So I had this idea in my head of what it might be like to see Trixie visiting Shelagh in the hospital for a while now. I even wanted to put it in my speculation fic for 6x04, but I ran out of time and I just couldn’t put this idea into words, until now. I hope you all enjoy!!
Today’s going to be a complicated day. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. It’ll be stressful and trying and exhausting. Thankfully, I have the motivation to actually get out of bed and be somewhat helpful, so I decide to do exactly that. I get up, get ready, head out of the door and then over to Rick’s place.
It’s a sweltering day in Alexandria, beads of sweat start forming along my hairline and my entire body begins to heat up. I quickly tie my hair up to get some air to the back of my neck, but to know success.
I jog up the stairs to Rick’s house, already noticing Michonne and Tara through the window. I knock on the door a couple of times before the door swings open and Daryl appears before me.
“Hey,” I smile politely. “You coming today?” I ask, referring to the run that Rick and I organized.
“Yep.” Daryl grumbles and moves aside to let me in.
Daryl’s been acting… off with me lately. He’s been completely blanking me and anytime I attempt to start a conversation with him, all I receive are blunt, one-word answers.
I concede in trying to talk to him and walk past the threshold of the doors and then into the lounge where I find Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Glenn, Aaron, Tara, Sasha and Abraham.
“Hey Y/N, you all set?” Rick asks.
“Pretty much,” I reply, checking that my gun and knife are attached to my belt. Rick nods and lets me take the lead. “Okay, this should only take us a couple of hours. We go to town, grab what we need and we go. Quick, simple, easy. That good with everyone?” I announce.
“Sounds good to me.” Glenn nods, relatively satisfied. Everyone nods along with Glenn in agreement, causing a me to grin from ear to ear. Everyone but Daryl, who’s still sulking against the door frame. I roll my eyes and ignore his petty attitude, my mind purely focused on out main objective.
I don’t know why he’s been acting like this. Daryl and I used to be so close. We’d go on runs together, keep watch together and we’d always hang around my house. But one day, he just kind of switched and he hasn’t been the same with me since. I miss him, I really do, but every time I ask him what’s wrong, he ignores me. I just wish I knew what I did wrong, then maybe I could fix it. The not-knowing is killing me.
When we arrive into town, we all split off into pairs and head in different stores, but before we can initiate pairs, everyone does their own thing without discussion. Rick heads off with Michonne, Glenn pairs up with Tara, Aaron and Rosita run towards the west side of the town, and Sasha and Abraham walk off together leaving Daryl and I completely alone. We stand in place awkwardly for countless moments before I head south. Daryl catches up and walks beside me with his crossbow at the ready, still not uttering a word. I spot a grocery store and head in that direction, Daryl immediately copying my path. I quietly open the door, gingerly stepping over some fallen items. I search the aisles and throw whatever canned good I can find into my backpack, all in complete silence. Daryl barges past me and grabs a load of random items and tosses them in his bag, but is caught off guard when a walker falls threw the damp ceiling and directly on top of him.
“Daryl!” I cry out and shoot at the walker, not hesitating to rush over. The grumbles die down and the geek goes limp, letting Daryl push it off of him. “You okay?” I ask, kneeling down beside him and checking him for wounds.
“Yeah… thanks, I guess.” Daryl pants.
“You’re not hurt or anything?” I panic, pulling off his vest to find and bites or scratches.
“I’m fine…” He sighs.
“Are you sure? It looked like-”
“I said I’m fine!” Daryl snaps.
I scoff and and sit back onto my heels, staring at him with utter disbelief.
“What?” He asks after a while.
“Stop trying to push me away!” I yell.
Daryl lets out a deep breath as his head falls back against the floor. His eyes close for a few seconds before he stands up again and begins to walk out.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Daryl!?” I shout, following him as he storms out.
“Talk to me, Daryl! Stop avoiding me and just say something! What did I do wrong!?”
“Can this wait? You couldn’t have picked a worse time.” He mumbles and walks away.
Run after him. Make him tell you. Run after him. Make him tell you.
I can’t. I’m frozen. Petrified, even. Scared that if I ask him once more, he won’t be delicate with telling me what I’ve done and I might lose him for good. I’d take one-word answers over nothing. That’s better… right? I stressfully run a hand through my hair and sulk off outside and get back to where I left the others. We rejoin and take inventory, then getting back in the trucks. I remain quiet the whole ride back to Alexandria, even when I notice Rick and Glenn looking back at me worriedly. Sasha, who’s been sat next to me the whole time, lovingly rubs my arm and flashes a warm smile when I look over to her. She knows not to ask, but to just… be there.
Finally, we return home and I take a long, well-earned shower, trying to wash away the thoughts that Daryl left. All I’m able to feel is hurt and confusion as to where it all went wrong. It’s like he just woke up one morning and decided that I no longer mattered.
I lay on my bed in a sullen silence, desperately trying to think of anything other that Daryl. I begin to think that I can concentrate on something else when I hear a knock at my door, but when I reach it, I can already tell who it is by the silhouette on the other side of the distorted glass.
“Hey,” I sigh, opening the door. “What’s up, Daryl?”
He shuffles awkwardly and coughs out something inaudible.
“What?” I raise an eyebrow, too tired to care if I’m being rude or not.
“We need to talk.” Daryl states and pushes past me.
“Come on it.” I say sarcastically.
I shut the door and head into the lounge, where Daryl is pacing nervously.
“So, you going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.
“Yeah… probably ain’t a good enough reason, but I might as well tell you ‘cause you don’t deserve the way I’ve been treatin’ you.”
My heart breaks at his clear sincerity and I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He takes a while to respond, but hugs me back after a few moments. I release after a while and gaze up at him.
“I’ve been pushin’ you away because… I’m… I’m afraid.” Daryl admits.
“Of what?” I ask softly.
“Loving you,” he blurts out, making my heart skip a beat. We got so close and I started to get all these feelings and it scared the shit out of me. Then, I realized… if we were ever in trouble or under attack, I wouldn’t even think about protecting anyone else but you. Hell, I’d fucking die for you, Y/N.”
I stand absolutely still, not able to comprehend everything I’ve just heard. My mouth opens to say something, but my vocabulary isn’t wide enough to justify a reply. Before I can even think about it, my hand snakes to the back of his neck and I pull his lips against mine. His hands travel down to my hips and he pulls me closer, eliminating any space that was between us beforehand.
We pull away from each other and he rests his forehead against mine as we both catch our breath.
“You don’t need to worry, Daryl. II know that if anything ever happened, you’d be the first out of the door to protect anyone you could. That’s just the type of guy you are. Everyone has each other’s backs. But you really do have everyone’s best interest at heart even if you don’t act like it sometimes.” I tell him in all honesty.
Daryl looks down into my eyes and his lips curve into a small smile.
“You’re somethin’ special, y’know that, Darlin’?”
“I could say the same.” I smile, grateful that I finally have Daryl back.
How about something in your Friends With Renefits 'verse, Mitaka and Steve maybe? They would be so cute together!
“Hey honey, have you seen my tie?” Mitaka poked his head into the bathroom, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons and feeling a twinge of annoyance at the sight of Steve, still lounging in the bath.
“I have not,” Steve practically sang, gripping the bars on either side of the bath and raising himself up with a groan. “Have you seen my leg?”
“Yes, I tripped over it because you left it next to the bed, again. Do you want me to get it for you?” Mitaka wet his lips, eyes trailing down the delicate whorls of tentacles across Steve’s back. The tattoo shifted as Steve turned and winked.
“Nah, it’s okay, just help me into the bedroom and we can finish getting ready.” Steve leaned on Mitaka’s arm, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “I can’t wait for tonight.”
Nodding, Mitaka ruffled at Steve’s hair with a towel, fluffing it into its usual disarray, “It’s been a long time coming.” He smiled to himself, “I’m just glad they’re happy.”
“You’re right sweetheart,” Steve squeezed Mitaka to his side and reached for the hairdryer, “pass me my sock please?” He stretched out and caught a glimpse of the bedside clock. “We’re not going to be late, are we?”
“Nah, Phasma asked them to come over at eight, we’ve got plenty of time.” Mitaka swooped in to press their lips together, fingers threading into the damp tendrils of Steve’s hair.
Pulling back, Steve raised his hand to brush across Mitaka’s fingers, “If you start that we really will be late.”
“Ugh, I suppose you’re right,” Mitaka said with a roll of his eyes, “I’m already on Phasma’s bad side, Unamo’s too for that matter.”
“Why?!” Steve’s eyes widened and he squeezed tight on Mitaka’s hand, relaxing slightly when he saw the smirk on Mitaka’s face.
“Well Phasma bet that Hux would propose, and Unamo bet that it would be Kylo.” Mitaka shrugged, “I said they both would.”
Steve smiled softly, carefully easing his leg into the socket, “And you won.” He brought Mitaka’s hand to his lips, “You’re such a romantic.”
“I have good inspiration.” Mitaka said, finally locating his tie, half hidden behind the wardrobe and fastening it about his neck, “What do you think? Good enough for an engagement party?”
“You look perfect honey.” Steve smiled to himself, Mitaka looked good enough for an engagement. He thought to the little box hidden in his bedside drawer. Tonight wasn’t the night, he didn’t want to take away any attention from Kylo and Hux’s good news.
Mom, my depression is a shape shifter.
One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear,
The next, it’s the bear.
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone.
I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.”
Mom says, “Try lighting candles.”
When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame,
Sparks of a memory younger than noon.
I am standing beside her open casket.
It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die.
Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark.
Perhaps, that’s part of the problem.
Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.”
Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head.
Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?”
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party.
Mom, I am the party.
Only I am a party I don’t want to be at.
Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?”
Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go.
I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go.
It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom.
You see, Mom, each night insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light.
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company.
Mom says, “Try counting sheep.”
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake;
So I go for walks; but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists.
They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness I cannot baptize myself in.
Mom says, “Happy is a decision.”
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg.
My happy is a high fever that will break.
Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying.
I am afraid of living.
Mom, I am lonely.
I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely —
The lonely into busy;
So when I tell you, “I’ve been super busy lately,” I mean I’ve been falling asleep watching Sports Center on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed.
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city,
My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves.
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat,
But I am a careless tourist here.
I will never truly know everywhere I have been.
Mom still doesn’t understand.
Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?
“Explaining My Depression to My Mother: A Conversation” by Sabrina Benaim
“How can you say you like intimacy if you don’t like sex”
Hold up. There is SO much intimacy that is non-sexual. Idk whether allosexuals just find everything sexual, or if they’re less experimental with other things because sex is all that matters or w/e, but here are some of my favourite things that are absolutely intimate/sensual but not sexual:
- When someone rests their head on my chest/stomach/shoulder
- Cheek/forehead kisses
- Hugs with back strokes
- Playing with hair
- Holding Hands
- Sharing a bed/napping on each other
- Sharing food
- Some would also argue kissing
- Warming up hands with hands
If you find these things sexual, fine, but they are not inherently sexual by themselves. And if any of y'all allos out there have never done/experienced these then mate it’s you missing out, not us.
• low key bouncing. Constantly.
• “nonnonononon no no no” to myself
• *picks up my cat and dances with him*
• Big me: no thanks I don’t like sweets
Little me: YAAAAASS 👏🏻👏🏻 bring it onnn
• “woah woah woah”
• uncharacteristic giggles
• my bed is my happy place
• whips out the magic sand
• *shakes my head just to hear my collar jingle*
• swingy feeet (even though I have to hold my thighs up cause I’m tol)
• “omG cute!!”
• the physical representation of ’!!!’
• everything in the same cup because I love my sippy cup
• *almost walks around my family with my collar/binki/ears*
• mesmerized by marbles
• “fuck” *gasps and stops as if someone heard me (or cared)*
• “i am a little boy. A small guy. A Mini man. A petit dude.”
• “ok but even I know I am too small for that”
• portion sizes/small snacks are super cute!! *eats entire box of cheese its*
• *hops around*
• sweaters and boxer shorts and socks
Every time I want to go to bed I end up thinking about astrology and concepts, so I’ll have to get this out my head to be able to sleep.
The first house is who I am, the seventh house is who I enjoy.
The second house is all my things, the eighth house is all my thoughts.
The third house is my study notes and texts, the ninth house is my essay and my scrapbook.
The fourth house is what I bring to the family, the tenth house is what I bring to the world.
The fifth house is what I bring to myself, the eleventh house is what I bring to my communities.
The sixth house is my health and how I serve society, the twelfth house is my worries and how I withdraw from it.
I only feel like myself when I’m dancing around a penthouse apartment in a fur coat, drinking champagne from the bottle. He’s watching me, laughing, with his wallet out and his dick hard.
I’m painted like a sad sixties movie star. At 2am I lie in bed with my head on his chest. It’s black & white, but I know my tongue shines like rubies, wet & glossy. Is he watching me sleeping? I’m getting warmer but I don’t want him to see me soften just yet.
When I try to go he stops me with his hands around my throat. If I say no then I’m a ghost & I’ve never been the kind of girl who fades out like a star. I’m neon signs & prison bars. Give love and then I take it. I’ve been taken from the most.
Sometimes I think I’m so pure that my blood runs clear like holy water & everyone who looks into my eyes will know that I don’t fall in love. I fall from heaven. He thinks I’m here to save him….
Face of an angel & the body of a porn star. The men play cards and split cash like God is watching but he keeps his eyes shut tight, like I do at night when they touch me like a rose, only petals, no thorns…
A short thingy I had to get out of my head. Not angsty despite that opening. AO3 link.
Jason rolled the tiny smoke bombs. They were nearly silent on the filthy corporate berber of the abandoned office building. They deployed at the feet of the nearest two kidnappers, the door guards.
He sprinted past them to take out the one holding the AR-15 first. Disarmed and KO-ed in one smooth, brutal movement as Jason spun the rifle into the outstretched arm-and-Colt-1911 of the next nearest man, ignoring the pistol as it fired close to him. He grabbed this one and broke his gun arm, tossing him bodily into the one of the door guards as he tried to rush him.
Pulled his own pistol and shot the door guard that had been moving toward the figure hanging from the ceiling before he could put a gun to the hostage’s head. Managed to shoot Mr. Colt 1911 as he pulled a second gun with his unbroken arm, before dodging the sloppy tackle of the last door guard, who had recovered.
Mad now. Seeing red as he ignored the gun in his hand in favor of kneeing Door Guard a few rapid times in the belly before letting him go so he could savagely pull the man’s face down onto his own heavily padded kneecap and let him fall limp to the floor. He kicked and threw weapons out of reach of the ones who might live before holstering his own gun and striding to the suspended figure just as it dropped heavily to the floor.
“Hey, old man,” Jason wasn’t even out of breath as he moved quickly to Bruce’s side, “Are you hurt?”
“No, Jay,” Bruce said softly from where he lay on his side. He was half-smiling in a way that made Jason feel both warm and unsettled. He helped Bruce sit up. Took stock of the three-piece, probably unsalvageable. Just because Bruce Wayne had to be kidnap-able didn’t mean Bruce made it easy. Bruising alongside his mouth where he’d been punched and a swollen left eye. Raw around the wrists where he’d been tied. Pupils, wide-blown and glassy looking. Explained what had taken him so long to escape.
“I’ve got him,” Jason spoke into the comm, “Kidnappers down for the count. They drugged him – he’s movin’ slow.”
“Be careful. You remember what happened the last time he got tranqed,” Dick warned. Drugs rarely had their intended effects on Bruce anymore.
“Jay,” Bruce said groggily, grabbing Jason’s chin with hands that hadn’t quite gotten their circulation back. He was smushing Jason’s mouth into a silly shape, but Jason played along. He wasn’t about to get anything broken like that poor Watchtower med tech.
“Yesh?” he answered, hamming it up and waggling his eyebrows a bit. Like he hadn’t just (probably) killed several men.
“Jason,” was all Bruce said, frowning a little now in concentration as he tried to focus on Jason’s face.
Jason pulled his chin out of Bruce’s grip, which was tightening.
“How’s about we stand up and move on outta here, B?” Jason gently slung Bruce’s arm over his shoulders and pressed Bruce into a standing position. Bruce slumped against him drunkenly.
Jason steered them around the debris of broken kidnappers and bedraggled office furniture.
“Always loved watching you fight, Jay,” Bruce said a little dreamily as they moved through the buildings empty halls.
“Yeah?” Jason tipped his head forward to see Bruce’s face. He had that weird smile again.
“Dick. Fighting is another type of performance for Dick. Until his back is against the wall. Always making things…elegant,” he slurred, “or funny.” He chuckled a little at some memory.
“And Tim. Tim is fast. Makes up for that lack of reach with everything he’s got. Gets there ahead of everyone. Two steps ahead.”
“Thought we were talking about me here,” Jason muttered, taking Bruce through some old swing doors to another corridor.
“Damian’s not old enough. Hasn’t settled into one style. Sneaky though.”
“Well, yeah,” Jason agreed, voice droll.
“-is perfect.” they finished together.
Finally hitting fresh air they walked slowly out the bay doors at the back of the huge office complex, toward the car Jason had parked a quarter mile down the road, out of sight. Bruce was still leaning heavily on Jason, trying not to let his feet drag. Not quite succeeding.
“And what am I, old man?”
Bruce smiled crookedly at him with slightly bloodied teeth.
“A hammer.” He let the pronouncement fall heavy. “You come down on them like the hammer of God. Focused.” His mouth stretched a little wider in something that was not quite a smile.
Grinning, Jason squeezed a little with the arm that was supporting Bruce. Together they made their way across the weed-strewn parking lot.