#Concrete Element Detailing

[eternal-reverie]

Working out how the role of magic affects the world building and plot of my fantasy story 🥰

[spacygalaxy]

Phoenix Southwestern Exterior Idea for a medium-sized, white, one-story home in the American Southwest with a tile roof.

[fishnapple]

How you can find love

This reading is about romantic love, but you can use it for other kinds of love, just change the details a little to suit you better. How you can find it or accept it, what are the obstacles and opportunities.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

AMETHYST

There's an element of downplaying yourself, settling for less, or just wanting to float on the surface. Maybe you've been used to the kind of relationship that only centre around the superficial mundane matters, just gliding on the surface without going deeper like talking, sharing about the past and the future together, about dreams, inspirations, fears, life philosophy, etc.

You might keep going for the same kind of people, those that remind you of something or someone from a distant past, the unconscious memories. Even though these people don't actually bring you fulfilment or help you going forward, on the contrary, some can even hinder you.

You also have the tendency to keep your thoughts to yourself, refusing to voice your opinions and feelings. Maybe it makes you feel vulnerable, or you're not too sure of what you actually feel about someone and how they feel about you. There's maybe lots of crushes, fleeting moments of attraction that you kept hidden, not allowing them to materialise into something more concrete.

All of this needs to be changed. You need to go to the opposite direction of these tendencies, to give yourself a new space to explore and dive deeper. You might feel the urge to runaway, to avoid when things start to get more serious, when you feel like you have to open yourself up and share a part of yourself while receive a part of the other person. Both the act of giving and receiving are scary but necessary.

If in the past, you were more tolerant of many behaviours of others that weren't in alignment with your values or make you comfortable, you would easily accept the possibility of a connection with someone if they managed to remind you of those familiar patterns. Now, you should be more selective of whom you can share that possibility with. There's a need to be more discerning and choose what's best for you. Choose someone who actually can go far with you, not just from shallow compatibility viewpoint. To do that, you need to be more vocal and express your desire more clearly, which starts from keeping a clear head even when you find yourself falling for someone.

But if you're sure of someone, don't try to hide it, don't try to stall for more time. The more you keep them hidden in your head and your heart, the more distorted their image are, you will begin to prefer the distorted version of them in your head rather than the real person.

ROSE QUARTZ

You have many conflicting ideas regarding love. This conflict of different ideas is what makes you feel confused and hard to find a suitable person who can satisfy all those criteria.

There's this definition of an ideal love and partner you've been observing from the community and the society you're living in. A traditional viewpoint that you can't help but subconsciously absorb it. It may be about how you have to do many hard work to be a perfect lover, a perfect spouse, how you have to have this skill or that skill, how you need to behave, how to talk and act in a manner that can attract potential suitors.

Then there's also your own version of idealistic love, what you think love ought to be. You put love on a pedestal, making it a sacred and mysterious concept that hardly any mortals can touch and possess it. This view might have been influenced by what you were taught and what you saw in the media. You've put love onto such a high place that you couldn't find anyone fit for it, nor did you find yourself capable or worthy of it. If someone managed to trigger an association with that perfect ideal, you would put that person also on a pedestal, trying to be the right partner to them, regardless of how you really are. On the opposite end, if they showed a sign of failing, you immediately judge them as not right for you and discard the possibility of a connection.

While a part of you think of love as a fairy tale, another part of you just want to live a normal, realistic life with mundane concerns. So then sometimes you might wonder, when will this ordinary life sparkle, transform into a fairy tale?

You might think that being in love will stifle your independence. The energy is directed inward. You're so used to spending time and effort on yourself, making your life as much fulfilling as possible. There's this tendency of when you are in a relationship, you focus on the security of yourself in that relationship while neglecting the necessary compromises to make a relationship work. These compromises mean changing your routines, making an effort to understand the other person's, working out your own shadows, and taking care of each other.

So to find love, a love that you can hold in your hand, not admiring from afar, you need to take the vision of love down from the pedestal, make it mundane and real with all the ugliness and awkwardness. Stop waiting for the moment when you'll become a perfect human to love and another perfect human will come to love you. Just remove the "perfect" part. What you need to be ready is how to be with another person. Not in an individualistic way like "I do my part, you do yours, then the relationship will work", but more like "we do this together". It's not wrong to look for an ideal love, but you need to realise that love exists just around you too.

FLOURITE

For this group, it is not so much about how you can find love, but it's more about how you can let love in. The thing that you need to realise is that it's okay to open yourself up, and that love can make you feel safe.

I think many people are attracted to you, but you seem to keep them at arm-length, not pushing them away but not letting them closer either. One part of you wants to love and be loved, but another part of you seems to doubt your ability to love and the chance of meeting someone who can truly love you. I think your end goal is marriage or a long-term commitment. So choosing someone means that person has to have the potential to be your life partner, someone you can see a future with.

I sense some negative talks surrounding you. Maybe they come from your own mind, you might worry about how you come across to other people, are you attractive enough, are you lovable. Or the negative talks could come from people around you, they might rush you to find a partner, or saying things that make you fearful of relationships, those opinions could come from their own experiences and their beliefs but their words have the opposite effect of encouragement.

There's a heavy shadow hidden in you that affects how you perceive romance and relationship. This could come from a domineering figure in your life that imposes a set of restrictions and control. Or some painful past memories that left a deep wound in your heart, making you build walls around yourself. There's this belief of being "deserving" or "worthy" of love. You tried your best to be someone loving, but sometimes you might feel that your efforts weren't rewarded, that you weren't appreciated enough. Which made you questioned yourself why it was so, and the answer that you've arrived at might not be entirely objective and correct, you might think that it's because you lacked something and you needed to try harder. While the answer might be just that you haven't met the right crowd, the right person yet.

The greatest components of an ideal relationship for you are the feeling of safety and unconditional love. Some people might seem perfect on paper, they might do all the right things but if you don't feel safe and accepted when you're with them, they are not the right one for you. What can be considered safe is pretty subjective. The definition could be formed by past experiences and upbringing. What one considers safe might not actually be healthy for them, so a certain level of objectivity is needed.

Someone who will not trigger your wounds and hurt you further, someone whom you can be yourself with, someone who can give you advice and guidance when you're feeling lost, someone who is strong enough to be your rock in difficult times. The person having these qualities will likely be the one who can get past your walls.

CITRINE

The answer can be pretty straightforward, you have the Sun stone landed on the centre. You can find love when you put yourself into the centre of your life. When you're confident enough and consider yourself being in a good place in life. It might sound egotistical, but focusing on yourself can mean many things.

One thing is you allowing yourself to shine your brightest. You might have some reservations about expressing yourself fully to people. Maybe you're afraid that you will be judged as selfish or too assertive. There's a desire to be rebellious, to be free, and do whatever you want, but there's also your ego wanting to be in control, to retain your dignity. Between them is a wall of fear that can be linked to the unconscious realm. You might be used to the idea of sacrifice, serving others, being selfless. Acting in any other ways would be considered not desirable. But by expressing yourself fully, you deliver the message to the world that you care about yourself and allow yourself the freedom to be. This message can be translated into the care you have for other people's expressions, the freedom you can give them. This can be very attractive and open up many new opportunities for you to explore.

Another thing about putting yourself into the centre is that you have a chance to examine yourself closely, getting to know yourself, unravel all the hidden desires, the unspoken fears, both the good and the bad.

I see a lack of action. There are things holding you back, gripping you immobile. There are offers of love and connection, but you don't see them, or you turn your back to them while focusing on other things. It's like when things come to you, you dismiss them because it's not what you want, you are waiting for the things that you want to come to you, they have to be chosen by you first. You get into a tunnel vision of seeing only the things you want. But then you tend to be passive and wait for them while falling into over-thinking mode, dissecting every nuance and scenario. In the end, too tired and pessimistic from the conclusion you've reached, you choose to stay still and withdraw. Another failed dream goes unto the archive.

So instead of waiting for love, this group truly needs to actively recognise and find love and seize the chance when it comes to you. This will require you to completely overhaul your beliefs. Especially about how one should act.

There's a greater chance of finding love through groups of friends, through a community of shared interests. An emphasis on communication, talking about what you love, communicating openly, sharing lighthearted joys while also being able to discuss more serious and philosophical matters.

TIGER'S EYE

I see that you're already on the journey of love. It started with an open heart in the subconscious realm. I feel that you're very guided and protected. It might come from your own intuition or a higher spirit. Who knows, maybe they are the same. Right now, there's a gate opened for you, a new opportunity, your intuition can guide you towards it.

But I also see there's a wall obscuring that opportunity from coming into life. You might be dealing with some difficulties in material, physical plane. Trying to stabilise yourself. You might think that now is not the right time to be in love, a relationship right now would be impractical. You would be in thinking mode, trying to be logical and staying still, denying the possibility of love even when your intuition is saying otherwise. It's like you're trying to restrict yourself, trying to control, to bring order into your life, which might be the opposite of what love could bring you. You discard feelings that you deemed frivolous and silly fun, only looking for serious commitment but failed to realise that frivolous fun can develop and grow into something more serious and long lasting. You're sceptical of the feeling when you are in a truly fulfilling relationship. Is that really wonderful like how those romantics are telling us? Or is it just an elusive idea, fused by loneliness and the longing for completion?

But there will be an event or events shaking you out of that mode. It will be when you decide to leave the old way of living behind and try to find who you really are. I see travelling to distant lands, somewhere with a different culture that can open your mind and expand your ideas, somewhere that can make you forget all about your current reality in a moment to find stillness within. Love comes to you when you have the space to hold it and can give it to others

You might find love from a faraway land but sustaining it, keeping it alive and growing with it will be an ongoing lesson that you need to never cease learning. It's easy to slip back into old thinking mode, putting on suspicion and caution. Sharing yourself with another person seems daunting enough, navigating all the ups and downs of a relationship will require even more hard work. But I think you are brave. Beneath all that scepticism is an unwavering faith and an adventurous spirit that needs to come out boldly to take the reign, once in a while.

RED JASPER

I feel that love is something very intense for you, something that you may get drunk on, putting it on a pedestal. When you're in love, you want to be all in, emotional fulfilment comes before anything else. If a connection doesn't elicit strong feelings in you and things seem mild and lighthearted then you could not sustain it for too long.

There's a tendency to be obsessive, especially with potentials. If you catch feelings for someone, you will immediately think about how to cement the connection and then worrying about potential discords. This tendency might have put you in situations that left deep scars. On one hand, you want to love blindly, on the other hand, you are cautious of potential hurts and pains, of the past repeating itself.

There's might be a focus on the unusual, a liking for the differences. The more someone is different from you, the more foreign they feel, the more likely they're to catch your eyes. Exotic features, foreign accents, alternative style and taste, an element of other-worldliness.

Physical compatibility might be an important criterion. You want to immerse yourself with the other person, holding them closely, both physically and emotionally, mentally. But doing that can put a burden on you, everything feels so heavy, sometimes to the point of suffocating. You hold yourself and the other person prisoners of love. And when the unbearable weight keeps pushing both of you down and down without a way up, one of you or both will want to break away, resulting in a seemingly sudden break.

The advice for you is to take things more lightly, lightly is different from not being serious. Seeing things in different angles, imagine being someone else looking in from the outside, detach yourself a little bit. Focus more on the mental compatibility, not just how many things you both agree with each other but also how you can disagree with each other, how different you are and how that difference contribute to the growth of the connection.

You might be in a more masculine energy when pursuing love, the act of going after something and trying to control it requires masculine energy. On the contrary, accepting love and nurturing it needs you to be in feminine energy. I'm not saying which energy is more preferable but there's a need to balance them out, to be in more of one energy when the other is being too dominant.

Then you will find love is not a burden to hold on your shoulders or a fruit that can be devoured completely, but like a plant you want to nurture steadily and see it grow day by day. It's something to be celebrated and enjoy, not something to be chased after and then be kept away in a safe.

[pearl-kite]

Remembering when ad*be had decent customer service...

My mom used to work for a local university, and when I graduated high school I decided to treat myself with a copy of CS from the college bookstore. It was on sale because add*be was switching to the next iteration soon, so it was a bit more affordable. t was good timing.

She had a computer science degree, but neither of us thought to check the format of the program we bought, and I accidentally went home with the MacOS disc. Only found out when it wouldn't run (obviously), but because we had opened what had been a sale item, the bookstore couldn't do anything.

We called ad*be to find a solution

It was uhhhhh a pretty good solution

It's been almost 20 years now so the precise details are a bit fuzzy, but the gist was:

they couldn't refund it, don't remember why

they couldn't just swap it with the pc equivalent, I think because the switch to the new iteration meant something for their supply of the older one

they COULD upgrade the macOS version to the new version, but they had to, for some reason, also upgrade it to the entire suite

once it was the new suite, they could then swap THAT with the pc version of the entire new suite

I did not need to return anything to them, but they requested that I destroy the mac copies

So, believe it or not, at one point their customer service was decent enough that my honest mistake got me a $1k+ creative suite for around $200

But hey man, fuck them and their predatory SAS practices these days, yo ho ho and etc

[luna-azzurra]

Do you have any advice for writing a fight scene? No weapons or anything, and one is a werewolf?

Thanks! xxx

sure!!!!:)

The environment is a huge part of any fight. Where the battle takes place can affect the mood and pace of the fight. If it's a forest at night, the atmosphere might be thick with tension, the shadows playing tricks on the human’s mind. Every snap of a twig could be nerve-wracking. In contrast, if it’s an abandoned warehouse or alleyway, there could be crumbling debris or walls that the werewolf could crash through with ease. Consider how the space constrains or opens up possibilities. Does the human have room to run, or are they trapped, back against the wall?

One of the most important elements of this fight is the clear imbalance between the human and the werewolf. The werewolf, being a supernatural creature, should feel like a force of nature, faster, and stronger than anything a human can easily contend with. Its movements are instinctive and powerful, maybe even graceful in their brutality. The human, on the other hand, needs to rely on their wits, speed, and survival instincts. They know they can’t overpower the werewolf, so they’re constantly looking for ways to outmaneuver it, maybe trying to use their surroundings to gain some advantage, like ducking behind obstacles or luring the werewolf into a trap.

To make the fight feel visceral, focus on the physical sensations and the toll the fight takes on both characters. For the human, every punch or kick should feel like a gamble, maybe they manage to land a blow, but it’s like striking a wall of muscle. Each missed hit could leave them open to devastating retaliation. The werewolf, meanwhile, is likely much more durable. Its claws tear through the air with deadly precision, and each swipe could mean serious injury for the human. Describe the impact of each hit. Does the werewolf's claw barely miss, ripping through the fabric of the human's shirt, leaving them gasping with adrenaline? Or does the human manage to dodge just in time, but only because they’re running on sheer instinct? Let the reader feel the weight of the werewolf’s power, how the ground shakes when it charges or how its growl reverberates in the air, sending shivers down the human’s spine.

What is the human feeling during this fight? Fear, obviously, but maybe also determination, rage, or despair. Do they think this is the end, or are they fighting for someone or something they care about? Maybe they’re not just trying to survive, maybe they’re protecting someone or trying to escape with crucial information. On the other side, consider the werewolf’s emotional state. Is it in control, methodical and cruel, or has the beast taken over, making it savage and unpredictable? If the werewolf is toying with the human, letting them think they can escape only to pull them back in, that can create an agonizing tension. Or maybe the werewolf is in a blind rage, reckless and wild, which could give the human a small opening, perhaps the only one, to escape or gain the upper hand.

What does the fight feel like? The smell of the werewolf’s fur, matted with dirt and sweat, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the sound of claws scraping across concrete or bark. What does the human hear? The werewolf’s breathing, the snarl rumbling deep in its throat, the snap of bone as it crushes something in its jaws? Describe how the human’s body responds to fear—the pounding heart, the shaking hands, the burn in their muscles as they keep running or dodging. The fight should feel exhausting, both physically and mentally.

Fight scenes need to be fast-paced, but not rushed. Keep the sentences tight and impactful. Short, sharp sentences can reflect the speed and danger of the fight, while longer ones might slow the action down in moments of brief respite, like when the human is catching their breath or assessing their next move. You don’t want to bog the reader down with too much detail at once, but you also don’t want the fight to end too quickly. Build up the tension, let the human get close to being caught, cornered, or even injured, then find a way to narrowly escape, only for the danger to come back twice as strong.

Every punch, kick, dodge, or claw swipe should have consequences. If the human lands a blow, how does the werewolf react? Does it shrug it off, or does it get angry, its aggression intensifying? Similarly, when the werewolf lands a hit, don’t be afraid to let the human suffer. Maybe they get clawed across the arm, and now they’re bleeding, one arm practically useless. Injuries should affect how they fight going forward, slower, more desperate, limping, or gasping for air. Let the reader see the human struggling, on the verge of giving up, but somehow pushing through. End the fight with a definitive moment, a final, brutal blow, a clever escape, or a narrow victory. Maybe the werewolf’s strength falters for just a second, giving the human a chance to escape, or perhaps the human collapses in exhaustion, moments before what they think will be their end.

[sunflowerwizard]

I've seen enough people mischaracterizing Early Access Wyll, so here's the best breakdown of his original character I can give.

I'll start this off by plainly summarizing Wyll's EA backstory, some of his core personality traits, then do a bit of analysis.

BACKSTORY

EA Wyll mentions being "born and bred in the upper city" into nobility. It's unspecified what exact level of influence his family occupied.

In datamined voice lines from EA (take with a grain of salt) Wyll refers to being from House Eltan specifically. Eltan was the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate in the first Baldur's Gate Game, and the founder of the Flaming Fist. Forgotten Realms lore states that the Eltans are no longer in charge of the Fist and have somewhat diminished in power, but again. We don't know to exactly what level.

This also means that this iteration of Wyll was not Ulder Ravengard's son. While he still spoke about his father in EA, the descriptions and characterizations do not line up with Ulder at all. Additionally, he comments about "knowing of" Ravengard during the burning inn sequence, but otherwise makes no connection.

The most damning evidence of all that Wyll being a Ravengard was not originally intended, is Wyll wanting to be like his father and thus "going thieving in the wrong shadows".

Wyll gets caught stealing, presumably as a teenager, and his father uses latent connections within the Flaming Fist to get Wyll sent there. Effectively the fantasy equivalent of sending your unruly kid to boot camp.

Wyll mentions that he didn't adjust well to life as part of the Flaming Fist, was not a very good fighter, and was generally not well liked. The goblin at the windmill calling Wyll "Captain Failure" implies he might have been given higher status despite not earning it.

The way Wyll feels about goblins is a big change between EA and full release, and is explained as part of his backstory.

We didn't get the finer details, but we can assume Wyll in his time with the Fist bore witness to a group of goblins razing a village. Horrified and enraged, he tried fighting a goblin, was overwhelmed, and had his eye torn out.

This is when Mizora showed up and offered him a pact. Considering he was left for dead and probably going to bleed out, it's pretty understandable why he took the deal.

Mizora is not nearly as present in Early Access as she is in the current game. Karlach was not involved in Wyll's story at all, there's no devil transformation.

It's also more heavily insinuated there's a sexually coercive element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship, with him speaking to how every time he wanted to leave her, she found some way to pull him back.

Additionally, Wyll wants out of that contract. Unlike full release where Mizora is randomly captured in Act 2, she starts off kidnapped, and insists she'll let Wyll go if he frees her

It kind of ended up being a plot cul de sac, but Torturer Spike was the goblin that took Wyll's eye--which was a quest item you could pickpocket/loot off his body. Wyll had commentary on it and everything.

TL;DR: -Born to a noble family with Flaming Fist connections -Caught Stealing and sent to work for the Fist as punishment -Tried to fight back during a goblin attack and was gravely injured -Mizora offers a pact -Uses his pact to become a traveling monster hunter, presumably to make up for his past failure to protect people. Antagonistic towards goblins in particular -Ultimately wants out of the pact, but Mizora won't let him go -Wyll and Mizora get abducted by Mind Flayers -Mizora agrees to let Wyll go if he frees her from the cultists

PERSONALITY

This is a bit less concrete than changed story beats, but I can say this: a lot of Wyll's core traits stayed intact between EA and full release. He's still willing to put his life on the line for the Tiefling refugees, with a whole cut line about how the kids he's training deserve to have a carefree childhood. He wants to do good in the world, probably because he spent so much time in his youth feeling like a fuck up.

There's also a much clearer divide between "Wyll" and "The Blade of Frontiers". Notably, in EA he didn't introduce himself by name. Not even a "my friends call me Wyll" quip at Shadowheart like he has currently. During his old romance scene, he has a line about being used to being the hero, and not used to needing one. He's a symbol. An emblem of something bigger than himself. The fact he's so self-aggrandizing as The Blade makes it apparent he's not confident in himself as "just Wyll"

He's also decidedly more forward and flirty in EA, with no reservations about courtship. In fact, the main obstacle to your budding relationship is Mizora herself. Wyll's trauma from her treatment interrupts your first night together. Whether you have sex or just snuggle, Wyll has a line about how he doesn't want to start a relationship until he can "give himself completely" after being freed from his pact.

THOUGHTS & COMPARISONS

I'm also not entirely sure if I'd say EA Wyll is substantially angrier than current Wyll, so much as he had more opportunities to be angry during Early Access. I can understand why the goblin stuff was cut, because it did dip into "Let's make the one black guy fantasy racist" trope. However, it did very much feel like the narrative was pointing in bright, flashing colors that this is a trait Wyll would have to grapple with, learn, and grow from. The fact EA Wyll's most glaring character flaw was scrapped and didn't get much of a replacement in full release makes his story feel less realized.

While I appreciate the overtly sexual element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship was removed, I feel like the final version is somehow even more creepy. During Early Access she existed in the background as a vague villain you only experience via Wyll. And if you do his romance scene and see the way he panics at the mere memory of her, you get the impression of oh shit. This broad is bad news and I've gotta get my boy out of there. The same principle behind not showing the big scary monster too early in the horror movie. Once you've seen it, you can't let your mind fill in the blanks. Mizora went from this intimidating figure whose motives you couldn't fully ascertain, to a mean girl that thinks she's smarter than everyone else but is really just the bumbling lackey of a bigger fish. Who pulls Wyll around with an actual metaphysical leash like a dog. And you're meant to find this sexy.

My final point, and I've said this before: current Wyll's personality seemed more suited to being a scion of house Eltan, while EA Wyll seemed more suited to being Ulder Ravengard's dissapointment son. Current Wyll speaks and carries him like someone raised in nobility despite only being elevated to such status as a teenager. Perhaps this is cynical and maybe even a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I genuinely think he's only Ravengard's son to save on time and assets. Why give Wyll a whole unique family with its own story when we can just tie him in to the "rescue the grand duke" plot, regardless of how much sense it makes!

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

pairings. Zayne x gn!reader

wc. 7K (yes, I like to torture myself)

synopsis. He was believed to be devoid of emotions, until you unveils his chilling secret. His hidden obsession with you has ensnared you in his icy sanctuary. You were blind to his fixation until it was too late, and now you find yourself trapped in his clutches, unable to escape.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hello people of the internet! I’m pretty new on this writing community so I hope I bring you guys some good crumbs to munch on! and excuse my horrible grammatical errors, English is not my first language. I may or may not have spend my time throwing up this whole ass detailed (press x to doubt) HC out of my mind, I tend to go overboard with my analysis and writing. Get some snacks and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy making this HC.

p.s. this is a reupload ver. the original of the post is accidently deleted

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

Ah…the ice king himself, known for his emotional detachment and seemingly heartless demeanor. His motives and intentions remain shrouded in mystery, as he builds impenetrable walls around himself. Yet, somehow, you managed to slip through those barriers, like a delicate flower pushing through the cracks in concrete, planting the seed of love without his knowledge.

Does he act upon it? Certainly not at first. He ignores it. Pretend that is was merely a sign you were someone he tolerated.

His acts of kindness are always subtle and unexpected. He treats you in a way that evokes certain reactions.

At first, he might seem out of reach. But you never know that he is always there for you. Always observing and studying your responses.

As you both transition into adulthood, he becomes your primary physician, a role that only intensifies his growing obsession with you. He never considered himself capable of falling in love at first sight, but his feelings for you gradually took root. He is always there with you, from childhood and in adulthood. Fate must have bestowed him with great luck to be your guardian, the one who monitors your health and controls your existence.

The time when you both went on your separate ways before you met again, he feels a void, a sense that something is missing. Maybe you meant more than he thought. The loss of you kills him. But does this heavy feeling affect his daily activities? no.

The thought of not knowing about your health and safety gnaws at him, like a splinter lodged in his mind. Have you eaten yet? Did you eat enough? Did you get enough sleep? Did you stumble upon an accident? Just a single scratch of wound on your skin would infuriate him.

You, on the other hand, dismiss it as the instinctual concern of a physician, and your own health condition made it even more difficult for him to let you go. You were far too precious to be released or, worse, left alone and broken.

Even when you’re away on your mission, he always ask about your being and whereabouts. He just wanted to know how you’re doing and it shows how much he cares for you, not monitoring you! That’s ridiculous, right?

However, whenever you were around him, you never felt like you were in control of your own bodily autonomy. Maybe you’re seeing things but have you realize how much you’re changing your lifestyle?

Zayne intelligence is no joke. You were far too naive to look back over your shoulder to notice he is manipulating you. He wants you to be completely dependent on him. But is it really that bad? After all, he was providing you with a healthier lifestyle, not to mention preserving your beauty. Or so it seemed.

Oh, but when you became his, everything changed. He became more open, more loving and caring, the kind that makes you melt to the ground and swallow you whole. Always attentive to your needs and wants, he has no problem with you buying expensive items, the money isn’t his concern. Your happiness is.

His actions become more evident, sometimes you notice it in the way he always makes sure you’re fully geared up and energized for the day, or the way he tries his best to brighten up your day in rainy days.

And when the time came for you to move in together, almost imperceptibly, it felt natural, that’s when he brings the real authenticity of himself, the carnal desire to claim over you starts to show.

He adorned you with the finest fabrics, adorned you with the most exquisite gems and jewelry that accentuated your beauty without overshadowing it. He always gives you the best and never less.

No one would question how many pictures he has of you around the house, as they simply depicted a man deeply in love with his partner…wait, you don’t remember taking this picture..how did he get this picture? 

Caleb gives it to him. As always he has answers to everything, it makes you think he is expecting that kind of question, which is an odd behavior.

Even the windowsill display those seals and trinkets he has given you over the years, customized to your liking.

You saw it as a preservation of memories and the time he had spent with you, when it’s clearly a growing sign of obsession with the abundance of things of your own possessions, or things that reminded him of you were around the house, to the dark corners of his secret room you were unaware of. 

You don’t realize you were brainwashed, did you? Or maybe because he is telling the truth from the start, he loves you very much and his actions serve as undeniable proof!

Until you try to resist or argue with him. It would be best for you to stay obedient and let him lead, he is the man in the relationship, you are his good girl, right? He never wants to hurt you, he is doing it for the better sake of you.

You learned your lesson when you got your first punishment. Each mistake or letdown adds a droplet, gradually increasing the intensity. When the glass finally overflows, it serves as a stark warning to never hurt or disappoint him.

Your life revolves around him. You want to buy groceries? Wait until he finish work. You want to go to the park? Let’s go together and don’t forget your coat, he doesn’t want you to get cold. You want to have some time alone outside? Sure.

Ah, the innocence of those early stages of dating, when the idea of tracking your partner's whereabouts seemed endearing. Little did you know that innocent app you stumbled upon on a social media platform would become the chains that bind you. In the beginning, it seemed like a cute way to track the distance between you and your partner.

That app, like a digital spider's web, silently weaves its threads around your every move. From the moment you installed it, it became his watchful eye, tracking your every step, monitoring your every move.

How naive and compliant you are, unknowingly making it easier for him to watch over you. 

He doesn’t react much when a guy approaches you, no one will be brave enough, because you will always stay glued to his side. He often uses his sharp tongue to highlight their flaws and insecurities. Give them a judgmental stare at the guy as if he was nothing and brings nothing good in life like a mosquito.

Resorting to violence or criminal acts were never his first choice to get rid of those pesky nuisances, his jealousy always remains hidden and possibly close to nonexistent.

Because he knows, you will always comes running back to him. Even if you manage to slip from his grasp, he holds the power to reclaim you, by any means necessary. In dire circumstances, he does not hesitate to resort to violence, to eliminate anyone who dares to steal you away. He doesn't care if he has to hurt you or isolate you, nobody could ever love you like he did. 

Once you are married and start a family together, your life will be forever intertwined with his. That's the end of you or maybe a better version of you that you never envisioned or hoped for, nevertheless it was all because of your love for Zayne that you willingly let him take control, it’s the best life you could ever live in, right?

You will never leave out of his sight forever.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[sundrop-writes]

Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

If there were any more left of me - I'd give it to you.

Summary:

Hope. Not the fragile, delicate thing that everyone mistakes it to be.

Hope is stubborn, and grows inside of you long before you ever realize its purpose there.

Hope can't be crushed by a thousand pound tank or torn apart as easily as concrete walls can. Hope is balanced on the backs of songbirds, it whistles quietly in the wind, and it brings you right where you need to be (even if you don't know it).

Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5.

Word Count: 24,200

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: the reader character in this fic is completely gender neutral - there is no mentions of the reader's genitals, their clothing style, or their general appearance, and I did not use any gendered terms to refer to the reader whatsoever; a few times the term 'they' is used in conversation, but I tried to be clever and make it so that it could be referring to just the reader or the whole group, interpret it how you want; it is possibly implied that the reader is younger than Daryl, but it's never explicitly stated (when I was writing, this I had in mind that they do have an age gap but I didn't want to state so to leave it more open-ended) - the main focus is the reader being less experienced with survival skills and more 'citified', which is the case for a lot of the characters at the beginning of the apocalypse; there is a lot of TWD themes in the fic - death; canon typical violence, hunting and killing animals for food, killing other humans in order to survive, killing walkers, gun violence, mentions of food scarcity, the general emotional depression that comes with being surrounded by death and being on the brink of survival, mentions of Merle being racist and sexist (the fic does not contain him saying any slurs or performing any actions in alignment with this, it is a background element); there is mentions of canon plot points and this fic will spoil Seasons 2 through 5 if you are watching the show for the first time and haven't seen those episodes yet (I am looking at you, Star), mentions of 'fate' and 'good luck' as concepts; bird symbolism (that may not be accurate to the general recordings of these symbols and are just things I have learned from my personal life), mentions of religion - mentions of the reader praying to 'any god that will listen' (the reader is not religious to one specific religion, but believes in prayer) (yes all of the spiritual concepts in this fic come from my personal life lmao); mentions of canon injuries - Daryl being shot with his own crossbow and then being shot in the ear by Andrea; mentions of stitches for medical purposes; use of the term Y/N (I am nothing if not a traditionalist); mentions of alcohol/characters drinking (Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack) - implications of genetic alcoholism and how it plays into Beth and Daryl's interactions with alcohol; passing mentions of Daryl smoking cigarettes; mentions of Daryl's abusive past (non-detailed); Daryl describes the reader as 'beautiful' in his personal narration; mention of reader having an abusive father (a father who is 'similar to Ed') (this is not described in detail); mentions of suicide (performed by a non-named character not during the time of the story) (also mentions of Daryl having suicidal ideations due to hopelessness when the prison falls); mentions of taking things off of dead bodies because those things are useful for survival; I think that's it.

A/N: I re-wrote the summary like four times cause I actually have no clue how to summarize the essence of the fic. But I hope this fits well. This is way more about the emotions than it is about what's actually happening in the fic. I am really proud of this fic and I hope that you guys like it.

...

Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly. 

When that original group first made camp at the quarry around Dale’s old RV outside of Atlanta, trying to escape the epic traffic jam and the chilling after effects of the hellish bombs that had been dropped on the city, everyone thought that it would only be temporary. Everyone thought that it would last a few days, at most. Everyone held onto the comforting delusion that it wouldn’t be long until the world got back up on its feet again. 

You certainly never thought that all of the people within that camp would become a second family to you - people you would die for, kill for if needed. 

When you first saw Daryl, he was trying to hold back his drunken brother Merle from getting into a fight with Shane. You didn’t think much of him then - perhaps you wondered why he stood up for someone so sour and surly, but you knew that the loyalty of blood related family meant too much to some people. That he was likely willing to do far too much for someone who would never return the same favors for him. (And you turned out to be right.) 

These days, you thought of Daryl Dixon with increasing frequency and a mixed bag of emotions that you struggled to carry. Bitter nostalgia being at the top of that list. 

When you woke up on this particular morning, you thought of him as you gathered your hunting gear. You heard his quiet, gravelly voice in your ear telling you to travel light, but reminding you that the items you should take would each be important and serve a planned purpose. The knife on your belt was heavy with memories of him, ached with the ghost of his touch. 

You thought of him as you tracked a buck’s steps through the dirt. You thought of him as you crept through the woods, feeling equal parts peaceful and dangerously pensive. You thought of him that night as you sat beside a gently crackling fire, the flames warming you only beside he had taught you how to start one. You thought of him as you eventually took down the deer - as you skinned it, gutted it, and portioned  exactly how he had taught you. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood rinsing off your skin (from when you had cleaned the deer), and the general dirt you had gathered on you from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

But you missed Daryl so damn much. 

It was strange to think that things had been so different not that long ago. 

… 

The quarry was an oddly beautiful place to be during one of the darkest times in your life. 

It was the definition of breathtaking - crystal blue waters, bright green grass, nothing but open space to let the sun shine down on you. None of that city stink from the piled-up, rotting corpses. This far away from Atlanta, it was easy to forget why you were all gathered here, camping out night after night. It was easy to forget that this was about survival and it wasn’t a simple summer vacation. 

Well, it was easy to forget when you weren’t actively staring down that city full of corpses. Which is something that you tried your best to do - forget. You tried to focus on the task in front of you, tried not to let yourself get too bogged down with dread at the idea of the end of the world. 

You knew that the others likely would have called you foolish because of it. But you had to keep your head up in order to keep going. It was how you survived. 

Currently, you were playing a game with the kids - a makeshift game of kickball with an inflatable beach ball that you had gotten for them during your last trip into the city. You were one of the only people that Glenn trusted to go with him. Mainly because you had lived in the city before everything had ‘gone to shit’ - before the bombs. So you knew it well, and you could have his back. 

When Carl accidentally kicked the ball past you, you rushed to get it, and you became slightly hesitant when you saw that it had landed at the feet of Daryl Dixon. He was in deep concentration, gutting and cleaning one of the many squirrels that he had recently caught, his fingers stained red with blood. You had never seen animal butchery in person before, and it did make you slightly squeamish. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, most of those conversations less than four words each, and he was one of the only people in the camp that you were still slightly weary of. 

His generally stoic nature and his brother - his mouthy, racist, sexist asshole of a brother - didn’t exactly make him approachable or friendly. Though you weren’t exactly sure if Daryl agreed with everything that his brother did and said, or if he just stood by the man because he was family. You still took caution, approaching him like you would approach a supposedly tame bear. Very carefully. 

“Sorry,” You quickly apologized for possibly disturbing him as you rushed to grab the ball, and he spared you only a harsh sideways glance as you picked it up. 

“Ain’t nothin’.” He shrugged, his words coming out as they always did, in a quiet grunt. 

Feeling an awkward lull come over you as his intrusive gaze continued to stare you down, you felt more words form in your mouth and spew out your lips before you could stop them. 

“I was just playing kickball with the kids,” You quickly explained, gesturing to the small grassy area about ten feet behind you where Carl and Sophia were standing, waiting for you. 

Daryl’s eyes strayed curiously there, clearly listening, and you continued. 

“I got them this ball when I went on that run with Glenn. And some other things, too. Coloring books, stickers, fake tattoos. Sophia insisted that I needed one,” You chuckled awkwardly, sticking out your hand to show Daryl the glittery blue tattoo of a butterfly that Sophia had put on you. 

He grunted, nodding in reply. 

You weren’t expecting him to speak any further, and it surprised you when he did. 

“‘s good.” He mumbled. “Makes ‘em happy.” 

In the back of his mind, he considered adding on some sentiment about ‘kids being kids’, getting to have fun during such a dark time - but he stopped short. He didn’t want to annoy you with the conversation that you were clearly only partaking in out of social nicety. Politeness that a world falling apart no longer needed. 

You nodded, flashing him a smile. “Yeah.” 

“Come on! Bring the ball back!” Carl shouted, distracting you from the interaction, causing you to walk away without another word. 

Daryl watched you playing with the kids for a few moments - laughing and running around with them, somehow so carefree in a world that was determined to fall apart. He wondered if you had always been like this, or if being around kids just brought that out in you. He wasn’t sure which reason made you better in his eyes - and he certainly wasn’t sure why he thought about it for so long. 

Why he thought about you for so long. 

He had to shake himself back to reality and go back to cleaning his kills. 

…

“Daryl!” 

You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him. 

“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.” 

He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.” 

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia. 

The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Benning - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her. 

But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place. 

Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her. And though everyone else kept telling you it was deeply unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her. 

“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.” 

You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. You knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would give you the truth. 

“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere round it.” 

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered - 

“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans. 

Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers. 

“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.” 

You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird with a pointed head and a black pattern that resembled an eye mask - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of. 

“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly. 

“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark. 

In a sense, he thought it was… sweet. You were trying to share some of that brightness with him that the kids got every single day. But he didn’t need you marking up his crossbow with a dumb little sticker. Especially because once Sophia was found, you wouldn’t give a shit to talk to him or be around him any more. 

“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn. 

Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it. 

“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.” 

It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless. 

Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging into a sarcasm of your own. 

He resisted the urge to flip you off, believing that you were too sensitive to take it as a joke. 

You watched him off for a while, seeing him disappear into the stables before you left to do your own chores. As you scrubbed at laundry, you sent a prayer to every god you could think of that your new little sister would be found alive. 

… 

Daryl felt like a dumbass. 

When Daryl was laying on the harsh, rocky ground after the horse had thrown him, with one of his own arrows digging into his side - he wanted to laugh at the fact that you had supposedly ‘blessed’ his bow with ‘good luck’. He had owned and used the bow for years previous, and not once had he ever been injured by it. You had it in your hands for all five seconds, and now - he had been thrown off a horse and shot by the damn thing. It was the definition of irony. 

While he laid on the ground, struggling for breath, bleeding from his wound, drifting in and out of consciousness - he spotted a flash of bright red above him. 

He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to properly focus on it, and - 

It was your damn bird. 

A bright red cardinal had landed in one of the trees above him, staring down at him in a seemingly taunting manner. 

‘My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.’ 

“Good… good luck… my ass.” Daryl huffed out, still spiteful even if he was exhausted and losing blood. Even if no one else was around to hear this verbal jab. 

His head lulled to the side, and before his eyes could drift closed as he truly succumbed to the blood loss, he spotted something else - a bright floral fabric, and some strings of yarn that definitely didn’t belong in the muddy creek bed. Once again, he forced himself to focus on it, pushing through the heaviness that threatened to overtake him. He realized in a heart-jolting moment that he had seen the object before. 

It was Sophia’s doll. 

He turned back to where the bird was still sitting on that branch above him. 

“Any… any chance you can lead me to the girl?” 

Perhaps it was the dizziness of his injury talking, but he could have sworn that the bird tiled its head at him - as though quizzically asking: ‘what girl?’

It was the spite that kept him conscious, the idea that he would get to laugh in your face when he got back and tell you how unlucky your ‘blessing’ had been. But it was his desire to find Sophia and bring her home that truly got him up on his feet again. 

… 

Your bird didn’t lead him to Sophia, but it did get him back to the farm before he completely collapsed from his injury - even if he was greeted by a bullet from Andrea, believing he was a Walker. 

Because of that bullet sharply colliding with his head, he didn’t remember to tell you about that bird finding him laying in the creek bed until much later. It didn’t come back to mind until the group had truly settled into the prison, after welcoming in the people from Woodbury when the ‘war’ with the Governor was seemingly over. He only thought about it that night when the two of you were up late on watch because he had seen another cardinal on one of his runs that day, and he was telling you how much the damn bird had annoyed him. 

Daryl wasn’t someone who believed in luck, but he knew that the story would entertain you nonetheless. And it did. 

In fact, it entertained you so much that it caused you to plant a confident hand on his shoulder and lean in for a kiss - sealing your mouth against his, trapping any noises of surprise in his throat as he stood frozen, pinned against the guard rail. 

He only truly had time to take in what had happened - to process that sweet, perfect kiss after you had chirped a ‘goodnight’ to him and left. You mentioned something about going on a morning run with Glenn and Sasha to scope out a place with more supplies, but his ears were still beating with blood and he barely heard you. 

He had to get used to it then - being yours. But he found that even though the hand-holding and the hugging could be a bit embarrassing at times - he liked it. He liked having someone taking care of him as much as he tried to take care of others. And though it was something he had desperately tried to deny because of your stubbornness and your sharp tongue - he liked you. He was beginning to love you in that dangerous way that was going to get him hurt. 

But he would deny that. And he would do anything to stop that from happening. 

And that was one of the most dangerous parts about it. 

… 

It wasn’t just you that he was willing to die in order to protect. Daryl had gotten dangerously attached to life at the prison. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had a home. Family, friends. As soon as Hershel told them about the veterinary college, about a place where there might be medicine to combat this strange flu that had suddenly struck his home and the people in it - he knew he had to get a group together. 

Before he went outside to get the car ready, and make sure he had all the equipment inside it, he stopped by your cell. It would be rude not to say goodbye. 

His stomach dropped when he heard coughing. 

“Y/N-” He spoke your name in that alarming tone, concern so ripe in the single word as he pulled aside the curtain you had hung across your door for privacy. 

You cut him off before he could say anymore. 

“I know.” You said, your voice annoyed and slightly strained from the illness clearly running through your body. “I need to go into Cellblock A for quarantine. I’m - I’m on my way there now. I’m just gathering up some stuff. My sketchbook and some novels. I’m guessing it’ll be boring as shit in there,” 

Daryl nodded, and moved to step into your cell, wanting to place his hand on your forehead to check you for a fever. He wanted to know how bad it was - how much time he had to get back with the medicine. 

“Don’t come any closer.” You said abruptly, raising your hand to keep him back. “I don’t - don’t wanna get you sick too.” 

Hesitantly, he stayed where he was. 

He knew that you were right, and he knew that it was weak of him - but he found himself craving the affection that he previously found annoying. He had been hoping that you would hug him before he left. 

“‘m goin’ on a run.” He said. “Hershel told us ‘bout this old veterinary college - he said there’s medicine that could help.” 

“Medicine for dogs?” You heaved out a laugh, strained and full of crud in your lungs, collapsing to sit on the edge of your bunk. 

Daryl shrugged. 

“Apparently it’s the same as medicine for people.” Then, after a moment of you staring at him with uncertainty, he added on: “He gave us a list.” He assured you, patting his breast pocket, where that list was currently sitting. 

You nodded. Naturally, you trusted Daryl. You had to, after everything you had been through together. 

Then, you turned to the bag that you had been packing up and took out a sketchbook that looked familiar to Daryl - one that he often saw you doodling in. You flicked through a few of the pages and then ripped one out, presenting it to him with an extended arm. You covered your mouth and nose with your shirt, seemingly for the assurance that you wouldn’t breathe on him so that he could come and fetch this from you. 

He took one step closer and grabbed the paper, and you coughed into your shirt as he stepped back and inspected the drawing. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was a beautifully drawn sketch of a cardinal - shaded red with what he guessed were smudges of lipstick. He was almost sure that you had picked it up at one of the houses the group had stayed in during the long winter after they had to abandon the Greene farm. 

“For - for luck.” You told him between more coughs, letting your shirt down to smile at him. 

He knew by now not to attempt rejecting the symbol. He wouldn’t say that he believed in it - but he believed in you. And he wanted to have you with him. So he folded it up and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right next to the list that Hershel had given him. 

“You’re a fool.” He griped, half-winded, only half meaning it. 

You smiled brightly at him, your face clearly tired from feeling so ill. 

“You love me.” You replied with utter certainty. 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out that this was a growing problem. That it would pull his focus during the run for the medicine - that he would be distracted thinking about getting home and getting that medicine to you. 

“Now go on and get,” He told you, motioning toward Cellblock A. 

You gathered your things and got up, making a wide berth around Daryl as you walked down the stairs. 

“And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about you bein’ heroic neither.” He called after you, shouting at your back. “You’re gonna go in there n get your ass t’ bed, ya hear me?” 

You knew it was his way of caring - wanting you to rest when you were sick. 

You turned back and gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss - something he often remarked upon as being ‘childish’. He hated that it caused a flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his form of affection in return was to flip you off. You loved it just as much. 

… 

That was the last time you spoke to him before the prison fell. But it wasn’t the last time that he spoke to you. 

When he got back, you were unconscious - you had to be bagged by Hershel to help you breathe, and the medicine helped you survive. Just barely. Daryl held your hand and begged you to live, and eventually he had to be distracted away from your unconscious body by Maggie so that he wouldn’t simply sit there the whole time and mourn. She reminded him that they all had jobs to do, and he made a few rounds of the prison, busying himself with chores to help everyone else get by so that he wouldn’t drive himself insane at your bedside. 

And that’s what he had been doing when the Governor rolled up with a thousand pound tank and shot their walls down. 

He knew that his love for you would come back to bite him in the ass one day. 

…

Daryl got out with Beth. 

He almost couldn’t stand her bright, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’, telling him that they needed to go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done. 

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’. All too hopeful, all too damn certain. 

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning? 

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently. 

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism. 

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you. 

“Here.” He grunted at her. 

Beth smiled at him. 

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time. 

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he carefully looked them over to confirm it, and he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there. 

It was just a cold reminder that even if the others had gotten out of the prison, they could be dead. They likely were dead. 

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind. 

One hazy evening, as he and Beth both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it. 

For good luck. 

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead. 

He tossed the drawing into the fire, ready to burn it up along with anything he had ever felt for you. Only a moment later, when the corner of it had barely caught, just barely turning black, Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it. 

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him. 

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a harsh grunt, but refused to look at her. 

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed. 

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer. 

He didn’t give her one. 

Just because they had an unspoken agreement to help keep each other alive didn’t mean that he had to participate in stupid conversations with her. 

“You can’t burn up the past. You can’t burn your love for people just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed, tired and defiant. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone. We’re all gonna be together again.” 

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.” 

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject. 

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could. And then put it back into his breast pocket again. 

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories. He wished that Beth was wrong. 

He wished that you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. 

… 

When Daryl sat up in camp that night with his back to the trunk of a tree, he did not intend to fall asleep. He honestly did not think he was capable of doing so - even with the exhaustion so deep in his bones, he was used to going without sleep. He was used to trudging on much like the Walkers shambling around them - upright, puffing shallow breaths, but barely there, barely conscious. These days, he felt as though sleep was a luxury. 

As the fire died down, Beth turned over with her back to him, curling an elbow under her head, the only thing separating her from the dirt. She no longer bothered with the mockering of grunting out ‘night’ as an acknowledgement that she was trying to go to sleep (because she stopped saying ‘goodnight’, long ago, even at the prison, because those were few and far between). 

Daryl supposed that he was staying up to keep watch. They did have the cans and spare car parts scattered around on lines to make noise if any stray Walkers wandered near their camp. He knew that he slept light, and this would be more than enough noise to wake him if he did fall asleep. 

With his eyes locked on her back, he wondered if Beth slept at all these days, or if she simply laid down to fake it. Maybe so that she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, even for a few hours. Sometimes, he would notice the grip on her knife beside her head go a bit laxer, and believe that this was a true sign that she had actually managed to drift into unconsciousness. Still, even if she wasn’t sleeping, he should keep watch. 

Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

Daryl’s consciousness was jolted suddenly - his entire existence shaken by the feeling of someone - something grabbing his legs. When he looked down, he saw the blur of a snarling Walker crawling up his body. He panicked, his heart thudding hard inside his chest. Naturally, he reached for his crossbow beside him - grabbing, hands shaking, grasping at air. 

It was gone. It wasn’t there. What the hell? 

One of the cold hands grabbed his shirt, forcing him to look back down the length of his own body at the beast. When its head snapped up toward him, he was filled with a colder kind of shock. 

It was you. 

Though your once beautiful features had been tainted with rot, yellowing teeth, and your laughter filled eyes had turned sour and rotted like putrid eggs - he absolutely recognized that this was you. 

He sucked more gasping breaths, and reached for the knife on his belt, but - that was gone too. 

Then, somehow - you let out a dark, harrowing laugh. A laugh that shook everything he was, that somehow managed to echo through the trees and rattled the ground underneath him. An utter mockery of his entire existence. 

“This is all your fault, Daryl.” You spewed, your rotting mouth spilling out horrible, black blood. “You did this to me!” 

Then, in an utterly horrifying moment, you reached down and tore into him - your weak, dead hands easily ripping into his abdomen, and before his very eyes, you ripped out his guts so that you could consume him like a perfect, bloody feast. Just as you had in life, you dined on parts of him that he would never get back, stole his life force with no consideration as to how he would ever get it back. 

You didn’t care how he would survive without you. 

Daryl awoke with a start - the sound of the cans clanking at the edge of their small campsite forcing him back to reality with a harsh jolt. 

His fingers wrapped around his crossbow where it was seated between his knees within seconds. Before his sleep-sticky eyes were even fully open, he had the loaded end pointed at the source of the sound - a tired, messy-haired Beth, who was wandering back into camp with her hands full of something. 

“Told you not to go wonderin’ off.” Daryl barked at her easily, hating how his heart thumped in his chest with residual ‘fight or flight’ instincts, even though he knew that she was of no true threat to him - still partially spooked from the horrible dream that he would never tell anybody about, ever. 

He slumped back against the tree, keeping a careful eye on her as she came back to her place beside him, already spouting her surly argument against him. 

“I saw some berry bushes over there.” She whined quietly. “Daddy taught me what’s safe and-” 

“Don’t matter.” Daryl grunted in return, hating that he felt a sensitive pang inside of him at the mention of Hershel. “I told you: don’t go nowhere without me.” 

Beth let out a sharp sigh. “You’re such an asshole.” 

He was. 

Nonetheless, she silently slid some of the berries his way, carefully contained on the bandana that he had given her before for such berry-picking purposes - and nonetheless, he ate them. 

Later that day, when he was prowling the woods with Beth at his back, hoping to score something a bit more substantial for dinner - his eyes landed on the faded splotch of the cardinal sticker that you had put on his crossbow during his time spent looking for Sophia. His thumb traced it idly, and he knew that Beth was dying to ask about it, but held back. 

He knew then that he would never be able to escape your ghost. 

… 

Daryl wished that he could burn up the memories. He wished that you would get the hell out of his head. That if you were dead, every last trace of you would just die. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had seen you - back in A block, after he had brought back the medicine. 

… 

He thought it was a victory - getting the meds back to the prison. He thought that it was simple. If he got to the veterinary college, got the meds that they needed, got the run group back in one piece - he thought it would be a win. He knew you. You were a fighter. You would hold on long enough for him to get back. He had to do all the guesswork. He had to keep everyone going on the road. 

If anything, he knew that you would be doing the exact opposite of what he had told you - you would be up and about, shuffling through the makeshift ward, feeding the people the hope that you grew and doled out so well. That was your job. He just had to do his. 

Maybe it was that stupid, foolish hope infecting him like the illness had infected you - but he truly thought that getting the medication and getting back would be the only complicated part. 

“Hey, Doc, how we doin’ in here?” Daryl asked, stepping to lean against the mouth of the cell that you had taken up temporary residence in.  

Of course, he was calling Hershel ‘doc’ with a joking air. The man loved to tell everyone now that he wasn’t actually a doctor - but few actually listened. They trusted his experience and the way he spoke with wise authority more than anything. 

Hershel used a stethoscope to listen to your lungs, and then looked up at Daryl, his face firm and unreadable. Daryl didn’t like it - but he was still being strung along like a fish on a hook by that foolish, bitter hope. 

“Y/N is doing a lot better than before.” He said, placing a gentle hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “The meds have helped to take down the fever.” 

Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.” 

Hershel gave him a serious look. “I like you a lot, Daryl. So I don’t intend to lie to you.” 

Daryl’s stomach clenched up - grabbed by a fist of nerves. 

You were alive. You were breathing - Daryl confirmed this, locking his eyes on the gentle up and down puff of your chest. What else could possibly be wrong? 

“Our friend here is showing remarkable signs of improvement, as is everyone who received the medication that you brought back. You have done a mighty service to these people, Daryl.”

Daryl knew this wasn’t simple praise for the work he had done. This was the sunshine before the storm - it was an omen. He could feel the ‘but’ coming before Hershel spoke it. 

“But,” 

Of course. There it was. 

“-I have to warn you.” Hershel sighed. “We had to perform CPR on Y/N for an extended period of time.” 

Daryl’s eyes cast over your face, fixated on your peaceful, unconscious form. His ears became fuzzy, filled with blood, and he could hardly focus on more of the older man’s words as he explained your condition. Explained how you had been deprived of oxygen for a few minutes - how you were at risk of brain death, and Hershel had no way of knowing what the state of your brain activity was without the proper equipment. If your brain wasn’t active enough, you would never wake up again. 

All they could do now was to sit and wait for you to wake up. If you were going to wake up at all. 

Hershel left Daryl alone with you, and he perched himself on the edge of your bed, his ass shuffled in tightly by the edge of your hip, struggling to find purchase on the edge of the small bunk. It was much like you had done to him after he had been haphazardly shot by Andrea. He took your hand in his, his eyes still focused on your unconscious face - at least you looked peaceful. 

With a large knot forming in his throat, he attempted to speak. 

Even though he was unsure if you could hear him - he couldn’t contain what he had to say. 

“You’re an asshole.” He mumbled out. Part of him was expecting to get a reaction out of you. To mock you into waking up. “I went through all that damn trouble to get those meds, and you gone n croaked on me while I was gone?” 

Your face didn’t even flinch. 

You were so damn still. 

For the first time since he had met you - not laughing, not smiling, not loudly voicing your chirpy, hopeful sentiments. So still. 

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He growled out, his voice growing louder as his frustration grew inside of him - as he became more determined to wake you. “You’re gonna wake up. Wake up!” He shouted, his words echoing painfully off the walls. 

In the next cell over, Maggie heard this and became distracted from dabbing a wet cloth against Glenn’s forehead. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, still too sick to fully take this in. But it caused Maggie to strain her ears, listening in on what happened next. 

“You’re gonna wake up. You’re gonna-” 

Daryl was startled when he found himself choking on his own words. He sucked in a sharp breath, and despite his best efforts, a sob rattled his chest, and a hot tear rolled down his face. 

“Why do I gotta to everythin’ around here? You set me off into the woods lookin’ for Sophia like it was my damn job. Make everythin’ my damn responsibility. I had to teach you everythin’. I had to teach you how to start a damn fire - what kind of simple asshole doesn’t know that?” 

He swallowed thickly. 

Truly, he wasn’t angry at you. 

It all came down to one thing. 

“Come on. Come - o-on. You know I can’t do this on my own.” He choked out, his face shrinking into a sob. “I can’t do this on my own.” 

He turned more toward you, laying himself down gently so that his face was pressed into your chest. He turned his head - laying his ear against your chest, listening carefully for your heart beat. It was there - thumping along steadily. 

Hershel had warned him that your breathing wasn’t the problem. Brain damage would keep you from waking up because your nervous system wouldn’t be active again. 

If you didn’t wake up, would you still turn into one of them? 

According to what Jenner had told them at the CDC, maybe not. 

Maybe you just be like this forever - stuck somewhere in the middle. Some hollow thing for Daryl to scream at that would never answer back. 

“You gotta wake up.” Daryl choked out. Knowing that only you would hear, he gathered up the bravery to speak out his next words. “I - I love you.” 

In the next cell over - Maggie heard all of it. She was holding Glenn’s hand, wondering what she would do if she were in Daryl’s shoes. She now had muddy tears in her eyes, listening to Daryl plead to you to wake up. Hearing Daryl - someone who had been so stony and tough in her eyes before - cry for the first time - it hit her hard. 

So it got her up; she kissed Glenn’s hand and told him that she would be back later, and he mumbled something incoherent back. 

“Daryl.” 

Maggie felt guilty when he jumped up - clearly alarmed by her presence at the opening of the cell, breaking his bubble of alone time with you. He began to frantically wipe at his face, obviously afraid to be vulnerable in front of her by showing his tears. After all that they had been through together - he still wasn’t willing to show this weakness in front of her. 

He only grunted in acknowledgment of her, staring hard at the floor instead of looking up at her. 

“These people need water. And they could probably use a good meal after all this.” Maggie told him. “I know you wanna stay with Y/N right now, but - come on, we all got jobs to do.” 

Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.” 

They did have jobs to do. But of course, the main reason she reminded him of the chores was to distract him. To keep him from going insane at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up. 

And that was the last he had seen of you before the Governor blasted a hole in A Block with the tank. 

…

When Daryl and Beth got to the moonshine shack, it truly came to a head. 

Daryl didn’t want to play the stupid game - he just wanted to drink in peace. He wanted to get shitfaced and hopefully pass out, actually. He wanted to have a good, booze-induced heavy sleep so that he could spend one night not plagued with spotty sleep and nightmares of your death - seeing your face painted in his mind as a nightmarish, growling dead thing. One night where he didn’t stay awake and stare at the back of Beth’s sleeping head because he couldn’t bear to close his own eyes. 

He didn’t want to play the game, but he did anyway. 

It got out of hand. 

Instead of trying to calm down, he rode the wave, leaning into the only existence he thought he knew - he turned back into the sputtering, bitter asshole that had once protected him so well. The hard shell that had kept him from getting his feelings hurt when the world had been cruel to him before. When Beth stabbed the Walker in the head, ending his game, he grew all too worried that she had figured him out - that she would try to get him to talk about his feelings. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Daryl howled. “We was havin’ fun!” 

He knew it wasn’t true. Nothing about this was fun. 

“No, you were being a jackass!” Beth easily corrected him. 

She was far too much like you. Too direct. Never one to dance around the point instead of saying exactly what she meant. 

“If anyone found my dad-” 

Daryl was eager to cut off her additional reasoning, not wanting to think about it - he couldn’t add the mental image of a turned, dead-alive Hershel to his nightmare rotation as well. 

“Don’t!” He barked back, making her swallow up her words. “That ain’t remotely the same!” 

He had to convince himself of that fact. This random Walker pinned to a tree wasn’t family. At least - it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t his family. 

Beth gave him a tight-jawed look, staring him down with those large, knowing eyes. In that moment, he could hear your voice in his head, telling him exactly what she wanted to say. 

‘It’s someone’s family, Daryl. That Walker used to be someone. He used to belong to someone - he used to be important to someone. You need to consider that.’ 

Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad. 

“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.” 

She scolded him like a child, and he felt intensely small in that moment. He hated it. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” He warbled out, barely able to find his voice. 

He barely had anything left to give. 

He was a shit protector - as he had proven, unable to stop the prison walls from collapsing on top of you. Unable to hunt down the Governor - unable to keep him from rolling up to the gates with a fucking tank and blowing your house down. 

He was a terrible tracker - unable to find any of the people they had lost from the prison. He couldn’t provide anything for Beth that she couldn’t get for herself. She was more than capable. She was likely only with him now to stop him from going off into the woods and laying down to die. It was likely out of some mental obligation towards you, because she fully believed that you were still alive. 

He didn’t have anything left to give. 

After a moment of Daryl waiting with baited breath, she gave an answer. 

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anythin’.” She announced firmly. 

That would be difficult for him. Because currently, that was the only way he was surviving. He gave way too much of a crap about everything - and turning it all off was the only way he got through. 

“Like nothing we went through matters.” She added on. “Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It’s bullshit!” 

It was bullshit. 

“Is that what you think?” Daryl countered sourly. 

He cared too much about all of them. It all mattered too much. 

If he turned that switch back on - if he let himself care again - it would break him. 

“That’s what I know.” She whispered tightly near his face, all hot drunken breath. 

“You don’t know nothin’.” He spat back bitterly, absolutely assured of this fact. 

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead person.” Beth dueled on, determined to make her own point. “I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carl, I’m not Maggie, I’m not Glenn…. I’m not Y/N.” 

She knew that mentioning your name was sensitive, but she did it anyway, as if hoping to evoke some positive emotion out of Daryl. As if hoping to wake him from his dreary hopelessness. She hoped that mentioning you among the list of people that she still concretely believed to be alive would shake him, make him believe it too. 

She noticed that Daryl refused to make eye contact when she said it. 

When he didn’t say anything about it, she continued on. 

“I survived, and you don’t get it, cause I’m not like you or them - but, I made it.” 

She spoke passionately, determined about the point. If she had made it - someone who used to be so soft, someone who still needed to be protected - then why hadn’t everyone else made it? 

“And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.” 

Somehow, among all that, one singular point stood out to Daryl. 

“I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He grumbled back. 

To him, it was a horrid accusation. 

He had already lost everything that was important to him - what could fear possibly do to him now? 

Fear was the stupid, idiotic thing that had held him back in the first place. It had kept him from going after the Governor alongside Michonne. It had kept him tethered to the prison, stuck to your side watching you to make sure that you were safe. And look what it had gotten him. 

Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes. 

Beth looked contemplative for a moment, and Daryl hoped that she would finally just shut up. But then, like an unstoppable, sickly bile - the words came spilling from her lips. 

“I remember.” She announced. Before he could wonder what she was talking about, she continued on. “Back when you first came to the farm. The way you were - out combing the woods like a madman, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. You never gave up hope, not once.” 

Daryl swallowed down his own words. 

He wasn’t some damn fool. He wouldn’t even begin to call it hope. He called it the truth - a little girl lost in the woods shouldn’t be hard to find. Like he had told Andrea at the time - it was the backwoods of Georgia, not the mountains of Tibet. It wasn’t the way that everyone else made it out to be. 

“Maggie told me that you cried when Y/N wouldn’t wake up.” 

Beth added on - to Daryl it felt like a mockery, a clever prodding at his vulnerability. But to her, it was just another observation. 

“That’s why you’re not out there, followin’ the trail. That’s why you’re not even botherin’ to look. You would spend months out there tryna find Y/N if you actually thought-” 

“Shut it.” Daryl grunted, cutting off her words. 

“You are afraid, Daryl.” Beth told him - and chills went through him as he realized that she had seen right through him. But like a prey animal staring down a predator, he kept stiff eye contact, trying his hardest not to let her know that he was weak. “You’re afraid of findin’ nothin’. And now you’re actin’ like it’s my damn fault.” 

When he didn’t speak up to make any apologies for this, she snidely added on:

“God forbid you ever let anybody get too close, right?” 

“Too close, huh?” Daryl reared back dully, gearing up for another fierce charge in the argument as things got all too personal. “You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends - you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!” 

He knew that he was being unjustly cruel to her - that on some level, he was taking it out on her just because he could. 

But he couldn’t let her talk anymore about him and his fucking feelings. Especially not about how he acted around you. God forbid that big precious four letter word came up. He needed to pull the knife out of himself and turn it around onto her. 

“Screw you! You don’t get it.” She easily snapped back. 

“No, you don’t get it!” He roared out, quickly growing tired of the seemingly pointless back and forth. “Everyone we know’s dead!” 

Beth looked icy shocked by the statement, but quickly argued against it. 

“You don’t know that!” She screeched bitterly at him. 

“Might as well be!” He yelled back. “Cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” 

Finally, they had come around to his entire reasoning - the whole fact as to why he had so faithfully given up. Even if they weren’t dead, he believed that he might as well operate on the assumption that they were. 

Of course - Beth was operating on the opposite mindset. Killing time, getting by, surviving until she believed that she would inevitably be reunited with her sister, and the other members of their newfound family. 

Beth let out a whimper as the truth of it hit her - as she fought past it. Battling internally as a small voice in the back of her mind said: ‘he might be right’. 

“Rick…” Daryl hesitated to list more people. Even now, he hesitated to say your name. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!” 

It was a bitter personal attack, but he was putting on that hard outer shell - hoping to get Beth to become just as cold as he was. If she gave up, then she would leave him alone. She would stop trying to inject that stupid, putrid ‘hope’ into him. 

But of course, that infallible hope could not be stomped out of her. No matter what. 

“Daryl, just stop!” She begged quietly, and then - she reached out for him. Attempting to give him some comforting touch. 

The last time he had been touched by someone was when he had held your hand without you even knowing, staring at your unconscious face, waiting for you to wake up. Aside from that - a gentle pat on the shoulder from Hershel, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

But both you and Hershel were dead now. 

Daryl’s touch was a disease that he would not let Beth catch. 

He whipped away from her quickly, and turned to face the dead Walker that was still pinned to the tree. 

He used to belong to someone. 

That was how Daryl felt now. Used up and dead. Nothing but a past tense in someone else’s life. 

“The Governor rolled right up to our gates.” Daryl’s throat clenched tightly around the words. He could barely speak about it, but it was true. “Maybe if I… I wouldn’t’ve stopped lookin’. Maybe it’s cause I gave up? That’s on me!” 

He was supposed to keep you safe. He was supposed to keep everyone safe. 

He had failed. 

“Daryl-” Beth choked out, trying again - but she didn’t have anything to follow up. She couldn’t find anything to combat this particular chasm of self blame. 

“Your dad… maybe I coulda done somethin’.” He choked on a sob, and tears clouded his eyes now. 

It was his attempt at an apology. But he hadn’t even begun to forgive himself yet - so why the hell would Beth forgive him? 

Hershel’s death had been his fault. Your death had been his fault. 

The others… even if they were alive, their home was destroyed and now they were vulnerable to a cruel world. And it was all Daryl’s fault. 

Daryl finally broke down in sobs, and he didn’t have enough energy to fight off the touch when Beth leaned into him, hugging him from behind. 

He couldn’t muster up any more breath to better apologize to her for all he had done, but he hoped that it was implied. 

… 

Things were a bit more smoothed over later that night, when Beth was drunker and Daryl had sobered up some. 

“Is it always like this?” Beth sighed, staring out at the grass with a delighted smile. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant. She was clutching a half-filled jar of the moonshine like it was precious, her eyes glassy - obviously no longer fearful of going blind because of the stuff. 

“You’re lucky.” Daryl remarked. “You’re a happy drunk.” 

Beth let out another contented sigh, and then after a moment, and another sip of the moonshine (which she was taking down without hesitation now), she spoke up again. 

“You’re wrong.” She told him calmly, seeming very confident in this fact. 

Daryl was tired of talking, but too curious not to reply. 

“Bout what?” He asked. 

“They’re not dead.” She told him. “They’re out there somewhere. All of them. And we’re gonna find them.” 

Daryl wanted to believe her. Some tiny part of him wanted to embrace this as truth. But at this point - it felt too much like fiction. Without his family standing in front of him, pure proof that they were alive and well - he couldn’t let himself partake in that paper thin hope. He couldn’t let himself get high on the hope only to come crashing down from that high in the worst way. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again. 

He only grunted in reply, staring at the worn floorboards of the porch, hoping the conversation would naturally frazzle out. 

Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen. 

“Come on,” She said in a nagging tone. “You don’t really believe that Y/N is dead, do you?” 

Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed. 

Before this, before the dead had risen up and walked the earth, he had spent his whole life focusing on truth. Concrete truth. 

For as long as he had been alive, that truth had been hopeless. His father had beaten him, his brother was an asshole, what little he knew of his mother was a drunken slur ultimately engulfed in flames. He had fended for himself most of his life. He never knew hope or optimism. He never spoke of luck or brightness or tipping the odds in his favor. 

Not until he met you. 

You laughed so genuinely; you sang the praises of looking on the bright side and blessing people with good luck. And he found that at times - he started to believe you. 

But having the Governor roll right up to their gates and blow apart their home wasn’t exactly conducive with everything you had been preaching. Having you sick and likely dead under a pile of concrete, unconscious and crushed without even knowing it wasn’t exactly in line with the ‘good luck’ that you supposedly had. 

Even if you didn’t know it, you had been feeding Daryl lies the whole time. And those lies had ruined him. 

Daryl couldn’t hold out hope that you or anybody else that he had known and loved from the prison were alive. 

“Don’t know.” Daryl grunted in reply. He kept his answer vague, not wanting to stir up another argument with Beth. 

“Yes, you do know.” Beth chuckled lightly in reply. 

Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain. 

Daryl grunted again. Even if he didn’t agree with her, he wanted the day to end calmly, at the very least. 

“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject. 

Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind. 

“What?” Daryl replied. 

“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.” 

Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories. He was still glad to have a token of you with him, even if he would never get to see you again. 

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly. She lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t her chaperone - she was an adult, and if she wanted to get drunk enough to have a nasty hangover, then that was her choice to make. 

Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it. She stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details. 

“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.” 

Daryl found this to be a nice thought. He could imagine Hershel’s voice in his head, saying something like this while pointing to the bird among the trees. 

“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied. 

It was the first time in a long time that he had gathered the courage to actually speak about you aloud, and he found a painful tugging in his chest because of it. 

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.” 

It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided. 

You would make sure that he was lucky. 

That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C. 

It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course. 

Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the Turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot. 

It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside. 

Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe. 

When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia. 

Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching his precious weapon on top of the fully loaded cart before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away. 

Rick was still weary of this new place after everything that had happened at Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird. Even if he was feeling such foolish things, he knew that he couldn’t speak them aloud. 

(He couldn’t speak them aloud to anybody but you. And well…) 

But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them. 

So Daryl entered the strangely clean suburban home that Aaron had picked out for them and tried to imagine himself truly living there. He tried to think of Alexandria as his new home now. Because he knew that it’s what you would have wanted for him.  

… 

You were tired.  

You had just gotten back from a three day long hunting trip - three whole days out in the woods, killing small game while tracking a deer in order to shoot it and haul it home. 

For a while now, home had been a town called Alexandria. 

Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘home’. 

Alexandria was a great place to live, sure - but to you, home was a certain redneck bowman who often stank of cigarettes and dirt and had to be reminded to wash his hands before eating a meal. Home was the gentle grunt he gave you in response to a variety of questions, the scratch of his beard on your skin as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t think about him for too long - because you would get homesick. 

Since the prison had fallen, since you had escaped nothing more than debris and a crowd of Walkers - you had been moving from place to place, drifting. A lot of the time, you used the skills that Daryl had taught you during your time together in order to survive. 

When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream. 

At first, you questioned why a shiny gee-golly boy in a blue rain jacket was trying so hard to ‘recruit’ you. You had to feel naturally suspicious of him and his stack of polaroids. But then you remembered what Daryl had said about bringing people back to the prison - bringing new people in wasn’t just about pity. There was strength in numbers. It became very clear to you very quickly that Alexandria needed fighters - they were bringing people as a tactic. 

You leaned into it. You proved to them what a good asset you were. You doubled down on using everything that Daryl had taught you in order to earn your place in the closed off community. 

You hunted and brought back game for the people there to eat, you used the skills Daryl had taught you to maintain the cars for runs and even fix-up ones that had been previously out of commission. You were widely liked by the members of the community, and Deanna often called on you for advice about dealing with Walkers. You had been on a few runs with their crews, but you preferred to stay close to town, to keep an eye on things. 

The hunt you had recently taken - three long days out in the woods. That had been for you. Something you had learned with Daryl was that hunting could be intensely peaceful. Maybe it was because it was time you spent with him - time when the two of you didn’t need words, just soaked in each other’s presence. Maybe you missed that too dearly. But you needed it to be just you and the trees, the focus on the craft that he had taught you. 

No closed-off bottle town politics. No smiling and nodding and pretending to care when the others complained about asinine things like the water from their showers going cold too quickly. Complained about being bored. To you, boredom was a blessing these days. 

No men sniffing around you, firing off increasingly poor attempts at flirting, believing that you were single even though you couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was difficult to explain to anyone in town that your heart belonged to someone that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone that you didn’t have the room to believe was dead. 

So after spending a few days in the woods, enjoying the peace alone, and bagging a deer and a few rabbits in the process, you came home. And currently you were in the shower, cleaning up - it was a blessing to even have a shower, to have perfectly functioning running water. A three day hunt could create a hell of a stink. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood from where you had cleaned the deer, and the general dirt you had gathered on your skin from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

When you got out of the shower, you felt wonderfully refreshed. You were still bone tired, and part of you did want to rush home and crash right into bed. But you had other things to do first. You had to check-in with Deanna, and go by the school before you could even think about going to bed. 

Olivia - ever kind and thinking ahead - had set out a change of clothes for you. She had seen you run upstairs to the bathroom covered up to your elbows in blood after you had asked her to stash the deer meat in the pantry’s freezer. 

You got dressed, and then went down to the pantry looking to make sure that she had taken the deer meat out of the plastic container that you had stored it in and put it into some plastic freezer bags to store it properly. She was squeamish around blood or raw meat - she had thrown up the one time that you had tried to teach her how to gut a rabbit, but you were hoping to wean her off those fears. 

Olivia was a nice girl. You knew that eventually, she would need to get her hands dirty in order to survive. It was a miracle that she had gone this long without doing so. When she told you that she still carried around a cellphone in her pocket - one that had long been dead and useless - you got stuck somewhere between paralytic shock and maniacal laughter. 

But it was just a mark of how untouched Alexandria was. How much they needed someone like you. 

“Olivia?” You called out gently when you hit the bottom stair. 

“In here!” She called back. She was in the armory rather than in the pantry - likely counting bullets to redo her inventory in order to avoid touching the bloody deer meat. 

You rolled your eyes at the thought of it and walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with guns, the entire town’s supply. You were also casually pushing back against Deanna’s rule that nobody should be allowed to carry within town, but she had yet to truly hear you out on it. Your eyes fell upon a large cart that Olivia had parked in the middle, one that wasn’t usually there. It was filled to the brim with a variety of weapons. 

“What’s this?” You asked. 

“A new group came in yesterday, while you were gone.” She informed you, staring at the notebook she had in her hands - the one containing her inventory. “Deanna wanted me to make a list of their weapons. Well - the weapons they surrendered. I wouldn’t doubt if one of them is still hiding a knife in their shoe or something. They seem uber shifty and paranoid.” 

She said this with a dreary chuckle - the kind of nervous laughter that told you she was feeling weary of these people. 

A strange feeling came over you. A haze - tingling, from your head to your toes. A feeling almost as if you were about to faint - while at the same time, intense adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. You took a more careful look at the weapons gathered on the cart. 

A sword. One with the distinctive white leather sheath. A gun that you easily recognized as a Colt Python. A military knife with a knuckle guard… and perched right on top - a crossbow. The sight of which almost made your heart stop. 

“Maybe you could help me with this?” Olivia asked, motioning her pen toward the cart. “You know I don’t know the names of guns and stuff.” 

Clearly, she was trying to get out of bagging the deer meat - but that dropped off your priority list as you tried harder and harder to keep your hopes from swallowing you alive. 

“Sure.” You replied, knowing that it sounded terribly strained in your throat - joy and tears battling terribly inside of you. 

You gathered your breath, and forced your concrete legs to move. You stepped toward the cart, and timidly stroked a finger across one of the bolts that was strapped to the top of the crossbow. 

After a moment, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question. 

“So - can you tell me more about the group?” You asked, your throat clenching around the words, so damn dry all of a sudden. “Did you happen to catch any of their names?” 

“Come on,” Olivia sighed. “You know I’m no good with names.” 

Of course. 

The one time when you needed her to be paying attention, she hadn’t been. Where the hell was Aaron when you needed him? 

You could have been wrong. This could be nothing. It could be a coincidence. 

You wouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up - not until you knew. 

“Well - what were they like?” You asked. 

Olivia picked up one of the guns, inspecting it before she wrote down something in her notebook. It took her a moment too long to answer. You became dizzy with agitation, unconsciously holding your breath while you waited for something. Some proof. Something. 

“They were… strange.” She shrugged. “They reminded me of you when you first came here. But… you can tell they’ve been outside for longer.” 

That didn’t answer your question. So you moved on to another one. 

“How many of them was there?” You asked. 

“Maybe a dozen, I guess.” She answered easily. “It’s the biggest group Deanna has ever allowed in. I don’t know why, though. Aaron seems to really like them, but I didn’t get to talk to him much before he went home.” 

She wrote down something else, and then she continued - seemingly not noticing the way you were staring at her with an intense glare, hanging on her every word. 

You needed to know. 

“There was kids with them. A baby, and a young boy. A teenager, maybe? He was wearing this brown cowboy hat, that looked like a sheriff’s hat, kind of? I guess he got it off some cop.” 

‘My dad says that I get to wear the hat because I’m in the club.’ Carl’s small voice excitedly announced to you, pushing the too-big hat up over his eyes as it sagged down from how fast he had run toward you. 

‘What club?’ You countered curiously. 

‘People who have been shot and survived.’ 

‘Woah… okay. You probably shouldn’t go around saying that to people.’ You chuckled in return, trying to play off the casual morbidity. Knowing that ‘and survived’ was the important part. ‘Cool hat, though, kid.’ 

‘Thanks!’ 

As the memory from Hershel’s farm played over again in your mind - you remained frozen. Your voice was caught in your throat, seized by tears and shock - but all you could do was stand there as Olivia continued talking. 

“And their leader is this really grumpy guy. He kept… staring at me. His eyes were so cold… it was almost creepy. I could hardly see his face past his beard.” 

‘And, uh, I got this for you.’ Michonne chuckled, extending her arm out toward Rick, trying her hardest to gift him the electric shaver. ‘Your face is losing the war.’ 

The words evoked another memory from you - Michonne making jokes about Rick’s beard being overgrown, trying to get him to trim it down. Now, you couldn’t picture him without one when you tried to remember him. 

“Here, take this.” Olivia picked up the crossbow and put it in your hands. “Can you help me with the rest of these guns? I don’t know how to unload them. I need to take inventory of the ammo.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the crossbow in your hands - you ran your thumb over it. 

You had almost forgotten about it. 

Trying so hard to push down the memories, to forget - it had almost slipped your mind. The marking you had left on Daryl’s crossbow that made it so uniquely yours. The blessing of good luck you had marked him with when you had sent him to look for Sophia. 

The cardinal sticker that you had put on his bow. It was faded now, but it sure as hell was the one you had put there. 

In the back of your mind, you could still hear Daryl’s snarky voice snarling about how he didn’t need luck - but it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it? 

All at once, your nervous system shook, your body prickling up fiercely with goosebumps as the realization truly hit you. 

Daryl was here. 

Daryl was right here in Alexandria. 

He was alive. He was within arm’s reach. 

He was home. 

“Daryl.” You mumbled quietly, your voice still choking on it - it was a name you hadn’t spoken in so long. 

“What?” Olivia asked, turning around to look at you, clearly confused. 

“Daryl.” You spoke it louder. 

You looked to the door, and before you could take a moment to explain or even put down the bow - your legs were carrying you with a great urgency. 

He was close by - you were going to find him. 

“Daryl!” 

You screamed out this time, your voice echoing through the streets of Alexandria. Random people going about their day stared at you, but you didn’t care. You continued sprinting down the street, looking for that familiar face that you knew had to be close by. 

“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!” 

You screamed out the names of the people you knew would be with thim, and then your mind became fixated on him - on seeing his face again, on hearing him call you an asshole with a smile. Fueled only by joy, you pushed past your previous tiredness, determined to find him. Your cheeks began to hurt before you knew you were smiling and your legs pumped harder as you ran. 

“Daryl! Daryl!” 

You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you knew he would come to you - he would be there soon. 

You ended up at one of the last houses on the lot, rounding the corner when you finally spotted him. 

It was something you had pictured in your mind a thousand times. 

One of the quaint porches of Alexandria - so clean, so white, so picturesque - finally dirtied up by his presence. Olivia made you gut your kills in the back because she didn’t want it to disturb people, but Daryl didn’t know the rules, or just didn’t care. His hands were already covered in the blood of the possum that he was skinning - careful, meticulous, doing it right. His gaze focused downward in pure concentration - much like he had been on the day you had first properly spoken to him. 

Dressed in all black and still dirtied from the road - he was a sight for sore eyes. 

And he caused you to pull in a sharp, shattered breath as you began to cry outright now. Hot tears of relief, joy, love streaming down your face as you laid eyes on him for the first time in so long. 

His head snapped up at the sound of it, and his eyes widened beyond the splintering bangs that hung beyond his brows - hair longer than the last time you had seen him. His hands froze their movements, still hanging onto the half-skinned possum. You gripped tightly onto the crossbow, holding onto it tightly like an anchor, drifting at sea. 

You knew that look - his jaw gaped, his eyes swimming with intense emotion - shock, most of all. He was frozen. 

He was looking at you as though you were a ghost. 

In Daryl’s eyes, you might as well be. 

The last time he had seen you - you were dead. Or dying. 

It was all the same to him. 

He genuinely couldn’t believe that you were standing right there in front of him - alive, clean, beautiful as ever, holding his crossbow. It was like a dream. 

“I think I have something that belongs to you.” 

Hearing your voice again - it was oddly startlingly. You motioned toward the crossbow - his crossbow, that you were holding for some reason. 

His entire body was filled with concrete - he was frozen. 

“Daryl, is that possum so much more interesting than me, or are you gonna come on over here and give me a damn hug?” 

Yes.

That was what finally got him up - he tossed the possum aside because it would never be more important than you, and he rushed off the porch, rushing toward you. You dropped his crossbow in the grass and when he pounced on you, his arms encircling you for the first time in such a long time - you finally felt like you were home. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing way, and you squeezed him right back - feeling a strange kind of comfort from the smell of sweat and dirt and cigarette smoke coming off him. 

It was so Daryl. It was so real. 

You heard gentle sobs in your ear and you realized that he was crying too, so overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing you again and not too proud to hide his tears now. You didn’t notice and didn’t care that he was getting blood all over your clean shirt, gripping you so tightly with his possum-skinning hands. It was just another assurance that all of this was real and not another stupid daydream. 

“Goddammit.” He croaked out, his face shoved so tightly in the crook of your neck, soaking your skin with his tears. “I thought - I thought I lost you.” 

Pressed so close to his chest, you saw the yellowing corner of the paper sticking out of his breast pocket. You couldn’t help but to raise your fingers to fish it out of his pocket. 

“Why would you ever think that?” You sniffled weakly in return. “You had this for good luck.” You teased him lightly, pulling away slightly to wave the folded piece of paper in front of his face - both of you knowing exactly what it was. 

He let out a weak laugh in response. 

“You’re still a damn fool.” 

That was all he managed to reply before he put both hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. It was unlike any other time he had kissed you before. This wasn’t chaste - it wasn’t a simple kiss signifying that he cared about you, that he was trying, but affection simply wasn’t his thing. 

This was gravity. 

This was passion, this was love. This was this kiss of a man who had nearly ended himself because he had realized in horror that his entire world had hinged on you. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to waste a single second treading around feelings, hung up on simple things like the fear of affection. This was a kiss from someone who needed to show you that you were his whole world, and now that he had you back, he would move mountains just to see you smile. 

It was a kiss that easily had you moaning into his mouth, made you dizzier than you already were, stole breath from your already weak lungs. 

He held you tight to his lips and he poured every single ounce of emotion into that kiss - telling you how sorry he was for all the time he had wasted, telling you how much he had missed you, and most importantly - telling you how much he loved you. 

“Daryl, please tell me that you’ve showered by-” 

The stunning moment was sorely interrupted by another voice, one you distinctly recognized as Carol. She opened the front door behind you and stuck her head out, ready to scold Daryl - but she promptly cut off her own words when she saw you. You pulled away from his lips at the sound of her voice and whipped around toward her, and instantly a smile cracked your face, broad and unbroken. 

She was staring at you with utter shock. 

“Carol.” You said her name warmly, greeting her as an old friend. 

You couldn’t help it - you jumped forward and embraced her in a hug. It was only then that she loosened from the shock and let her own arms fall around you, hugging you back, and she was able to speak again. 

“Y/N.” She said your name quietly in return. “What - what are you doing here?” 

“Um… returning Daryl’s crossbow.” You chuckled, motioning to the bow that you had dropped with numb arms before you had ascended the steps, rushing toward him. “But you know… I think I have something for you too.” 

Naturally, Carol looked confused - and you chose to show her what you meant rather than to explain. 

… 

You brought Carol and Daryl to a house in the complex that functioned as the school. They didn’t know that yet - and you asked them to wait outside as you rushed inside and boisterously disrupted the beginning of the afternoon class. 

The teacher began telling you off, but you didn’t care. 

Daryl and Carol were theorizing about what you were doing, half ready to go in after you when you stepped out the door with someone in tow. 

“What’s so important? We’re supposed to start reading King Lear today and I can’t miss-” 

Both of them looked up at the mousy voice and instantly recognized the streak of sandy blonde hair - a bit lighter now from exposure to the sun, topped on someone a bit taller than they remembered. 

“Sophia?” Carol gaped. 

A daughter she had said goodbye to in her mind, someone that she couldn’t keep hoping was alive. Somehow once again, standing right there in front of her, fully alive and well. Once again - all thanks to you. 

“Mom?” 

Sophia broke out of your grasp and ran from the door into her mother’s arms, and Carol quickly embraced the girl who was almost as tall as her now. Carol was unable to hold back her tears and you knew that it was a swelling of perfect emotion as they hugged each other so tightly. Daryl petted a gentle hand over Sophia’s hair as he looked at you fondly. 

You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. 

Carol used a hand behind Sophia’s back to wipe some of her own tears from her cheeks, still not letting the girl go as she looked at you with a wet smile forming tightly across her face. 

“I should have known she’d be with you.” Carol choked out - her way of thanking you for taking care of her daughter. Clearly scolding herself for not keeping the faith alive that Sophia would be okay. 

“We’re BFFs.” You said, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course we’re gonna stick together.” 

… 

You thought back to the day you had first taken on the title of Sophia’s BFF. 

The two of you had been close since the group at the quarry had first formed. It was unfortunate, but Ed reminded you of your own father, and you found yourself gravitating toward Sophia because of that. A natural instinct kicking in that made you want to take care of her because you understood what she was going through. You knew that Carol had to take care of herself, had to keep her own head above water, and she said that she was always appreciative of your help. 

You knew that Sophia appreciated having you around, being treated with gentle caring and a certain kind of maturity that she needed from an older sibling that she didn’t have. You didn’t always treat her like a child - you talked to her like a person who needed to be listened to, who had her own feelings that needed to be heard. 

Especially after Ed’s death - when she was feeling conflicted about the partial relief of being freed from her father’s abuse but oddly missing him at that same time. You were more than happy to listen to her and give her honest advice. 

When she fled into the woods off the highway that day, Daryl had to physically hold you back to keep you from running into the tail end of the herd yourself. It would have been stupid for you to blindly run after her, especially considering that, at that point, you didn’t carry a knife or any other weapons on you regularly. You would have been running after Sophia with nothing but your bare hands and your best intentions. 

It would have ended up with you both dead, and in the end, you thanked Daryl for holding you back. 

Which was why you trusted Daryl greatly to find her. You trusted his skills and his abilities, and especially his judgment. And you silently cursed Andrea for almost shooting his head off and putting him out of commission in that search. Especially considering the fact that Shane and even Rick were clearly losing hope in ever finding Sophia alive, and it was clear that they were ready to call off any search efforts. They were ready to abandon the Greene farm and leave her out there to die. 

So after Daryl’s wounds had been treated, when he was resting in his tent, you decided that it was high time to get the search back on. Of course, you had to wait for Andrea to leave, after she had apologized to him and left him with one of Dale’s crappy books as entertainment - something you knew wouldn’t help him much, because he was far too much of a hands-on busy body to sit around and read. 

But you didn’t dwell too much on thinking about that. Instead, you stepped into the tent next without being invited, determined to get his advice so that you could pick up the search for Sophia where he had left off. 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open where he had been lightly dozing off and he glared at you - it wasn’t malice or true anger, instead, simply light annoyance. 

“Can’t get five minutes of damn peace ‘round here.” He grumbled out as you invited yourself fully into the tent and without speaking a word to him, came right in and sat down on the edge of his cot. 

He instinctively scooted away from you. He could have said that it was because you had aggravated soreness in his injured side where he was still stitched up. But truthfully, it was because he wasn’t used to having you (or anyone) this close. Though he also couldn’t deny that the simple warmth of your body - the gentle heat of your ass pressed up against his thigh from you having to sit so close on the small cot - it was nice. 

But he couldn’t think too much about that right now. 

You obviously weren’t as caught up on the simple act of closeness. You weren’t as mindful of being this close to another person. You were someone who thought nothing of hugs and other simple forms of affection - something that you did regularly with people you considered friends, like Glenn and Lori and Dale. 

Instead of thinking at all about how close you were sitting to Daryl, you dropped your bag at your feet and began rooting around inside of it, looking for something. A moment later, you pulled out a map, which you held in one hand and shoved tightly in Daryl’s face. 

“Show me where you found Sophia’s doll.” You ordered stiffly. 

Daryl grunted at you, chewing on one of his nails for a moment before he replied. 

“What good is that gon do?” He asked. 

You didn’t know how to track or follow a trail. You weren’t the outdoors type. If he sent you off looking for her, he’d probably have to go off into the woods looking for you next. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. 

“Maggie is saddling one of the horses for me right now.” You explained. “You know that Shane has already given up, and Rick is about to.” 

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the quiver of potential tears. 

Daryl knew it wasn’t the kind of grief that everyone else held when talking about Sophia - you weren’t afraid that she was already dead and you would be combing the woods looking for a Walker to put down. You weren’t looking for closure. You were more terrified at the aspect of Shane and Rick giving up when someone you viewed as a little sister was still out there. You were afraid that she might be abandoned when she was still alive and had a chance to be rescued. 

“You’re not goin’ out there by yourself.” Daryl declared firmly. 

Predictably, he then tried to sit up - as if he would somehow accompany you in his severely injured state. But he didn’t make it very far off the cot before he let out a sharp wince of pain. Something he tried his hardest to conceal out of an ingrained toughness, so you knew that his pain had to be a lot worse than he was leading on. He fell back down instinctively and gripped a hand to his side, taking in sharp breaths as he tried to ignore the pain. 

“Well, you’re not going with me.” You griped sarcastically, motioning toward his injury. 

“Screw you.” Daryl replied, tossing up a middle finger - frustrated by his circumstances more than anything else. 

“Look, I’m gonna go whether you tell me where to pick up the trail or not.” You announced, firm and finite in your conviction. 

Of course. Stubborn. 

Daryl glared at you again. 

“And I’m not gonna drag your ass around with me,” You added on. “I just wanna know where you would search because before you got hurt, you were the best man for the job.” 

Daryl wanted to hate the snide, back-handed compliment - he wanted to hate your stubbornness and your inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. But he knew that you were going to keep to your word. You were going to do this with or without his help, and his help would be invaluable to someone like you. 

So, for some stupid reason, he folded to your will. 

(It would become a pattern so utterly predictable throughout your relationship. You were so direct and so stubborn that you learned how to play him like a fiddle.) 

“Gimme that damn map.” He grumbled out, finally folding to your infallible will. 

“Here, I have a pen. You can mark it down for me.” You announced brightly, giving him a chirpy smile as you got your own way. 

You reached back down to your bag, looking for the aforementioned pen, and Daryl bit his tongue. The fact that you even needed a marking on the map to remember what he was going to point out to you was a huge red flag for him - a sign of just how naive you were when it came to the woods, tracking, finding someone lost out there. 

He was already mentally preparing himself to go looking for you later. (He just hoped that this would be a good thing - that even if you got lost yourself, you would take some supplies to Sophia and help her survive a bit longer until he could get both of you back home.) 

He took the red pen that you handed to him and stiffly held the map, trying to ignore the gentle waft of floral soap coming off you as you leaned more into his personal space. More and more into his personal space, clearly trying to better pay attention to what he was showing you as he pointed to the landmarks on the piece of paper. 

“Found the doll down ‘round here.” He said, marking a small red X on the map. “I figured that she mighta dropped it when she was crossing the creek up somewhere here, and it washed downstream.” 

“Oh, okay.” You said. “So you think she’s on this side of the water?” You asked, pointing to a heading of your own. 

“Prolly.” Daryl nodded. “She gotta be close by the water cause it’s her only real landmark. You better stay close by the creek, got it? I don’t need to go in those damn woods lookin’ for your ass too if ya get lost.” 

“I’m not gonna get lost.” You sighed, snatching the map from him. 

“Make sure you don’t spend the whole time on the horse.” 

He added on, determined to give you good advice if you were determined to go out there. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that you knew how to ride a horse, but he didn’t bother to bring it up. Instead, he continued speaking about the topic at hand. 

“She’s little. It means she could be hidin’ somewhere down low. Caves, ditches, even down in the bushes. She could be passed out somewhere from the heat and you might not see her if you’re perched up high on that damn horse the whole time.” 

You nodded, soaking up all the information, determined to take advice from someone you knew was better versed in things like this than you were. 

“Anything else?” 

Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment. 

Then he reached off to the side for his own bag, holding in another pained wince as he stretched out his injured flesh. He batted away your hands as you went to help him, and his hands came back with a large knife - his hunting knife, sheathed in the cover that he often wore on his belt. You had never seen him without it, and you were surprised when he extended it out toward you - clearly wanting you to take the knife, even if only temporarily. 

“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-” 

“Shut up and take it.” He growled quietly. “This is gonna be better to you out there than any gun. And not just cause you’re a piss poor shot.” 

You rolled your eyes at the paper thin insult, but still hesitated to reach for the knife. 

“The woods are damn quiet, and if you run into a Walker, you gon need somethin’ quiet to take ‘em down.” He explained. And then, with a fair amount of cheek, he added on: “Come on. It’s for good luck.” 

You let out a sharp nasal sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, and then you reached out and grabbed the knife, tucking the holster onto your belt. 

“Maybe I don’t need luck.” You stated, getting up and making your way toward the mouth of the tent. “If I run into a bunch of Walkers, I could just make a necklace out of ears. That would be very fashionable.” 

You winked at Daryl, and he flipped you off - though you knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, seeing as it was paired with a small smile that he was unable to hold back at your comment. 

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“I heard that!” 

(For some reason, this made him smile harder.) 

… 

Despite what Daryl believed, you were comfortable in the woods. 

You had spent a lot of your childhood camping - he likely would have called it ‘glamping’ (if he knew what that word was). Your family spent a lot of weekends in an RV, driving off to remote areas to go fishing or so that your father could go hunting. You spent a lot of time off in some cabin deep in the woods with no TV reception, playing around in the trees with a stick, making mud pies for fun. 

You knew the reason that you seemed so naive in Daryl’s eyes was because you spent all those childhood experiences very hands-off. Your father was a wicked control freak of a man who never let you touch anything, despite how many times you voiced wanting to learn. 

He insisted that your family have ‘happy’ family outings - he insisted that you get your ass in the boat while he was fishing, he insisted that you eat the game that he shot while out hunting, he insisted that you get out in nature because it was what he had done as a child. But he would never let you touch a fishing rod, he would never let you hold a gun to hunt or set a snare. He always told you it was because you were ‘too stupid’ and you would inevitably mess things up. 

So before Daryl had started teaching you the basics, you didn’t know how to read a map, you didn’t know how to start a fire, and you had been learning how to fix vehicles only because of Dale. Your mother was the one who insisted that you learn how to ride a horse because it was something she had learned during her childhood. (It had spawned a wicked argument between your parents that you didn’t want to think about.) 

But nonetheless, you felt comfortable by yourself in the quiet of the woods. It was a quiet you had come to enjoy throughout your childhood. 

It was why your ears immediately picked up on something - a particular noise - standing out from that quiet. The gentle thrashing of cicadas, the quiet bustle of leaves in the breeze, but then, something else. Crying. Distinctly - the sound of someone crying. 

You hopped off the horse that Maggie had given you and tied the saddle to a nearby tree, taking Daryl’s advice to get off and having a look on foot. 

And sure enough - you soon came to a small cliff, at the base of which there was a small rocky indenture that could have been considered a small cave. It was something that you might have passed by when perched so high on the horse. 

When you crouched down and got even lower on your hands and knees- 

“Sophia?” 

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had been riding for less than an hour, and fuck - there she was. 

She was curled up with her back to you, likely crying out of upset from being separated from her mother for so long, being scared and alone. Even covered in dirt - you recognized that blue tee shirt that she had been wearing when she had run off. And it’s not like there would be some other little girl hiding out in these woods. 

“Sophia.” You called her name a little firmer, in case she hadn’t heard you, or she was fatigued from the whole ordeal and needed a little extra jolt to awaken her attention toward you. It was then that her head turned and she gazed at you with two large teary eyes. 

“Y/N?” She hiccuped sorrowfully. “Wh-where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom is waiting for you,” You grinned at her, extending your arms out to invite her toward you - and she began crawling out to meet you. “Everybody set up camp at a farm just off the highway so we could look for you.” 

“I thought you were gonna leave me.” She sobbed, sitting upright and jumping into your arms - you couldn’t help but embrace her in a tight hug. 

Relief flooded your system, and though you knew that she was scared, hungry, and definitely dehydrated by now, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your arms - alive. To know that Carol would feel the same relief in such a short time. 

“Nobody was gonna leave you.” You assured her. 

You hated that it was a partial lie. But of course you weren’t going to tell her about Shane’s pessimism and Rick’s liability to fall for the ramblings of his best friend. They would all feel foolish when you rode back with her on the horse. And you would be happy to prove them wrong. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“Are you hurt?” You asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect her. A secondary terror spiked your system. If she had been bitten - you didn’t know that you would be up to the task of ‘doing what needed to be done’ as Daryl had put it. 

“My ankle.” She said, motioning to her foot. Upon further examination, it was swollen so tightly that it looked more than painful, cartoonishly bulged over the edge of her shoe. The sight of it made you wince. “I fell down.” 

“Okay, well - one of the people at the farm is a doctor. So he’ll be able to fix you right up.” You smiled at her. “But you didn’t get scratched or - you didn’t get touched by any of the Walkers?” You asked, wanting to be sure. 

“I hid from them.” She assured you. “I was running away, and - and I got lost, and I couldn’t find my way back, and that’s when it got dark, and-” She broke into more sobs, and you reached out to hug her again. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take you to your mom now.” 

“Look out!” Sophia screamed this in your ear suddenly, pointing a finger to something behind your back. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, panicked, and then, with an instinct you didn’t even know you had, you reached to the handle of the knife - Daryl’s knife on your belt. You pushed Sophia away, whipping around in order to jab the knife toward the danger. 

The first time you hit the Walker somewhere in the middle of its torso, and the second time you locked onto two disgusting yellow eyes - and you jabbed the knife right between them. Within seconds, all the movement in the Walker went limp, and it fell to the ground - and you let out a huff (not even fully knowing that you had been holding your breath) as you pulled the bloody knife out of its skull. 

“I got it.” You said, feeling victorious as you looked over your shoulder toward Sophia - who was shell-shocked and very tearful once again. “Let’s just… get on the horse and go back to the house, okay?” 

“There’s a horse?” 

You gave Sophia your canteen and she drank the entirety of the water during the ride back, and by the time the sun was setting, you were emerging from the trees with her sitting on the front of the saddle. 

On top of the RV, Dale and Andrea were having a dispute about who was supposed to be on watch. One especially heated after the debacle of Andrea accidentally shooting Daryl in the head. 

“Just give me - give me those! Give me those!” Andrea snapped, taking the binoculars from Dale. 

The man acquiesced to her fierce will, and he nodded, putting his hands up in surrender as he walked toward the edge of the RV to descend the ladder. 

Andrea put the binoculars to her face and looked out upon the fields, and what she saw shocked her more than the bloodied Daryl that she had mistaken as a lone Walker. 

“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped. 

“What?” Dale whipped back around, obviously thinking that something was wrong. “What? What?!” 

Andrea took down the binoculars and turned to Dale with a look of pure shock. 

“It’s Sophia.” 

… 

A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. 

It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news. 

“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?” 

“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.” 

Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene. 

The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place. 

You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick. 

You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up. 

He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke. 

“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him. 

“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.” 

If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group. 

“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.  

Daryl shook his head. “Nah.” 

“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” 

You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it. 

“I am.” You grinned at him. 

He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive. 

“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back. 

“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly. 

Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug. 

“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.” 

“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.” 

Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due. 

“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl. 

He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs. 

“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way. 

“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.” 

…

Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him. 

And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own. 

And he needed to make sure that you got one. 

Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to. 

If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry. 

So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course. 

You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own. 

It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt. 

So far, the trip had been pretty successful. 

After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in. 

Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas. 

You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt. 

Some things really do withstand the test of time. 

He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse. 

You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities. 

He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you. 

“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.” 

You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse. 

“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it. 

Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat. 

He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants. 

His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours. 

“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off. 

“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.” 

Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike. 

That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment. 

…

It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now. 

Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well. 

Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group. 

Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese. 

And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you. 

Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this. 

“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you. 

“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face. 

“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.” 

“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.” 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return. 

Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal. 

“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin. 

“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile. 

“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.” 

Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice. 

Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together. 

This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table. 

“Well, it’s true.” You replied. 

… 

You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with. 

So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you. 

“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.” 

You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him. 

But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all. 

You had to take care of Sophia. 

A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised. 

He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile. 

“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness. 

A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end. 

“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded. 

“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made. 

“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.” 

He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust. 

“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.” 

He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move. 

You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things. 

Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed. 

After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner. 

…

“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.” 

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time. 

It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you. 

“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group. 

And it worked. 

“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder. 

But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time. 

This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time. 

Fuck, you really loved him. 

“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented. 

“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you. 

Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could. 

“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.” 

“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply. 

Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced. 

“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-” 

“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.” 

“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said. 

… 

Chaos. Noise. 

Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor. 

“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill. 

You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody. 

The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong. 

You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually. 

It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside. 

Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out. 

When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire. 

The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see. 

Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

You quickly recognized who it was. 

“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you. 

You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you. 

“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?” 

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?” 

“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.” 

Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so. 

“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded. 

“I think I have an idea.” 

You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it. 

“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.” 

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said. 

… 

Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn. 

“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.” 

Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?” 

Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question. 

“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol. 

“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused. 

You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late. 

“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair. 

“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk. 

“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack. 

“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked. 

“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.” 

“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.” 

“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied. 

And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place. 

When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out: 

“This ‘ur place?” 

“Yeah.” 

You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all. 

“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Asshole.” He gently scoffed. 

Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch. 

This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had. 

It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here. 

There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived. 

“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked. 

“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.” 

It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive. 

“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?” 

You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” 

Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow. 

“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.” 

Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes. 

He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again. 

This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his. 

After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison. 

“I love you too.” 

Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his. 

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope. 

That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed. 

For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap. 

As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.  

He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself. 

The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it. 

A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck. 

He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.

...

A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!

[not-terezi-pyrope]

I think that living in a culture where we expect almost all narratives to exist primarily in a textual form has left us woefully complacent to the intangibility of oral stories, where they still exist.

For instance, when I was a small child, my grandmother would during her visits regale me with episodic installments following fictional characters that, as far as I can tell, were entirely of her own spontaneous devising. The two of these I can remember most clearly are "The Forgettis" and "Rebel and Jim".

The Forgettis was a comedy following the misadventures of an absurdly over-extended family of Italian nationals, The Forgettis, who were cursed with a sort of hereditary amnesia that would cause them to periodically forget all prior context of their lives and invent new ones. After all several dozen of them visited the UK on holiday, they promptly forgot that they were on holiday at all, and settled into an abandoned petrol station on "Gasworks Lane" after their tourist coach stopped there to refuel and they never got back on.

The patriarch of the family, Giuseppe Forgetti, was often at the center of things, but most episodes would involve several family members getting lost and subsequently adapting to fulfill some bizarre new occupation based on whatever they found in their surroundings. A particularly memorable episode involved most of the family leaving the Gasworks, only to return and find it had overgrown into an indoor jungle, and the sole remaining member of the family had adapted into a sort of safari hunter persona, managing the population of unlikely exotic animals that had taken up residence.

Rebel and Jim was a fantasy crime procedural about police constable "Jim" and his talking dog, "Rebel", who would make use of a number of supernatural items and allies to catch ne'er-do-wells. Their signature tool was their flying cloak - a cloak that allowed Jim to fly when worn, so long as Rebel sat on top of his head to also be under the cloak. They were also friends with the "Rock Monster", a sort of granite earth elemental who lived underground, but who was frequently confused with the identically named "Rock Monster", who as best as I remember was a sort of "rock and roll elemental".

These stories were pretty formative to my childhood, looking back, but the sad things is that the above recollections - the most I can recall concretely after thinking for ten minutes or so - are likely all that is recoverable of what I know were some pretty sprawling sagas with many episodic story arcs. I can no longer ask my grandmother, as she passed away from dementia two years ago. I can barely remember any details of Rebel and Jim at all, and I'm fairly sure there were other stories I can't even remember the names of. What I have written above may be the only record of them that will survive into posterity, which seems so sad for something that had a pretty big impact on me and are some of my fondest memories of my grandmother from my childhood.

The really frustrating thing is that I am sure that at one point she made attempts to write parts of these stories down - I remember seeing word documents! - but I have no idea where those would have survived, if at all. As far as I know we don't have any of her old computer hardware from what would have been 15-20 years ago. And that's still so recent! Imagine the equivalent when a story has been lost for several decades or centuries, no matter how impactful in its time.

So much so easily lost. When oral storytelling was the only storytelling form, people knew what was up and would make efforts to memorize and preserve stories. But instead if something isn't written down it so often just slips away.

[yuri-is-online]

Episode 9 Thoughts

I actually really liked this episode TᴖT I wasn't expecting much lore or plot building? But this was surprisingly light on filler.

Not Super Spoilery Facts:

Zenji says Romeo comes from "the famous House of Lucci." I made a joke about it, but basing Romeo's family off of the Gucci family actually makes a lot of sense. The Gucci brand is no longer controlled by the Gucci family for a variety of reasons, including financial problems and that murder they recently (?) made a movie about. I think this is really neat and a fantastic idea for his character, there's so much drama you can work with in high fashion and it makes just that much more sense about why he would be mad that he's not in Frostheim. He should be, they're all wearing clothes with his family name on it, but he can't be because he doesn't own the company.

Zenji does watch over Jiro constantly. That's not a super confirmed thing but between his attitude in this Episode and the campus event it's safe to say he probably follows Jiro around as much as he does Haku.

I promise I paid attention to more people than just Zenji (even though the mission never would have succeeded without him, everyone praise best boy NOW). Here let me prove it:

SPOILERS

This is mostly just for me but Romeo's nicknames/his "personal network" he references when calling for help are: Kurossa (Leo), Harry (Haru, wonder if he picked that up from Taiga or Taiga picked it up from him), and Mickey (Rui). I think he probably also considered Kaito one of his "network" because of how much he stalks him but that's just me lol.

Speaking of which lets talk about Kaito for a second. He says he doesn't remember much about the clash "because he was doing his own thing" but the timeline between when Romeo started stalking him and the events of the clash line up perfectly. To me it looks like there are two elements to Romeo's obsession, the first is obviously the pendant but the second... probably still has something to do with the pendant if we are being honest but since everything in the story has to do with the Clash probably that too. There is a piece of blackmail Romeo shows him that Kaito screams about:

My initial thought was that it was a picture of him in his underwear trapped in one of Romi's cages, but we saw that in Episode 4 or something related to his debts and to be fair? That's probably the most likely scenario. Kaito has a gambling problem (call 180-GAMBLING please bby) so there's probably no end to the dirt Romeo has on him. I do wonder if it's a bit more sensitive though but that's just me. Anyway Kaito mentions he never saw Romeo in the Casino until he started chasing him around... which makes me think the likely timeline for Romeo and Taiga's falling out can be placed somewhere around the same time. If they were working together and projecting a united front there would be no need for Romeo to do so much damage control.

That pendant is clearly important, we get a closer look of the insignia on it because Romeo finds a bracelet with the same insignia after he digs up a grave in the cemetery:

To me, this is still not enough detail and I want more but I feel fairly confident in saying this is a Heraldic symbol of some sort. As outlined here the Frostheim ghouls appear to have a sort of chess theme to their names with Kaito being the pawn. In chess pawns can become Queens if it reaches the end of the chess board, which I bring up because the insignia itself, at this point to me, appears to depict an eagle with a crown above it's head. Eagles are symbols of power and the favorite of many real world royal families, as is combining them with crowns to form a royal insignia. I need to do more research before I make concrete claims? But my initial searches have suggested that crowns are only ever used to symbolize royalty or important religious figures, and that eagles are usually double headed. A single headed eagle with a crown has been the symbol of countries like Germany, Austria, and Poland, but this eagle lacks the shield at the center for the first two and the polish eagle actually wears it's crown. I could also be reading waaaaaaay too much into this? But I'd like to think I am being perfectly normal.

Speaking of which we are told in the chapter that the graveyard plays host to "long term foreign residents." The bodies there are not cremated and it is very likely that, assuming Kaito got his pendant from a relative, that Romeo literally dug up and stole from Fuji's great great great grandparent. What a girlboss:

This person has been dead for so long they are only bones, and the only other object in their coffin is the metal bracelet. That's an old ass body, and it doesn't belong to a native Japanese person if we take what Romeo said earlier seriously. This is someone who moved to Japan and maintained enough wealth to be buried with an expensive tombstone. So why no name on the stone and where did they move from?

In less detailed? News Jiro has an extreme reaction to the crying child ghost encountered near the start of the chapter. Specifically he has a reaction to him saying "it hurts." Zenji also reacts to this, he scoops up the boy and takes him away. Later he regrets not attempting to "soothe the boy with a fairy tale." Jiro's memory loss is a side effect "of a certain tragedy that befell him." The timeline of whatever happened to the Kirisaki siblings is vague... but I think it goes something like this:

The brothers make their deal with their demons. They might do this together? Personally I lean towards Zenji doing it first in an effort to do something that will get him and Jiro out of whatever bad situation they are in and Jiro, not wanting to be babied and prove he can take care of himself, does the same thing. The reverse is also possible where Jiro makes his deal and Zenji follows suit because he feels responsible for protecting him, but either way Zenji does or says something he later comes to regret. This causes a rift between the brothers that remains unresolved through the Clash, and makes ghost Zenji reluctant to reveal himself to his brother. I lean towards them being injured around the same time? Either in the same incident or Jiro being injured first and the reason why Zenji was able to stick around. He says he wants to be an illustrious author, but really I think he just wants to make sure Jiro doesn't die. And now he also wants to cure the MC's curse, what a swell fella.

While Jiro clearly doesn't remember Zenji in detail, I don't think his memory is less fried than it first appeared. When MC attempts to get Jiro to go back to the others this happens:

I don't know how this reads in Japanese, but in English it's a really odd sentence. It's a mix up of two common phrases referring to team work: two hearts beating as one + team work makes the dream work. It's a very unique mixed metaphor, and exactly the sort of silly thing Zenji is saying all of the time so if Jiro remembered his brother... he'd probably remember him saying something like that.

... this chapter really did make me scream I'm going to miss Zenji so much.

[writingwithfolklore]

Controlling Your Pacing

                Pacing is one of my favourite things to pay attention to when reading or writing something. The pacing of a scene is literally how ‘fast’ or ‘slow’ a scene appears to be moving. Action scenes that spring the story from one place to another tend to go faster than introspective scenes or scenes that explore character dynamics.

                All of this is created through putting space and words between elements of the scene. What I mean by that is that readers interpret a passage of time between ‘things’ (actions, dialogue, gestures, etc.) on the page, and pacing is controlling that interpretation.

                For example,

“Georgia sat on the couch, “wow it sure is hot in here,” she said. “It sure is,” Henry agreed, sitting next to her.”

                This sentence is just about the actions with some breaking dialogue, but it goes pretty quickly through what’s happening.

                Whereas, if we were to intentionally pace this scene, it may look like this:

“Georgia swiped at her brow, wandering over to sink into the couch. “It sure is hot in here,” she said, peering up at Henry through the wisps of her bangs. He nodded weakly, his entire body sagging from the heat. Crossing the room to collapse next to her, he added dryly, “it sure is.”

                It’s not perfect, but you can get a sense of the time between things happening. The added detail between the two characters talking conveys maybe a minute between sentences, which might be accurate for two people dogged down by a heat wave.

                To speed things up, we want less space between elements:

“Adam slammed open the door with his shoulder, letting it bounce off the concrete wall behind him. “Everyone out!” He shouted. A crack in the roof snapped above them.”

                The added (or subtracted) elements of a scene that control your pacing is the sights/sounds/feelings/smells/maybe tastes of a place. When we’re anxiously rushing to get out of the house we may not acknowledge that the kitchen smells like the bread our roommate baked that morning, or that there are smudges on the window from when the dog climbed up on the couch. However, when we have a second to contemplate, we’re going to notice these things, and it would be appropriate to write them in.

                Another important element to controlling pacing is your character’s thoughts or acknowledgement of feelings.

                For example:

“Adam slammed open the door with his shoulder, it bounced off the concrete wall behind him. He winced, his mother’s high voice ringing in his head, chiding him for damaging the walls even though he knew the building was coming down on top of them. How long would he live with her constantly in his mind? He tried to wave away the memory. “Everyone out!” He shouted.”

                That slows down the scene quite a bit, yeah? And maybe that’s what you wanted in that moment. Play around with the details and pacing in your scenes, you might be surprised how much can change.

                Good luck!

[thesummerstorms]

To quote my other reblog of my own post about this whole moment, it’s important to me that this means that Dick and Kory have discussed what happened to her in enough explicit detail that when Myand’r trots out this bullshit Dick feels both able to threaten him by telling him exactly what was done to Kory in name of his “peace treaty”.

And I 1000% understand Dick’s anger here. He is angry for her.

“This so called paradise was paid for with your flesh…your heart…your life.”

Yes absolutely. And I do think it’s a really salient point that Dick loves her and knows in detail what happened to her and that’s why he’s so furious. For someone who was raised by Bruce, watching the whole “everything for the mission” mentality, he still doesn’t find Kory’s suffering excusable.

Whereas Myand’r claims to love his daughter, but if we’re being honest, he doesn’t fucking know her.

He sold her away as a child.

The last time she was kidnapped and brought back by Blackfire, he sent her away into exile again without them ever actually discussing what had happened to her or what her life was like or him trying to explain to her or ask for forgiveness.

Now he’s sold her into an unwanted marriage, Dick calls him on the fact that it’s always Kory’s price to pay, Kory’s blood and suffering that paves the way for Myand’r’s decisions…and the king blows him off.

He doesn’t want to know what happened to his daughter. He wants to live in ignorance. Yes, she was his favorite compared to Blackfire when they were children��� but at some point he stopped seeing her as a person, I think. Or stopped letting himself.

Look at Myand’r’s phrasing- “yes, I agreed to let the Citadel take my daughter in exchange for peace. And yes my family suffered. But not one drop of Tamaranean blood was lost.”

“My daughter was taken” / “my family suffered”.

Koriand’r was in fact the one who was tortured and enslaved, but it was “the family” generally who suffered. With the possessive “my” and everything. “Allowed them to take my daughter”- the taking was not the truly bad part here. They didn’t take her and put her under house arrest as a hostage. The enslaved, raped, tortured, and experimented on her. Dick knows this concretely. Myand’r doesn’t.

Dick is right- Myand’r is a coward who refuses to accept what he actually helped do to Kory.

And the “not a drop of Tamaranean blood was lost” just makes me laugh, because what. Have you just depersonalized your daughter so much her blood no longer counts to you?

So I 1000% understand why Dick is angry here. Especially because if I remember right, marriage between the two of them had been casually raised as a possibility right before this arc started. So on top of watching the woman he loves suffer at the hands of a family who are using her love for them to manipulate and hurt her again, there is an element of betrayal/loss for Dick as well in her being promised to Karras.

However.

No matter how justified Dick’s anger, the way he handled it ended up doing more harm than good here. He rushes away from her, tells her right before the middle set of panels that he doesn’t want to talk to her. Tells her in those panels “Don’t talk to me about that hypocrite.”

He’s angry and he blows up and he shuts her out because of it- but if he’s angry for her, then that’s the exact opposite of what he needs to be doing. Kory thinks it’s just about the marriage and that he just doesn’t understand her father- he needs to talk to her if he wants her to understand that she deserves better than how she’s being treated. He needs to be talking about “that hypocrite” so she understands that Myand’r is one.

No matter how much it might hurt that she’s considering marrying someone else or how angry it might make him to hear her defend her own mistreatment, if he wants to actually change those things, he has to show her that someone who loves her thinks she deserves better. She has grown up in this fucked up dynamic- it would take persistence and care to help her see her way out of it. A few angry one off sentences about her father won’t be enough on their own.

But instead Dick acts more like Bruce here- centers his anger on himself, shuts her out, lashes out. And so he fails to actually meaningfully address the causes of the problem.

This is not me complaining about the writers/writing btw. It’s just really interesting to me how Dick’s own learned responses from his dad/mentor get in the way of protecting the woman he loves from what he sees as the abuses of her own father.

And then of course poor Kory is left to deal with the emotional devastation after.

[crustyfloor]

Till's piece from the event is a very honest depiction, but I want to examine it in more detail since it looks so interesting.

For one, I find the headpiece confusing, I was hesitant on this point in the last post I made covering this I assumed the headpiece Till is wearing (separate from the headphones) was this device.

There isn't even a name for that device, but it's been theorized that it serves a similar function have the collars pet humans have, but affects the pet humans in some way.

I believe it's a behavioral management device since there is an emphasis on the brain when it's shown. And just based on the design itself. I think the purpose of it is similar to a shock collar.

Till in this environment looks familiar, he has that focused expression that he always has when he's writing music, like he's in a daze. Since this is a practice in a controlled environment I think he might actually be handling an instrument this time around (hence the headphones). Till has a natural passion for music, the environment of Anakt Garden also appears more calm than what he goes through with Urak so he looks very much in his element.

But despite how calm, and focused he looks outwardly, his collar shows orange.

Till is giving with his expressions even around the aliens, so if he was feeling bad (I would suspect as much seeing the fresh experiment patches..) I believe it would look more obvious, but the difference threw me off a bit. I could be reaching (definitely) But given how unruly his behavior can be, and how much effort the aliens are putting into finding ways to subdue him I think they used that device to mellow him out so that they could properly monitor him.

The collar being orange gives me the impression that he's not as calm as he looks but the headpiece is keeping him in a 'sedated' state(?)

Red - Condition in the negatives, energy depleted, feeling bad. overall horrible state.

Orange, yellow - to a lesser extent, more like if you're feeling skittish, nervous, (think of this mode as feeling under the weather)

Green - Good, calm, happy, normal and a healthy mode.

(Translation by kh47uo on Twitter)

This behavior could also show desensitization, as he had likely been conditioned to not be phased nor show weakness in front of the aliens even if he feels bad, a way of tolerating. But this is just me trying to make sense of whatever that head gear was... he could've also been sedated beforehand (banging my head against the concrete)

Also interesting to me that we weren't shown Till doing other things, like dancing, or singing. I think it's a testament to Anakt's (And Urak's) priorities as they have Till build on his music skills, his strongest skill. It's probably because that's all he has to offer is his music (His grades in every other subject are a mess.). So building that to its greatest potential before anything is important. But it's a reminder of the situation, he's not so intense about his craft because of his inclination to it. He doesn't make music simply because he likes it, he does it because it's what he has to do to survive. Despite doing what he is naturally driven to do, he looks like he has had his life drained out of him.

Urak (the bastard) knows that for sure. Appearances, and 'decent' skills can get you far but overwhelming passion and skill can put you farther above all the rest, it's exactly why Luka is the best in his league, and why Urak pushes Till to his limits to surpass that even with such destructive means.

[demonslayedher]

Nerdy cultural details about the Hashira

Some details can be hard to pick up without context or in translation. Here's a handful for fun:

Breath names:

The "Mushi" (蟲) of "Mushibashira" (蟲柱) does not necessarily mean "insect." It's also not the more commonly used "mushi" kanji (虫). Kanji is often formed with many components compounding together to make new meanings, and 蟲 is a crowd of three 虫. While it might be tempting to simply say that this is a whole bunch of 虫, I've also heard this described as 蟲 being the more abstract idea of the concrete 虫, or that 蟲 went through a resurgence in popularity shortly before the Taisho Period. 虫 is preferred nowadays for its simplicity.

In either case, it's not necessarily "insects." Rather than being limited to six-legged creatures, "mushi" is a catch-all term for many kinds of creepy-crawlies that simply do not fit in other categories of animals, so spiders and centipedes and worms are all part of it. Actually, the term was originally used for snakes!

Next, what are picturing when you hear "Stone Hashira"? Something in your hands that you can throw? A big stone to lay on for warmth after training in a waterfall?

You could think even bigger than that, because the "stone" kanji used is "iwa" 岩. This is usually something at least as big as the boulders Himejima pushes around to train with, but it could just as well be a whole cliff.

So then how about that issue raised about how you can never refer to "Flame Breath" as "Fire Breath"? This might be a review since it gets brought up a lot, but it's worth restating because it makes a lot of sense in context.

First, we have two kanji to work with: 炎 for flames, and 火 for fire. To make a long linguistic history short, Japan adopted written pictographic characters from China, smashed and smooshed them around to fit the spoken Japanese language, and eventually many kanji wound up with multiple pronunciations. Case in point, 炎 is "hono'o" in the context of Flame Breathing (Hono'o no Kokyuu), and "en" in the context of "Flame Hashira" (En-bashira).

火 likewise has multiple pronunciations, but a common one is "hi." Another simple kanji that can be read "hi" is 日, the sun.

Therefore, even if they are written differently, "Sun Breathing" and "Fire Breathing" would sound the same, as "Hi no Kokyuu." This also makes it easy for "Hinokami" to be construed as "Fire God" instead of "Sun God." But why stop there, really? If you want to get into older Japanese, sometimes phonetic "hi" was used in simple reference to the power of gods.

Symbolism:

This is still somewhat linguistic rather than symbolic, but you know how Sound Breath is derived from Thunder Breath?

It's worth pointing out that "Kaminari" (雷) in "Kaminari no Kokyuu" is in reference to the sound, as opposed to something like "Ikazuchi no Kokyuu" for "Lightning Breath" in reference to the sight. We can get really, really nerdy about Japanese words for thunder and lightning and how they relate to Kimetsu no Yaiba, so I already did that here.

What's more interesting to me in regard to Sound Breath is that it takes the "sound" concept of thunder and pushes it--this time with a bit of a firework motif, again in a way that would stress the sound instead of the dazzling light. Both Uzui and Zenitsu have exceptional hearing and are exceptional users of their Breath techniques, so this is either curious that a discerning sense of hearing might help, or ironic that they use such loud styles with their sensitive ears.

Moving on to snakes! There's really no shortage of serpent symbolism, so we'll just focus on a handful of examples. I have already written extensively about the positive associations snakes have with riches, especially white snakes. This is ironic, given Iguro's distasteful paste driven by riches.

Some of the other positive associations with snakes are that they are a water element animal on the geomancy system borrowed from China. Makes sense that this Breath would be derived from Water Breathing! There are many shrines dedicated to snakes and their gifts of rain and clean water, however, water can also be dangerous. A common interpretation of a major legend about an eight-headed giant serpent, the Yamata-no-Orochi, is that it symbolizes the destructive power of a flooded river. But hey, at least snakes are often equated to dragons for having the same water association, so that's pretty cool.

Setting aside the water association, the serpent itself can likewise be considered in negative lights. In the centuries leading up to the Taisho Period, it became commonplace in Buddhist teachings and entertainment to compare jealous women to snakes. This association with woman also adds another layer of cruel irony to Iguro's past.

On a happier note, let's move on to cherry blossoms!

Well, not always happy, seeing as they are known to scatter tragically soon (I am shaking my fist at you, Gotouge). Cherry blossoms are also heavy with all the directions you can go in with symbolism, and I don't have any particular take on why they are part of the overall motif of the Love Hashira (see here for a little commentary on why it is "Koi" 恋 and not "Ai" 愛).

However! I do want to point out something very clever Gotouge did!

You know how Mitsuri's hand guard looks like four hearts that all meet at their pointy ends? This is actually a traditional cherry blossom motif!! Not a very common one, which is why I find it so sly.

Personal Names:

Bear with me, this section will get slightly more speculative, as names are always up to interpretation. I should know, I've done a lot of that for this series.

Remember how kanji can be read in multiple ways? Here's something simple you'd see right away in Japanese but that gets lost in translation to most other languages. Both Sanemi and Genya have 弥 as the second character in their personal name (as "mi" or "ya"). This was not the case for all their siblings, but it's cute that the two of them share it anyway.

So what does it mean? In modern kanji dictionaries, it's pretty bland: "increasingly." However, this kanji has more interesting use and associations that that. It was originally 彌, which carries more of an image of a stretched bow, or how something might go wide and disperse. As a child's name, this might include some hope that they might grow big and tall and go to great places. It is also commonly used in expressing the names of Buddhist deities in Japanese, but it is used only for the "mi" sound instead of the meaning in these cases. (Still, 弥 is one of the "Namu Amida Butsu" characters all over Himejima's haori, which also adds a little cuteness to his associations with Genya.)

So how about someone else with a name that closely matches his brother's? We get a pretty good explanation of Yuichiro (有一郎) and Muichiro (無一郎), with 有 and 無 being opposites (to exist/to not exist). While 有 might be more straightforward in wishing for Yuichiro to have all his needs met, the "mu" in "muichiro" is for "limitless/infinity/etc, etc."

But also!!

It bares distinct resemblance to a common Zen phrase, "Honraimuichimotsu" (本来無一物), with "muichimotsu" meaning "nothing exists" (and therefore, you have nothing to worry about, just be happy).

Speaking of resemblances, "Tomioka Giyuu" has two kanji in common with the name of the mangaka of Hunter x Hunter and I sometimes wonder if he was named in homage. But that is neither here nor there, and I'll just finish today by focusing on "Giyuu" (義勇).

This is pretty basic and straightforward: "loyalty/justice" and "bravery/courage." Pretty lofty. Put them back together and it's basically a set term for "heroism."

However, put it together with other terms for squads or armies, and this is the now the word for "volunteer soldier" or "volunteer army." Historically, it would continue to be used a few decades after Kimetsu no Yaiba takes place, but the decades prior, there were "Giyuutai" organized volunteer troops as well. Perhaps Giyuu had ancestors who fought as volunteer soldiers? Who knows.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 8

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Someone's excited and someone isn't in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Trigger warning: There is a mention of miscarriage. Reminder that there will be no miscarriages in this story. I apologize to anyone who has suffered that grief and please know that while times may be tough in this story, they will get better.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. leapt into the air. With a swivel of his torso that would have been impossible with mammalian spinal columns, he rotated all the way around to snatch a Frisbee. He then landed with the brunt of his weight denting dead grasses. Doing the same spine breaking spin, he whipped the plastic disc away from him. It shot with lethal accuracy at your mate who caught it without wasting a bit of movement.

The Frisbee was launched again and the game continued on as it had.

It had been going on for some time now.

It seemed like everything had.

This family picnic.

The last few weeks.

The persistent chill in the air.

It was why you were able to be out like this in the first place. For weeks, clouds took root in the sky. They darkened the doors of NYC and filtered out vibrancy. What was left was the usual humdrum of the city’s occupants and the only other entity that marked winter: cold.

Those who braved the elements bundled up, but there was little to see. All color was sucked from the concrete and buildings leaving everything a similar grey casing as the cumulus constellations above. Even a bright colored coat amongst the sea of neutrals seemed a pale comparison to how it appeared on a store rack.

It sent hoards of people indoors where golden tones were meant to encourage circadian rhythm. Bars were packed until condensation clung to the windows and hid them away from the chill. Restaurants buzzed with patrons looking for bowls of comfort and rooftop parties were dotted with the glowing embers of heat lamps instead of fairy lights.

They glowed like fireflies overtop the city, you imagined.

In reality, you hadn’t seen them.

You hadn’t seen much as of late.

Your husband had become a husk.

You had played out the rest of your Valentine’s trip in quiet contemplation. Waking for the multi-course breakfast should have been a treat and to an extent it was. It helped mop up the bitter feelings of the night before and there was love baked into every bite. The couple and other bed and breakfast tenants made for lively conversation and you heard life stories.

Ones that included family.

Ones that turned Donnie further inward.

He had yet to emerge in the time that followed.

When S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. phoned about the parks being empty, Donnie hadn’t challenged him. He agreed to an outing regardless of the conditions. Your son then immediately texted you with complaints of Donnie’s pliancy since he’d had a whole presentation planned to convince him. You offered to listen, but you certainly weren’t going to turn down the offer. In the end, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gave up and you instead ironed out the necessary details that brought you now to the park.

Only a few joggers happened by at an irregular pace and they were so bundled up they didn’t blink an eye at the giant purple humanoid automaton.

To a side glance, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was nothing more than a colorfully dressed being braving the cold in layers. In reality, your son generated his own warmth and the cold meant his processors were firing at some kind of top optimization. He could finally walk around in his humanoid form without being gawked at and having the park to yourselves was an added bonus. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was living out his dreams of playing catch with his dad, even if said man was less part of the game and currently acting like an automated machine that fired discs.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nabbed the plastic out of the air in another momentous leap before he ran over to you. “See that one? Did I get higher that time?”

“I think so…” You pondered to play up his excitement.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s legs folded up so he could more closely match your height. “Well!?”

You rolled your eyes over the darkened sky before landing on him. “I bet you can do better.”

“I can!!” He revved to his feet and launched the Frisbee at Donnie. “Throw it high!!”

Your husband complained and the disc then cleared S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s leap by several leagues. “Shoot!”

It disappeared into some dead brush.

Heavy metal footsteps clabbered after it. “I got it!”

You watched the lights on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chassis disappear and turned back to Donnie. Your husband’s eyes were both fixed and unfocused after where his son had gone. It had been weeks since you’d seen life shine off his gaze. He fully moved through motions and had never verbally accepted that you were no longer trying. Instead, he let his actions speak louder as you’d gone through your next ovulation cycle without having sex at all.

General intimacy might also have been absent had you not pushed for it. Your mate didn’t deter you, but was a lackluster partner in that regard. You often curled up against him on the couch for the sake of it and it was only after you continued to root stubbornly did he relent with an arm around you. You’d settle as thanks for it, but he no longer churred.

You hadn’t heard the sound since that accursed morning.

There was no helping it.

As Donnie had hypothesized, you became his strength where he lost will. He could easily be led, but he lost the desire to plan. This was his version of burnt out, you thought, as you took over making meal plans and keeping track of household stock. You often left him notes of what needed to be done that day and he always had them complete by the time you got home. It was a little more on your mental load, but his despondency didn’t make the extra work a chore. You wanted to care for him. The only exhaustion you had faced in the last few weeks was the one that struck you every time you opened your calendar. 

The ovulation schedule was still overlaid amongst your daily tasks.

Since Donnie was no longer updating it live, it now ran on the last approximate data. You saw the time when your body supposedly released an egg, but if Donnie’s nose picked up on it, he didn’t betray that information. He was a shell that currently did what he was told, ate what was put in front of him, drank until a glass was empty, and slept when he laid down. You cared for him without a single question as you imagined this was all very new for him.

He had never spoken of burnout before though you imagined that was probably the stemming factor for his big 30s change. Years of scraping by took its toll on him and had manifested in him giving up the will to fight. He carried on for the sake of it after that and history seemed to align with what was happening now. It made you wonder how or if Donnie had ever learned to process grief. 

It didn’t seem like it since his reaction to such was to shut down. While he rarely treated himself like a computer these days, it seemed like an instinct to fall back on those old habits. The moment the chip in his brain couldn’t process one thing, the system kicked in with a failsafe. It robbed him of all other emotions during the reboot. He was in safety mode which glided by on the barest instruction. Sex, to that extent, was out of the question for a multitude of reasons, but the largest reason had to be it was inadvertently the cause of his crash. Doing it again led to that ultimate are you or are you not pregnant scenario that had caused his malfunction in the first place. Until he could handle that exact computation, you would be in stand by with your pocket warmers close, not that you were troubled by the actual cold.

It had been S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. who created the electric blanket you were currently perched on. He was becoming acutely aware that his parents’ flesh bodies were negatively impacted by the cold. You weren’t exactly sure, but you had a feeling he had downloaded data on babies and it had scared him to find out how fragile they were. That was presumably connected to the dangers of motherhood which was why it made sense when your son demanded to take you out shopping for a downier winter coat. You’d picked him out a cute beanie for his worries which he’d clipped onto his head. It flopped around as he jumped which was exactly what it did when he burst from the bushes. “Found it!”

“Where was it?!” You called out to him.

“Tree!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. threw his arms out to mimic branches. “I didn’t cut it down!”

“That’s my boy!” You cheered him on.

He wriggled happily before coming over. “Soup time? I’ve been keeping it toasty!”

“Sure.” You moved to give him room on the blanket if he wanted it and looked toward Donnie. “Come back in!”

Your husband didn’t jostle and walked forward as if a command prompt had been entered.

You pulled up a secondary blanket that was tucked around your legs.

Donnie knelt down on a far edge of the ground cover and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chest compartment opened up.

Right next to his facsimile of a heart was a large thermos which he extracted and set down. “Don’t touch it yet. Outside temperature reads 93°C.” 

“That’s not toasty; that’s boiling.” You chastised him.

“Nah, it’s totally food safety holding temp!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. scoffed.

“When’d you get your license?”

“I got a part time job!”

“And you didn’t tell me!?” You pinched up the fabric on Donnie’s pants to tug him.

Your mate shuffled only an inch closer.

“I don’t tell you everything, mom.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. took a bitter tone, but his digital eyes wrinkled at the improv.

“My baby, I remember when you were just a microchip…” You feigned sobbing and pulled a seam on Donnie’s pants harder.

He finally came close enough that you could toss some of the blanket over his lap.

There was still a modest distance between you.

“So embarrassing!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. whined.

“Bring someone home so I can show them your baby pictures.” You grinned and grabbed the handle of a soft-sided cooler.

From inside you produced a nice crusty bread you had gotten that morning with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. as a pre-game outing.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tugged the cooler to him to get bowls ready and dolled out steaming cups of soup.

“Mom…?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. watched on as you relished tearing into the loaf.

He sounded nervous so you addressed him seriously. “Yes?”

“I… don’t have a job.” His eyes were pricked with pixel tears.

“I know, dear.” You patted his hand.

“And I’m ace!” He burst into a phony sob.

“But your dating profile!” You feigned a gasp.

“I just love a free meal and ice breakers!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. supposed agony had him falling over onto you.

He was metering his weight and you wrapped an arm around him. “We’ll figure this out. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at you and his display blinked away tears.

“Of course. I’m always here for you.”

“And… scene!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shot upright and you were barely able to get out of the way.

You tittered along with him as he passed you a spoon.

You took it and gave it to Donnie along with a bowl and some bread.

He stared down at the mixture before ladling some up and eating it since it was there.

You gave him a forlorn look before S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. passed you some soup of your own.

“Which parts were true?” You took a knowing bite.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. clammed up and picked up some bread for the sake of it.

“Shelly.” You didn’t need to press heat to know your son would crumble.

“The dating profiles and ace part.” He tore a bit of the bread flesh out and worked it between his metal digits into little tight balls.

“You’re… dating!? Like actually?!” You perked up before you got a bite in your mouth.

“Yeah…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gave way to despondent embarrassment and balled up more bread.

“I feel like I want to congratulate you, but you’re acting weird…”

“I kinda sorta… Uh… keep ghosting them…?”

“Oh…” You finally took a bite and found the temperature warmed your throat pleasantly.

“Yeah… I love the first date. Ugh, I could do it a million times over! The talk! The first look where they get that feeling! Each person is totally new and figuring out how to make them laugh that first time! Unf!! That’s what I bet it feels like when you take a good bite of food! Has to be!”

“Sounds like it, but…”

“I know…” He ground out and wilted. “Some of them get real mean when I turn them down after. There’s like expectations. That stuff sucks. Can’t we just hit it off and end it there?”

“Not really how it works… It sounds like these people are looking for a real connection. How much are you telling them beforehand?”

“Mostly the synthetic body stuff as a test. If they can deal with that then it’s all picking a place.”

“I meant about you being ace or that you don’t want anything long term.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was getting close to hollowing out his slice of bread.

“You’re not.” You ventured a guess.

“I’m not.” He agreed with a pout written in his body language instead of on his display.

“You’re feeling guilty about it.”

“The last guy got so sad…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. set the empty crust aside and started building up his bread pellets into a pyramid.

“It hurts. It sucks to think you met someone only for them to just want to stop after one date. Can’t you set the apps so it’s not romantic?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. knocked over his growing tower.

You waited.

“You can do that?!” Your son’s eyes shot to yours.

“Depends on the app, I think.”

“Show me your profile!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. made an immediate grab for the pocket of your jacket that had your phone.

“Hey! Just because you can hear where it is, doesn’t mean you get to take it before I say yes!”

“Kid rules!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. protested and snagged the flap on your jacket anyway.

You were unable to swat your son away as he got your phone and plugged it into a port in his hand.

“Kids learn certain boundaries.” You grouched and gave up to eat.

“Nah, kids break the rulez. That’s with a ‘z’ by the way.” His eyes blinked at the display. “There’s nothing here!”

“It’s almost like I’ve been in a committed marriage for years!” You dunked your bread into the soup and watched it sop the liquid up.

“But you said you could make friends on it.”

“I have friends.” You chuckled.

“More friends.”

“I’m pretty good with the friends I’ve got.”

“So you just stop!?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked at you like the odd one.

“I’m not against it.” You reached out to take your phone back.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes rolled over into binary.

“What are you doing?” You turned wary.

“Found it!” In a blink, he projected a display of a dating profile you had made in your 20s.

You screeched straight through setting your soup safely aside and waved through the pixels to destroy it. “What is that?! Where did you find that?!?”

“Nothing on the internet dies!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cackled pure malevolence to the cloudy sky.

“Is that active?!” You hissed and started grabbing at S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s form in an attempt to stop the display.

“Nah! It’s an archived page!” He giggled.

“Who archives that!?” You asked rhetorically before switching gears. “Turn it off now, mister.”

He laughed louder and the image dissipated.

You sank back into the blanket with a scowl.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. held out for a few seconds fiddling with his bread again.

“Want advice?” You sighed.

“Yes please.”

“Apologize to whoever will listen. Be honest about how much you feel comfortable with sharing. It’ll help. People can usually sense when someone isn’t honest.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nodded.

“And ask that last guy to be your friend. He might be up for that. He might not be. It’ll all depend. Just stay safe.”

“Are you warning me about stranger danger?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes.”

“Will you give me a curfew?!” He cheered.

“You live on your own!”

“Aw!” He whined long. “Can I move back in and get one?”

“Back in?” You got hold of your bowl. “How long has it been since you were living with Don?”

“What was it, dad? Like nine-ish years?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. turned to Donnie as if he hadn’t been silent all this time.

Donnie didn’t look or respond.

“Nine years, 142 days, and six hours.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. told you.

You gave him a sympatric look for trying to include Donnie.

He took it with an understanding bob. “It’s not like there’ll be room for me soon anyway.”

“Shelly…” You had always had a feeling that S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was insecure about his place since you’d told him you were trying for a baby, but this was the first time he’d voiced it.

He waved his hands to dispel your worries. “Not like that! I want a little dude or dudette sibby!”

You tried to stifle a laugh.

“I do!”

“No, no.” You reached out to take one of his hands. “Not that! ‘Sibby?’”

“I’m gonna teach them all the cool slang!”

“Sure…” You teased.

“I am! I’m gonna be so cool! The coolest bro ever! I’ve been downloading books and everything!”

You softened. “You are.”

“Can I babysit?”

“Only lame big brothers don’t.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gasped, horrified.

You squeezed his hand, not that he could feel it.

He did notice though and looked up to you. “How’s that going? The data hasn’t been updating like before…”

The way Donnie’s spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl was palpable.

You sent him a nervous look, but he didn’t return it.

When you got back to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., you saw your son had done the same.

“Clean.” Donnie spoke his second or third word of the day.

You slurped down the rest of your soup and held the last bit of bread in your mouth before passing him your bowl and utensils.

He got his own and walked off.

“I mean it’s obvious something happened.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke as soon as Donnie trended out of eye line.

You chewed quietly before you spoke. “It really seemed like I was pregnant for a minute…”

“Did something bad…?” He searched you with growing anxiety. 

You shook your head. “No miscarriage, just a late period.”

“Could be late from stress.”

You bobbed your shoulders both agreeing with the possibility, but also not knowing for sure.

“What happened?”

“The emotional toll is… getting to us. It finally caught up with Donnie… I don’t know, Shelly. I asked if we could stop trying for now.”

 S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s red eyes widened.

“He’s not getting back on his birth control or anything, we’re just… I don’t know! We didn’t talk about it. I guess we won’t be obsessed with the schedule? I guess it just happens if it does…?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nodded.

“He’s hurting and I can’t help.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tipped over until he could rest his head on your shoulder.

You set your cheek atop him. “I was hurting and he was there for me, but now it’s reversed and I think I’m doing everything I can, but maybe there’s something more.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shook his head under the guise of snuggling closer.

His body radiated warmth and you leaned into it. “I know… Part of this is him coming to terms with what will or won’t happen.”

“I don’t really get it.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke softly after you hadn’t for a while. “The urge to reproduce or whatever, but I get family. I love family. I want more to love.”

An arm snuck around to hug you.

You wriggled until you could sling one around him.

He rumbled with what you identified as a digital version of a churr. “When’d you get that?”

“Used a mixing board and messed with the levels a few weeks ago.”

“That’s fun.”

“Makes me feel closer to dad.”

“You’re just like your dad.” You pecked just above the point of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s triangle.

“Thanks.” He rumbled louder.

You chuckled and rubbed his arm.

He adjusted a bit so he could lay in your lap.

You made sure he was whatever version of comfortable that worked for him before you followed lines in his body with your fingers.

He relaxed there for a while and his eyes closed. “You’ll make good parents.”

“I hope so.”

“You will. Dad’s come a long way. You’ve always been great. Fun to make yell.”

“Goodie.” The corner of your lip quirked sarcastically.

“It could take years.”

“I know…” You murmured.

For a long moment you both existed as parent and child.

“I think… we need to accept that. I think that despite hearing those low odds, we thought we could beat it like we have everything else. I think all this… shit, all these shitty thoughts, this misery, is a weird warning.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. watched you.

You looked down at him. “You can’t strong arm a baby. A baby takes time.” You rubbed the area where his cheek would be. “A baby takes understanding and you can’t force it. You can’t force any kid. Knowing every logical science fact in the universe isn’t going to convince a baby to stop crying. Kids are little nonsensical storms. Maybe all this was showing us that. The sooner we accept it, the better.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. reached up and took your hand.

“Do you think Donnie will ever make up for how he treated you?”

“No.”

“But you still want him to?”

He thought for a long moment. “No.”

“Are you waiting for something…?”

“Nothing.”

“Why… did you stay? Why do you still bother? You became independent, why didn’t you leave?”

The line of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s smile was so genuine you felt your very being soothed. “He’s my dad.”

You had to look away.

You looked up at the cloudy sky.

It sat the same way it had for weeks.

Unmoving.

You lost focus as you stared at the diffused light.

You didn’t see anything until a sharp zap of cold nipped your nose.

It almost felt wet, but from what you saw of the sky there was nothing there. 

You had to bring your head lower to see the tiny tufts of snow. 

You patted S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chest to get his attention.

The flakes weren’t heavy enough to come straight down and instead flittered off with weak will to gravity.

“It’s snowing…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. mooned.

He was soon up from your lap and catching your hand.

You were on your feet in moments and he threw his head back. You watched as his digital tongue appeared from the line on his beak and a snowflake hit him only for it to melt instantly. He cheered for it and you threw out your frame to do the same. The snow tasted sour on your tongue and you gagged a little. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. fussed about acid levels and you returned the concerns by wondering why he hadn’t warned you. He started to respond before he ran for the sake of it and you chased after.

He purposely kept within reach so you could catch him and when you did you caught his wrists. You then threw your weight to one side which spun him, but didn’t knock him over. You kept up momentum, soon running. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. caught your hands right back and you were twirling until the flurries made for white blurs around you. Increased speed eventually broke you apart and you both fell onto crunching grass with giggles.

Donnie appeared over your head and you looked up at him with warmed cheeks. “It’s snowing, Don!”

He nodded and offered you a hand.

You let him help you up and tried not to look too owlishly as he initiated a secondary action by dusting grass clippings from you.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was still on his back and watching with glowing eyes.

“Where’s the stuff you rinsed?”

Donnie looked over to the blanket.

You followed his sight and assumed by the open cooler that he had stuffed the tableware in there. “I might have eaten some acid snow.”

Your husband’s face didn’t betray much, but his chin dipped a little to check.

You stuck your tongue out for him to see.  

A snowflake immediately landed on it and you choked as you stumbled away. “Ack!!”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hooted with laughter.

“That was dumb!” You coughed and returned to find Donnie with the faintest light in his eyes.

Yours tripled in size.

He did nothing more and only continued to watch you.

You thought about double taking, but instead chewed your lip.

It took some heavy debate before you gave it all up to chance, “Did… you trick me?”

His gaze softened the smallest amount.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You meant to say something, but a flake then touched down on the tip of Donnie’s nose.

His eyes crossed to look at it and you reached up in a great show.

He lowered his head for you thinking you’d wipe it.

You were going to and fisted up your fingers so your thumb was free.

Just before you made contact, you switched grip so your forefinger was extended and used it to swipe down the melting droplet straight into your mate’s mouth.

The acidity hit his heightened taste buds and he reared away from you with the most movement he’d made in almost a month.

Both you and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. couldn’t contain your giggles.

You both felt the moment Donnie recovered more than saw it.

“RUN! DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shrieked before kicking up lawn to take off.

You pivoted as quickly as you could to run the other way.

You heard S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. scream out something about Donnie not being able to catch you both before there was an explosion of sod. You turned back, having run a good many feet away to find debris falling with the snow and Donnie hunched over the jangling arms of his son’s body in a crater. You peeped a single time as his head shot toward your direction. You made it exactly three more leg lengths before your husband dropped down in front of you.

You tried to keep from running into him, but your backpedal tripped you.

In a perfect tango maneuver, his hand caught your waist and you were tugged flush with him.

You hadn’t been this close of his violation in a while and butterfly wings beat against your insides as you looked up at him.

His gaze poured over you, still partially withheld, but opening up further by the second.

“You were listening to me and Shelly.” You told him.

“Yes.”  

“Did Shelly know?” You tilted your head.

“One can assume.”

“Did you two set me up?”

“No.” Donnie almost smiled, but caught himself.

“Shelly!” You called out. “Did you!?” 

“No!” You heard some earth shift and assumed he was pulling himself up. 

“You okay?” 

“Yup! Can we do that again?!” He cheered. 

“Later.” Donnie rolled his eyes and didn’t bother raising his pitch.

“You seem to like what I thought. About not rushing kids?”

Donnie evaluated you for a while before he looked off to the side. “Sound rationale.”

You reached up and placed your palm flat to his cheek.

He leaned into you. “I’ve been distant.”

“You needed to be. I always told you. It’s fine as long as you know I’m waiting.”

“Always…?” He turned up the end of his sentence with a raw tear to his chilled gaze.

“Always.” You agreed and tucked your fingers into his mask.

He gave a faint exhale and leaned down.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be okay. Even now.”

Again, his lips twitched like he might smile, but didn’t.

You thought that was enough.

He came closer until he was just shy of kissing you.

His reluctance to marry your lips meant something so you only watched him up close and let your hand slide down to his shoulder.

He liked the maneuver and felt comfortable enough for his eyes to shut as he took in your closeness.

You nosed into his airspace and commingled just like that.

The snow didn’t pick up and stayed little wayward flurries that would sometimes brush your skin.

Long after they dotted and melted against your coat did Donnie’s forehead brush yours and he gave the barest churr.

Your fingers spread out against his collar and you sighed contentedly.

“I’d like to continue our exercise in spontaneity.”

“Oh?” You breathed out and felt the warmth of it bounce back from his skin.

He nuzzled you amongst a slight nod.

“I’d like that. I like being close to you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t stay away.”

“You needed me.”

“I did.” He pulled so there was the pressure of your body against his. “Needed you close. Need you.”

“I’m here.”

This time when he nodded it was to lift his head.

“What’s left from your list? Double penetration?”

That finally got him to smile, but he squashed it.

You chewed on your grin.

“An entire mechanism for such, my present at the lab, and something new I’ve added as punishment.”

“Edging…” You hissed at your kryptonite.

Donnie only sent you a confirming look before he released you.

You took a few steps to give him space.

“Now?!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. chirped as he waited the same distance away.

“Run!” Donnie snarled once before taking off.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. squealed delight as he thumped away on bulky limbs. “Wait! This body sucks for this!”

“Too bad!” You heard a clunk of metal before you saw Donnie reach him. “I believe this is called: tag!”

“Tag…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s mouth line warbled and Donnie turned to run. 

“Tag! Mom! It’s tag!”

“There’s no tag-backs so…” You saw Donnie signal you for which way to go and you ran that direction.

“Tag!!!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cheered before his plodding footsteps were sent in your direction.

💜 NEXT 💜

@tmntxthings is busy with life changing stuff and @thepinkpanther83 is sick as a dog! Much love to my precious betas in these trying times!

[thesoftboiledegg]

I wasn't sure what to make of "That's Amorte" before it aired. When signs pointed toward "the spaghetti comes from aliens," I wondered if we had a rehash of Futurama's "The Problem with Poppers," where the crew finds a delicious treat on a planet only to learn that the "popplers" are underdeveloped alien offspring.

Rick and Morty's take on Soylent Green also seemed likely. Everyone knows the twist: Soylent Green is people! A dark sci-fi concept like that could be a ripe parody for this series.

However, "That's Amorte" adapted a concept that other shows have referenced a thousand times and took a right turn. No one's angry at the humans for eating their suicide victims: in fact, they love the spaghetti and turn it into a corporate product.

This is an obvious shot at capitalism and how companies will destroy the environment, brutally slaughter animals and turn cities into concrete wastelands just to make a buck. And I mean--chowing down on this spaghetti isn't that different from eating meat. I'm an omnivore, but I kept thinking that at least these pasta producers chose to die.

The suicide element gave this episode a poignant touch instead of turning it into an edgelord slog where the humanoids kill people and throw them in a meat grinder. Admittedly, the clones leaned in that direction, and that scene also shows how Rick struggles to understand the world outside himself. He doesn't react when the clones kill each other, but one of his daughters is a clone, and he'd be horrified if anything happened to her.

On its own, "That's Amorte" is a great episode. However, when you take the whole series into account, the plot retreads the same old Morty narrative: Morty tries to do the right thing, it backfires, Rick dodges responsibility while antagonizing Morty to be petty, Rick gets stuck fixing everything and Morty tries to pretend it never happened.

I keep waiting for something good to happen to Morty. Rick has plenty of episodes where he makes positive changes: going to therapy ("Analyze Piss," "Air Force Wong"), improving his relationship with Jerry ("Final DeSmithation," "The Jerrick Trap"), trying to do right by Beth ("Bethic Twinstinct"), being kinder to Morty ("Full Meta Jackrick"), etc.

Season five doesn't emphasize his character development as much, but plenty of scenes show how much he's changing. Even season four has moments where he's gentler.

Rick's being his petty season-two self in "That's Amorte," but even here, he does the right thing by showing the world exactly what--and who--they're eating. In earlier seasons, he would've done that just to be an asshole. Here, I don't think that he was trying to torment people as much as he just knew that this spaghetti shitshow had to end.

Same with the spaghetti itself. He didn't feed it to the Smiths, then show them the dead body just to torture them. I think he genuinely wanted to share the spaghetti because it was delicious, but he also figured that they don't want to know where it comes from.

On a similar note, I enjoyed Rick's moments of physical gentleness. Great animation detail.

So Rick gets a little character development and saves the day again, and Morty gets...nothing. Just a rehash of old storylines. "Mortynight Run" in particular has almost the same plot, beat-for-beat.

"That's Amorte" touched on Morty's depression and his family's coldness toward him but didn't go further than that. Morty keeps cycling through the same issues with no resolution. He blows up in one episode, then shuts down the next. His attempts to do the right thing go astray. When's this kid going to catch a break?

Again, this episode isn't bad. It's funny, original and well-written and has a lot to say about ethics and capitalism. Still, I don't understand why reviews on other sites keep emphasizing Morty's character development because I didn't see much.

I will say that everyone's horror at where the spaghetti comes from was a great takedown of the meat industry. Everyone loves sausage, but nobody wants to see how it's made!

Still, next time we get a Morty episode, I hope that it says more about him and less about the world outside his cartoon.