I think, idk what 14 year old me was cooking)

Candle

`At first, it was only an ember.

It was near the end of the Great War that they found her. Cold and trembling, crumpled in the ruins of her scorched village, a lone survivor. She was the only ember of life in a ruined land.

The kingdom set up camp among the blackened stones, wary of the stranger. They could not afford to let their guard down, because even the tiniest spark can start a fire. However, the princess did not heed their warnings, and went to talk to the stranger. The girl reminded the princess of a candle in the night, hopelessly shining, doomed to eventually burn out, fated to never see any light apart from her own. She could not help but pity her, this pathetic little ember, soon to burn out. The princess thought she had already seen it all, ravaging fires and thunderous floods, so what could a tiny, blackened ember do to hurt her?

She held out her hand to the candle, beckoning to a shining future. She might as well blow a little air on a dying spark, keep it burning for a little while longer, a good deed for the day. It wouldn’t affect her in the long run. Or so she thought.

Then, it was a spark.

The candle hid in the shadows of the palace, too afraid to talk to anyone higher than her. Amongst the glittering scarlet tapestries and golden sunrises, she was a moth amongst butterflies, draped in beige rags. She prayed to the moon and stars to forget, to no avail. She glared out from under black veils at the butterflies, half-hoping that one would someday give her some sort of reassurance, that everything would eventually be alright, but the only thing she got from them was judgemental glares and mistrusting whispers. Who was this little moth to enter their lair? In the middle of a war against her, no less? She felt their eyes boring into the back of her head as she sulked through the corridors. She scowled at them from her corner of shadows. It was one of their own who brought her here, so why couldn’t they blame her instead? She felt a spark of spite flickering in her chest. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Somewhere, a spark was struck.

Then, it was a flicker.

The candle slammed open the doors of the princess’s lair. She glared out at the princess from her scraggly veil of hair, her face twisted into a vicious scowl,

“Why did you bring me here? Don’t you know how the others treat me? Won’t you do anything?”

The interruption caused the princess to snap the nail she was busy pruning. She scowled towards the intruder, before realising who she was.

How curious.

It was the ember she had rescued a couple weeks ago. She somehow looked even worse for wear, with her clothes that were barely more than stray rags sewn together, and eye bags so dark she looked half-dead. But her spirit was completely unscathed, apparently. The princess felt a smile tug at her lips. Who did this candle think she was, harassing the very person who spared her? Who could take it away in an instant? It was the most absurdly idiotic thing the candle could do. The princess decided that she liked her.

She smiled a sickly sweet grin, her eyes boring into the candle.. “So you want to fit in?” she trilled to the candle. “You want to be loved?

The candle scowled again, but she could not hide the longing gaze in her eyes.

“I guess.”

“Well,” warbled the princess, her grin widening, “There is no easy way for it. But, a way some outsiders in the past have found that their place in this sad world is theatre. People will not care about who you are if you are too busy pretending to be someone else.”

The candle did not bother hiding her longing any more. “How do I do it? How do I make that my place?

The princess’s grin was now so wide she looked more monster than human. “For that, my dear,” she said, as her eyes shined, “You need to learn how to dance.”

And so, the candle did.

Then, it was a flare.

With the princess as her mentor, the candle slowly learned the art of theatre. She did not understand why the princess was helping her, but she was grateful, because though she picked up the techniques easily, she would not have been able to do so without help. She danced through the days, some she was a princess in glittering golden robes, some she was a villainess, clad in deep violet, slung elegantly across her throne. She found her new stunt was to light a ruby red torch and fling it hand to hand as while elegantly gliding across the stage as her audience screamed. She loved her new life more than a flame loved the fuel, but it was not enough. While the butterflies may have loved to see her on stage, they still were mistrusting. She would never be one of them; to them, she was still the sad little moth who the princess had rescued to keep up appearances. She’d never really be accepted. Whether the princess had lied or she just hadn’t known, the candle couldn’t be certain. She was right, in a way; they accepted her when she was pretending to be someone else, as momentary entertainment, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

And, despite her own warnings, the spark slowly grew to a flicker.

Then, it was a blaze.

The candle continued to dance in the glory of the stage, but she could no longer find any small solace from it. She watched the butterflies’ eyes follow her, dead, unfeeling. They didn’t care if she lived or died. They only cared about the characters she played. Without them, she was nothing to them. The flame of hatred grew.

There was a recital that night. The candle refused to come. She crouched sleeplessly in her room, staring out at the barren landscape, dead-eyed.

She watched the dark turn to bright emotionlessly. She was still waiting. Only when the sun was so high that it was obscured from view, did she hear the knock at her door.

“Where were you?”

It was the princess. Her chartreuse eyes glared into the candle. “We were all waiting for you.”

The candle stared at her. “You lied.”

The princess stumbled back. “What are you talking about?

“You said that they’d accept me if I did what you said. They don’t. They only see me as momentary entertainment. When I’m away from the stage, I am once again an outsider.”

The princess hissed, like a flame being put out. “How was I supposed to know that? For all I could see, that was the truth. Stop being so ungrateful.”

The candle whipped away from her and glared out the window at the blackened landscape. So, the princess was just like them after all. She made up her mind.

“Leave.” She commanded, without turning around. “I never want to see your face again.”

Then, it was an inferno.

That night, the candle returned to her dreaded stage, for the last time.

She glared out at their cheering faces, disgusted. These were the same people who shunned her in the hallways. She was nothing to them. Even her one and only ally turned out to be no different. She was going down, and they were all coming with her.

It was time to pull her favourite stunt.

She lit a bright ruby torch as the crowd cheered. She swirled around and around with it, cradling it in her arms, only this time, she didn’t stop. The crowd screamed in terror as the candle hurled the torch into the crowd and it lit up in flames, roaring and tumbling onwards. The doors were sealed; there was no escape. The candle gazed blankly as her tormentors perished.

Because of them, she had become the very thing they feared she was.

She held onto this thought as her world crumbled around her, beautiful and terrible. She felt it all at once, and crumpled to the floor in unbearable anguish. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Soon, she would turn to ash, just like her first and last allies on that fateful day, and none of it would matter. She would finally be free.

What a pity, that candle.

#shut up lori #writing #(not very good tho)#ughhhhh my head hurts #who wants to take ibuprofen with me

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