#ONCE MORE INTO THE GODDAMN FUCKING BREACH. this is the last damn time i attempt this game i swear

[echthr0s]

finally comprehended how to successfully implement mods in this trashfire ass game so it's

DURGE TIME BAYBEEEEEEE

I want to say I'm gonna kill many people but what's more likely to happen is I'm just gonna fuck with people a lot. and use Detect Thoughts constantly for no reason except to know everything about you so I can fuck with you even more.

because when I say I installed mods I need you to know exactly what I mean:

I am lvl1 with full skill proficiency and 232 hit points. fucking come at me.

#trust me lol if there was a way to like. have slightly less overkill in my cheating i would rather that. like i really don't need 30 STR #i definitely do not need every single class's proficiencies. like. why lol #but i took what i could get. which made me a god. that's fine i guess lmao #it does fit my durge concept (which is basically just if you put nyarlathotep and slaanesh in a trenchcoat) #(.... which is also just me. which is why she's named after me LOL) #ONCE MORE INTO THE GODDAMN FUCKING BREACH. this is the last damn time i attempt this game i swear #oh i did also get the wyll mods so hopefully there will be Even Sexier wyll photos at some point. if i did it right #(if you saw my first bg3 post and are like ''that just looks like the other character you made'' shut up. lmao) #(the options in the CC are not as extensive as you might think. the hair's different though!) #baldur's gate

[winchestersingerautorepair]

A Rift Between

A Brief(-ish) History of Dean, Cas, & Rifts

Let’s talk about rifts for a moment. And when I say rifts, I don’t mean their personal disagreements -- if I were to be discussing that, this post would be less of a brief history and more of a thesis paper. 

No, I’m talking about rift rifts. As in, actual, literal tears in the spacetime continuum. They are littered across the whole run of this show, and we’ve recently had two whole seasons devoted to them. So, the sudden reappearance of rift-adjacent plotlines carries with it a weighty load of textual relevance.

Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc, a fan favorite, began when Leviathans, the notorious fan-unfavorite, came into the picture. 

No, Maeve! Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc began in season 4, not 7! Cas was barely even in season 7! 

Well, let me explain. Season 7, the age of Sera Gamble, was a total show reset. Was it uncomfortable? Yes. Did we all hate it? Yes. But like with muscle, you’ve got to tear through the old before you can develop something new, and Season 7 did this job quite effectively. An identity crisis at that scale means either a massive change of pace or a creative death, and as the show is still on, number one it is. 

So, while we can most reliably chart the beginning of an intentional, substantive romantic undercurrent to Season 8, it is the waiting that allowed it to come to fruition-- Season 7 was a void, an unsustainable period of creative drought, a long cold winter in which seeds fell and laid dormant. And like the winter, it was necessary for rebirth.

This brings me to the first DeanCas rift: 

~~

The Purgatory Spell

Episode: 7x01

This tear in spacetime was the culmination of Castiel’s Season 6 character arc. It was the final, greatest betrayal, the irredeemable course of action which struck his relationship with the Winchesters a fatal blow-- and though his last act was to attempt to right his wrongs, the emergence of this rift meant estrangement and death for the relationship (and for Castiel.)

This incident is established as far more significant for Dean than it is for Sam, so I won’t spend much time justifying my classification of this rift as primarily DeanCas. It’s made pretty damn clear through Dean’s behavior throughout Season 7.

Castiel’s departure catalyzed the emergence of Leviathans. As the lore promised, they brought death and destruction to the whole ecosystem, purging the show and readying it for reincarnation; but I’ve already made this point.

As Destiel 1.0 dies, Destiel 2.0 is born.

~~~

The Purgatory Portal

Episode: 8x07

Let us journey back to "A Little Slice of Kevin"-- the gayest thing to happen to Supernatural up to that point. Suddenly, Dean and Cas’s ambiguity is no longer a joke. It’s no longer flippantly referenced, but Built Into The Narrative In A Noticeable Way. After Season 7, Season 8 shocked the system, earning Purgatory celebrity status as the Destiel fandom exploded back to life. 

But, more important things. The events surrounding this portal not only codified romantic subtext, but reshaped their relationship by putting it in grave peril. Lovers trapped in separate worlds. There’s only like ten thousand examples of this in other fictional, romantic(-ally coded) relationships. Sigh.

As Destiel 2.0 dies, Destiel 3.0 is born.

~~~

Seasons 9, 10, and 11 are filled with near misses. Divisions between worlds/fates test and change their bond -- Heaven and Hell exert tremendous force on both, and the gates of Heaven and the Darkness’s breach of barriers flirt pretty openly with the rift theme -- but there isn’t anything that fits the profile cut and dry, so let us leap to Season 12. Five long years of glacial shifts, five long years of a slow, steady amping up of queer subtext. An argument can be made that it had graduated from subtext in some places, but both fandom and GA were frog-boiled enough in their interpretations for this argument to be an aside.

Destiel 3.0 reaches a transitional stage, and becomes Destiel 3.0+.

Now, It’s season 12. And like goddamned CLOCKWORK, six years after Season 6, another unstable tear in spacetime appears, and terminates Castiel’s character arc.

Rift? Check. Cas dead? Check. We’ve seen this pattern. Time for shit to CHANGE. And boy, did it.

~~~

The Rift

Episode: 12x23

Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Castiel’s death in the Season 12 finale was a magnum opus of SPN’s romantically coded imagery. I could elaborate, but if you’ve read this far into this post you likely already know what I’m talking about. My point is, a hall of mirrors is the chosen space in which Destiel 3.0+ is killed. 

The relationship death lasts only a short while; their estrangement in separate realms is a five episode-long period of detachment and review. Our characters, as well as the viewers, stride through a hall of mirrors. In solitude, this DeanCas winter becomes a chance to reflect, because there is no better way to get a feel for the importance of something than to eliminate it. The crucial elements of Dean and Cas’s relationship, what they mean to each other, becomes clearer than ever before because, look! This is Dean without Cas! This is the show without Cas! Don’t you hate it?

I mean, guys. Mirrors. Cas spoke to a reflection of himself in the Empty. Literally. He addressed his greatest fears about relationships with himself. He was forced to rewatch his greatest mistakes, and what gets featured? Our first two DeanCas rifts. F*ck this show.

DreamHunter parallel! 13x10 reenacted this scene for us with Claire and Kaia. 

Then, 13x05 changes the whole game once more. You know, the episode titled Thanatology. The study of Death. Fuck this show.

As Destiel 3.0+ dies, Destiel 4.0 is born.

~~~

The intensity of the queer narrative amps up continually. Things are getting harder to write off.

Rifts between worlds, crossover and confinement, and estrangement, and the blurring of lines, and the breaking of old taboos/breach of old barriers dominates the remainder of Season 13 and Season 14. We hold this broad focus for a long time, and Dean and Castiel become the emotional equivalent of the plot arc, always there, brewing, but taking a backseat to the Big Stuff. A wall rises, and solidifies. Silver Pole of Communication Barriers, anyone?

Then? Season 15 kicks us in the Destiel balls.

Full disclosure: I didn’t see this next part coming. I dared not ask season 15 for anything this significant, so the last scene of 15x08 just about took my life. 

~~~

The Purgatory Rift

Episode(s): 15x08, 15x09

Dun dun DUN!!

This twist was my favorite Christmas present, because it communicated to me that the writers have an understanding of Dean and Cas’s history to match our own. Not only are they actively writing them utilizing the Destiel playbook, they obviously care immensely about the destiny of their relationship. I am speaking too soon to say this definitively, but this mission has all the hallmarks of a plot device designed to serve many purposes in respect to Dean and Castiel. They’ve got ALL the ingredients. There are so many things tied in here that it gets pretty damn near fanfiction territory.

Please read my reaction to the purgatory twist if you need context, as I don’t feel much like regurgitating it. This post is long enough, lol. (A bloom that grows only in one place? Fuck you, writers. You’re going to KILL me.)

~~~

So, to recap: In a universe defined by barriers and guidelines, a relationship that refuses to be defined will be under constant siege. Dean and Castiel suffer from the sheer reality of walking lines between two designated states of being-- friends and lovers, angel and human, take your pick. The current order isn’t friendly to beings who don’t fit a category. Until the barriers are stripped away, they cannot exist as they are, and rifts will continue to rip them apart. 

The Purgatory Rift of 15x08 is such a big deal because it fuses themes. The rifts of the Dabb era have merged with the gateways of the Carver era. Not only are our long-standing almost-lovers returning to their relationship’s place of origin, they are doing so by breaching physical barriers designed to keep them apart; and all the while, the most dangerous, important rift is not the one in the fabric of reality, but the one in their relationship. 

I expect this major rift to end no differently than it has in the past. Dean and Cas will be separated, and Cas will be out of reach. And then, they’ll be reunited. But, where will that take us? What will the next reincarnation look like? 

As Destiel 4.0 dies, something will be born.

#who sucks at tags? me #spn meta #spotting patterns #symbolism #destiel #purgatory #spn s7 #spn s8 #spn s12 #spn s15 #theme: rebirth #endgame speculation #15x09 #15x09 speculation #rifts #mine

[illusionlock]

Cornered: A short Security Breach fanfiction.

Hi!! As a foreword, I wanna say that this fanfic draws ideas from this little theory of mine, so if you’re confused by what is exactly going on between Vanessa and Vanny here, I recommend you check that out first. Happy reading!

content warnings: swearing, death threats, unreality

Vanessa jumped and backed up against the wall, her thumb pressing the elevator button once, twice, five times, maybe ten or twenty five times. Her heart pounded and the sweat that rolled now over her face lit up with the pink neon lights. Her vision blurred as a purple tint filled up her vision like a flood, as if someone had messed with the lights of the entire floor.

Graceful, mocking, flickering rabbits danced around her vision and encircled the woman in a rabbit costume in front of her. Like happy bunnies from a children's cartoon approaching a princess. They wanted her to go to her, of course. It didn't matter if she had a knife, long and sharp, glistening in the low light.

Vanessa squeezed her eyes together, hoping to make it all go away. For a moment she saw herself, as if she were in a movie, just another victim in the way, not enough to be the main character, one that put up a worthy fight, only to die at the knife, cornered, screaming. Maybe she would make a real scandal, raising her voice up high, struggling as much as she could, be the perfect movie cliche.

But she could not. Her eyes shot up again, and the rabbits hopped slowly alongside the woman who approached her, confident and slow. She was paralyzed, unable to even utter out a gasp. Of course, whatever had latched onto her, whatever had been messing with her head and body for these past months, would want her to just sit still like a good little sacrifice, as the true vehicle of this demon's will executed his plan perfectly.

All her resistance, her cries for help, her research on how to break free, for nothing. And the rabbit woman was getting closer. Vanessa gave a last attempt at resistance, shakingly holding her flashlight up, maybe hoping to blind the attacker, or even successfully block the knife, enough for the elevator to finally come up, though she knew, the virus had probably already spread to the goddamn entire building complex somehow.

She dropped it. It was barely even a blink, and she was dropping the flashlight to the side with a resounding clank, a slight bounce on the shiny checkered floor. One of the purple rabbits leaped forward with brighter glee, and a sinister smile. The bunny woman, oh, of course, she stopped for a moment just to tilt her head to the side, Vanessa could tell she was beaming behind the mask.

She squeezed her eyes together again, praying for a last second in which the elevator would open, she thought she would have so many thoughts, but now, her mind felt utterly empty, aside from the sinister grin of a purple rabbit, one she had been seeing in her nightmares for so long already.

The knife landed right next to her head. Vanessa's eyes shot open to see the rabbit staring right back at her, up to her face, so close, pinning her against the wall. She couldn't understand, was the attacker toying with her?

"Why are you making this so difficult, blondie? We're two of the same kind!" The bunny woman finally spoke up. Her voice was just as Vanessa expected it to be, mocking her in a sweet manner.

She drew the knife slowly, raking across the wall, a horrid scraping sound that made Vanessa's heart jump.

"It would be just so easy to give in... you don't even have to do the dirty work, honest!"

"W... what?" Vanessa's breath was shaky, she'd been certainly holding it for a while, and as she released it, it all came out heaving.

"Give in... give in!" The words echoed through her mind. The rabbits were climbing over her now.

"I'm not-" Vanessa swallowed, finally being able to speaking, the could touch of the demon seemed to be lifted for a second. "I'm not going to give in. I never asked for this- if you want to do... whatever it is you're doing, so badly, just kill me now!"

She surprised herself by how bodly and loudly she was speaking, blood boiling. It was the first time she felt she could directly speak to whatever had been tormenting her for so many months, making her lose track of her own actions, messing with her thoughts.

She wanted her voice to be heard one last time.

"I'll be of no use to you now, and I'll never be, so just get rid of me and stop trying to get me on your side for fuck's sake!"

The shouting seemed to be effective in at least getting the rabbit woman to back off, and the bunnies glitched and flickered out of view.

And then the woman... laughed? And began to laugh, and laugh, a giggle that turned into a deranged, uncontrollable fit of laughter, shaking and contorting her whole body. She came to the point of bending over, hands on her knees.

Vanessa just cursed under her breath, that seemed to buy her some time, so could that damn elevator hurry up?

"You, you are so funny, blondie. Acting like you're some sort of hero. Like it'll make a difference." The rabbit woman straightened up now, shooting a scarily piercing glare for someone wearing a smiling rabbit mask. "You and I know he doesn't care what any of us thinks. He'll just keep coming back. History is made by the winners, so why don't we get on their side?"

"Because it's not the right thing to do. How do you live with yourself, knowing that this is what he wants?" Vanessa replied. She lowered her head in defiance, gaze still fixated upwards to the woman. "You've seen it, right? The carnage, the torture, the manipulation, those are the things that he wants. How can you work with someone like that? What could you possibly get from that?"

The rabbit woman scoffed, and examined her knife as if she were looking at her nails, twisting it to reflect the multicolored lights. "You don't, like, know me, and you should stop acting like you care. It's too late for me. He chose me to carry his bigger part, to be the leader of the operation. You were just a backup plan, like all the other attempts."

"Fine." Vanessa glared at her. "Answer me this. When you bring that knife down, when you give the finishing blow, when you'll hear that kid's scream, when his blood gushes out and you can't stop yourself anymore, how will you be feeling?"

"I can look away. I'll close my eyes. I'll be a good vessel, at that time." The woman turned her head, gaze now at a distance that was not in this place or time. There was a softness to her voice. "It'll be like falling asleep for a moment, and waking up in the other."

"You can't be serious. You act like you're so high and mighty, the leader of the fucking bunch, but you clearly don't want to do this." Vanessa gritted her teeth now, glaring. She wanted so desperately for this to big her big break, finally getting through to that ridiculous killer rabbit.

The opposite effect, instead, took place. The woman leaped at her, with a sudden speed and strenght Vanessa thought she may surely die from a heart attack before the blade even pierced her, and she found herself pinned back up against the wall. This time, though, the knife was closer, threatening.

The sinister, wide open smile on the rabbit mask felt even more grim now, illuminate with an eerie glow. The purple lights came back on, as the words filled her mind, rapidly coming and going, like loose streams of thought.

"Die."

"Worthless girl."

"Your attempts will get you nowhere."

"I laugh at you from beyond death."

"Your death will be nothing but a testimony to your incompetence."

Dark rabbits in shades of purple and black danced.

For the second time, however, the blade did not come down.

The rabbit's arm shook, and swerved, but it did not come down. From within the suit, Vanessa could hear, a guttural growl, as if the person inside was fighting with all of her strenght to keep the blade in place.

For what purpose, again, did this torture come to be, Vanessa wondered.

As the two stayed frozen in the moment, the swirl of unwanted thoughts within Vanessa's head grew louder, into a cacophony of unpleasant suggestions, all interrupting each other and drowning themselves out in desperation to be heard.

The blade stood still, save for it shaking a bit along with the rabbit woman's arm.

"She's not the target. She is not your target. Killing her will get us nowhere. She is not my target. This will make it more complicated." The woman spoke, but Vanessa could tell, it wasn't to her. “Please, I’ll prove it to you, this isn’t worth it. I won’t forget what you told me. But she is not the target.”

The elevator's anticlimatic ring was what startled Vanessa, and she fell backwards, right into the inside of it. Scrambling back up, she pressed any button to close it as fast as possible and get away from there, before the rabbit woman could even realize what was happening.

Vanessa rode the adrenaline spike as she escaped her attacker, and her thoughts calmed down and gave way into her very own. She'd be safe, for the moment.

#don't be scared. i am here with you. #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 27)

Daryl places three soft knocks on the passenger door’s window of the old Chevy pickup. The lock clicks and Mila opens the door, letting out the faint sound of Bob Dylan singing: 

“-Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood, when blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud. I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm-”

“Hi.” Mila greets him, halfway through a bottle of Stolichnaya. Juri’s lying in the passenger seat, resting his head in her lap.  

”Having a party?” Daryl leans up against the car and looks at the tired, blood stained woman in the driver’s seat, looking back at him.  

”Celebrating another day of being alive, I guess.” Mila replies. ”Hop in.” 

She scoots over and Daryl gets in, shuts the passenger door behind him. The worn buttons and wheels of the radio shine faintly in the darkness. 

“You missed me?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl adjusts in the seat, as Mila lifts his arm and puts it around her neck, rests her head at his shoulder. Juri continues to sleep, breathes calmly in her lap. A heavy odor of vodka surrounds Mila and the half full, half empty, bottle tattles that she’s not sloshed, but seems like planning to be. 

As the fire spread over the pond in the middle of the community, like a bonfire on the 4th of July, and the walkers started to drag their feets towards it, Daryl climbed down from the truck’s roof. He’d seen Mila in the middle of the sea of rotting limbs and melting scalps, covered in blood and seemingly dead tired, with her arms hanging along the sides. A demeanor he had not seen before in her. Despite the distance between them, he saw that something was wrong. Mila seemed distracted. Deranged. When he landed on his feet on the ground,  he stabbed his way through the crowd, struggling to reach her. 

Was she injured? It was hard to see at a distance and her being spattered with blood, that could just as well be the blood of the walkers. When he finally reached her, she had awoken from her trance-like state, returning to slaughtering, but her mind was still stuck in another galaxy it seemed. She was there, just not present, like if she had to empty her system a bit, by killing off the remaining walkers. She walked around the grounds, managed to find twelve bastards hiding out in nooks and crannies, until the last of ‘em was annihilated. Daryl walked up close to her and said, as soft as he could, that it was over now. 

“They’re dead. All of ’em.” 

If he believed his words would pull her back to the present, to make her feel better- damn, he was wrong. Instead he managed to lose sight of her as soon as the others gathered up around him, Abe, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie and Enid. It was Carol who pointed out where she, and Juri went, when things had calmed down. 

Mila holds up the bottle for him. He takes it. 

“Ya’ fought well, back there.” Daryl unscrews the lid. “Like goddamn’ Rambo.” He says and hopes it will make her smile.

“Yeah, I had to let off some steam.” Mila says in a husky, ‘half a bottle of vodka’-voice. “It was a bit much… all of it.”

“Ya’ okay?” Softly, yet steady, Daryl turns her face towards his, with his hand on her chin. “Ey, Jersey-”

The big blue eyes, not even slightly hazy from the vast amount of alcohol Mila’s devoured herself in, looks back at him. They’re gleaming like a sky full of stars, like she has been crying recently. He hasn’t seen her like this before, something between sad and almost afraid of her own feelings, exhausted with the strong combination of emotions. 

“I froze.” She manages to utter, raspy. “I- he could’ve died. Carl.” Mila sighs. “If I- I was scared. For the first time in-” her voice cracks. “Since I killed him.”

“Ey, Ya’ didn’t kill him. He’ll be alright.” Daryl says, in an attempt to cheer her up. “Carl’s a strong kid.”

“That’s not-” She pauses. “The flashbacks- It was like I was back at that motel in fucking, shitty Missouri. Killing Jim all over again. I- I panicked.”

Daryl’s astonished to see her like this; vulnerable, afraid even. She must’ve drowned her sorrows pretty good, while being on her own with the kid, after killing that guy. Jim. 

His throat burns as he sweeps the last drops of the clear colored beverage in the bottle. Mila reaches for a new bottle, cracks it open and pours a mouthful sip onto her system, without making a face. She then hands him the bottle. Daryl, in the mood to unwind, takes it and drinks. 

“Ya’ had to do what you had to do.” Daryl says husky, as soon as he has swallowed. “I- I killed my brother.” He lets the bottle rest on his leg. “Merle.”

The memory of Merle looking at him with that dead gaze, has haunted him ever since. Not everyday thank fuckin’ god for that, but sometimes he can see the face in his dreams. He wasn’t there, yet he moved around, his body moved around, tried to attack him. But it wasn’t Merle anymore. The sight of him made Daryl feel it all; grief, anxiety, anger, and boy it hurt. And he didn’t know how to handle it, except with unhealthy amounts of booze, like Mila.  

“Sorry.” Mila says.

”Nobody liked him anyway.” 

What a lousy fucking excuse. 

”How so?” Mila asks. 

“He was a jerk. An ass.” Daryl huffs. “Saved us back at the prison though, the last thing he did before- yeah.” Mila leans her head on his shoulder, intertwines her fingers with his, to the raspy tunes of another Dylan folk-song. ”He saved me-” Daryl continues, fixating his gaze on the dashboard. ”-more than once. Treated me like fuckin’ shit sometimes but- I owed him a lot. Guess he didn’t know better.”

Yeah, Merle always kept an eye on him, ever since when they were younger, in one way or another; well, except when he was sent away to juvenile prison. Despite being the teasing big brother he sometimes stepped up and helped him fend off their old man, beating him, doing things- They never talked about what they’d been through, not back then or later for that matter, instead they kept it to themselves. The secrets, the shame- everything oppressed to the point of no return, Daryl thought for a very long time, until he couldn’t carry it inside anymore. So he began to act out. Drink, fight and steal. Let off steam. What difference would it make? He was damaged. He only had Merle, who, despite the arguing and the fights, was the only person he relied on. Not that it was uncomplicated, hell no! Merle could be cruel, which made Daryl’s feelings against him ambivalent if anything. His brother was a huge reason why Daryl more than often found himself in fucked up situations and couldn’t establish contact with anyone, least of all women. Merle taunted him for it and Daryl went deeper into shame and insecurity, closing more and more, until he created an invisible, but armor thick shell where no one could reach him.

“Ya’ ever been with a chick, little brother?” Merle once laughed at him, badly sloshed, so the whole bar they hung out at heard it. “Ya’ boned any of ‘em ladies, huh? Or ‘ya a damn virgin, ya’ pussy?” 

And he laughed even louder, followed by a bad attempt to apologize for his so called ‘joke’. Well, it wasn’t funny and the damage was already done. Daryl felt humiliated down to his core. No fuckin’ wonder he’d never tried to find himself a girlfriend. Not that he’d ever wanted to or tried. Who would want to have him? As far as he was concerned back then, he was trash. A nobody.

Daryl looks down at Mila, whose blue eyes are locked at the steering wheel. Well, until now, he thinks. 

“I killed him.” Daryl continues, still focusing on the dashboard panel. “I killed Merle. He’d already turned and I killed him. We’ve all killed someone that just... felt more- worse.” He can’t find the right word. “Ya’ know ‘bout Beth?”

“Maggie told me.” Mila replies and nods slightly, while continuing to look at the steering wheel.

“She was my friend, and I couldn’t save her. Failed her, failed Maggie.” Daryl says and throws a glance out of the window. “Ya’ didn’t fail Carl. He’s alive.” 

The tips of Mila’s fingers run gently up and down his arm. Her touch is the most tender he has ever felt. He felt it the same moment he took her hand the first time they met. The fact her touch didn’t make the hair on his body stand upright in discomfort as if he was a frightened deer, was proof enough Mila was special. 

“Come on, gotta get ya’ to bed.” Daryl nods towards Juri. “Can’t sleep in the front seat of a goddamn pickup when there’s plenty of beds.” 

Daryl gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side, where he lifts the sleeping boy from the long seat, placing the blonde head carefully on his shoulder. Mila stumbles out of the car and shuts the door after her with a thud, holding on to her trusted rifle and the vodka bottle. She walks around the car, over to him. 

“That... zhopa, the wolf-guy’s dead.” Mila says while caressing Juri’s limp leg. “Wish I’d killed him when I had the chance.” She lets out a dry chuckle and steers the big vodka bottle to her mouth. “That’d cheered me up. Is that fucked up?” 

“Nah. Can’t blame ya’.” Daryl lets his hand find its way around her waist, placing itself towards the soft leather in her jacket, to steer her in the direction of the houses and to prevent her from tripping over some walker’s bodies. “Let’s go Jersey- Ain’t carrying both of ya’.”  

“Don’t have to.” Mila says doughty and frowns a little. “ I’m not even half drunk.”

Talk about strong Russian genes, Daryl thinks to himself. And the stubbornness, is that part of the genes as well? He inhales the cool night air deeply into his lungs as they walk to the house. It’s calm, quiet and the air is different. Even though the threat isn’t eliminated, not by far, everything feels somewhat at ease for now. They have posted guards at the breached wall and will start to fix it first thing in the morning. Daryl hands the sleeping toddler over to Mila at the stairs to the porch, looking after her as she announces that she’ll be back as soon as she has tucked Juri in. He sits down at the stairs and leans up against the pole holding the roof up. When Mila returns, she has changed her t-shirt to one without blood and guts all over it. She sits down next to him and looks out over the empty street, sprinkled with bodies. 

“Ya cold?” 

Mila meets his gaze and shakes her head, making the long hair sway around her face. 

“Got all I need here.” She nods at the bottle of vodka placed next to her boots, meaning that sooner or later she’ll be intoxicated to the point where she doesn't feel the cool breeze. “I’m Russian- used to much worse.” 

Ain’t a good enough answer. Daryl gets up, walks into the calm and quiet house, and grabs the worn, but warm, Navajo poncho he’s managed to hold on to for quite a while now. 

“Here-” Daryl says and places the warm garment over her shoulders. “-Ya’ ain’t that drunk yet, Jersey.”

Mila smiles a little at him as he sits down again, moves closer and wraps the poncho around her shoulders.

“Started to think you bailed before.” She says and meets his eyes through the dark, giving him a cheeky smile. “You took your time, Dixon.”

Daryl grunts a little, smiles faintly.

“Ya’ seemed to have everything under control.”

“I always do.” Mila leans against his arm and the amazing scent of her hair surrounds him, wraps him in a sense of security, drowns all other scents around them; sweat, blood. Daryl inhales her hair deep into his nose, it makes him all warm inside. It’s a complex composition of flowers; he can smell magnolia, he thinks, and something woody, like cedar or sandal. It’s a soulful mixture, it embodies her. He could recognize the scent of her from miles away, he’s sure of it. “But I’m glad you're back.” She sighs and cuddles up even closer against him, turns her head and looks up at him. 

“Well, I ain’t going anywhere now.” Daryl says, almost in a whisper, leans his forehead down against Milas. “I promise.”

Her breath smells like a solid 40%, but it’s of no importance, he wants her anyway, more than anything. He clenches to the soft leather in the worn biker jacket she wears, not wanting to let go. From not wanting any human contact at all for decades it seems, it feels like he can’t be an inch away from her; she’s the final piece of the ship after a shipwreck. Daryl has to cling to it, or else he drowns.

”I can’t lose ya’-” he says quietly, knows that he’s more vulnerable than ever when he does so. ”I can’t-”

”You won’t.” Mila whispers softly. ”You won’t.”

”I won’t let anything happen to ya’.” Daryl mumbles, his voice hoarse from vodka. He needs to be closer to her, in the haze of the initiated jagg he feels an urge to pour his heart out to her, this magnificent woman. ”I care for ya’, so much-” He met her eyes. ”I like this. Just, being with you. And the kid.”

Vodka really does wonders, Daryl thinks to himself as he draws in the young woman by his side. Or is he this goddamn’ talkative and honest because he’s so sure, more sure than he’s ever been about something in his life, that this is what he wants, more than anything? 

As if she could read his mind, answering all of his questions, Mila says: 

“You remember what I said about choice in life? How I said that I made some stupid ones?” She takes his hand, hugs it. “This is not one of them. I want you too, Daryl.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition #jersey on my mind #twd daryl #twd fanfic

[marshmarrowsans]

This Empty Love Leaves Us Alone: Chapter 1

Well, you just made the biggest mistake of your life, and you can't take it back. You can't rewind time like Frisk can, and even if you could... that would just be breaching his trust even more than you already have, wouldn't it? You can't take it back.

So what do you value more: honesty or mercy? tw: cheating!!!  If it’s not obvious from the description, reader cheats on Sans, so only read if you’re ok with that content!

Ethanol.  It was the first thing you smelled when you woke up.

 You wished that it was because you drank the night before.  It wouldn't make things okay, but...  it would make them...  slightly more understandable?  Maybe?

...  Maybe not.  There was nothing understandable about you waking up with your nose nestled into a head of soft, curly hair.  There was nothing excusable about you waking up naked next to a human man at all, or any man other than Sans, for that matter.

 The reason you were smelling ethanol wasn't because of any consumption of excess alcoholic beverages the night before.  It was coming from your discarded lab coat, lying on a heap next to the bed, along with all your other clothes.

 You remembered everything. After all, you had no reason not to. You, the wrecking ball that you were, spilling the heavy bottle of reagent grade ethanol all over yourself and the table in your attempt to transfer it to a beaker.  Him, coming over to see what the commotion was and, without thinking, pushing you to the emergency shower.  The two of you laughing at his overreaction-- it was just ethanol, so the emergency shower was completely unnecessary.  And then you were both there, soaking wet as if you weren't in a professional laboratory setting with fellow researchers all around you, as if it were some fucking fairytale moment out in the pouring rain, and he was leaning down to kiss you, and you weren't stopping him, and you were making out for as long as you could get away with, and you could feel the physical evidence of his yearning for you, and he offered to have you over for coffee and you knew exactly what he meant and you loved it--

 You weren't thinking then. For hours that evening, you weren't thinking.  You felt attractive.  You felt desirable.  You felt above it all for once in your life, like you had a power over him, and over your own life.  Freedom was intoxicating.

 Now you just felt sick. Last night, you'd dived headlong off a ledge, and today, you were in freefall, looking down to see there was nothing to catch you at the bottom.  The euphoria was gone, your head was clear, and you were left wondering why, why, why the hell did you do that?

 Back on that metaphorical ledge, what had you left behind?  Sans, of course, and that was the most painful thing, but it wasn't all. What would Papyrus think of somebody who betrayed his brother like that, especially when Papyrus was such a strong supporter of your relationship with him?  What would Toriel say to somebody who had been jealous of her a fair number of times, only to turn around and do the very thing they had been afraid of happening to them?  Would even Asgore judge you for your mistake? Would Alphys ever be able to look you in the eyes again, knowing you threw away your relationship with Sans just to fuck the hot PI at your lab?

 And most importantly, how far would Undyne go to hunt your ass down for this?

  You felt so sick. Your heart was pounding, and not in that pleasant adrenaline-fueled way it did the night before.  You could feel every limb in your body shaking as you stood in the middle of his room and pulled your clothes back on.  You were shaking so much that you dropped your lab coat, that damn lab coat, twice, before cursing under your breath, rolling it up into a creasy ball and tucking it under your arm.

 You wanted to trash this goddamn room and never come back.  You just wanted to...  scream.

 And you did not want to be here for a second longer, nor did you want to wake your...  boytoy?  Because Kyle was sure as hell not your boyfriend. You fantasized about him sometimes, obviously, but he was not your boyfriend.  Sans was. And even if Sans wasn't, this guy still wouldn't be your boyfriend.  You weren't dumb enough to think that physical attraction conferred emotional compatibility.

 You'd been avoiding it since the moment you woke up-- it was usually the very first thing you did in the morning-- but you removed your phone from your lab coat pocket and checked your notifications.

 3 missed calls from Sandsome <3

17 texts from Sandsome <3

 Shit.  He didn't leave a voicemail, but he left a ton of texts. You skimmed through them, hardly reading them, only catching the words that made your stomach lurch.

 Sandsome <3

hey babe, how's work?

 Sandsome <3

hey, what do chemists do in the club?

 Sandsome <3

they drop the base! ;D

 Sandsome <3

...  well i thought it was funny.

 Sandsome <3

call me so i can hear u laugh at my jokes.

 Sandsome <3

they keeping you late again? that's alright, rake in that overtime dough and we'll use it for a celebratory trip to grillbz over the weekend.

 Sandsome <3

you da breadwinner

 Sandsome <3

just don't overwork yourself, kay?  i worry about you sometimes.

 Sandsome <3

babe??

 Sandsome <3

it's like two hours past the time your lab closes and you aren't home.

 Sandsome <3

is this some kinda prank? are you trying to freak me out? it's working. i'm worrying my ass off over here.  haha. really funny.  you're really rattling this ol' skeleton's bones.

 Sandsome <3

seriously.  i don't care where you are or what you're doing. i'm not mad at you.  just shoot me a text so i know you're safe.

 Sandsome <3

where the fuck are you? you have never been this late to come home.  ever.

 Sandsome <3

alphys said she saw you leave the lab at the usual time but doesn't know where you went if not home.

 Sandsome <3

i am really fucking scared rn

 Sandsome <3

i'm going looking for you. if at any point you get these texts, just shoot me one back, you hear?

 Sandsome <3

i love you.

 So what do you do now? What is the right thing to do?  Is there a right thing to do at all?  You doubt it, but ultimately you decide that...

 This would absolutely crush Sans.  He's been through enough in his shitty life-- the last thing he needs is to hear that the one person he was ever able to completely open his heart to betrayed him when he needed them the most.  Sans' bullshit detector might pick up on a bit of suspicious behavior, but you're confident in your ability to keep a secret.  You decide to keep quiet and let him live in ignorant bliss. - Proceed to Chapter 2 - MERCIFUL Ending (Coming soon!)

 Sans values honesty above all else.  He'll be hurt, but he's a grown man who can deal with the pain of a betrayal like this, and it's your responsibility to tell him the truth and let him make his own decisions.  The cat will be out of the bag, and all of your friends are going to find out for sure. This path ensures fallout.  But you can't lie to him, even to spare his feelings.  You decide to go straight home and tell Sans the truth. - Proceed to Chapter 3 - HONEST Ending (Coming soon!)

#sans/reader #sans x reader #ANGST #tw: cheating #reader cheats on sans and deals with the consequences #multiple endings #alternate endings #choose your own ending #... eventually... when i finish the story #also available on AO3~

[toomanyfeelings5]

the rotten job, part 2

part 1 is here if you want to read about a gay shakespeare leverage AU from someone who’s never seen leverage!

all of the bits are titled after songs from the mountain goats’ album beat the champ, so at the very least, there’ll be some jams to listen to. 

~what’s in store for these shakespearean criminal vigilantes of justice? read to find out!~

3. “choked out” 

they’re at one of their check-in meetings, and kate thinks about how she’s had worse bosses, honestly. 

there had been mr. worthington from her first job, when she was a secretary for the summer-- worthington hadn’t been awful, really, she got to listen to music on her lunch break, and sandra from accounting told the best jokes. 

except kate had been sixteen, and worthington was an old golfing buddy of her father’s, and sometimes, when they were getting coffee at the same time, and no one else was in the room, he would look at her funny, the kind of look that made her shrink, the kind of look that made her laugh a bit too high. she had quit right before school started up again, when his fingers had skimmed over her thigh during a lunch break. the asshole had smiled the whole time. 

“oh it’s fine that you left, katie,” her father had told her. “greg’ll write you a great letter of recommendation, he loved having you, and then we’ll find you some other place to work for next summer. anything to curb that temper of yours, right?”

“right,” kate had said back, and bianca had almost snorted into her orange juice: sure enough, kate was set for detention the first week of school.

there was also mrs. o’conner, back when kate had worked that pizza delivery stint in college, before she’d flunked out. 

“speak english, please,” that bitch had told her, smiling like she thought she was being polite, and kate had snapped back, “i’m talking to a customer,” because apparently she was the only one who knew even a little korean in this shitty joint. mrs. o’conner had stopped smiling.

kate’s never liked comedies. not the popular ones, at least. the funny thing is that when she was a kid, back in like, elementary school, she’d been the class clown, throwing paper airplanes around and interrupting the teacher with fart noises every chance she got. 

later, she learned that it’s harder to get people to laugh at your jokes when for so long, people like you have been the punchline. much easier to get a good right hook in, before anyone could open their damn mouth. 

at least the army taught people to shut the fuck up properly. granted, there were dirty jokes abound, but those were the best.

her commanding officers hadn’t been all that great. it was kind of their job to be assholes, so she can’t ever hate them, not really. and some of them had been fine, fun even, but most, well. kate’s never been a rule-follower. 

then, of course, there had been petruchio at the VA, who never gave her good hours and always squinted at her, like he just couldn’t fucking believe that she had served, that she had lost her damn leg, that she was a veteran too. 

her father had known his father, and pete couldn’t be too bad, could he, c’mon, katie, you have so much in common, c’mon, katie, what else are you going to do with your life--

the point is, kate’s new boss is probably the best she’s ever had. which isn’t saying much, but still. 

the thing is, the boss is...intense. all the time. does she ever sleep? kate never sees her without at least five cups of coffee on hand at all times. 

“i want you all to know,” the boss says, and she’s even shorter than kate, but jesus christ, she has the presence her C.O.s could only dream of, “that this job’s personal. we are going to annihilate every last one of these bastards, because it’s the right thing to do, and because once upon a time, they almost got me killed.” she pauses, and her voice is low and dangerous. in kate’s experience, it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for. “they won’t see it coming. they won’t even have the chance to blink.”

“understood,” portia says, nodding politely: she always opts for blandness in the face of the boss’s dark stare and curled fists. 

kate does a mock-salute, winks. “yes ma’m.” best not to ask questions when revenge is involved. 

the boss stares before a tiny smile twitches across her face. 

kate breathes a sigh of relief: good to know the woman is actually a goddamn human being, and not a fucking alien squirming around in a skin suit. or worse, a zombie. kate’s never liked horror movies either. 

“alright,” horatio says, pushing her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose in her usual grim determination. she pulls her dreadlocks back into a ponytail. “alright, team, let’s get to work.”

portia leaves to visit the only lawyer friend she hasn’t thrown in prison, and kate’s about to head off to find out more about elsinore enterprises when she glances back to see horatio place a hand on the boss’s shoulder. 

the boss doesn’t even flinch or snap or anything, just breathes. she slumps minutely in her chair. 

the moment feels much more private than it should.

kate nearly sprints out the door. what the fuck is that all about? 

4. “hair match”

“god--god, what--where is she, i can’t hear her in the earpiece--?”

“she’s gone.”

minola looks at portia, eyes wild, horror plain on her face. jesus, couldn’t she keep it together for one second? 

“what?” minola asks again, voice ragged, specks of blood on her suit jacket from an earlier fight with security. “you can’t--she was right there, we had the files, we’d hacked in, we were all set to expose--”

“be quiet! i have to drive.”

“but--”

“i have to get us out of here. i have to.”

minola leans back in the passenger seat, tapping her prosthetic leg absently, winded and bruised and lost. 

for a few blessed moments, portia gets to focus on everything but the mission. the van radio plays some slow, whispery song, and she catches a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror: not a hair out of place, size large dress sequined and perfectly fitted. even her winged eyeliner looks good. 

everything had been going so smoothly, they were all putty in her hands, and then--and then--

she takes a deep breath. “we need to tell the boss what happened.”

minola winces. “fuck. fuck, she’s really--?”

“i knew bringing the techie along would be a liability. when was the last time she was out in the field? i knew this was going to happen, i knew--”

“i’m calling the boss.”

portia nearly slams on the brakes. “you’re what? now?” 

minola’s already punching in the number. she hastily puts the cell phone on speaker. the ringing starts. “don’t have a choice, do we?”

“alright, ok, just--”

“i know, i know, be cool--”

“did you complete the mission?”

portia takes a deep breath. she is immaculately dressed. she is mary piperton today, and she is invincible.  “the mission is nearly completed.” 

“nearly?”

minola says, “we have everything we need, but they know they’ve been compromised. we aren’t being pursued. not yet, at least.”

“why?”

“because,” portia answers quietly, soothingly, to prepare. “because they think they know who’s behind the whole thing.”

the barest trace of a chuckle comes through the phone’s speakers. “really? who did you frame? gertrude? marcellus? laertes?”

“no,” minola swallows. “no, it’s not that--we didn’t frame anybody.”

a pause. “what?”

“well,” minola starts, tapping her leg like her life depends on it, “well, what happened was--”

“get to the point. now.”

portia turns onto the street of the motel they’d booked. 

minola’s voice cracks. “i--we--”

portia steels herself and says, as gently as she can, “they found out about the cyber-security breach at the last second. we had to get out before they could catch on. there were still some files left that we didn’t need to download, but she wanted to. she insisted on staying behind.” portia takes a breath, finds a parking spot, squeezes her eyes shut, opens them. “they took horatio.” 

no one breathes. 

dead silence. for ten unbearable seconds.

then: “i’ll send you the new mission parameters tomorrow morning, 6am sharp.”

portia doesn’t get the chance to say, “affirmative,” because the line goes dead. 

more silence. 

the motel looks especially shitty. the welcome sign is missing the l. 

minola makes a fist. her voice is usually loud and abrasive. now it sounds like it’s being dragged out of her. “why didn’t we go back?”

portia stares at her hands. “i couldn’t risk it.”

“don’t bullshit me. we could’ve stopped it--” minola grits her teeth. she cries when she’s really angry, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “we could’ve saved her.”

“no. she made her choice. we did what we had to do.”

minola glares at her shoes. “but what if--?”

“stop. look, what was i supposed to do, get us all compromised in a last-minute rescue attempt? she wanted to stay. i couldn’t lose--i had to.” portia swallows. she feels cold and empty, like she had on that day in court. shylock had not looked at her. he had gazed at the ceiling for a long, long moment. his shoulders shook. he had left staring straight ahead. 

he has a new business somewhere out in cali. portia wonders, sometimes, if he feels good about leaving his old life behind.

here, in this nondescript van with a broken air conditioner, portia feels that day’s weight settle in her chest again.

she had promised herself that she was going to be a new person.

she laughs silently. who was she kidding.

minola drags a hand through her short hair. she does not look at her. “let’s go. i’m starving.”

“wait--”

“i have to get my leg fixed up, gotta fucking shower--”

“kate.” portia takes her hand. “kate, i’m sorry.”

minola smiles right at her, eyes crinkled. “portia, i know. it’s just a shitshow, that’s all.”

portia does her best to smile back. neither of them let go. 

#shakespeare #leverage #fic #my fic #vague shrug is this even interesting???? who knows not me