#YOU DREW ALEXANDRIA BEAUTIFUL THROUGH AND THROUGH

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

EXCUSE ME!?!??!

message from santa: hi deafeninggardenerpanda, it’s me!! surprise, i hope!! i promised myself i’d only do One Illustration for this event, but when i got my assignment i knew i had to do at least a small comic– not only because i adore all your characters, but because of all the work you’ve done hosting other community events!! got my fingers crossed that you’ll enjoy these, and that i’ve characterised everyone okay. it’s always a little nerve wracking when you’re working within other folk’s stories 😂 i love lady alexandria and remidee soooo much, so i’m glad i got this chance to draw them and i really hope you’ll enjoy them!! so many sparkles and pretty gradients, waaa! 💖🎉 ~ starflung

from: @starflungwaddledee​

to: @deafeninggardenerpanda​

[d1xonss]

so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her. 

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.” 

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit. 

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?” 

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

[yourwalkingdeadmf]

HII

If your doing recs anything with Carl?? Like there on a date in Alexandria at the little pond at night watching the stars to.

SMUT FLUFF WHAT IDC I JUST NEED CORAL

Carl Grimes x Reader - A Memorable Date

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the post-apocalyptic world, Carl Grimes approached you with a nervous smile. "Hey," he said, his voice filled with both excitement and uncertainty. "I was wondering if... if you'd like to go on a date with me?"

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at his words. "I'd love to," you replied, returning his smile.

Carl's eyes lit up, and he extended his hand towards you. "Great. Let's go."

Hand in hand, you both ventured out into the remnants of the world, walking through deserted streets and overgrown paths. The world had changed, but the connection between you and Carl seemed to grow stronger every day.

Carl led you to a hidden spot, a small clearing surrounded by trees. Lanterns hung from their branches, casting a soft, warm light that danced in the evening breeze. The atmosphere was magical, a stark contrast to the harsh reality you both faced on a daily basis.

He had prepared a picnic, complete with all your favorite foods scavenged from the nearby towns. As you sat together on a cozy blanket, Carl shared stories about his childhood and the adventures he had experienced before the world turned upside down.

You laughed and listened intently, captivated by his every word. It was moments like these that made you forget about the dangers lurking outside, allowing you to focus on the joy and connection you shared.

After finishing the delicious meal, Carl pulled out a small portable radio. He turned it on, and soft music filled the air. With a shy smile, he extended his hand once again, this time inviting you to dance.

You accepted his offer, stepping into his embrace as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. It didn't matter that there was no formal dance floor or fancy attire. In that moment, all that mattered was the love and tenderness you felt for each other.

As the night drew to a close, Carl led you to a vantage point where you could see the stars shining brightly above. The world may have been broken, but in that moment, you realized that hope and beauty still existed.

With a gentle touch, Carl brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss. It was a moment of pure serenity, a testament to the resilience of love in the face of adversity.

As you both held each other, the world faded away, and it was just you and Carl, together against all odds. In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges the future held, you would face them side by side.

And so, under the stars, you made a promise to each other - a promise to keep fighting, to keep living, and to cherish every precious moment you had together.

[smutinlove]

Glenn and Maggie

MAJORRRRRR THROWBACK TO THE TIME I WROTE A GLENN AND MAGGIE FIC THAT ENDS IN AN ANGST LIKE SPEECH WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[]

Glenn and Maggie were sitting on the porch of their new home in Alexandria, watching the sun set over the horizon. They had been through so much together in the past few years, but they had always come out stronger. They had lost loved ones, they had been forced to flee their homes, and they had been constantly in danger. But through it all, their love for each other had never wavered.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we got married," Maggie said, smiling at Glenn.

"I know," Glenn said, wrapping his arm around her. "It feels like just yesterday we were saying our vows."

"It feels like a lifetime ago," Maggie said. "So much has happened since then."

"But we've made it through it all together," Glenn said. "And we'll make it through anything else that comes our way."

Maggie leaned her head on Glenn's shoulder. "I know we will," she said. "Because we have each other."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet of the evening. Then, Glenn spoke.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," Maggie said.

They kissed, and then they watched the sun sink below the horizon.

The next day, Glenn and Maggie were out scavenging for supplies when they came across a group of walkers. Glenn quickly drew his gun and fired, taking down two of the walkers. Maggie grabbed a bat and swung it at the third walker, knocking it to the ground. Glenn finished off the walker with a kick to the head.

"That was close," Maggie said, breathing heavily.

"Yeah," Glenn said. "But we made it."

They continued scavenging, and they soon found what they were looking for. They loaded up their supplies and headed back to Alexandria.

When they arrived back at Alexandria, they were greeted by the other survivors. They were all happy to see that Glenn and Maggie were safe.

"We're glad you're back," Carol said.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "We were worried about you."

"We're fine," Glenn said. "We just had a little run-in with some walkers."

"But we took care of them," Maggie said.

The other survivors smiled. They were proud of Glenn and Maggie for their bravery.

Glenn and Maggie went inside their home and put away their supplies. Then, they sat down on the couch and relaxed. They were both tired, but they were also happy to be back home.

"I'm glad we're safe," Maggie said.

"Me too," Glenn said. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Maggie smiled. "I don't know what I would do without you either," she said.

They leaned in and kissed. Then, they lay down on the couch and fell asleep, content in each other's arms. - "Glenn was beautiful, I'll never love anyone like that again. I remember his smile. His goodness. And the way he made me feel. But when I look at you...all I see is that bat coming down his head...blood running down his face. I hear him. I hear him calling for me. And I hear you mocking him while he's dying. So I- can't forgive you. Even though I'm so grateful that you saved my son. Even though I know that you're trying. I'm trying, too."

[moonxsuncelestials]

Aftermath of Ptolemy (Part 5)

It would be about a few days later when a powerful sandstorm came to the gates of Alexandria. And yet, before the gates stood a figure whom Jackal had not seen for years; her black hair with red highlights shone under the stars, her blackened arms like his own, and a pale alabaster marble skin that was littered with scars from her own ordeals that life had thrown at her. Eyes of a topaz gold that spoke of the madness that only she could command and wield as her weapon, other than her velvet voice that lured all to their deaths if she wished it so; dressed leaving little to the imagination once more as her blackened arms pulsed with the same hue as her hair. “Syrina.” He said as his voice warmed slightly and he even smiled at her. 

The last time he saw her, she was nothing more than a meager she-cat, nothing like Bastet or Sekhmet, given that she had been starved; though she truly did show she had a nasty bite. But now, as he took in the sight, Syrina has blossomed into a beautiful young demigoddess worthy of her title as a war goddess. Gods, how long has it been since he last saw the well-endowed woman whose madness matched his own? 

Syrina gave her signature smile before speaking his name. “Jackal. Been ages since you came to play~ Thought you forgot all about us.” She cooed as he laughed. “As much as I would love to let you go all out on the capital, I can’t let you go any further. This bloodbath ends before Gramps returns from Duat.” She stepped forward as Jackal recognized her velvet voice that soothed Destroyer during one of his rage-fueled rampages. “I saw what our sister endured, what Amun had endured.” The sands seemed to respond to her as she began to walk towards him, parting their way as she continued to speak.  

“He wasn’t there to protect her.” Jackal snapped his jaws at her, furious that his little sister would defend Amun. He and Anubis see the darkness within his heart–

“Amun was lured away, Jackal. Despite all the abuse that many others had inflicted on him, Amun would never allow her to suffer the fate he has! Has it occurred to you that when she left, it was HE who bore the worst of it?!” She growled at him as her eyes narrowed, making herself appear more like a demon. “Unlike you, I know what has transpired, of what our little brother and sister went through. You may not care for Amun, but do you think that Amunet will be happy knowing that you’ve punished all humans and not just the one who had touched her?” she roared at him as the winds picked up again. 

The winds felt like her slaps, the same ones she’d done to the gods who had dared to say something against her twin, both he and Anubis or her parents. 

“I know that you’re angry, hurt, and betrayed. You have every right, Sen, to be fueled by hatred and rage. Have you forgotten that I am Living Vengeance? Don’t you remember what you once said to me? ‘Punish only those who deserve your rage, because if not then you are no better than they are’. And neither of our little siblings deserved to undergo what Marksy and I have, Jackal.”

Jackal looked into her eyes as he felt her cold, calloused hands stroking his face,  soon feeling Anubis stir slightly before the jackal god pushed her away from him. “I am her brother,  just as much as Dearest Inapu is. Amun and I are supposed to be her protectors, Syrina! She was nearly-”

A loud clap was heard, and he then felt heat on his cheek where Syrina had slapped him.

“Do you think that she would approve? Would our Little Moon Lotus approve of you harming the innocent children, those whom she loves the most?” she asked. “I know you’re beyond furious Sen. But this has to stop, if not at least punish those who had wronged BOTH of them. Not the innocent, this isn’t you.”

Wiping his lip, he saw blood. Licking it and giving her one of his more maddening smiles, Jackal drew his sword and then launched himself at her only for her to defend her dual swords. It would appear that she would have to fight him. 

“So mote it be, Jackal.” 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love Is Not Forced ~ 18

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,030ish

Summary: The Princess arrives in Brooklyn.

The King of Brooklyn had been a nervous wreck, the two weeks the Princess had stayed in Wakanda. He feared that she was never going to show, never going to give him a chance. The hope that blossomed within him upon receiving T’Challa’s letter that the Princess would soon be in Brooklyn, was fleeting. The nerves set in were worse than before. The King knew that he had messed up with Y/N, multiple times, and that her stay in Brooklyn would be his last chance.

King Steven’s three closest friends had to keep him calm and keep the preparation running as the King worried. There was Captain James Barnes, or Bucky, who was make sure that the guards were prepared. There was Lady Natasha, James’ wife, who was making sure that the place was clean and fresh flower arrangements were being prepared. Lastly, but certainly not least, there was Lord Samuel Wilson, or Sam, who was making sure the guard was prepped as well and that the meal menus looked good.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Steve stated, pacing back and forth in the entry way of his castle.

“I wouldn’t put it passed your body, with the way you’re pacing,” Bucky responded, watching his King.

“I can’t wait for the Princess to arrive at the same time we’re carrying your body away,” Sam laughed. “Now that would be a story to tell!”

“You boys helping Steve’s nerves, or making it worse?” Natasha asked, walking into the room.

“Worse.”     “Better.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and headed over to her nervous friend. She put her hands on his arms to get him to stop pacing and look at her.

“It will be fine, Steve,” she said.

“I’m going to screw up again,” he panicked, shaking his head. “I just know it.”

“Steve,” Natasha moved her hands to the King’s face to keep his focus on her. “Breathe. There’s no way you could possibly screw up again. You have so many different ideas and advantages to get her to open up to you. The Princess has never seen the sea or walked on the beach. Show her how wonderful our kingdom is.”

“Your Majesty,” a guard came in, “the Princess of Alexandria is approaching the gate.”

The smell that filled Y/N’s nostrils as she approached Brooklyn’s castle was foreign to her. But it smelt wonderful. It was salty and kind of chilly. She was became more in awe, the closer the carriage got to the castle. The King’s castle was built on top of and on the side of a cliff. Crystal clear, blue water was its view and there were beaches covered in white sand below. King Steven had told her Brooklyn was beautiful and, unfortunately, she wholeheartedly agreed.

As the carriage pulled up to the castle, the King and his guards were there waiting to greet her. The King rushed to the carriage to open the door and help the Princess out.

“It’s so good to see you again, Your Highness,” the King said, holding a hand out to help her out.

“Likewise,” the Princess responded, curtly, as she ignored his hand and helped herself out.

The King sighed. He knew it was going to be hard to gain her favor, and this just proved it. “I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad. The  roads from Wakanda to Brooklyn can be rough.”

“They were fine,” Y/N responded, keeping her eyes busy at looking everywhere else but the King. From what she had seen of the castle so far, she was impressed. But she would never tell him that.

“So, I was thinking that I could introduce you to Brooklyn tonight?”

“Tonight?” Y/N finally let herself look at the King.

“Well, not to the whole kingdom,” he rushed, looking a bit embarrassed. “But you told me that you’ve never seen the sea or beach before, so I thought that you and I could have dinner on the beach.”

Y/N was a bit surprised at his offer. “You’re not sending me to rest until tomorrow? All the other kingdoms have shown me to my room and told me to rest until the next day.”

“We could do that, if you want. I just thought that—“

“No. I… I don’t want that. I… Yes. I would love to join you for dinner.”

The King smiled, though trying to hide his excitement. “Okay. Umm… you can get settled and rest until then though. Dinner won’t be for a few more hours.”

“Okay.”

“This is Lady Natasha,” the King pointed to a woman standing with two men off to the side. “She will make sure your stay here in Brooklyn is the best it can be.”

“Hello, Your Highness,” the red head stepped up, giving a curtsy. “It will be my genuine pleasure to help you during your stay here.”

“Thank you,” Y/N smiled.

“If there is anything you should need, don’t me afraid to ask Lady Natasha, myself, or my two right hands,” the King stated. Steve motioned for the two men to step closer. “This is my captain of the guards, Captain James Barnes.” 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess,” the Captain bowed, grabbing her hand for a kiss. “And you can call me Bucky. Captain Barnes is too formal.”

“Lady Natasha is the Captain’s wife. And this is Lord Samuel Wilson.” The second man stepped forward, repeating the same actions as the Captain. “He is in charge of basically everything else.”

“You can all me Sam,” Lord Wilson said. “And what the King means by basically everything else is that I teach him how to flirt.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh. Then, I’m sorry to say, Sam, that you are doing a terrible job.” 

Bucky let out a loud laugh, hitting Sam on his back. “I told you Sam. You aren’t that good at flirting. That’s why I’m the only one with a wife.”

“That’s enough,” the King said. Y/N looked at him with a sly smile, he was clearly embarrassed. “Lady Natasha will show you to your room. And I’ll pick you up from there for dinner.”

“Thank you, King Steven. I can’t wait to see more of your beautiful castle and kingdom.”

“I have no idea what to wear to the beach, Wanda,” Y/N said, concerned, as she looked through the dresses that had been packed for her.

“I have something, Your Highness,” Lady Natasha spoke up. “I not sure how it will fit. But we can try it.”

“I’m open to anything at this point, Lady Natasha.”

“I will go fetch it then. I will be right back, Princess.”

Natasha was back almost as soon as she came, with a blue and white dress in tow. It was simpler than the dresses that had been packed for Y/N, but it was still pretty. Natasha and Wanda changed the Princess into it, quickly, because Natasha said that she had been told the King was almost ready. Y/N couldn’t help but feel nervous as the time drew near. She didn’t know what the King would be like, or even what the sea water and sand would be like. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Wanda quickly answered it.

“Your Majesty,” Wanda greeted with a curtsy.

“Is the Princess ready?” King Steven’s voice asked from the hallway.

“I am,” Y/N answered, moving towards the open doorway.

“Great,” the King smiled, holding out his arm. “Shall we be on our way?”

“We shall.” Y/N walked out and headed down the hall, ignoring the King’s arm. 

The King sighed. “Will she ever forgive me?”

“She will,” Wanda replied. “It will just take time. The Princess… she just has trouble trusting people, that’s all. Just be patient, Your Majesty, and continue trying. She’ll come around eventually.”

“Thank you for the advice, Lady…”

“Wanda. You can just call me Wanda.”

“Well, thank you Wanda. For the advice. I must be off. The Princess has seemed to have gone off without directions of where to go.”

“Good luck, Your Majesty. And have fun.”

It didn’t take long for Steven to catch up to Y/N. She had stopped around the corner, fiddling with her hands as she waited. They walked to the outside staircase, that led to the beach, in silence. Steven didn’t know what to say, or where to even begin with the Princess. His mouth had already caused him so much trouble with her, he was afraid he’d do it again. As the ventured further down the stairs, the King heard the Princess gasp.

“What is it?” The King asked, worried that something was wrong.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, staring out to the sea. 

The sun was sitting just above the horizon. The sky was the brightest shade of orange she had ever seen. She looked down to see the waves crashing against the white sand. Y/N believed that she had never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life.

“It is,” the King said, smiling at her. “We must hurry though, if you want to watch the sunset from the beach.”

“Yes,” the Princess smiled.

The two hurried down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Y/N stopped at the last step, staring at sand below. The King watched curious as to what she was going to do. She slowly set one of her feet down. It sank a bit, causing sand to flood into her shoe. She lifted it up, trying to shake the sand out of her shoe.

“Here,” Steven came up to her. “Sometimes it’s better to go barefoot.”

“Really?”

“Really. That way you can feel the sand between your toes and the waves come up over your feet.” The King knelt in front of her, looking up at her. “May I?” 

Y/N nodded, lifting her foot towards him. He carefully removed her shoe, setting it on the bottom step before gesturing for her to lift her other foot. He took that shoe off with the same delicacy as he did the first. After setting her other shoe to the side, the King stood up and held his hand out to Y/N.

“Come on,” he said, smiling at her. She carefully took the King’s hand, stepping down onto the sand.

“It’s so, soft,” she giggled, moving her feet around in the sand. “I love it!”

“I’m glad,” Steven chuckled.

The Princess looked down at his feet, which still had his boots on. “Will you not join me, Your Majesty?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

The King sat down and pulled his boots and socks off quickly. The two of them set towards the water. When they weren’t too far from the shore line, the Princess started running towards the water. She knew that it was improper but she didn’t care. King Steven simply smiled as he watched Y/N reach the shore line and step into the water. Y/N laughed as the waves rolled up over her feet. 

“This is wonderful,” she said.

“It is isn’t it?” Steven said, coming up beside her. “Sometimes I take it for granted.”

“If I lived here, I would make sure that I visited the beach at least once a day.”

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” Y/N looked at Steven, curious. “While you’re here, you visit the beach once a day and I join you.”

“I can’t visit it more than once?”

Steven chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can visit here as much as you would like. I just meant that at least for one of those visits, you let me accompany you. Would that be okay?”

“It’s your kingdom, Your Majesty. You can accompany whenever you please.”

“Yes, you’re correct that it is my kingdom. But you are my guest, and I do not want to push boundaries.”

“I think it would be okay if you were to accompany me at least once a day. I think I could handle that, as long as we’re out here.”

“It’s a deal then?”

“It’s a deal.”

next chapter >

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[knives-out20]

The Impact Of The Intergalactic - David Bowie Opinion Essay - by Beck S.

This is an essay I wrote about the span of David Bowie's career. I wrote it for a summer school course I took last year (August 2021) for a course called History of Rock & Roll.

My teacher gave nice feedback after he marked it, talking about how it was an "Excellent paper. It charts Bowie's progress throughout his career well, and includes significant detail. I could really feel the passion you have about him throughout. In fact, there is *too much* detail! The paper was supposed to be 3 pages max, double-spaced. Still, this is a good problem to have; better too much than too little."

So...enjoy!!

From his early works like Hunky Dory, to Black Tie White Noise in the 1990’s and stretching over to Blackstar as his final album, David Bowie has rarely had a bad album or song- in my opinion. His career has had ups and downs, his musical creations ranging in the way he would pitch his voice and what instruments he would use, the people he would produce with, and the wild things he would say. Charting David Bowie’s development over time is in fact an interesting journey.

Early on in his dreamy career, Bowie would have done nearly anything- or in fact, anyone- to grow in the music world. Hopping from band to band (like The Velvet Underground), producer to producer, doing whatever he could do to get ‘in’ in the industry. His early albums weren’t taken very highly in their times- especially with the ‘man-dress’ he wore on the British release of his The Man Who Sold The World album. Although, this dress was only the start of the androgynous appearance he would soon be known for, over the course of his 5-decade-spanning career.

The 1970’s were strange, to say the least. He married Angela Bowie at the start of the decade, then welcomed their son Duncan Zowie Haywood Jones a year later. Bowie went on to be hopped up on cocaine. David donned the look of one of his famous personas, The Thin White Duke. The same persona with slicked-back ginger hair, a white button-up under a black waistcoat and paired with black dress pants. The same Duke who called Adolf Hitler one of the first ‘rock stars’ and gave off a lot of faschist energy. He said many statements he’d later apologize for and grow as a better man from, which is good- it’s better than standing by then, or even backing himself up and supporting them. David Bowie called that period the darkest days of his life, and blamed the crazy statements on his horrid addiction and deteriorating mental state. The late 1970’s were more favorable, seeing as it gave the world what was dubbed the Berlin Trilogy alongside Brian Eno and David’s personal friend, Iggy Pop. Made up of three of his albums: Low and Heroes (both in 1977) and Lodger (1978). He moved from Los Angeles to Switzerland, then to Berlin as a further decision to escape his addiction (the reason he moved away from LA in the first place). It was in Berlin, of course, where he wrote his famous song Heroes, about two lovers, one from East Berlin and one from West.

Speaking of Berlin, David Bowie performed near the west of the Berlin Wall in 1987; he played so loud that crowds gathered on the east to listen. At this time, Bowie had no idea he would be the beginning of the city’s soon-coming unifying. After his death in 2016, the German government thanked him for bringing the wall down and unifying a divided Germany.

Music isn’t all he is known for, though it is a majority. He also starred in movies from time to time. Being the titular man in The Man Who Fell To Earth in 1976, Jareth the moody goblin king in Jim Henson’s 1986 Labyrinth film (what is most likely his most famous role), Monte the barman in the 1991 movie The Linguini Incident, cameoing as himself in Zoolander (2001), Nikola Tesla in the 2006 movie The Prestige, and even Lord Royal Highness in Spongebob Squarepants’ Atlantis Squarepantis in 2007, among a few others. David Bowie dabbled in the art of acting, and was not that bad at it. He was good enough to gain a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, too. Sometimes it bends my mind that my first introduction to my all-time favourite musician was in a Spongebob Squarepants movie, back before I knew who he was, but David Bowie was never one to shy away from foreshadowing. At least one song from many of his albums would hint at the direction he’d go in for his next release. For example, his track Queen Bitch on Hunky Dory foreshadowed his soon-coming Ziggy Stardust. And the Diamond Dogs track 1984 actually hinted at the Philadelphian soul of Young Americans, which is a more famous song of his, which he went on to perform on The Cher Show with its host.

The 1990’s were certainly an experimental time for David Bowie. But to my knowledge, I think the 1990’s was a time for everyone. He married supermodel Iman some days after performing at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert, and released the album I named earlier, Black Tie White Noise. It is known to have had a prominent use of electronic instruments, as was his other 1990’s album, Earthling. The early 1990’s greeted David’s first real band since the Spiders From Mars, dubbed Tin Machine. They recorded three guitar-driven albums which received mixed reviews from the masses, but Bowie looks back at this period- as do I- with a certain fondness; “a glorious disaster” he called it, when talking to journalist Mick Brown. Tin Machine is a period I don’t listen to often, compared to his solo stuff, but I don’t press the skip button when it comes on.

Alas, the starman’s career drew to a close as the 2000s rolled in. David Bowie greeted the 2000’s with the birth of his and Iman’s daughter, the beautiful Alexandria Zahra Jones. After suffering a- strange, as it were- heart attack symptoms mid-song during a concert in 2004, he took a hiatus from his career. I say strange because given what I know, he was trying his best to stay healthy at the time. According to my special Rolling Stone edition magazine about David Bowie (released at the start of this year), he was on tour and performing in a really hot arena. But Bowie was sober, and had quit smoking. He was taking medication to lower his cholesterol, and worked out with a trainer. Bowie looked great, and yet he felt a pain in his shoulder and chest, along with a shortness for breath. A bodyguard rushed onstage to usher Bowie off of it, cutting the concert short. He only performed live once or twice after that point, but was set on never going live ever again. And he kept his word on that, unfortunately but also fortunately. Unfortunately, because David Bowie live would have been quite the experience- I wouldn’t know, personally. But fortunately, because I do not believe anyone needs a repeat of the 2004 Reality scare.

I am actually not too fond of speaking of his final years. Nobody really likes to speak of the last years of their idols’ life before their death, so it’s no surprise. Blackstar was David Bowie’s 25th and final album, recorded entirely in secret in New York alongside his long-time producer, Tony Visconti. The album's central theme lyrically is mortality, and seeing as Bowie was undergoing chemotherapy for his cancer at the time, I see it as his way of coping with his incoming death. His producer Tony Visconti called him a ‘canny bastard’, when he realized Bowie was essentially writing a farewell album. Every song on the album is what is considered a swan song, a swan song in question being a phrase for a final gesture of some sort before retirement or death. In this case, death. Over the course of recording the album, David Bowie’s chemotherapy had actually been working and he had an eerie optimism while recording. But by the time they shot the two music videos Blackstar and Lazarus, where he showed off the definite passage of time and cruelty of chemotherapy through sparse and gray hair with sagging skin, he knew his condition was terminal and that this would be a battle he would lose. Blackstar wasn’t the first album to have been made by a musician succumbing to a fatal illness, but in my opinion it is in fact the most beautiful. It’s jazzy, and elegant, showing how at peace he had become with dying.

Blackstar the album was released on January 8th, 2016. Also known as David Bowie’s 69th birthday. Two days later, David Bowie died at his Lafayette Street home on January 10th after living with liver cancer for up to 18 months. Beforehand, he had let it be known he did not want a funeral nor a burial, but rather that his body be cremated and the ashes to be scattered in Bali by his loved ones. His wish was received, and planet Earth was very much bluer and quieter without his colour and wonderful noise.

As I said earlier on, David Bowie’s career came with ups and downs. His mysteriously close relationship with Mick Jagger, his cross with famous underage groupie Lori Maddox, the births of his two talented children, his faschist bender in the 70’s, and final bang of Blackstar in his final year on earth. Through the highs and lows, his career and his music meant a lot to the quote-unquote misfits and freaks of the world, myself included. David Bowie turned and faced the strange, shouted “you’re not alone!” To those who felt the loneliest, he surely spent his career helping those who needed to be themselves, feel more freer and braver in doing so, no matter what they may be when they are themselves. He never went boring, he never went stale, he sang what he wanted and dressed how he pleased, and kept to his word on how much more to life there is when you’re just that; yourself. A year after David Bowie’s untimely passing, his son Duncan Jones accepted an award for British album of the year that was won by Blackstar at the 37th annual Brit Awards. When he accepted it, he made a speech about his father that I will leave here, and never forget. Seeing as it perfectly encapsulates David Bowie’ legacy, and the true meaning of his extraordinary career.

“I lost my dad last year, but I also became a dad. And, uhm, I was spending a lot of time- after getting over the shock- of trying to work out what would I want my son to know about his granddad? And I think it would be the same thing that most of my dad's fans have taken over the last 50 years. That he’s always been there supporting people who think they’re a little bit weird or a little bit strange, a little bit different, and he’s always been there for them. So...this award is for all the kooks, and all the people who make the kooks. Thanks, Brits, and thanks to his fans.” - Duncan Z. H. Jones (February 22 2017, at The O2 Arena in London.)

[plus-size-reader]

Pretty Girl

Abraham Ford x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1421 words

Warnings: none

Summary: A dinner party in the apocalypse sounded ridiculous, but maybe it could be good for something?

——————————————————————————————————

You knew how important this all was for your mom, the whole dinner party thing, but you just weren’t sure that it was a good idea.

After all, this new group she’d just brought in had been on the outside for a really long time and you weren’t sure that something like that was going to make it better.

You could only run for so long, but that didn’t mean they were ready for the normalcy that your family had created within the walls. It could be a lot to handle all at once and no one knew that better than you.

Not that long ago, you were in their shoes, doing your very best to make it all work but just when you were about to give up, both Reggie and Deanna took you in.

They saved your life and in doing so, they became your family. Granted, you had been here before the walls even went up around here, right after the world came crashing down around you.

...But you had made it work, and you were confident that they could too.

It was going to take time, but lucky for you, you had all the time in the world. “Come on, you really think this is a good idea?” you sighed, trying desperately to make Deanna understand.

The idea was crazy to begin with but as soon as she looked at you, it was clear that she wasn’t going to discuss this. She believed in you and the rest of this place. She was confident they could make this place better.

All they needed was a chance to do so.

“It will be fine darling. You just need to have a little faith” she grinned, reaching out to pull you close. She gave you a small hug, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before leaving the room entirely.

Whatever this was, whatever she was planning, there was one thing that was clear to you above everything else and that was that this was important to her. For whatever reason, it had to.

“Sounds good” you grumbled, talking under your breath as she walked away, fully understanding that the conversation was over. You should have known better than to ask her about it.

In fact, you didn’t think about the dinner party again until the night came for everyone to gather in your home.

You had never been one for parties, even before. There was just something about all these people, and all the small talk and stuff that drove you crazy. You hated it, but you weren’t going to fight them.

If this helped them all feel normal, then you knew better than to argue. If nothing else, this was important to Deanna and she saved your life. You owed it to her to just follow along.

Still, when the discussion started, you found yourself unable to keep from rolling your eyes.

This whole party thing was ridiculous, and you knew that before. However, it wasn’t until you saw it in practice that you realized just how ridiculous it was. No one seemed to understand that the world as you knew it had crumbled around you.

All they could think about was pasta, soccer teams and all those things they had been deprived of.

You just didn’t care for any of that.

You had seen too many things to be thinking about baking and wine parties. On one hand, you understood that it was important for people to feel normal again but the problem was that these people didn’t really understand in the first place.

Most of them had come to Alexandria shortly after the world came crashing down, before the dead really swarmed the streets and picked off those unlucky enough to be stuck without shelter.

They didn’t get to see how bad it really was, not like how you and this new group had.

They genuinely thought that this was the most pressing thing in their lives.You hated to admit it but you couldn’t blame them for that. Some people just hadn't gotten to see what you had.

That wasn’t their fault.

Though, you didn’t really care too much for that excuse and you weren’t the only one. Across the room was Abraham Ford, the largest, stone cold man you’d ever seen with bright red hair.

You didn’t know very much about him, and you hadn’t spoken to him quite yet but that didn’t matter. There was a connection between the two of you.

After all, the general distaste you shared was enough to connect anyone. Though, the copious amounts of alcohol that he’d had since coming through the door didn’t hurt either.

If nothing else, it took away whatever hesitance he could have toward approaching you and replaced that with confidence.

You were beautiful.

Beautiful, and clearly unhappy.

Those were two things that he could handle, and frankly, he was itching to speak with you over everyone else in the room.

Before coming here, Abraham was sure that Rosita was the last woman in the world, and he drew comfort from her. However, now that wasn’t the case and he wasn’t sure how he felt about her now.

Now that he wasn’t focused on getting Eugene to Washington and this was just how life was now, maybe he could focus on living.

This place did offer an opportunity to do that.

“Well hello there” he started, finding you across the room through the crowd of people. You had no idea why he was talking to you, but you smiled as best you could.

You weren’t really in the mood to make small talk with anyone right now, but you also didn’t want to be rude. As best you could tell, Abraham was as nice as anyone.

If nothing else, you were trying to be cordial, just like Deanna would want you to be.

“Hi. How are you?” you asked, trying your best to be as sweet as you could. You could tell that he had been drinking but there was no reason for him to refrain.

After all, he was a grown man and it wasn’t like he had a 9-5 to get to in the morning. Frankly, if this evening went on any longer, you were going to join him.

“Doing just fine, little lady. What’s wrong? You aren’t much of a party type?” he wondered, shocked that you weren’t joining in on the rest of the festivities with the others.

From the looks of you, there should have been nothing keeping you from having a good time but you weren’t. Granted, Abraham couldn’t judge you.

He had no idea what you had been through so he couldn’t ridicule you.

If anyone else had questioned you in that way, you would have been upset but you weren’t with Abraham. For some reason, there was something endearing about his strange ways.

He was nothing more than a bumbling drunk, and there was something so cute about his actions. He was trying to make a good impression on you.

...For whatever reason.

You were nothing special around here, and everyone else knew it but Abraham didn’t think so. From where he was standing, you were one of the most stunning creatures to ever live.

He wasn’t much for fawning over women or making a fool of himself but that was just the truth.

There was no changing it and no avoiding it so the best he could do was strike up a conversation and hope for the best.

“Not here. Not after everything I’ve been through. I’m surprised you’re able to relax” you countered, knowing that he knew exactly what you were talking about.

You were sure that he’d been through countless horrors at the hands of the world outside the walls. He was bound to understand how stupid this whole evening was.

Besides, he had a point. You had never been much of a party person, even before all this.

“More than a few bottles got me there, that and talking to a pretty girl doesn’t hurt” he shrugged, winking at you in a way that would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t drinking.

Granted, you both cared less and less as the minutes ticked by.

“Well, come find me in the morning and we’ll see if I’m just as pretty when you’re sober” you joked, a slight smirk on your face as you walked away from him, leaving the redhead in your wake.

You just hoped he’d take you up on your offer.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 6/Finale - Treasure” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Ready to go into the treasure room? What treasures lie within? And what treasure will you discover after you make it out?

Thank you so much for the support and love for this series! I love these characters so much. I think I might love Riley Poole more now than I did at the start of writing this series, if that’s possible.

I hope you enjoy this final part!!!

Also, thank you @ivorydragoness44 for proofreading!

Warnings: That pesky sprained ankle. Mentions of all the dangers that our lovable characters went through.

Check out: Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

Word Count: 6,465 words)

“The all-seeing eye.” Ben whispered as he ran a hand over one of the carved-in walls. “‘Through the all-seeing eye.’” The lit torch in his hand illuminated the old art on the wall. A single eye. He brush away at thick layers of dirt and dust.

“That means…” Riley said his thoughts out loud, “by the time lan figures it out and comes back here, we’ll still be trapped, and he’ll shoot us then. Either way, we’re gonna die.”

You gave a light squeeze to Riley’s hand.

Ben looked to all of you with a soft, confident gaze, “Nobody’s gonna die.”

There was a pause.

“There’s another way out.”

Riley all but rushed forward, not letting you go and urged you to move as he asked, “Where?”

“Through the treasure room.”

A push of Ben’s thumb onto the dusty surface and the set-in wall with the all-seeing eye roared to life. Air and rocks moving.

Ben and Riley shared joyous smiles.

Reaching over, Ben handed you the torch to hold before turning back to the wall. Ben started to slide it to the left.

“I got it,” Riley whispered, taking the torch from you and giving a quick glance down at your probably still swollen ankle.

“Here.” Patrick handed Abigail the torch. He went immediately to help his son. In only a few moments, they had gotten the wall to really start moving. Dust and dirt falling from a dark new opening as it revealed itself.

“Riley.” Ben nodded and he was given the torch back. He crossed over the short half wall.

Patrick went next after Abigail gave him back the torch he had been using. Then she went before you as you pulled your hand from Riley’s and bounded over the small obstacle.

It was another enclosed room, larger and no less dusty. Various items were scattered across the floor either broken or covered in cobwebs. Anything left was either a decorative pillar or had held something at a point in time.

On your left sat a trunk long ago opened and emptied.

Abigail let out a short and heavy sigh.

Whatever joy you had when the wall opened had faded.

It was basically an empty room. No treasure. No history from other civilizations. Just dust.

It’s empty.

You looked up to see Ben’s back. The torch out to the side as his shoulders slouched.

Oh, Ben, you thought sadly. All this work.

“Looks like someone got here first.” Riley whispered.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Abigail said.

“It’s gone.” Ben looked around to the other side of the room before facing away from you all again.

“Listen, Ben…” Patrick said as he slowly walked forward.

“It may have even been gone before Charles Carroll told the story to Thomas Gates.” Ben muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I know. ‘Cause you were right.”

“No, I wasn’t right.” Patrick stated firmly.

You watched on in silence and surprise.

“This room is real, Ben. And that means the treasure is real.” Patrick stood before Ben. “We’re in the company of some of the most brilliant minds in history, because you found what they left behind for us to find and understood the meaning of it. You did it, Ben. For all of us. Your grandfather, and all of us. And I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong.”

Your eyes started prickling with emotion. It had been a long while since Patrick and Ben had just talked. No arguments. Just honesty and positivity.

If only the disappointment in the air wasn’t so thick.

You hoisted yourself up to sit on a stone surface. Relief rushed to your feet and tender ankle. Riley soon joined you on your right.

“I just…” Ben walked over to lean against a surface. “Really thought I was gonna find the treasure.”

“Okay.” Patrick said, standing tall. “Then we just keep looking for it.”

You smiled.

Abigail took a step or so closer and said, “I’m in.”

“I’ve got time.” You pipped up.

“Okay.” Ben breathed out, looking between all of you.

“Not to be Johnny Rain Cloud here,” Riley spoke up, “but that’s not gonna happen. Because as far as I can see, we’re still trapped down here.”

“Yeah.” Abigail’s eyebrows drew together.

That didn’t settle right with you. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t fit. You couldn’t quite grasp it.

That doesn’t really add up. It’s old enough, you thought as you considered you were at a dead-end.

“Now, Ben, where is this other way out?” Riley asked.

“Well, that’s it.” Ben stood straighter as his voice held his growing confidence. “It doesn’t make any sense, because the first thing the builders would have done after getting down here was cut a secondary shaft back out for air…”

“Right.” Patrick was already back to the right side of the room.

“...and in case of cave-ins.” Ben started to move, heading straight for a decorative wall with Abigail at his heels.

You watched your best friend tentatively. There was no doubt that he could find something. Anything. From what you could see from a distance away, Ben was eyeing and touching discs on a wall. One in particular.

“Could it really be that simple?” Ben muttered and reached into a pocket where he had stashed away the pipe.

You leaned closer to catch his words, practically about to support yourself on Riley’s left thigh just to see what was happening.

“‘The secret lies with Charlotte.’” Ben placed the small decorative ship piece into the section of the wall.

No one else spoke as Ben slotted in the second piece of the pipe and started to rotate the disc counterclockwise. Sounds of stone and mechanisms filling the room softly.

click

Ben then pushed the circular piece in.

WOOSH

Air rushed into the room as a wall started to move at the far side of the room. The fire on the torches becoming a small hazard for a few moments.

Wait. What? It’s…Charlotte was the key more than once? …brilliant.

Riley stood from the stone, eyes fixated to the opposite wall.

You were careful when hoping off of the stone. Your ankle only complaining a little. Not that it could damper your rising spirits.

Everyone was quietly in awe.

Wasting no time, Patrick walked swiftly to the new opening.

With a bright smile and a bounding step, Riley went straight towards the room’s exit.

From the new opening, you stepped through to the right. On either side, walls were decorated with art, their color still visible.

It was like a lucid dream.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stopped beside your friends at the opening. Both your mind and eyes were trying to process and believe what was laid out in the open area. From what you could see from the torches’ light, the room had treasure across every suitably open surface. Glancing around the room, there were statues from Egyptian times, cobweb covered trunks, various sized statues from different cultures, vases, candle holders, trinkets, and world history. You were literally surrounded by history.

Ben finally joined the four of you. Silent. Taking it all in.

Abigail moved first. Her steps taking her farther into the room.

Blinking your senses back, you took gentle steps onward to one of the tables.

Patrick started towards the left.

Riley tentatively started forward.

It was all so much like a dream. Beautiful and everything you could hope to be surprised with after the journey that had to be made to get there.

How long had the treasure all sat there without an eye to look at it nor a hand to touch it? How long since fresh air had circulated through its halls and secret rooms?

Your hands remained at your sides. Treasure and history was right in front of you, however your awe was still overwhelming. Your feet took you to another table, slowly. Still absorbing that you were there.

“Scrolls from the library at Alexandria. Could this be possible?” Abigail whispered from somewhere behind scrolls stacked on shelves.

But…they were burned…destroyed in two different occasions, you thought in wonder. What else was saved? Hidden.

Peeking up, you were just able to see Patrick off at a section where there were suits of armor.

Now, that’s something sleek-looking. What metal alloys are they exactly made from? We need to date this—

Your gaze was caught to something on a table. “No way,” your voice was hushed as your eyes couldn’t pick one place to focus on first. “This doesn’t look entirely Egyptian. How many cultures made similar designs?” You made your way through the various and incredible pieces of history. Afraid to actually touch anything, you settled for looking incredibly close. It was easy to totally ignore the slight ache in your ankle because it was not the time for that.

“It’s a big...bluish-green man, with a strange-looking goatee. I’m guessing that’s significant.” Riley said from somewhere behind you.

He’s so freakin’ cute.

Grinning, you looked to see where Ben had gone to investigate. You hadn’t heard a sound from him. He was at the top of a set of stairs. He sifted his hand through something before lowering the torch.

Fire ignited and roared down between stairs, sectioned into three routes, and sectioned off again and again. Busts, statues, flags, literature, and more were made visible as fire illuminated the rest of the room. A huge room. Years of world history underneath everyone’s noses.

Ben slowly walked over to a railing and you all joined him. Patrick to Ben’s left and Abigail to his right. Dusty pillars with paint chips stood tall at sections of the railing, one of which stood between Abigail and Riley. Your spot was all of the open space beside Riley with a view of possibly thousands of pieces of history.

“Yes!” Patrick cheered, throwing an arm around his son.

You smiled to Abigail as you all but bounced on your feet.

“This is amazing.” You said.

The room extended yards out. Almost every inch of space had to be covered or stacked with some part of history.

“Riley, are you crying?” Abigail asked.

You looked over at your friend. Indeed, his eyes shined with tears.

“Look.” Riley swallowed. “Stairs.” His gaze was fixated to the very far side of the large room, if you could call it simply a room, there were wooden steps leading up to an exit.

Thank goodness, you thought. But I will risk my ankle being slightly more swollen if I can have a little look around before leaving for fresh air. I can take it.

Glancing back to Riley, you wrapped an arm behind Riley’s shoulders and he was quick to tuck himself into your hug.

“We’re getting out of here alive.” You said the first words that had barely went through your mental filter.

He wiped his hands over his eyes, “Yeah.”

“And with extra knowledge.”

Abigail gave you smile.

Hearing Riley sniffle, you added, “Let it out, Riley. Let it out.”

Zigzagging your way through stacks of knowledge and towering statues, the five of you reached the stairs in the fair back. A large statue stood beside it, practically on its way to reach the ceiling. How that statue in particular had gotten down there, you could only have a few educated guesses.

The group of you had carefully gone up the stairs before being greeted by more dust and dirt. Those cobwebs had to be older than all of you.

Traveling through more carved out halls, Ben lead the way with a torch in hand.

“Hey, does anyone still have their cell phone?” Ben asked.

“Hold up,” you spoke up as you reached into your pocket.

“Mine’s dead.” Riley said flatly.

After holding the power button on your phone and the small screen flashed on, you saw just one colorful light spot.

“Geez.” You blinked a few times. Once your phone had turned on, the tiny battery bar was extremely low. “Uh. Maybe you could spare one call?”

“Great. I need to make a call to Agent Sadusky.” Ben explained.

“Alright, here—Really?” You grumbled.

Your cell phone’s screen turned black.

“There goes that idea.” Riley added.

“Eh,” you pocketed your phone.

You only heard Patrick chuckle behind you, though you were certain it wasn’t because of the cell phones. Thrilled by finding treasure perhaps?

“Looks like this is our exit.” Ben announced as he stopped at a dead end where you all would have to crawl again. “Hold this?” He handed Abigail the torch.

The four of you crouched down to watch as Ben kicked and kicked. An exit crumbled open.

Ben coughed as he knelt through the opening to the church.

“Hi. Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” Ben asked, his head peering out.

. . .

Back inside the church, above ground, the real world trickled back into your thoughts. Breathing felt easier, if only a fraction.

Ben had called the FBI. He had asked to speak with someone called Sadusky and told them you were all at Trinity Church with the Declaration of Independence.

After he had gotten off of the phone, Ben reassured you all not to worry and that he would handle it. What ever might happen, it was his doing.

The five of you were accompanied by quiet FBI agents at the back doors and in a row of seating.

An air of uncertainty hung around the group of you.

Who you assumed to be the agent Sadusky walked down the aisle with a hand in his pocket. Ben sat at the small set of steps at the alter waiting.

You silently made your way into one of the back rows, eyes on Ben. Riley, Abigail, and Patrick filed in after you as eyes were on Ben handing the Declaration to the man. Your futures on the line.

Clenched fingers rested on your knees. Your heart rate raising once again.

Would they take Ben back with them? You thought sadly. Would they take us too?

The two men stood in front of one another. Without a word or moment of hesitation, Ben handed over the Declaration of Independence in its cylinder.

“Just like that?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“Just like that.” Ben answered.

“You do know you just handed me your biggest bargaining chip?” He lifted up the cylinder for emphasis.

“The Declaration of Independence is not a bargaining chip. Not to me.”

“Have a seat.”

You swallowed, trying to hide your nerves. To steel them because none of you knew how it would turn out. Were you all in deep trouble still? It was all so complicated.

“So what’s your offer?” Agent Sadusky asked, sitting on the steps beside Ben.

“Oh…How about a bribe? Say...ten billion dollars?” Ben said nonchalantly.

“I take it you found the treasure?” He sounded a hint impressed.

“It’s about five stories beneath your shoes.” Ben gestured.

“Hm. You know, the Templars and the Freemasons believed that the treasure was too great for any one man to have, not even a king. That’s why they went to such lengths to keep it hidden.”

“That’s right.” Ben was looking at the man, really looking. Learning about the agent through each word spoken. “The Founding Fathers believed the same thing about government. I figure their solution will work for the treasure too.”

“Give it to the people.”

“Divide it amongst the Smithsonian, the Louvre, the Cairo museum…There’s thousands of years of world history down there. And it belongs to the world, and everybody in it.” Ben stated in a mixture of awe and passion.

“You really don’t understand the concept of a bargaining chip.” The agent teased lightheartedly.

You smiled, absentmindedly rubbing under your eye. Beside you, Riley had lowered his head with a pleasant grin on his face.

“Okay, here’s what I want.” Ben said more firmly. “Doctor Chase gets off completely clean, not even a little Post-it on her service record.”

“Okay.”

“I want the credit for the find to go to the entire Gates family, with the assistance of Mr. Riley Poole and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).”

Whoa.

“And what about you?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“I’d really love not to go to prison. I can’t even begin to describe how much I would love not to go to prison.” Ben’s gaze had set elsewhere, far away.

“Someone’s got to go to prison, Ben.”

Well how about the guy who locked us in The Charlotte and left us for dead! You thought, still incredibly bitter and for a good reason.

“Well, if you’ve got a helicopter, I think I can help with that.” Ben smiled.

Did Ben say what I think he said? Oh, please. Please.

. . .

Safety and ease had never felt as good as it did then. You and Riley were sitting in your apartment. Quiet and ears still trained for any unknown sound.

You had been promised that it was alright to go. It was better to be safe than sorry and freaking out later.

The both of you had been cautious as you had ventured farther into the place. Eyes darting to each corner and checking each room. To say that you two had been through a lot would be over simplifying.

You about leaped out of your skin when your phone rang. Pulse up, you hurried over to where your phone and Riley’s were charging by the wall. Holding up the phone you read the caller ID: Ben

“Hello?” You answered after flipping your phone open.

“Hey. You two alright?” Ben asked over the phone.

“Yeah. Still jumpy though. My apartment’s fine. Nothing moved. You?”

Riley had rushed up beside you, ear leveled to your phone.

“They got Ian.” Ben’s words sent a wave of relief through you.

“Thank you,” Riley sighed.

“They got Powell and the others too.” Ben added.

“Hey, let us know when you’re back.” Riley spoke into the phone as you held it between you.

“I will. It’ll probably be pretty late though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just call one of us at least.” You said.

“I will. It’s late, you two should sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you and Riley said in unison.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You ended the phone call.

“It’s over,” Riley said. The disbelief still waving over him.

“Yeah. It’s kind of weird.”

He rose an eyebrow.

“It’s almost like it didn’t happen.” You clarified.

“But it did. And I’m going to have a hard time forgetting any of it.”

You put your phone back down and headed back to the couch. Reaching over to the table, you grabbed the ice pack and set it back onto your ankle once you were settled. You took over most of the couch, Riley had to make sure not to accidentally bump your foot as he sat on the far cushion.

Had you missed your couch? Considering the amount of running around and sleeping in a car, yes.

Sighing, you stretched out on the couch a little more.

“Does it still bother you?” Riley asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your ankle.”

“A little, not much. I just want it healed up.” You said before letting out a yawn.

Riley nodded. His eyes focusing elsewhere.

“They didn’t…Ian didn’t hurt you when they took you, did he?” Riley asked, eyes meeting yours.

“They didn’t try anything.” You reassured him. “I’ve known them for a handful of years, so…I figured out how to get what I needed and make them uncomfortable. Just enough.”

He scrunched up his face, “How? I mean…wait, when we got to the church you were wearing different clothes.”

“You’d be surprised how logical, persuasive, and slightly annoying I can be.”

“You being logical isn’t a surprise,” Riley chuckled. He scooted further into the comforts of the couch. “Especially if it gets you out of something.”

You smiled.

Stretched out on the couch, safe in your apartment with everything in its place, you closed your eyes. Your friends were alright and free to go about their lives, especially after Ben telling the FBI where Ian would be. Soon Ben would be able to relax as well. Ben knew that Riley was with you, both of you mildly paranoid after everything that had happened since finding The Charlotte. Hence why you had about leaped six feet into the air when your phone rang earlier.

You were finally able to relax knowing that Ben was on his way home.

No radio was on. No television set to disrupt the silence. An empty pizza box was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen from hours earlier. You had elected to throw it out later. The two of you had basically inhaled the pizza no sooner it had arrived. It was the best pizza you had eaten in a long while.

The apartment was quiet in the late hours of the day and held only familiarity. It was a wonder that neither you nor Riley had fallen asleep yet.

Maybe I had one slice too many, you thought.

Still being slightly full from pizza was a dilemma you were willing to put up with. Also being glad that all danger had passed, none of you were going to prison, you were alive, and the treasure was beyond what you imagined.

Everything turned out fine.

You rolled your foot, testing for soreness. Icing your ankle was one of the best things that had happened to you in at least a week.

“It’s been about twenty minutes,” Riley murmured. “I think you can take the ice off again.”

You made a small noise in your throat, but made no effort to move.

What was another two minutes? Or five?

Ben had yet to call. You and Riley were both close to dozing off on the couch.

Quiet and unmoving. Calm and security.

Your breathing evened out, becoming deeper.

The last thing you remembered before going to sleep was Riley unfolding a throw blanket and a comforting warmth enveloping you.

. . .

Three months later.                   

The last three months had been vastly different and almost dreamlike. Firstly, your ankle was fine after a few days. Secondly, the names Gates, Poole, and (Y/L/N) were populating the historical society. Then as time went, you no longer lived in an apartment complex with paper thin walls, you had money investing, you lived where you could actually hang shelves on the walls, you were more involved in the historical community, and you were even happier than you could ever recall.

On a similar spectrum, Ben and Abigail had finally chosen a home together. Their relationship had become quite serious over the past couple of months.

Walking along the grass, the couple led you and Riley out in the yard as a last look around before you and Riley were to leave. Greens all around you, from the grass to the trees. Fallen leaves scattered across the lawn. Between leaving their house tour and strolling through the yard, Riley had received a call.

“Yeah. You got it, chief. Thank you. Bye.” Riley said before pocketing his phone.

You looked over expectantly.

“They want us in Cairo next week for the opening of the exhibit. They’re sending a private jet.” Riley said.

“That’s fun.” Abigail smiled.

“Yeah, big whoop.” Riley pulled at his jacket and turned to Ben. “We could have had a whole fleet of private jets. Ten percent, Ben. They offered you ten percent and you turned it down.” He was clearly slightly bitter and upset about the arrangement still.

“Riley, we’ve been over this. It was too much. I couldn’t accept it.” Ben said softly.

Riley leaned closer, showcasing his right index finger.

“I still have this splinter that’s been festering for three months from an old piece of wood.”

“Okay,” Ben stopped and the rest of you did as well. “I’ll tell you what. Next time we find a treasure that redefines history for all mankind, you make the call on the finder’s fee.” Both Ben and Abigail smiled.

“That’s not as funny.” Riley looked between the pair. “What do you care? You got the girl.” Riley turned his head to Abigail.

His tone deflated you. You kept your sights on the couple.

“It’s true.” She said happily.

“It’s true.” Ben wrapped an arm around Abigail and pulled her in for a kiss.

You smiled and shuffled a foot.

Once they parted from their display of affection, they grinned at their friend.

“Rub it in.” Riley started walking the short distance to his red sports car. “Enjoy your spoils…”

Ben sent you a friendly wink and a head nod towards Riley, who was stepping up to his car.

You gave a wary expression to which Abigail gestured with her hands for you to get moving.

My life, you thought and looked to the sky briefly.

Riley hopped into his car and continued his miniature rant, “While I sit on one percent. One stinkin’ percent. Half of one percent, actually.”

You climbed into the passenger’s seat and buckled up.

“One percent. Unbelievable.” He muttered beside you.

“I’m sorry for your suffering, Riley.” Ben said as he leaned on the car.

“For the record,” Riley looked over, “Ben, I like the house.”

Riley put on his sunglasses.

“You know,” Ben stood straight and his hands started gesturing happily, “I chose this estate because in 1812 Charles Carroll met…”

“Yeah, someone that did something in history and had fun. Great. Wonderful.” Riley said sarcastically as he started the car.

You grinned over at Ben and Abigail, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Could have had a bigger house.” Riley started driving off.

So dramatic, you thought as you waved to both Abigail and Ben.

As Riley turned along the graveled driveway, he ran over green grass. The gears of the car crunching.

“Riley.”

“I got it. I got it.”

Adjusting back onto the driveway, Riley gassed it. The engine roaring perfectly.

An easy smile pulled on your lips.

He totally loves this car.

In the car, on the road back to your house, you switched to another radio station. The volume relatively low even with the wind rushing passed.

There was something on your mind that you knew you had to ask. A few things actually. It was one that was starting to nag you, but only because you didn’t ask earlier.

You looked over to Riley and placed a gentle hand on his jacket sleeve.

“Is that suede?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. It looks good.” You returned your hand to your lap.

“Thank you.”

The car continued down the long stretch of road, trees seeming to blur on the far sides.

“You know,” you started, “Your finger is fine.”

“Wha—.”

“I gave you Neosporin and then the next day I even used Vicks. I checked it with a magnifying glass. You’re fine.” You laughed.

“It’s festering!” Riley complained before a grin appeared on his face as he kept his eyes on the road.

The little stinker! You thought as you laughed again. It felt good. The laughing and spending time with Riley. It felt natural.

You thought back to the past three months where there had literally been an entire phone call that Ben dedicated to telling you all the reasons why you should ask Riley on a date or flat out confess or show your feelings.

“We have been shot at, escaped an exploding ship, chased, threatened, and forced into unfavorable conditions. You can tell Riley how you feel about him.” Ben reasoned over the phone.

“I can’t do th—.”

“Yes, you can. You care about him, don’t you?”

“Yes. He’s my friend, I wouldn’t want—.”

“Then you can tell him. I know you can. Take the chance, (Y/N). It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“If anything bad or negative happens I’m gonna blame you or just complain. Every phone call.”

“Fine. Just tell Riley how you feel.”

Could you though? That was the question.

Would it be worth it? If it doesn’t turn out…right, you thought. What if I’m literally just a friend to him? Nothing more or added? Yeah, Ben would be giving me a hard look right now for thinking that, wouldn’t he?

What would Riley do if he knew what you were thinking? You weren’t sure.

Without a doubt you knew that Riley was good and helpful. One of the most genuinely friendly people you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Riley was fun and willing to lend a hand when asked. He had helped you with your computer more than once. Just little things. It might not have been much of a hassle for him, but you really appreciated him. You had movie nights together when Riley wasn’t interested in one of Ian’s poker game nights. Riley always brought over a different snack and favored not having to share with a large group. He never hounded you with questions when you’d show him the basics on how to package art in order to ship it. There was a day when Riley let you hang out in his van when someone you met at a networking event wanted to pick you up for lunch. Then looking for the treasure and what that entailed. You weren’t sure what you wouldn’t do for that man.

Riley had even helped you move in to your new place. He still brought up about your easel that pinched his fingers and fell on his foot. It was never entirely a serious comment, always followed by a small smile from him. Which incidentally was brought up on the ride to Abigail and Ben’s house.

If you were actually going to tell Riley how you felt about him then you dearly hoped all those times that felt like you two were flirting were actual flirting moments. It had definitely felt like it at those times or afterwards when you thought about it. Sometimes you were too in the moment to tell.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You glanced over to see Riley looking at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Okay,” he returned his sights to the road.

You’re fairly certain Riley wasn’t convinced.

. . .

Soon your home came into view and Riley pulled the car up to the front. Parking the car, Riley turned to you reflexively.

“Would you like to come inside for a bit?” You asked as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Sure. Could use the not-chosen-specifically-for-historical-reasons scenery.”

You barked a laugh and both of you jumped out of the car. Honestly, you didn’t think he ever used the doors. It made you feel like a tv action hero anyway.

Unlocking the door, you walked inside before stepping aside to let Riley in before closing the door.

“You want something to drink?” You asked as you took off your shoes.

“Yeah. Whatever you have is fine.”

With a smile you headed towards the kitchen, setting your keys and such on a side table. It was good to be home. A place that was actually your own. No worries about neighbors upstairs or downstairs. Added that you could hang whatever you wanted on the walls. Historical art and artifacts included.

Reaching the kitchen, you stood at the sink after you grabbed two drinking glasses.

The sound of feet padding across the floor alerted you to Riley walking in.

“So…how’s that friend of yours?” Riley tone had a slight weight to it. “The one who got you into the Gala?”

“Oh,” you laughed lightly and handed Riley a glass of water. “They’re fine. Nothing really new to report. Although, I think they even told their mom what happened—the treasure. Well…I mean, I didn’t tell them everything. Obviously.”

“Are you going to invite them to go to Cairo?” He leaned on the counter.

“No.”

His eyebrows rose for a split second.

“I hadn’t even thought about it.” You cringed and added, “I wouldn’t be obligated to do that right? We’re friends, but I don’t want to invite them to everything.”

“N-no. You could, uh, you could bring them back a souvenir instead.” Riley suggested.

“That sounds like the safer way to go.”

As quiet settled, you drank some water.

I’m sure my friend will expect something else to happen if I invite them. You thought. All considering last time and I know they were questioned.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being with your other friend, it was just that they weren’t the type of person you would feel comfortable with on a trip. They were someone you only really saw in professional or business type settings and not going to the movies with. You liked them, but you did not want to worry about giving them a certain amount of attention while in Cairo. There were things you wanted to experience freely. No awkward conversations. Added that you didn’t want to say everything you did while protecting the Declaration of Independence. There were certain things you only wanted to do with your close best friends.

“Do you think we’ll be able to go on some tours while we’re there?” You asked abruptly.

“If we arrange for some, sure. But you know if you mention it to Ben, we’ll be signed up for every tour.”

“No harm in that.”

“As long as we don’t go into any more tombs.”

“Oh, no, no, no. We don’t know what sort of technology-magic was used back then. I’m not getting cursed. Thank you.”

Riley smiled over the rim of the glass.

“Hey, you watched The Mummy.” You gestured with your glass.

“We watched The Mummy last year on one of our movie nights.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He smirked before saying, “You were researching Egyptian history for a month. You kept telling Ben that there could be some Egyptian history in the treasure because of their ships.”

“And?” You looked at him expectantly.

“And…I saw the treasure too.”

“Um-hm.”

Shaking his head, he smiled while looking into the glass of water.

You sort of just watched him.

Admiring, not being creepy. You peered away to the counter.

A sudden thought struck you: Now with the treasure found, how often would you see your friends?

Ben and Abigail had their privacy and work. Riley started mentioning how he wanted to write something. Sure, friends needed to be on their own paths, I know that. But…can I have more? Am I allowed more?

You could practically see Ben’s face raising an eyebrow.

Oh, crap. Your stomach twitched into knots. This is it, isn’t it?

Raising the rim of the glass to your lips, you practically drank the rest of the water. Stalling was something you weren’t against. But how long could you do it for?

“Okay,” you said quietly. Eyes trained on the counter for a bit longer even as you felt Riley’s eyes on you. You set the drinking glass down.

I can do this. You got this. Just blurt it out. If anything, I can go hide in a room or call Ben later.

“I’m just gonna lay everything out there,” you took a couple of breathes. Then you made eye contact with Riley’s blue eyes. “I think we have something. I’m pretty sure…yeah?” Your arms hung loosely at your sides. You were unsure, hopeful, and scared.

The silence that followed frightened you and disheartened you to no end.

“Yeah.” Riley said softly.

“Yeah? Oh. Good—I mean, okay.” Weight lifted from you shoulders, but you practically sank to the countertop. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, a wide smile gracing his features. “You like me.”

“Yeah.” You heavily emphasized the word.

Those deep blue eyes stared back at you like there were sparklers somewhere within them. He hardly moved.

Is this seriously happening? Am I breathing? He looks so happy.

Your heart could have melted right there at the sight of him.

Glass of water on the counter and quite frankly forgotten, Riley continued looking at you. Questions and comments no doubt flying through his mind every second before he could voice them.

“What…what do we do now?” You asked, grinning. Watching him curiously, attentively, you found Riley to be contemplating. You waited.

A crease formed between his brows if only for a few moments. In a couple of steps he had walked up to you. Blue eyes focused intently on your face, each little movement of yours. His hand reached up and rested on your cheek causing your heart to jolt into a faster pace.

Your thoughts seemed to blank. Only visuals and emotions being read thoroughly. You leaned into his touch as your eyes slowly flickered to his lips.

Before you could check his expression, Riley kissed you. Soft yet firm. There was a hand resting on your side and his other lightly on your cheek. Other than that you had no clue what was happening aside from Riley’s lips on yours.

All too soon he pulled out of the kiss with an extra sparkle in his eyes. You both stood there smiling at one another.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Riley breathed out. His thumb caressed your skin. “Huh. Guess I should have believed Ben.”

“Glad I finally did.”

A small crease reappeared between his brows.

“Wait, how long had he been telling you to say something?” Riley asked.

You looked away in thought before answering, “Maybe a few months. Maybe longer. By this point it’s probably been a year. He’s been telling you too?” You let out a laugh.

Unbelievable.

“A year?” Riley looked to you then around the kitchen searching for more words.

Suppressing a grin, you pulled him in by his suede jacket for another kiss. Your hands immediately seeking for the nape of his neck where his brown hair always looked the softest. You weren’t disappointed. It felt silkier than his jacket.

“A year?” Riley asked again when you parted.

“I’ve liked you for more than a year though.”

His eyes widened a fraction.

Fingers playing in his hair, you smiled.

“I just thought…I thought since you were nice to everyone that you just saw me as a friend.” He stated.

“I still see you as a friend. I just happen to really like you.”

“But I can ask you out now?”

“Do you want me to ask you out instead?” You smiled widely.

“No.” He said quickly. “It’s fine. You could, but I can do it. You can too. We can do it—date. Good Lord.” Riley dropped his forehead on your shoulder for a few moments.

You pecked a kiss to his ear. “Pick the time and place,” you encouraged. “When’s our first date?”

After a moment, he picked his head up with a twinkle in his eyes and asked, “Why not now?”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Six - Treasure and the series. I hope you enjoyed it! Hey, I actually wrote an insert reader that went through a whole movie! WOO! I think I have a bigger crush on Riley Poole now… That’s fine. I really, truly want to thank you again for your comments and love for this series. Also thank you for letting me know that you wanted Riley and the Reader to be together by the end. I was second guessing myself a lot about that decision and I’m glad I asked.

MUCH LOVE!

Lastly . . . I think through writing this I made myself bitter about what happened to Ben and Riley on The Charlotte. Can you tell by what the Reader had been thinking? I mean they were locked in the cargo hold! Anyway. I love you! Let’s hope for a fantastic third movie!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14 @thecaptainsgingersnap @awkwardspontaneity

[cathwritestragediesnotsins]

Admiring eyes

Daryl Dixon x plus size!reader (implied)

Word count: 2,716

Summary: Daryl and Y/N’s relationship is one forged by fire. And maybe they’ll finally be able to communicate how much they mean to each other.

Daryl Dixon was a force of nature.

A beautiful, broken piece of art.

I was surprised when I seemed to be the only one to notice this.

Everything about him seemed to draw me in. My admiration for him only grew more and more every day that I spent with him and with every new thing that I learned about him.

His fierce, intense, searching, blue eyes were something I could easily get lost in if I had allowed myself.

His rough exterior and troubled past tugged at my heart, calling out to me to take care of him. To show him what real love felt like. I had always been one to gravitate toward more reserved people and Daryl was the most reserved person I had encountered. He was made out of layer after layer of complex feelings, emotional armor and self-destructive tendencies. And even though I was persistent in my quest to learn the very core of this man that had been abused and taunted into building up these walls, I fell in love with each intricate piece of him.

It became clear one afternoon when Carol caught me watching him that she understood my high regard for the man, but she and I both knew my adoration ran deeper and from a different place than her’s.

From the second I met him at the quarry I was drawn to him. At first because I was angry, lookin’ for a fight and he and his brother were an easy way to get one. But then after Merle went missing, after the CDC, something changed. 

I didn’t stop hanging around Daryl. He made me feel safe. I was scared to get too close to anyone else, because I had lost everyone at the beginning, but for some reason I just kept coming back to Daryl. And slowly, he became the most important person in the world to me. Even as I allowed myself to integrate wholly into the group, allowing myself to forge a family once again, I never strayed far from Daryl. His safety, taking care of him, was always the priority.

He never questioned my presence; his way of telling me he didn’t mind it, maybe even enjoyed it. So I continued to seek him out. Even when we found the prison and began to build it into a home I hardly left Daryl’s side. That was just the way things were then. We had become a team. A unit. Two halves making a whole. 

Our relationship remained unlabeled, but everyone could see how deep our bond ran. They saw the way I looked at him. But it was left unspoken.

After the prison fell we got separated, though I managed to stick with Rick and Carl through the chaos. Later on we found Michonne and were traveling as a group toward the promise of a safe space called ‘Terminus’ when we encountered the claimers. When Daryl stepped out of the treeline I let out a sob at the sight of him, so relieved to finally see that he was alive and uninjured. His eyes met mine as I knelt on the ground, one of the claimers holding a gun to my head, and I saw the panic and hurt there. He tried to reason with them, begging the group he had been traveling with not to hurt us, even offering himself as a sacrifice instead. Finally once everything had gone down and the claimers had been dealt with I ran to Daryl, flinging myself into his arms. He held me tightly, spinning me around as he hugged me. “’M so sorry.” he kept saying. “I didn’t know what they were capable of.” but I hushed him, burying my face in his neck as silent tears rolled down my cheeks “I know Daryl, I know.”

He didn’t let me out of his sight after that. Well, not until Terminus.

But all of that was behind us now. We were here in the Alexandria safe zone. At first we had all been wary of another promise of sanctuary, though deep down we all desperately hoped it was real. The first couple nights there Rick had us all staying in his house, not wanting the group to be divided until we knew it was safe. But once Rick became comfortable we were all allowed to choose places to live and claim rooms to sleep in. 

It went without saying that Daryl and I would be sharing a room and though it was a bit awkward at first because we had never shared a bed before neither of us was willing to separate from the other. 

I came to really like Alexandria. To cherish the peace that it provided. 

But of course nothing is perfect.

In this case, the problem was that not everyone had clued in on the Daryl and I’s unspoken relationship.

I skipped down the steps from the porch fronting the house where Rick, Carl, Carol, Michonne, Judith, Daryl and I lived, on my way to find Rick when Deanna’s oldest son, Aiden I think, approached me. “Hey.” he said, falling into stride next to me. I nodded stiffly, only turning partially to acknowledge him “Hi.” I returned his greeting. I was trying to give Aiden the benefit of the doubt but I got bad vibes from him the second we walked through the gates so I was hesitant, not to mention I had had enough experiences with people these days to know to be wary of men. 

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” he said, painting a charming smile across his lips. A hint of a scowl drew my features together when I realized he wasn’t going to take a hint so easily. “To find Rick. Need to ask him s’mthin’” I say, vaguely, trying not to encourage any more conversation.

Aiden nods, picking up his pace a bit to walk backwards in front of me. “Mind if I join you?”

I give him a deadpan look, silently telling him that I do, in fact, mind while I say “Guess not.”

His grin only gets wider. Clearly he is either the thickest idiot I have ever met or an arrogant bastard who believes himself to be irresistible. I’m leaning toward the latter.

“So, how are you liking Alexandria?” he asks. I shrug. “It’s nice. Though I don’t think you people have any clue how bad things really are out there.” I say candidly. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement at that. “Well Sweetheart I think you’re underestimating me. I was in the ROTC before all this shit.” he says, gesturing around us. I scoff loudly and stop walking, turning fully to face him in the middle of the street. 

“Alright asshole listen up, first of all never call me sweetheart again. Second, you can walk around here acting like you know everything and boasting about your time in the ROTC,” I say in a mocking voice. “But the truth is you wouldn’t last a day out there without these walls to keep you protected. You have no fucking idea about the shit I’ve seen, been through and even done. So take a hint dumbass, and hit the road. I’m not interested.” 

Aiden’s face is slack with shock but I see annoyance making it’s way onto his features. He huffs, indignantly, “Whatever. It’s not like I really was interested either. You’re not my type.” Aiden sneers, looking pointedly down at my body.

I open my mouth to set him straight when suddenly I hear Daryl’s familiar angry growl behind me. “The fuck did you just say to her?!” he snarls, stepping in front of me and marching forward until he’s chest to chest with Aiden.

I see Aiden hesitate for a moment but when his eyes dart over Daryl’s shoulder to the crowd that our confrontation is attracting and he tenses up, ready to resist to protect his pride.

“I was just putting this fat bitch in her place. She’s got no right to reject me like that.”

The sentence is barely out of Aiden’s mouth when Daryl plants his hands on Aiden’s chest and shoves him back before swinging a punch that lands squarely on the younger man’s left eye. 

Aiden fell back onto his butt and Daryl stomped toward him, looming over him threateningly “How dare ya speak ta her like that! Fucking piece of trash!” Daryl spit venomously. The Monroe boy scrambled up from the ground; pissed.

“Wha’did you just say to me you redneck piece of shit??” he yelled, lunging at Daryl and knocking him to the ground. I jolted forward into motion once I shook off my shock. “Daryl, don’t!” I cry, tugging at Daryl’s shoulders. The fight had quickly turned in Daryl’s favor and now he was straddling the younger man’s torso, pinning him to the ground while he mercilessly ripped into him . Aiden is no match for Daryl and while normally I would love to let Daryl teach the sonofabitch some manners, the people of Alexandria are watching, and we don’t need to give them another reason to mistrust us. “Get off!” I command, grabbing Daryl once again when he shrugs me off. This time he allows me to pull him away. He’s panting heavily and his glaring eyes don’t leave Aiden when I try to talk to him -who is laying on the dusty ground cupping a hand to his bleeding nose.

Finally,  I step in front of him, directly into his line of sight, effectively blocking his view of Aiden. “You need to calm down.” I tell him firmly. When his gaze finally flickers over to me my demeanor softens a bit. “He’s not worth it.” I say quietly, nodding my head toward the crowd of horrified bystanders. Daryl’s eyes dart to the Alexandrians and he steps from side to side like a caged in animal, like he might pounce on anyone at any moment. But he allows me to speak gently to him, not quite calming him down but getting started. “Let’s go back to the house and get you cleaned up before we have to deal with this.” I say lowly, gesturing to the group of people- including Rick, Deanna, Michonne, Glenn, Nicholas and Reg-that are marching toward us.

Daryl nods hesitantly and allows me to pull him in between two houses, slipping away in the crowd before the leaders can reach us. 

We amble between the houses and the wall, keeping a low profile on our way home just in case. “Ya know, you didn’t need to do that.” 

Daryl gives me a sidelong glance but I continue looking ahead. “I mean, I appreciate it and all but you know I can take care of myself and right now we’re skating on thin ice so you and I have to be very careful of what we say and do.”

Daryl grunts in acknowledgement. “I know...just...couldn’t let that asshole say those things about you. They ain’t true and he has no right to speak to you that way.” he grumbles, getting himself worked up again.

I nod, my eyes drifting to the ground.

“Hey,” he says, stopping and turning to face me, very gently tugging on my arm to get me to stop next to him. “Y’know what he said’s bullshit right?” 

I nod certainly. “Of course, yeah. I just...I can’t help but feel like I’m not worth the trouble. I know what he said was wrong but we probably should’ve just left it. I mean, he’s Deanna’s son!” I say, anxiously tapping my fingers against my thigh.

“Bullshit” “Yeah, you said that already.” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. Daryl gives me a look and I see it’s not working. I sigh. “All I’m saying is he’s an asshole but assholes are everywhere and we have to pick and choose our battles these days.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “Alright, fine. But I choose this battle. You didn’t deserve what he said to ya!”

“I know, but in the grand scheme of things someone hurting my feelings is not that important!” I argue. Daryl grits his jaw in annoyance. “I mean, Daryl, thank you for standing up for me and all but seriously, why waste your time on this? I don’t care what he says about me.” “I care!” “Why??” “Because it ain’t true!” Daryl shouts. I go silent, seeing the distress on his face and waiting for him to explain further. He fidgets in agitation, running his hands through his hair roughly and pacing back and forth the tiniest bit.

“You just...” he starts but draws his mouth closed into a tight line when he can’t seem to think of the right words. I still wait, knowing if I’m patient he’ll spit it out eventually. He huffs but finally turns to face me fully, stopping his strides, to look me in the eye. 

“Look you just don’t understan’ but you’re probably the most amazing person I’ve met and he ain’t got the right to treat you like that. You’re smart an’ strong an’ brave an’ always looking out for everybody else ‘fore yourself. You’re wise an’ easy to talk to an’ you make me feel like I might be worth somethin’ so I just think someone should do the same for you.” he says, with notes of pleading and stress in his voice. He’s afraid I won’t believe him. And coming from anyone else, normally I wouldn’t have believed all those good things spoken about me, but with Daryl, he would never say it if he didn’t think it was true. Not to mention I could see it in his eyes. He meant it. 

He sighs, calming down a bit, embarrassment taking over as his gaze scans my shocked features. “Yer a good person Y/N...and no one should ever treat ya as less.” he mumbles, alternating between looking at the ground and meeting my eyes for a split second through the ends of the hair that hangs over his forehead.

I am taken aback; my lips parted in surprise. My heart swells. I let out a light, airy laugh that seems to catch on the breeze that tousles my hair. “Thank you.” I whisper. My eyes shine, smiling all their own as my mouth twitches up at the corners. 

Daryl clears his throat, hanging his head to avoid eye contact and toeing the ground. “Yeah, ‘course.” he mutters. 

I smile again as I replay his confession over in my head. I have always felt the same way about him and it makes my heart swell to know that he sees me in such a beautiful way. 

He clears his throat awkwardly once again and motions over his shoulder “We should probably keep going.” he says before turning and continuing our walk home. I hang back for a minute, watching him walk away; my admiring eyes dancing over his figure. Everything about him, from his gait to the dirty red shop rag hanging out of his back pocket, is perfect to me. I shake myself out of my thoughts and jog to catch up with him, sweeping his hand up into my own when I reach his side. He turns to look at me curiously at the contact but I keep my eyes trained ahead, pretending not to notice. He copies this action after a moment of studying my profile but then I feel his hand subtly tighten it’s grip on mine. I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

“I love you.” I tell him, still not turning to see his reaction, though I feel his body stiffen. After all of the sweet things he said about me I need him to know that I feel the same, that he means as much to me, even if I had been afraid to say the words out loud before. I think he knew, but he deserved to hear it. His grip on my hand becomes even tighter. “I know.” he whispers and I smile a soft, quiet sort of smile because it makes me want to cry with happiness that he said those words to me. Daryl Dixon knew that I loved him. And that was precious to me.

“I love you too”

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Screaming Salvation (Part one)

[[ The rest of this author note is from when I wrote it, but this is me now. Here’s the first chap of the gift I promised. Please remember there will only be 5 chapters and as of now, I have no idea when I’ll go back to finish this.]]

-----------

So this one will end up being AU. Focused heavily and my OC and Daryl rather than everyone else. Not much else to say, no idea where the fuck I’m going with this as usual loool Set before the group gets to Alexandria.

Name of the fic is inspired by a song. The Two Tongues by As It Is.

When I think of him there's comfort in the cold

He gives me solace when I offer him control

Her voice so beautiful will find me and explain

That life is agony but worth it all the same

I've been to hell and back

I've been living in between

Where the sky is always grey

And the grass is ever green

No I'm not sure I'm right

But I'm not sure I'm wrong

I'm just desperate to belong

Her voice like a sunrise

His voice like temptation

She sings to me softly

He's screaming salvation

-------------------------------

The sounds of boots slapping the damp mud in the forest, mixed with her own heavy breathing, were the only sounds in Rosalie's ears. Blaring like an alarm, letting her know exactly just how much she was in danger. And to put it lightly, she was fucked. She dodged and weaved the trees like a bat out of hell, eyes fixed on the break in the trees in front of her. The weight wrapped around her middle was weighing on her heavily, not just physically, but mentally. With each step it was as if she could feel just how heavy the burden placed on her shoulders really was. Like being put to the test, and she really fucking hated it. She had to get out of here, she fucking had to. She could still hear the men back further in the forest, not giving up the unrelenting chase of the young girl. Despite the fact her boots felt like they were filling with blood from her torn up feet, she didn't slow down. She was a lone survivor. Well maybe not completely alone, but she didn't exactly have anyone to have her back. She knew better than that by now. She’d been alone for years now. But the weight of having something else to keep alive, something to keep safe, it was a hard pill to swallow, especially when said thing was making life that much more difficult. 

The cut on her arm stung like a bitch as it bled everywhere, the warm crimson liquid dripping down her arm. She had a fleeting thought that it was creating quite an inviting trail for the dead ones to track her with and have a nice meal, or even the assholes who were after her. She knew it'd need stitches and could only pray to a God that clearly either didn't exist or give a shit, that it wouldn't get infected. At this point, so far past the turn, finding antibiotics was a rare fucking thing. Her lungs burned deep in her chest from her violently sucking in air and heaving it out. She could only focus on getting far away. She knew she'd put a good distance between her and the assholes chasing her, being small and nimble had its perks. But she knew they were still chasing her, and she wondered with a dark feeling if they’d ever even stop.

She broke out of the tree line, but what should have felt like a small victory rapidly turned on its head as she was faced with a large group of survivors just a few feet away in the road. It felt like a fraction of a second before all weapons were trained on her, and she drew her machete with a shaky weak arm, the other curling protectively around the thickly wrapped sheet around her middle. Her eyes were wild. Fear and desperation clear as day in them. A girl who had seen way too much shit for her age. Twenty...something. She was twenty one when the world fell apart and she’d lost track of how much time had passed since then. She really wasn't sure anymore, she didn’t give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that did matter was staying alive. Age had no purpose in the new world because no matter the number, your life could end swiftly from the dead or the living. It didn't matter if you were 5 or 82. 

Her wide haunted eyes rapidly flit around, taking in the threats as she was assessing them. A man with shaggy hair and a beard, holding a revolver. A dirty man with a crossbow and a scowl that would make Satan shit himself. A black woman with swords, a young boy with a gun. There were more, but her fatigue was making it hard to even decipher them, her stance wavering as she fought hard not to collapse. She wondered if they were part of the group chasing her, but despite the fact they looked worn down and like they'd been dragged through hell and back, they didn't seem like it. They didn't give off the extremely dark vibe that the others had. The others, although clearly living and breathing humans, were more animal than man, and those were the kind you really needed to stay away from.

“I don't want any trouble,” her firm yet scared voice sounded foreign to herself, rough and scratchy from not using it for so long and from not having had a drink. She couldn't remember the last time she had a drink. She often went without these days. There was something much more important that needed it. The others squinted at her, and the man with the revolver cocked his head. She couldn’t hide from his eyes that looked like maybe he'd lost his marbles just a little bit. She couldn't really blame him, she had that same look in her own eyes. The one that said she had seen the darkest depths of hell, that said she was desperate and would do anything for survival. It was tense, none of them wavering as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then, the bundle wrapped securely around her moved and a small cry came from it. The survivor's eyes widened just a fraction, glancing at each other before back to her. A sound of a baby so strange to them, despite the fact they had one of their own. Some of them wavered their weapons a little, as if the idea of hurting someone with a baby wasn't something they could stomach. If they shot her, they could hit the baby, or the baby would get crushed when she fell like a sack of crap.

Rosalie swallowed thickly and took a shaky step back, her weapon still raised as she tried to see if they would put a damn bullet in her back the second she turned. Her hand held the baby's head protectively as she glanced down, shushing the baby in a low soothing tone. The man with the revolver slowly lowered his weapon, and most of the others followed suit. He was either the leader or they just trusted his judgement, Rosalie mused. He looked almost pained as he glanced at the wiggling bundle attached to the woman, the woman who seemed too haunted. The thought of one girl, one person on their own having to survive with a baby, made the man's blood run cold. He knew how hard it was and he wasn't ever alone anymore. He had his group, his family to have his back. To know that if anything did happen to him, the baby would be safe and protected still. And this girl, with the desperate look in her eyes that he knew all too well, she didn't have that luxury.

She exhaled a shaky breath and was about to leave, but that would be way too easy for the unfortunate events that made up her life. Nothing was ever easy in Rosalie's life. From the moment she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck to her mother dying in childbirth, it only went downhill after that with her evil father shifting the blame onto the innocent child. Her life was one shitty thing after another, and the new world did nothing to change that fact. If anything, it made it much much worse. 

The three vile men suddenly appeared out of the trees. It was as if they had somehow not noticed the large group of survivors not too far away, or maybe they were too stupid to care, their eyes on the prize as it were. She thought it was a combination of both. As deranged as these men were, they really weren't too clever or aware of their surroundings. It was how she managed to get away in the first place. 

Rosalie's eyes widened in terror and took a step back, a low feral sounding growl erupting from her lips as she held her machete up, looking more alert than she did seconds before. She looked like a wild animal ready to attack, to fight for its life and do whatever it took to survive. It was a look that didn't match up with her almost angelic pretty face and tiny petite frame.

“Now now kitten, that wasn't very nice to leave us like that,” the man with long straggly hair sneered. He was thin and sickly looking, a wild gleam in his eye. The man to his left, far too fat for this world and Rosalie wondered how the fuck he’d managed that one, laughed loudly.

“Forget the girl, I want the baby,” the balding man to the right side gleefully stated. The words polluted the air and caused the group to gasp, shocked from the other survivors who were watching, weapons drawn and appalled faces. Because no matter the horrors you found in this world, something always came along to outdo it.

With no hesitation, when those vile vile words left the man's lips and then left them distracted by the other group, a loud snarl left Rosalie as she dove at the man, swiping her machete with a force that looked unreal for her small weak frame. The blade sliced cleanly through the man's neck, almost severing his head. And with a sudden flurry of movement and noise, the leader hit the floor like a tonne of bricks, a bullet right through the temple, as the man to his left got a bolt right in the eye and fell next to him.

Rosalie's head whipped to the others, seemingly shocked that anyone had even bothered to help her or the child. Did good people exist anymore? She really gave up that hope a long fucking time ago. She stopped expecting the best of people before the world went to shit and it only went downhill after. The thick silence filled the air and she blinked wearily at them. Fatigue was setting into her bones but she needed to go. She needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night, to find safety for the little thing attached to her that had seemingly taken over her life, the fierce need to protect. She turned her back, feeling like they wouldn't hurt her. Why bother helping if they'd just kill her? She started stalking away, wincing at the pain in her feet. 

“Wait!” the voice rang out in the tense air and stopped her in her tracks, making her turn cautiously, half expecting a gun trained on her. But instead, she found the revolver man who had taken a few strides towards her. She narrowed her gaze distrustfully at him. In response he held his hands up, giving her a weird look, like he was looking at a scared animal and he didn't want to spook it.

“You should come with us, ain’t safe out here on your own, not with a baby,” his words were soothing, like he'd done this all too many times before. Diplomatic and calming. She was good at reading people and she wondered if he was some kind of law enforcement before the shit hit the fan. She'd had enough experience with police in her past to know one when she heard one. Rosalie chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes flit to the others watching carefully behind him. Although no weapons were pointed at her, she could sense their readiness to do so if needed. 

“They won't hurt you, we’re good people,” he said softly, as if he could sense her apprehension. He didn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially not after what they had just witnessed. It painfully reminded him of the other group he came across when one of his own had returned to him. The Claimers. The one slimy fuck that had his eye on his son, the one who ended up with his entrails all over the floor.

She didn't like this. She didn't like people and she didn't want to be part of another group just so they could fucking die around her like the last one all those years ago, not long after the dead started walking and got a penchant for eating people. She already had enough on her plate looking after the kid. She didn’t need feelings or attachments, nothing of the sort. One was more than enough. That shit was what got you killed out here. She didn't say a word, turning around and carrying on walking. The man's shoulders slumped a little, the idea of letting her and the baby walk away to an almost certain death not sitting right with him.

“We have a baby too...We have formula...if you need any. We look out for our own. You come with us, we can make sure the baby is safe,” Just as he hoped, the woman stilled again, but didn't turn to him this time. He could see her clench her fist a little, the one with no weapon. He also noticed the gash on her arm that looked like a defensive wound. It was dangerous to have a wound like that these days, and he doubted she could sew it up herself.

“Someone can help with your arm, sew it up. Won't be much use to your baby if you die from infection or blood loss,” he prodded, knowing the girl clearly cared about the baby and trying to coax her using that knowledge. 

She slowly turned around, tugging her lower lip with her teeth as her bloodied arm came around to the baby’s head that was now poking out from what looked like a tatty bloodstained blanket that was tied tightly around her. The dark-haired baby cooed at her, pulling at her necklace, and Rosalie glanced from the man to the baby. She knew he was right, that she couldn't do this alone. If she died, what chance did the baby have of surviving? None. Just like when she had found him. She mulled around the idea of leaving the small boy with the people, but she found a strange pain in her chest when she did. She’d at least have to stick around a little to see if she could trust them with such a thing.

After a few tense moments of silence, she looked back up at the man, seeing his hopeful gaze imploring her to do the right thing. If they wanted her dead, they would have done it by now, that much was obvious. She’d run into too many bad people already in the new world. She could tell they were different. But despite the apprehension swelling inside of her, she had to. She had to fucking hope that maybe all the people left in the world weren't evil, and that maybe this was her chance to give the baby the life he deserved. The guilt swam deep in her veins, remembering what he said about formula. She’d ran out weeks ago, and the baby was surviving on mashed foods that were way too much for a boy his age. As much as she was grateful that the baby was mostly quiet, she knew deep inside of her, part of that reason was because he wasn't getting what he needed, wasn't getting the right nutrients and it was making him weak.

Rosalie took a deep shaky breath to steady her nerves before giving the man a small nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief, stepping closer. He didn't fail to notice how the grip on her machete tightened without her raising it, or how the arm around the baby gripped harder.

“I’m Rick,” he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out but she looked at it like he’d grown three heads. Shaking hands wasn't a thing in this new world. Hell, she didn’t shake hands in the old world either. She still took it though, her small hand giving him a weak shake and letting him see just how tired and weak she really was.

“Rosalie,” she muttered, her eyes tired and her whole body screaming with pain. She didn't offer up the baby's name but Rick didn't mention it. He would be protective of Judith too. He nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the group before walking back over to them. She heaved a sigh before trudging off after him, watching the others eye her curiously, some wary. They should be wary. They didn't know what she was capable of, and she knew they were smart just for feeling the same apprehension she felt about them.

“This is Rosalie, she’ll be joining us,” Rick’s words were firm as he gazed around the group that had become his family, waiting for anyone to speak up, to challenge him. But the baby cooed again and it was as if the noise itself was enough to soften anyone who may have had doubts, to leave such an innocent thing out in the world like this. The children were the future now, the only hope the cold world may have. And with no more words, they all turned around and started back on their journey. One to find somewhere to call home, to feel safe. Somewhere Carl and Judith could be safe from the horrors of the new world, and now somewhere for this new baby to have the same.

[awkwardplant]

Sci-fi/Misc Short Story: Diorama

Weary travellers entered a building to escape from the zombies that had been chasing them. Night-time drew closer and only a little bit of sunlight filtered through the large dusty windows at either side of the room. Despite the dust, everything here looked pristine, unsurprising as it didn't seem the materials here were much use to survivalists.

"Is that an easel?" Johnny the Veterinarian wandered over to the contraption, lifting away a greyed cloth covering it, revealing a canvas with a few marks of brown oil pastels.

A younger member of the team who refered to himself as the Tailor (everyone else called him Ed, or the Cosplay Guy, or That Teenager) dove into some drawers and boxes. "Please tell me there's a non electrical sewing machine, or fabrics, ooh I'll even take sequins at this point! Anything I don't have to make from scratch."

"Don't think this type of place will have those kinda things, Ed. Looks like a kindergarten's arts and crafts room." said Johnny. "Might have glitter though."

Paul the Farmer rolled his eyes at his group. "No point lookin round 'ere, let's settle down, find somethin soft, and kip for the night." He shrugged off his backpack which carried the all the bare essentials it could hold, and popped his spine with a groan. "Food chain these days is all outta whack I tell ye."

At the entrance, Melissa the Engineer boarded up the door with some convenient planks of wood, nails, and a hammer she carried everywhere. "Oughta keep them out. Phew. Bit cold in here isn't it?"

Melissa's daughter, Isla the six year old, stood in the middle of the art studio, eyes filled with wonder at all the creations. Clay sculptures of graceful torsos, pencil drawings of still lifes that looked more or less exactly like the sketches, completed oil paintings of landscapes hung on the wall next to colorful, abstract ones.

Isla spied a light still on behind a door to another room left slightly ajar. "I see a light, do you think someone lives here?"

All the adults tensed and raised their weapons, eyes peering in the direction Isla curiously tiptoed towards. Paul hissed at her to slow down, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back behind him as he stared ahead. The air was silent aside from the floorboard's weak groans that sounded like a sigh of relief at the return of humans gracing its surface.

Johnny tapped lightly on the door which opened without any creaks or spooky noises, and revealed a warm orange glow of a desk lamp. The desk was cluttered with tiny objects you would expect to see at much bigger sizes such as doors and furniture. Several drawers of multiple sizes surrounded and sat on the desk filled to the brim with paints, glue, craft knives and other materials. A single mug rested on a green cutting board with some stale coffee inside.

Isla squeaked in delight as she darted across the room. "Mommy! There's dollhouses here!"

Melissa strode towards her daughter, blinking in surprise when seeing there was in fact what appeared to be multiple dollhouses meticulously displayed in glass cases on many shelves.

"Some strange looking dollhouses," Ed said. "Why would a kid want to play with a dollhouse that looks like a swamp?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the minature shack on stilts that sat atop fake greenery and resin water.

Paul chuckled. "And this ane's even got tiny critters from my farm! Now tell me that isnae just the spittin image of my wee goat." He tapped the glass of a mini farm with toy animals placed in the field.

"I think, uh..." Johnny clicked his fingers, brow furrowing. "I swear I remember... Ah well, I don't know the proper name of them but I've seen train sets that have these kind of things, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah!" Melissa chirped. "This is how they used to make movie sets isn't it? Because back then they didn't have CGI to make places they couldn't afford to go to when filming."

"And humanity has reverted back to that time period." sighed Ed, who greatly missed his Friday night Star Wars rewatches with his friends. "Maybe even further back than that. Losing the internet was like losing the Library of Alexandria."

All of them wandered around the shelves to look at all the miniature sets. Mountains formed purely by plastic foam, a landscape of a picnic inside an open altoid tin, a greenhouse cluttered with plants no bigger than a pinkie finger. Some miniatures sat on the floor, the ones that were massive compared to the other sets yet still very tiny versions of medieval castles and gothic architecture.

Melissa stopped in front of a small library room that had holes in the ceiling with trees growing beneath them, books and furniture meticulously littered everywhere. Flashbacks to her days studying in her hometown's library filled her mind.

"This is what they thought the apocalypse would look like." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. "They thought- they- they made art of stuff like this because they imagined it would look beautiful. How could they romanticise such disaster?"

Johnny walked up next to her, crouching down to see inside the library. "Hauntingly beautiful, maybe. I do remember certain types of people were fascinated with the idea of nature reclaiming the lands that humans built on."

"And that idea was dumb," said Paul. "Because now the deer are overpopulated and they destroyed the forests, and who knows what other animals are causing chaos without conservationists."

"There are pros and cons to everything that happens." Johnny replied. "But yes, it doesn't help that the handful of humans that are left don't know how to handle this... resurgence of nature."

Isla looked around, peering back through the door to the main room of the art studio. "This library dollhouse looks just like real life doesn't it? It's like we're little dolls too."

Melissa smiled sadly, stroking her daughter's hair. "It does put things in perspective." She hoped things would settle down enough for her to be able to teach Isla things she had learned in school at her age.

"The Earth is the size of a pinprick compared to the sun and we're all just ants in the grand scheme of things." Ed said, and one could guess he was trying to imagine how small he was compared to the Starkiller base.

Paul snorted. "But bigger than regular old ants and smart enough to put together nicknacks that make ladies cry." He nudged Melissa teasingly.

Eventually, the group finally realized that the lamp was connected to a solar powered generator with a back up of energy reserved and they attempted to recharge their walkie talkies. After a few near-electrocutions, they finally connected to a radio station broadcasting a rather laid back distress signal.

"This is DJ Smooth calling out to anyone, God, just anyone out there, from the abandoned military base in Alconbury. Been out here for uh, 3 months now, there's not been any zombie sightings for a while and I have been sooo bored. Come find me and we can hang out, maybe fight over my remaining supplies so I can remember how to feel something that isn't dissociation. Stay tuned after this music break for the co-ordinates to my location, and my heart. See ya soon cuties. Over."

Later that night everyone created some makeshift beds out of the cloths that had covered some artworks and easels, which Ed would repurpose at some point during their travels to make some new socks. They all lay on their backs in the dark, close to each other to conserve warmth. If there were any zombies outside they didn't hear them, only the rush of wind and rain pattering on the windows.

"Mommy," Isla whispered. "I liked the song that the man on the radio played."

"Yeah sweetie, I liked it too. It was... something from the 90's? I think? Probably not age appropriate but you didn't understand it so it's fine, I guess. Something funny to look back on one day."

Isla rolled over onto her stomach to look at her mom. "When we go back to Paul's farm I want to play the guitar we found."

"We can't go... Tell you what Isla, we'll go see the music man from the radio, and he'll help us cure the zombies, and then we can get everyone an instrument and all make music together."

"Yes! That's a good idea!"

"And we can do plays in theatres and make movies again." Ed added shyly.

"Movies that don't involve zombies and will make us forget this shitshow ever happened." Johnny sighed, unable to close his eyes and dreading the nightmares.

Paul growled and hushed the others, but then he said "Doesnae matter if zombies are out for us and we've got no artsy stuff, we can still sing."

They all sang Country Roads quietly (Isla could only sing the chorus yet sang with such sincerity), with gentle echoes of their melody bouncing off the walls of the art studio until they fell asleep.

The next day they left to find the military base and made up new songs along the way, with renewed and desperate hope that they might find a cure for the zombies someday soon.

The end.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 3

Hey guys! Things are starting to get real in this chapter and Michael will be appearing in the next one (finally). I know I write a loot per chapter for the most part, but I get super into each and last detail. Trust me, it will all make sense in the end.

Read on AO3!

Time was a pesky beast. Sometimes it moved by you like the wind, gone before you could realize it was there. Other times it was thick as honey, your body burning in protest as you waded through it. Too much of either was enough to make you go mad. Then again, her sanity had been on a thread since the bombs dropped.

After 18 months — a year and a half, 547.5 days, or 13,140 hours if you wanted to get really particular — it was a wonder any of them were still alive.

After hours spent in the library, the Three Musketeers had found that nuclear winter lasted about 3 years on average. What they had found, however, failed to specify the radiation levels after those years. Eventually, they threw in the towel and resigned themselves to spending the rest of their days underground. The library instead became their oasis where no other resident dared to trespass.

Em had attempted to start drawing again, but Coco relentlessly asked for her portrait any time she pulled out her sketchbook. She swore the woman could hear the scrape of pencil against paper from anywhere in the Outpost. It was an artist’s worse nightmare.

Timothy had tried to entice the other two to work out with him. After the third meal cutback, they couldn’t even do a sit-up without their head becoming light and the world spinning around them.

The walls seemed to grow tighter and tighter around her. At night, the darkness was so suffocating that Em rushed to light a candle before it swallowed her whole. In those moments she felt like Atlas, smothered by the weight of the world on top of her. If she could just see the blue sky and feel cold air upon her skin she would be in heaven. Instead, endless anxieties plagued her — what if there was a cave-in? Was she running out of air or just panicking? It was so stale and cling to her despite it being circulated by a machine she could not see. She was choking to death and the walls would come closer and closer until they became her tomb.

The stabbing sensation in her hand drew her from the flood of thoughts, hands white as they curled around the cover of a book. Once again, the three musketeers gathered in the library. It at least kept their minds active and it had become Em’s personal goal to read each and every book in the outpost, shelves in nearly every nook and cranny. It was her own personal Alexandria.

Timothy laid back on a couch throwing a ball he had found up and down. The sound of it hitting the palm of his hand was like a metronome, bringing her back in synch with the world.

Emily, on the other hand, seemed to be physically exhibiting the anxiety Em internalized. She was pacing a hole into the carpet, arms crossed and jaw clenched.

“It’s October,” She said as she turned and walked back across the small clearing of couches and tables, “We’ve been here for 18 months.”

“Already?” Em asked, counting weeks on her hand. Wait… when did this week start? Did she count days by when she slept or when she ate? Without sun or a moon, they didn’t even have a concept of night and day. Just periods of sleep and consciousness.

“Already?” Emily echoed, voice going up an octave, “it’s felt like years.”

“Technically a year,” Timothy pointed out, quickly backtracking as Emily sent him a look, “but it’s not like Venable is passing out calendars or anything.”

Emily scoffed, “Venable isn’t doing anything… you know, I bet she’s hoarding food for herself.”

“Why do that when she can just chop up another person and eat them.”

Emily sent him another scathing glare, “not funny.”

Em sighed and shut her book with a loud thump, “What we need is a distraction.”

Timothy closed his eyes and stopped throwing his ball, hand held up in the air, “I think I may face the cannibals if we have to play Pictionary one more time.”

The brunette placed her book aside, biting her lip as she thought of something… anything to distract them from the world.

“It’s October, right?” she finally proposed, “What about some scary stories? We already have a bonfire… pretty much everywhere.”

Timothy sat up, “isn’t our predicament enough of a horror story?”

Em turned on her heel, hands behind her back as she tainted him, “What? Are you scared?”

“No!”

“Then prove it.” A smile finally returned to Emily’s face as she flounced towards the boy, coming to sit at his side. Her expression reminded Em of a cat, content and ready to watch the mice dance. “Tell us a story, Mr. Valedictorian.”

He shook his head and sighed, “I don’t know…”

“Did you guys ever have that book,” Em asked, “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark?”

Emily gasped, “Yes! They made it into a movie, right? I could never sleep after just seeing those pictures.”

“Made Texas Chainsaw Massacre seem like a picnic,” Timothy noted, earning a laugh from Emily. She leaned into him and Em looked to the side towards the rows and rows of books.

“What even were the stories about?” Em asked, turning from the smitten couple to give them some form of privacy, “I can only remember the pictures.”

Emily stood, placing her hands on her hips as she surveyed their surroundings, “for all the book they have in this place there’s got to be a copy. It was a school, after all.”

“I don’t know…” Em teased, side eyeing Timothy, “ … if any of the boys were like Timothy.”

“For the last time: I’m not scared!”

“We’ll see about that as soon as we find that book,” Emily said, pulling the boy to his feet before turning to Em, “Timothy and I can take the first three rows and you can take the last two.”

“Careful,” Em warned, watching the two saunter off down an aisle, “Mead’s only going to buy me saying y’all are ‘just friends’ for so long.”

Timothy’s face flushed red. Emily’s face shined with a look that dared the world to take from her the one good thing she had found among the ashes. “Can’t let Venable control all aspects of our life.”

“Maybe she’s a vampire,” Em said, “some people say they feed on misery instead of blood.”

“She’s certainly got the personality of one.”

With a smile, the two disappeared from sight, Emily’s giggling reaching through the books to Em’s ears. With a tired sigh, she wandered to the other side of the room. Once upon a time, she would spend hours in any bookstore or library she entered. This place, however, seemed to be predominantly filled with books written by old white men. A few newer books were scattered here and there, but they were few and far between. On bad days, Emily and herself would battle for them with rounds and rounds of rock, paper, scissors.

She quickly fell into a rhythm. A state of focus, her brother would have said. He had been writing a book on the subject before... before...

 “Thoreau… Douglas...” Em mouthed the title an name of each and every book to keep her mind from wandering to the less than pleasant.

At some point, Timothy joined her. The sound of feet against carpet pulled her from her trance, forcing her to feel how tired her eyes had become. She pulled out of her crouched position, frowning as her back popped and protested.

“You’d think they’d at least have one scary book,” Em noted as Timothy made it to her side, “any luck on y’all’s end?”

“If you count Hawthorne as a horror author.”

“I don’t know… you could count The Birthmark as a horror story.”

“The Birthmark?”

“A woman born with a birthmark marries an alchemist. Instead of accepting her, he seeks out how to obtain perfect beauty and—”

“Guys!” Emily’s voice rang out from a row over, “Come look at this!”

The pair looked at each other then meandered over to Emily. A large tome was in her arms. It was as large as a small child, thick as the old dictionaries from reference sections. As they got closer, Em saw the cover lacked any discernable title and the pages were yellowed with age.

“What is it?” Timothy asked, pacing a hand on Emily’s shoulder.

Emily was clearly in awe, “I don’t know. Looks like some sort of grimoire.”

Timothy frowned at that. His family had never been particularly religious. It didn’t define their personality, but they still went to church every Sunday. The first thing they teach you as a Christian child is that those who commune with Satan are evil. There were two columns of items... one good and aligned with God and one bad and alighted with Satan.  

He thought back to his first day in Outpost 3. At first, he had dismissed it as a trauma-induced hallucination. “What kind of school has grimoires?”

“Religious studies?” Em offered. She motioned to the book, “let me see. Not going to lie, I’ve always been fascinated by these things.”

Emily carefully handed the book off to her. It was so heavy Em nearly dropped it as soon as Emily handed it over. Struggling ever slightly, she turned through the pages.

“See anything?” Emily asked after a few moments of silence.

The pages were well kept. A few water marks marred the writing and bled the ink. Most of it was illegible... in some language she didn’t understand with few English translations scattered throughout. The clearest page called to her, a large circular design taking up most of it.

“Summoning circles,” she muttered, fingers tracing over the design and tracing down towards the words written underneath.

“What?” Timothy asked, scooting closer.

“They're used in rituals to summon things.”

“Such as?”

“Good intentions, luck, money, sprits...”

“...Demons” Timothy finished.

“Exactly!”

“So... like a pentagram?” Emily asked, arms crossed and brows furrowed in thought.

“Kind of?” Em admitted, “pentagrams are actually symbolic of fire, water, earth, air, and spirit. It’s actually supposed to be used in protection.”

Timothy looked up at the sky with a bemused laugh, “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

“I had a friend that practiced Wicca,” Em told him, “... and I used to get bored and look up random stuff at 3 am when I couldn’t sleep.”

She quickly turned her attention back to the book, “this seems to be summoning... damn! The name is smudged.”

Emily, whose head was resting on the other girl’s shoulder, looked at the other two with a grin, “do we dare?”

“No. Nope.” He said, holding his hands up in the air and marching a few steps away and turning back towards them with a sigh, “I’m not messing with that stuff.”

“It’s the end of the world, Tim,” Em said, “if I haven’t seen a demon yet I doubt I ever will.”

“Maybe we can sacrifice Venable,” Emily whispered to the two, her counterpart laughing while her boyfriend continued to have an existential crisis.

Em seemed to consider the option, “or Coco. Spare us another conversation about influencer culture at the very least... I’d sell my soul for that.”

Smoky laughed and Timothy could only groan, hands covering his face.

“C’mon,” he pleaded, “this is literally textbook horror movie stuff.”

“You don’t have to join if you don’t want to,” Emily reassured before turning back to the other girl, “what do we need?”

Em hummed and read through the list once more, “a candle, a drop of blood, the incantation, and a summoning circle.”

“Really? No sacrificial chicken or anything?”

“I can start the summoning circle if you can get the sowing kit from my room. It’s in my desk.”

Emily nodded and left the room. Em fathered the book and wandered to the tables, putting it down and pulling her sketchbook out from her pockets as Timothy reluctantly followed in her heels.

Not bothering to sit, Em leaned over the table with her pencil in hand. Hair that now curled down to her shoulders fell into her face and she let out a huff before pulling out a ribbon and tying it out of her face.

“Tim,” she asked, not looking up as she carefully replicated the circle, “can you hand me some of those candles over there?”

With a reluctant sigh, the boy shuffled to the corner of the room. Wobbling the candle stand as carefully as he could, he dragged it across the floor and towards the table. It was like watching a child protest bedtime, dragging their feet and taking as long as possible for every task that brought them closer to sleep.

“This is a horrible idea.”

It was Em’s turn to sigh, “these things are like Bloody Mary. It scares us for a moment, but ultimately nothing happens.”

“Did you ever do Bloody Mary?”

She smirked, “The drink or the game?”

Timothy crossed his arms and stared at her, unamused.

“No,” she admitted, finally turning to look him in the eyes, “I was a child and I was scared and I wouldn’t even look in mirrors for a month after I heard the story. My dad finally had enough and forced me to do it... and here I am. Nothing happened.”

Timothy broke eye contact. He wasn’t expecting such an honest response and didn’t quite know how to follow it. How was he supposed to talk about the incident without sounding crazy?

Em watched the slight twitch around Timothy’s mouth. He looked shifty, eyes not focusing on any one thing. She stared at him deadpan and water for him to speak.

Finally, his eyes rested in her. To his surprise, she was still looking at him.

“What?” He asked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I was a psych major, remember?”

“I thought you switched to English.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Silence. One beat. Then two.

“Out with it,” she insisted.

“Something weird happened,” he blurted as she finished her sentence, her eyes widening in surprise at his sudden forwardness, “when we first got here.”

“What happened?”

Timothy opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of creaking doors interrupted him. Em... maybe he could trust. He knew logically that he could trust Emily as well, but... god, it sounded crazy.

“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Em moved to insist, but as she watched Emily come round the corner she also saw Timothy’s tensions leave his body.

“Forget about what?” Emily asked, looking between the two.

Timothy tensed as Em began to speak.

“He was telling me about a time he had a sleepover and tried the Bloody Mary chant.”

Timothy let out the breath he was holding.

“Dad thought it would be a good idea to play with the circuit breaker,” he finished, sending a grateful smile to Em, “my brother jumped so high he nearly got his head stuck in the ceiling.”

“See?” Emily said, squeezing Timothy’s arm, “you have nothing to worry about. Demons don’t exist.”

“What about Venable?” Em asked

Emily smiles and turned away from her lover, “lucky for us, in her case, it’s only metaphorical.”

The two began to set up the ritual, moving the candles according to the instructions — a semi-circle formation on the side of the symbol farthest from her. Em made sure they were melted to the table to prevent a fire. Then they would summon an actual demon by the name of The Cooperative. The symbol stood front and center, wax dripping onto its corners.

Emily and Timothy stood back, arms linked together. His hands dig into the fabric of her sleeve and she offered a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

Em began the ritual, book in front of her for reference.

“quaesitor existunt veritatis,” she read, then pricked her finger with a needle. The blood welled up and she pressed on the wound until it dropped and stained the paper with crimson, “pondera excitare restitueret.”

Three times she repeated the phrase, drilling blood into one flame, then the next, then the next. Then she let it sit in silence. One second. Nothing. Another second. Nothing. A third—

“Raah!” Emily yelled, grabbing her boyfriend’s shoulder and shaking him.

“Shit!” Timothy cried, crossing himself as he fell backward off the table he had been sitting on, “get away from me!”

Emily and Em erupted into laughter. It took Timothy a few moments to realize he was in no danger and once he looked up at them they burst into laughter again, holding each other. Someone snorted which made the peals of laughter start up again.

He laid his head back on the ground and closed his eyes, arms draping over his forehead as he calmed his racing heart.

“You guys are horrible.” He sighed, a smile forming despite himself.

“All... Emily’s,” Em said between hysterics, “are some form... of chaotic.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, doubling over with tears in her eyes as she grabbed onto the other woman’s arm, “you just—“

Her stomach hurt and her lungs burned and she loved every minute of it. She looked up to Em who made the sign of the cross over her chest before crossing her fingers and holding them out in front of her.

“The power of Christ compels you!” She cries out between shaking breaths, doubling over again. Even Timothy began to laugh, shoulders shaking as he tried to picture what he must have looked like.

“If you three are finished with your magic tricks,” a voice came from the door, Mead’s figure looming as they bit their lips and held their breath to keep from giggling, “dinner is in five.”

Shaking her head, the older woman made her way back to the door, grumbling but unable to hide her amusement, “Damn kids.”

Giggling faded I to unrelenting grins that made flushed cheeks even redder. Em and Emily’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. Gathering up the remnants of their decorum, they held out their hands to Timothy, pulling him up to his feet.

 He looked at the two of them up to the ceiling as if he were asking it for guidance.

“Fuck you,” he finally settled, a chuckle escaping him and greatly amusing the girl that leaned against him as they began to walk.

“Careful with that word,” Em warned, walking backward to address the pair, seriousness taunting the fun demeanor she tried to keep up, “Venable would love a reason to cook all of us up for dinner.”

                                     ------------------------------------------ 

No one spoke anymore. There was nothing to speak about. They stared ahead, eyes vacant of life. Their bodies were moving, but their minds had long since given up and resigned themselves to fate.

Coco didn’t even bother with her hair anymore. Gallant had cut it when they hit the fourth-month mark and the humidity had made it curl into the shape of an orb around her head. Gallant himself hadn’t bothered to even change clothes in the past week...or was it two? Em was almost grateful for the pandemic and subsequent quarantine that occurred before they went subterranean. It had taught her the importance of a schedule for her mental health.

Venable was the only one that kept up with appearances. Red hair never had a strand out of place and not a single piece of fuzz could be found on her black dress. She sat straight at the end of the table, back straight as a board and her eyes full of contempt as she looked upon her charges. The ironwoman seemed to be searching for something as she stared at each one of them in turn.

Em did her best to ignore the intertwined hands of the couple beside her. God knows Venable was itching to torture them. Em had faced many people like the red-haired horror. She knew how to ignore something without making it obvious… passive manipulation.

If she was being honest, part of her was somewhat jealous of the happiness her friends had found… but she also knew how dangerous love was, even more so given their circumstances.

Venable’s cane struck the floor like a gavel, heads slowly turning towards her like zombies at the control of a necromancer.

“I have an announcement,” she said, nodding to the half of a cube that sat before them. Em could feel her stomach gurgle, felt the hot feeling of her own stomach acid digesting her organs. “This will be our last breakfast. We’re cutting back to one meal a day.”

Coco’s jaw dropped, but she didn’t have the energy to make a scene, “you can’t be serious.”

“An effective dieting technique,” Evie declared.

“Yeah, so is starving to death!”

Em sighed, running a hand through her hair, pulling it back before letting it fall around her shoulders once more.

“Perhaps we should move meals to breakfast instead of dinner,” Em proposed, “having fuel at the beginning of the day may—”

Venable’s eyes narrowed, head cocking to the side ever slightly.

“Are you questioning my judgment?”

“Yes.”

Damn surviving. She’d rather become everyone’s next meal that deal with the bitch for a single second longer. Starvation had lowered her control and her tolerance for the bullshit Venable had a knack for. She’d rather die tearing apart a tyrant than live bowing her head to one.

“May I remind you that I was assigned to this outpost for a reason.” Venable said, leaning back in her seat and letting the silence sit for a moment before she continued, “and unlike some, I was able to graduate college.”

Em had tried to be kind to the woman in the beginning. She had tried to take initiative by counting resources and assessing tools at their disposal, but as soon as the woman’s cane crossed the threshold her only message to Em was to sit down and shut up.

Gallant scoffed as he looked between the two, “How are we supposed to survive on half a cube?”

Venable pulled her eyes away from Em’s, “it’s not optimal, but also not impossible. Either way, we have no choice. Not if we want to keep eating at all.”

Em, Timothy, and Emily looked to another, trying to look for reassurance but finding none. For once Venable wasn’t wrong.

Gallant scoffed and stared down his fellow residents. How could they stay silent? He wasn’t going to let Venable starve him to death. They should cut the Grey’s meals instead, he reasoned, they paid for their tickets… or at least, Coco’s father had.

“I fucking can’t do this anymore!” She cried.

Sensing the collecting anxiety at the table, Dinah stood and addressed them all, “We don’t know how strong we are until we have to face adversity. This could be an opportunity for all of us to grow.”

“Finish that bumper sticker shit you used to say on your show, and I’m strong enough to shove this fork in your neck!” Gallant yelled, table clattering as he jumped to his feet brandishing his chosen weapon.

Em rose hesitantly, hands up and trying to get Gallant’s attention, “She’s not the one you're mad at.”

The hairdresser didn’t hear him, continuing to rave like a madman and Em fell back in her seat, head bowing and cradled in her hands. She was so tired. She was tired of the tantrums, tired of the hunger. Her ribs were showing through her skin, each and every piece of her spine sticking out as if she were a cactus instead of a person. They were all ghosts. Their bodies had yet to catch up with them.

Before all this she had dreams… to make it big as an artist or an author or anything. Having those dreams crushed made Em wonder if it was better to just give up. Certainly would be more peaceful. If only the grimoire had a spell to bring back her motivation for just living.

Quaesitor existunt veritatis pondera excitare restitueret.

Quaesitor existunt veritatis pondera excitare restitueret.

Quaesitor existunt veritatis pondera excitare restitueret.

“What was that?” someone whispered beside her. Em realized she had been quietly chanting the words from the ritual. Pulling herself from the fog, she removed her head from her hands and sat up in her chair.

“Nothing.”

Before Emily could note her friend’s odd behavior, the sound of porcelain shattering pulled them back to Gallant’s tantrum.

“What are you going to do?” Gallant demanded, bouncing like a wrestler in the ring and glaring daggers at mead, “Shoot us all? Huh? What are you going to do?”

The First moved forward to apprehend the man, towering over him like he was a child about to be thrown in time-out. Venable rose, opening her mouth to speak.

They were quickly deafened by alarms, red lights flashing. Em closed her eyes, suddenly blinded as she rose to her feet and fell back to the wall behind her.

“Perimeter alert,” The Fist said, “There’s been a breach.”

They all looked to Venable, but she was just as alarmed as they were. Em’s eyes immediately went to Emily’s. She was leaning against timothy, eyes turned up towards the ceiling and her hands curling around his arm. Everyone was frozen, suddenly back where this all began — the emergency messages that blared and told them the world was dying and taking them down with it.

“Back to your rooms!” Venable barked, “All of you!”

“If it’s a breach we should prepare a defensive position,” Em cried over the alarms, “If it’s cannibals—”

“This is my outpost!” Venable snarled, stalking towards her until her face was inches from her own, “and I am telling you to stand down and return o your rooms.”

Em could feel someone tugging at her arm, but paid it no mind.

“The noisiest flies are the first to be squashed,” Venable said.

“I fear more for the wasp in a beehive.”

Another tug forced her to turn towards the source. Emily was reaching out to the brunette, one hand on Timothy who was trying to drag her from the dining room.

“It’s not worth it,” She hissed, pulling the girl close, “pick you battles.”

Em snatched back her arm, “I’m tired of waiting for a hill to die on.”

With one last scathing look to Venable, she grabbed a knife from the table and stormed from the room. If she was to live out of spite so be it.

                                        --------------------------------

Em paced back and forth in her room, crossing it in three strides before turning on her heel and starting the whole process all over again. Her hands ran through her hair, tying it up and taking it down, braiding and upbraiding.

Waiting to see what her fate was infuriated her. Waiting infuriated her. If this was an attempted break-in by cannibals or monsters her room was the last place she wanted to be — it cornered her. No, the best defensive position would be —

She groaned and forced herself to sit at her desk, leg bouncing up and down. She wished she was one of the wardens, working alongside The Fist. At least then she’d be doing something. They all acted like the purples were the ruling class, but it was a lie. The Greys outnumbered them and could take over whenever they could. Venable could have them killed in a heartbeat. What they had was only an illusion. When the time came for them to finally wield it their hands would only meet empty air, leaving them to fall to an unsightly demise.

The alarm had stopped blaring, at the very least. Spared her from another migraine.

She jumped as a knock came at her door, raising to her feet and trying to seem as if she wasn’t in the process of losing her sanity. The voice that left her didn’t feel like her own, detached and far too formal.

“Come in.”

A creak filled the room and a Grey appeared, freshly laundered clothes in hand. She bowed her head to Em as she entered before moving to place the garments on her bed.

“Thank you,” Em said reflexively. The Grey turned to her, eyes on the ground.

“Do you want me to do your hair for you, miss?”

“What?” Em asked, hand going to feel the remnants of braids still in her hair. Heat rose to her neck. She must have looked like a raving mad man. “Oh… no. Thanks for asking.”

With another bow, the girl scurried from the room, letting out a gasp as she ran into The Fist right outside the door. A quick and fearful apology left the Grey before she disappeared down the hall, door left wide opened.

The Fist’s hand, which had been held up to knock, fell back to her side. “May I?”

“Please,” Em invited, rounding the bed to place the clothes the Grey had brought in aside for the time being, “it’s been a while since we last talked.”

The ability to look past the color-coded rulebook Venable enforced served her well as long as the woman never found out. Even the Wardens, strong enough to take her down by force, feared the woman… or perhaps trusted Mead so much that they bought into whatever demands Venable spat out. Em just needed them to doubt their orders if the time came when Venable ordered her death.

“How’s the research going?” The Fist asked, nodding to the pile of book balancing precariously on the edge of her desk. Em spared them a glance and sighed, shaking her head.

“You’d know more than those moldy things,” She said, the other woman smiling ever slightly, “is there anything we can do to create a self-sustaining food supply?”

The Fist’s smile faded, lips twisting as she thought, sauntering over to her books and reading the titles, “I know I once made a post about a special facility made to store seeds… problem is, we don’t have means for inter-continental travel.”

“Would the Cooperative?”

“That would be a call for Miss Venable,” she said with a shrug, “Right now our best decision is rationing.”

“I don’t like those odds.”

The Fist tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the truth was they wouldn’t last the rest of the year even with rationing. She had tried to press for explorative missions, but Venable said they couldn’t expend the manpower. They might as well fire all their ammunitions into the walls.

Em couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that left her. Biting her lip, she tried to think of any other option than sitting and waiting for the end. “Do we know anything about the composition of those nutrient bars?”

“I couldn’t find any documentation,” The Fist admitted, “The cooperative should be able to provide if we keep to the plan.”

The brunette scoffed, “Venable’s plan.”

In two strides, The Fist came to stand beside her. If she wanted, she could have snapped her like a twig. Instead, she placed a hand on Em’s shoulder.

“She was put in charge for a reason.”

They were interrupted by a blood-curdling scream that made Em nearly jump into the woman’s arms. The Fist hurried to the door, ducking her head through the doorway and standing there for a moment with her hand on her utility belt.

“Wait here.”

The door slammed shut behind her and Em moved to follow, but became distracted. In the sudden silence, a whispering sound could be heard. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It surrounded her like she was in a giant bubble, sometimes wandering to her left or her right like a beast that kept moving when she turned to look at it.

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the sound.

“Quaesitor existunt…” she swore she heard, too faint to be certain. It was a breeze in the trees, gone before you knew it was there, “veritatis pondera….” 

No. That was stupid. Demons didn’t exist. She was just being paranoid. Shaking her head, she made her way to her closet. It was a busted pipe, she reasoned as she picked up a candelabra to at leave give her something to see by.

The second the door creaked open, the whispering sound became louder. Then, from the depths of the shadows, a snake dropped down from above. Em jumped back with a gasp, slamming the closet shut and landing on top of her bed. Cautiously, she opened it once more. She stood far enough away to be safe, but close enough to examine. It was black… head rounded instead of pointed…

Em placed the candelabra on her desk and reached for the pile of clothes she had placed aside. Throwing them aside without much care, she founded what she needed in the pile. Working quickly, she twisted the wire of a hangar into as straight of a line as she could manage.

“Hello there,” she cooed, placing the metal in front of the snake and tapping it gently against its mouth. Patiently, she waited until the snake became irritated and bit at the wire. Swooping in, Em grabbed it by the neck the little beasty hissing and thrashing its tail. If it had been a thicker snake, it may have been able to wrangle itself from her hands, but it couldn’t have been bigger than a rat snake.

Once it had calmed some, Em reached for its tail and examined its underbelly. Best thing about an apocalypse was having an obscene about of time to read. There, near the end of the tail, two rows of scales sat.

“You’re nothing but a sweetheart, aren’t you,” She cooed, loosening her grip only slightly. It wasn’t venomous, proving her point as it opened its mouth to hiss once more, wriggling around in an attempt to free itself. She much preferred the company of real snakes to their metaphorical human counterparts.

Keeping a close eye on her new pet, Em walked out the door and right into Miss Miriam Mead. The woman got a good face full of hissing snake and stumbled back a few steps with a gasp. Her tone quickly turned from one of surprise to irritation.

“You too?”

Em smiled at the woman, “can I keep it.”

Mead scoffed and shook her head, but Em could see the fleeting smile on her lips as she procured a bag. “put it in there.”

Mead always reminded Em of a frustrated but amused mother. The smile quickly returned as Em plopped the creature into what looked like a wriggling mass of its brethren.

“First witchcraft, now snakes,” Mead tried to chide, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Does this have anything to do with the breach?” Em couldn’t help but ask.

Mead pretended not to hear, occupying herself with closing up the bag of snakes, “Any more?”

“Not sure.”

They both turned to The Fist as she approached, Mead giving a nod towards Em’s room. Dutifully, The Fist went inside. Both of them stood in the doorway and watched as her room was rummaged through. She was lucky she had hidden her banned items under a loose floorboard ages ago.

By the time she was done, two other snakes had been found and the two wardens wordlessly went on their way.

“Venomous ones have pointed heads, fangs, and a single row of scales on their anal plate,” Em called out once they had made it partway down the hall.

She could see Mead chuckle and shake her head. Em’s eyes flickered from the back of Mead to that of The Fist. The latter clearly respected the former immensely.

Locking the door behind her, she made her way to the library. Venable’s pawns could be easily swayed, but her knight would be more of a challenge.

                                        --------------------------------------

Dinner time came around once more and once more Em had been forced to leave her book-filled sanctuary to play nice with all the residents... not that she was particularly the nice sort when with them. She used to be nice. At least, she liked to think she was.

Why was “nice” always just pretending you weren’t angry or annoyed? If one looked into the human mind they’d probably find that not a single one of them was truly “nice.” Everyone got annoyed, everyone got angry, everyone hated someone else. Yet, here they sat around the table once more, acting like they were refined and polite yet still being shocked when, as always, their humanity shines through.

Philosophical pondering was always far more interesting then whatever conversation was going on between this lot. Today, however, was an oddity. The table silent.

At least they weren’t eating cubes tonight... and she knew what exactly was in the soup. She was drawn from her reverie at the smell of it, mouth watering even before the Greys had entered the room.

They quickly straightened their silverware and gracefully draping napkins across their laps. Perhaps the silence was due to the last outcome of Venable’s hospitality.

Dishes clinked and Em smiles at the Grey who placed her meal before her. She eyes the others, waiting before she took a single bite.

Coco also eyed the food, watching the Greys serve them one by one. Her nose crinkled as she eyes what this evening had in store for them. “I have a rule against eating things with no legs or too many legs.”

“Oh, right,” Andre snipped, rolling his eyes. He had gone from denial to anger to depression and now back to anger in the past year. Grief never did like to be linear. “But you’re fine eating something with two legs.”

“For the last time!” Gallant snapped, “we didn’t eat your boyfriend!”

Mead sighed from her left, “Eat it or don’t. No one’s going to force it down you.”

“Adversity makes strange bedfellows,” Dinah notes, sending a pointed look to her son, “and worse dinner companions.”

Andre’s lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes flickered to anywhere that wasn’t his mother.

“It’s food,” Dinah reminded them all, “and we’re starving. We should be grateful for the fruits of the earth.”

Em quelled a groan as she watched Evie preen like a bird, signaling a story was about to begin. The old woman straightened her back and puffed out her chest before leaning against the table.

“Steamed snake soup is actually quite delicious,” she informed them.

“Jesus Christ,” Gallant whispered from the other side of the table, Evie’s hearing far too terrible to know that they were smiling more at her grandson’s distress than her tale.

“It was the centerpiece of a dinner I attended at Kuala Lumpur with Gina Lollobrigida.”

“The only time I’ve seen someone eat a snake,” Em noted, “was on that Bear Grylls survival show.”

Gallant’s head rose from his hands as he snorted out a laugh. Mead even smiled at her left.

“You’re lucky we’re not making you eat grubs.”

On her right, Emily was nearly buzzing in anticipation. As soon as Mead stopped speaking she was quick to address Venable, sitting on her hands as if she were resisting the urge to raise her hand — the only sign an untrained she could find that would display her eagerness.

“So, who’s in your office.”

Venable was off-put by the question, raising her head as if she had dozed off at the end of the table and was slowly rousing, “I beg your pardon?”

“The alarms went off before,” Emily notes, “someone came inside.”

Em turned to her friend in surprise. Someone was here? In the outpost? From outside? Venable allowed them to come inside?

“Who else is here?” Timothy insisted as Venable failed to respond.

Venable looked less than pleased but masked it well as the patience of a mentor trying to evoke the same quality from their student.

“All questions will be answered in due course.”

“And hoarding knowledge makes the flock more controllable,” Em said.

“Eat.” Was Venable’s only response, tapping her cane to signify the end of this particular conversation.

Em reluctantly fell in line with the others, obediently raising the covering of their soup. Hissing erupted from the bowls, snakes slithering across the table just as scared as the residents that jumped backward with screams of terror.

Mead’s eye’s widened as she witnessed the rebirth of the snakes she had personally beheaded, looking to Venable for answers. The woman had none, eyes widening in horror at the sight before her. This was not her orchestration, her design.

Some people ran in terror, Em froze. This time felt differences a fog had encompassed her mind and the world around her became a distant memory. A buzz filled her body and her ears, the screaming of others sounding far, far away. Did they even exist in the first place?

Her head tilted to the side as the black snake from before slithered towards her, curling around her arm. It feared its head upwards. Not to attack, but simply to look at her. She looked into its eyes and felt like she understood the world in its entirety. The weight of the world was not suffocating but consuming. She wanted to be consumed by it. She wanted —

The snake dropped from her arm to the floor and she was back, blinking away the fog as one blinked away sleep. The buzzing sensation left her and her surroundings rushed over her like ice water on a hot summer’s day.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Give them what they want ch. 7

After that disastrous choice of drowning her sorrows in alchohol, Jordan decided to take the time off in general to sleep off her hangover and avoid people.

That left with nothing to do but schoolwork. Frankly compared to all the social pressures, it was a perfect solution. At least there was a right and a wrong and no big failure if she said the incorrect answer.

After the breeze of paperwork, she went to the more creative side of art class.

The assignment was to do a drawing filled with symbolism and an essay explaining the choices. She called up and transported Calix for her model.

He had a cream white cape draped over his right shoulder in the style of old Roman emperors, clutching a book to his chest and holding out a candle and laurel in the other.

"And I have to be nude while holding this because...?" Calix questioned, fidgeting after an hour of standing still.

"Nudity is the transparency of the soul. Duh." Jordan snapped "Stop moving your head, I'm trying to draw your hair."

"Can I sit at least?" Calix complained, shaking a leg.

"Yes you can sit." She rolled her eyes.

Calix sighed as he plopped down to sit cross legged.

Jordan was happy that any feelings she had for Calix had disappeared. Foolish, ridiculous romantic feeling from the stupid needy part of her that agreed with the Aurodonian statement that she need love to be happy. No, what she needed was to not be alone.

Calix was still one of her closest friends, annoying, fun and loyal, nothing more. Hot too...but he was with Morrían Le freakin Fey.

Even her name sounded enchanting and slightly exotic, it was disgusting.

"Hmm Calix do you think I should just use my middle name instead? Jordan is so boring." She murmured as she traced the outline of a strand of hair that stuck to his forehead.

"Desiree? I guess if you wanted to. Say do most genies have a name that sounds like they're strippers? I mean Genie, Eden, I hear Karma is popular..."

And there was the man that so loved to irritate her. Usually on Tuesdays.

"Is that your perverted way of saying that I shouldn't?" Jordan flung an eraser at him.

"Watch where you throw that." Calix deftly caught it before it hit his thigh. "A name is a name. I think you're fine, you're entertaining enough to make up for it."

Jordan smiled, when the door opened.

"So I was thinking you could pose, OH MY WOW!" Mal cried with Ben by her side.

Calix made no move to hide himself, almost preening at their reactions.

"Sorry" Ben squeaked ducking his head, looking frantically at another direction while Mal opened her mouth, closed it, and babbled.

"I guess...I just,.. so sorry, we thought. I hope we aren't interrupting? This is for art right?"

If the situation hadn't been so awkward considering that the king of Auradon was witnessing it and that Mal thought they were about to do unspeakable things, Jordan would have laughed at how shocked the bad fairy looked.

One doesn't usually see naked boys in Auradon Prep after all.

"Well it's not like it's for math and she has to measure my.." Calix almost finished his sentence. Jordan flung a couple of paintbrushes at him.

"What is with the abuse!" He cried

She turned to the blushing couple, "It's for art, we'll be done soon."

"We'll find another place it's fine." Ben said. Then the two ran off, slamming the door behind.

Jordan turned to Calix who was failing at keeping his laughter in.

"Measure! Measuring you!"

"I was joking. I mean who would be so insecure to have to measure their body parts?"

"Only you would be so immodest enough to suggest that." Jordan cried.

"I'm as modest as you are a lady. And we both know you ain't no lady." Calix joked.

"I'll make you mute." Jordan half-heartedly threatened.

"I'll make you fall in love with an ass." Calix shot back.

"Ooo an ass, how Shakespearean." Jordan blew a kiss at him.

She paused, "Speaking of love, have you've told Morrían?"

Calix rolled his eyes at her and made a "Do you even know me?" face.

Love was not a word used lightly in Auradon. Once you said it, you sealed your fate to be committed forever until your wedding day. If you made it through that. You are set for your future children, grandchildren, respective kingdoms, family reunions, anniversaries on and on...

Calix, the quarter-siren/sorcerer seducer of many who've fallen for his song, would never use that word to describe a relationship. Too risky. He only reserved that word for his parents, and for Metsovone platters.

"We are at the stage of mutual like where we have enjoyable afternoons, nights and morning afters together where we do a variety of activities depending on our moods and wants. Ending with satisfaction for both parties. Is that you want to hear?"

"Mm hmm,” Jordan murmured, casually turning her attention back to her drawing.

She wasn't jealous that he was in happy mutual relationship. She wasn't annoyed that it wasn't with her. She was merely irked that she had everything Morrían and yet, she didn't have any of the perks.

She had looked up Morrían herself just to see if she was as special and as hot as Aziz and Calix claimed.

Fine, Morrían was pretty. Wavy, waist-length black hair, violet eyes, gleaming white skin that reminded Jordan of polished crystal. Most posts showed her A+ grades, her at parties, some intellectual magic debate.

She was witty, she was smart, she knew of some of the world based on her many vacation photos in various parts of Auradon.

So?

If Morrían, who could be close enough to be her equal in beauty, personality, and magic contests, was so sought after as a girlfriend. why wasn't she! Sought after in a genuine romantic relationship with actual feelings.

She drew a line that went off course across Calix's face, and realized she should probably stop obsesssing over what Morrían had that she didn't.

"I'm done. I'll do the finishing touches later." She announced, erasing the offending line.

"Sweet Aphrodite, finally!" Calix cried, hurriedly shoving his jeans up his legs.

Jordan smiled at how awkwardly he dressed, balancing uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Wanna go to Nonstop to hang out?" Calix asked as he put on his shirt.

"Sure, I'll meet you there." Jordan packed up her sketch pad and left.

"Jord? Did you hear? Zahrat and Samir found out it's going to be a girl." Aziz called excitedly, hurrying to her side in the hallway.

"She called me this morning. They're already arguing over baby names. She wants Hajar, he wants "the most ridiculous girl name in the world." She quoted

"What is it?" Aziz asked, almost dropping his French book.

"She didn't tell me, just that it was "the most ridiculous, horrible girl name in the world."

"Well with an argument like that, she must be right." Aziz joked, "Where are you going?"

"Nonstop." Jordan replied, and before he could ask, "You can come too."

"Great, their hamburgers are delicious." Aziz moaned

Nonstop was located in the backstreets of Auradon City, near the recess of the infamous woods where Beast fought the wolves to save Belle. No mortal dared to go.

Nonstop, it was own by Circe (as most fae clubs were) and had a special, illegal invisibility spell protecting the exterior from curious eyes.

It was fae-only. A haven for magical creatures to show their true forms, use their powers and have fun and relax and not pretend to be mortals and do menial labor. There was at least one in every state in Auradon. The more popular ones were in Agrabah, near the shores of Atlantica, Neverland, by the tavern of Snuggly Duckling. But Nonstop was where most of the fae student population in Auradon Prep resided to relax.

Aziz was an expection since Jordan basically threatened everyone who came near them, that he was allowed to be in without harm.

Calix led them through the backway so they could eat in Circe's office. It was lavish, Roman-inspired room with lounges, and drapes and Greek statues. A small platform raised the mahogany desk facing the door.

"So we could eat here, and you can study." Calix suggested looking at the schoolbooks the two had brought, "Orrrr.."

"Hey, Alexandria is here!" Aziz poked his head out of the office door to look at the club.

"Orrr we could hang out with the peoples." Calix smirked as Aziz went off to flirt with Attina's daughter.

Jordan rolled her eyes, and took a fresh breath of air as she entered the pulsating club room. Club room #3 to be precise. Nonstop had five different rooms. The main one was about the size of Beast's ballroom and looked like Moulin Rogue and Great Gatsby had exploded together into one mega party. Two others were simpler dance floors with a bar, booths, and couches arranged in the front of the room and by fireplaces.

Another was a more sophiscated, simple parlor room for taking and poetry readings. The fifth one was the outside area with rock gardens, and an outside cafe. Each place had pools in the center just for the mermaid/merman patrons.

"So Alexandria, how is it down there?" Aziz asked with a wink.

"Horrible as usual." Alexandria signed, letting a light brown lock fall on her eye, "The tourists make a mess everywhere! It may be a museum for Aunt Ariel's story and home, but people live there."

Jordan went to talk to Jonathan Thatch, Milo and Kida's son. He had a lot of his mother's appearance with dark skin and white streaks in his tan, blonde hair but he was most defiantly his dad's son. He could talk about anthropology for days.

"Kuzco's empire was amazing!" He enthused, "The had invented astrology and mathematics without the help of modern sciences and how they did it is just fascinating. You see, they based it on the solar and lunar calendars.."

Jordan amiably smiled as Jonathan babbled on until Calix caught his attention, "Calix, what would you say is the one architectural wonder Dad and I should check out while we visit Greece?"

With his attention diverted, Jordan got caught up in a family reunion story Philocetes II, Madora and Herksper were telling.

"And then Uncle Hermes and Uncle Loki decided to team up against Aunt Freya and Aunt Aphrodite!" Phil cried "They replaced all their makeup and clothes with hydra skins and Minator drool. Damn, you should never prank a beauty goddess, never!"

After the story was finished, she and Madora went up to the stage and danced and sang to Madora's mother's famous song, "Won't say I'm in love."

"I wish I could move my hips like that." Madora sighed as she flopped onto one of the couches by the fireplace.

"You were a fine belly dancer for a demigod." Jordan shrugged, "I have more of an advantage after all since I can make my body do whatever I want." She took off her hand, and three extra arms sprouted from her sides in a demonstration. "Belly dancing is hardly a problem."

"Don't you show it. Do it again." Herksper, (Or Herkie as most Auradon Prep students called him since they found his name so hard to do.) suggested with a shining, white smile.

"Oh why not?" Jordan smiled and went to center stage. The bright lights hit her, warming her body all over in a way the her attempted alcohol binge never did. She moved her hips in time to the haunting wail of the snake charmer's Pipe.

She closed her eyes, letting herself go with the motion, but when she opened them, she was struck with a new feeling.

The audience was staring at her every move, they looked entranced and under her power. Gazing at her lovingly. She winked at one, and he stepped backwards in shock.

A surge of confidence went through her. She was in control of the audience's reaction. It was wonderful. They were watching her, only her. They weren't thinking of themselves, just focused on what she was going to do.

She licked her lips, and thought of a song she had heard long ago. Her mom had this huge idea to make an album, back when bands were a thing. But she had gotten bored after three days and abandoned the project. Typical. Nothing was too exciting for long for a genie.

No one had heard the song, but now they would.

She didn't usually sing in public. No big fear, she just felt her talent laid elsewhere. But now, she had them in her hand, and they were going to pay attention to her every word.

"Tell me all your wishes, I'm here to make them true. No need to rub a lamp because I'll take care of you."

She smiled as seductively as she could while dancing across the stage. Each move slow and deliberated, leaving the audience waiting for the next step.

She never felt so exhilarated before. She had total control of how they saw her. They saw her as sexy, beautiful, unattainable, and she was going to milk that feeling for as long as it was worth.

"My new resolution is to trust you. My business to love you until you've had it. I'm not going to miss out on the good stuff. The grass would be so much greener with us on it."

She poofed off the stage to the round of couches where Jonathan, Calix, Madora, Alexandria, Herksper, Phil, and Aziz stared at her in amazement.

"You deserve this." Madora handed her a bottle of sparkling cider.

"Aww I deserve a lot of things, finally someone had the bright idea of actually giving it to me." Jordan smiled.

Calix lightly smacked her on the temple, "Seriously though. That was one great act. Usually you need my help.."

"Shut up." Jordan rolled her eyes at him, "I'll get the next round of drinks, what do you want, guys?" She asked.

"Water" Jonathan, Aziz and Alexandria called.

"Gin on the rocks" Calix requested.

"Wine." Hercules' children asked for.

Jordan strutted to the bar happily, basking in the glances men and women were throwing her way.

"I am pretty. I'm so pretty." Jordan hummed "And witty, and giddy and gay. And I pity anyone who isn't me today."

While she waited for the bartender to get to her orders, a pixie girl and Bacchae sat on her right side.

"So genie girl?" The Bacchae leaned to rest his head on her shoulder, "Wanna get on the grass?"

"Get off me." Jordan shoved him.

"But-but you said you would take care of us." The Bacchae whined with a leer.

"It was a song." Jordan replied, grabbing Calix's order.

"You're still a genie. It's what you do." The pixie girl said, grabbing her shoulder with sharp nails."I know how it works. So where is your lamp?"

"You're right, I am a genie. Not an idiot. I'm not telling you." Jordan poured the glass of gin over the pixie's head.

"Your business is to love us till we had it." The pixie girl mocked, shaking her head like a wet dog.

"Yet I don't trust you." Jordan huffed, taking the rest of the drinks and leaving.

The Bacchae cackled as she stalked off. "Fae these days, don't know what their job is."

Jordan closed her eyes, and tried to push away the thoughts of being tied down away. Once she reached the others, slammed the tray of drinks at the table.

"You'll have to get your gin, Calix. While you're at it, kick out the Bacchae and pixie I poured it on." She pointed at the duo.

Calix got up from his seat, "I can't kick out every person that hits on you, that you don't like." He turned to look at her direction, "I mean it's just- why is he staring at his crotch?"

"Why is the pixie playing with- EWW THIS IS A PUBLIC PLACE!" Alexandria cried

Herksper covered his eyes, "I think I just saw inside of him."

"Alright, I'm kicking them out! They will be banned." Calix lowered his eyes.

"Don't let them touch you." Jonathan grimaced.

"I don't WANT them to touch me, so your warning is a bit unecessary." Calix said before going to talk to the two.

"So that happened." Madora shuddered.

"They can't be our age." Aziz stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"They could be. Shape shifters and fae with disguise spells." Vidia's son, Kyro flew over, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Like her in mortal clubs." Aziz cocked his head toward Jordan.

"What?' Kyro grinned mischievously, sitting next to her. Most fairies change to their natural fairy size in the club, but some chose to stay mortal size for the sake of not getting squashed.

"I'll explain" Jordan threw a annoyed glare at her adoptive brother, "Biological I'm 17. I act 17, look 17. But if people counted by human years, I'm 21. So when I go to mortal club, and they ask my age I NATURALLY assume they want my mortal age."

They all looked at her dubiously.

"Okay, I know what I'm doing. But you go along with it." Jordan added with a side eyed to Aziz.

"Adult clubs are fun. They have good finger food." Aziz shrugged

"They think you're 21?" Kyro snickered

Jordan shifted her body. Taller, bustier, angular features, she intoned deeply "Believe me now?"

"I can see it." Kyro nodded his head in approval. With that confirmation she changed back to her normal form.

"What are adult clubs like anyway?" Phil asked intrigued

"Basically a bunch of them sit around having tea and crumpets while discussing politics, philosophy and books." Aziz answered.

"And recite poems in their original languages or do opera." Jordan put in.

"Pretentious asses." Kyro snorted

"How's your twin?" Alexandria changed the subject.

"Avari is going out with Azul." He answered, flicking his long black bangs off his eyes.

"Rani's son?" Calix returned to the conversation.

"It's weird, I know." Kyro said

The conversation drifted away from that to new topics until it was 3 in the afternoon.

"We better go." Alexandria muttered, frowning at her watch.

Calix let her and Aziz go out through Circe's office and headed back to party.

Thankfully Aziz's dorm room was empty so she could take one bed while Aziz jumped onto his, and covered his eyes with his textbook.

"I feel super productive." He murmured sarcastically

"How much work?" She asked

"Too much." Aziz threw the book to the floor. "I'll do it after dinner."

Jordan rolled over to her side, "I want to sleep already."

"Do it. No one has seen you at all because you've been studying all weekend."

"I can't." She complained

"The Bacchae and the pixie?" Aziz asked softly

"I think too much. It's nothing." Jordan sighed, "Go do your work. Wake me up when your roommate comes."

Aziz sighed much too overdramatically in her opinion as he got up to sit on the bed she was on, and pushed her onto her stomach.

He started to do back tracings on her. Dammit, he knew she loved tickle massages. She found it so soothing and always made her fall asleep. She would willingly stay still forever if there was someone giving her one.

"Aziz, please, I'm fine. You don't have to help me go to sleep." Jordan murmured

"Let me. Think of it as you're helping me procrastinate in doing a half-hearted job on my French homework." Aziz told her

"When you put it that way..." Jordan closed her eyes.

Author's Note: Another chapter done, I hope you enjoyed. It's a nice breather chapter, isn't it? Go thank screamingeternally for that. She was the one who reminded me that not every chapter has to be full of angst.

Anyway the song, is "Good Stuff" by Shakira.

The little hummed tune was "I feel pretty" from West Side Story.

I'm sure, everyone can guess what musical inspired my club name choice ;)

I put a lot of Descendants characters of Disney people I like. Attina, Milo, Rani, etc. That was fun.

And if anyone is wondering or if a name nerd like me, Avari was inspired by Avarice. As Vidia had been inspired by Invidia.

Kyro inspired by Kyto, the dragon Vidia fell in love with in the books.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,772 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N moves forward with a plan to get both herself and Daryl out of The Sanctuary and away from Negan.

Your name: submit What is this?

You lay awake the next night, tucked into the bed beneath the cool sheets. Negan was spending the night with Tanya. All you could think about was Daryl. When it was late enough that you knew the guards would be back loafing in the guard room, you threw the covers off and bent down beside the mattress, grabbing the bag you had hid underneath the bed and pulling it out.

You went to the door of your room and opened it, checking in both directions down the hall. It was blessedly empty. You wandered around the corner, glancing at the familiar sliver of light under Dwight’s door. You slipped past it on your tip toes and rushed to Daryl’s cell.

You withdrew the ring of keys and quickly fitted the right one into the lock. Daryl was wide awake this time, waiting. You were the only thing he had been thinking about for the last 24 hours and he found that it made sitting in the dark both more and less bearable. The realization that you were in that place, with Negan, sent fear and rage through him like he’d never experienced. And the idea that Negan could do with you whatever he wanted made him see red. Every second he was wondering if his hands were on you, if his lips were… But the fact that you were close, that there was even the slightest possibility that he would get to see you that day, touch you no matter how briefly, hear your voice… it sustained him.

The door of the cell opened and you slipped inside, following the same routine you had the night before. You laid the towel down at the bottom of the door and pulled out the small lantern, clicking it on. You set it on the ground between you and Daryl. His heart skipped a beat as you gave him the best smile you could muster. “I told you I’d be back,” you whispered.

“I believed ya,” he said. This time he was the one who sat up on his knees and grabbed you hastily into a hug, throwing his arms around you. His touch was desperate, needy, and you melted beneath it.

You wrapped your arms around him in return and sank into him, leaning against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing.

Daryl suddenly snapped back into reality and felt that wave of humiliation again as he remembered how filthy he was. He pulled back from you abruptly and you gave him a questioning look as he sat down again, his back against the wall. “Are ya—are ya alright?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” you replied.

He shook his head. “M’fine. But you—” His deep voice was heavy with gravel as he spoke. “You’re in with the wolves in a completely different way than I am.”

You didn’t say anything and just held out the canteen and some bread with meat and cheese you had swiped from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding as he grabbed it from you, quickly devouring it.

You were much quieter, more reserved than you were the night before and Daryl immediately noticed.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked you, concern clouding his face.

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just—I wanted to warn you. You may hear a bit of a commotion in a bit, after I leave. It’s nothing to worry about.”

His brow furrowed more deeply and his blue eyes narrowed, peering at you intensely through the strands of his hair hanging around his face. “Y/N… what are you doin’?”

“I told you. I’m getting you out of here.” You sighed and glanced at your bag. “This is just Part 2. I’m not busting you out tonight. But we’re getting closer. And don’t worry. They’ll never know it was me.”

He stared at you, chewing his bottom lip as he always did when he was worrying or deep in thought, the canteen clutched tightly in his hand. “What are you doin’?”

“Can’t get out of here on foot. It’s not fast enough. Once they realize you’re gone, Negan will send out everything they have. Gonna need a vehicle. They store all the keys for the motorcycles and trucks on the first floor, but there’s a patrol through there frequently at night… unless they’re distracted.”

“You’re gonna somehow distract them and steal a key to a vehicle,” he said.

“Yep. Not just a vehicle. Your bike. We’re getting it back.”

Daryl licked his bottom lip nervously. “How are ya gonna do it?”

You gave him a look. “Uhh… blow a steam pipe on the first floor…”

“How the hell—” he stopped himself, remembering your speedy assembly of those nail bombs in the hospital, which felt like a lifetime ago. “Ya build a bomb? Ain’t they gonna know it was deliberate?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s a tiny charge, just very strategically placed. But it will make a noise, and steam is going to be pouring out into the room. It should be long enough to distract them so I can get into the room and get the spare key.”

Daryl just stared at you. You could see his mind spinning, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s gonna work. Just—if you hear a commotion, don’t worry. There’s supposed to be one.” You grabbed the plastic the food had been wrapped in and gave him an apologetic look. “I have to go. If I’m doing this tonight, it needs to be now,” you said. “I wish—I wish I could stay with you longer. I hate leaving you in here…” He handed you the canteen back and nodded.

“S’alright. Just be careful.”

“I will.” You studied him for a moment and then threw your arms around him again in one last hug. You squeezed your eyes shut as you held him tight. “I’ll try to come tomorrow night.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You’re risking too much. Ya should just be worryin’ ‘bout yourself.”

You met his eyes and sighed. “No. I’m only worried about you. I’ll be just fine.” You slipped from him, leaving an empty feeling in between his lungs. You grabbed the lantern and clicked it off, followed by shoving it and the towel in your bag. Slipping out and locking the door behind you, you snuck around the floor and the small charge you had built from its hiding place in a janitorial closet down the hall. You crept down the stairs and through the halls until you were outside the guard room. There was a rowdy game of poker going on inside.

Everything worked flawlessly. You placed the bomb and raced around the corner to wait for the commotion to begin. The uproar was so loud it even drew guards from the floor above, but you were safely stowed out of sight. As soon as the ruckus was reaching a crescendo, you slipped into the room where the keys were stored and quickly found the spare key for Daryl’s bike. You grabbed it off the nail and shoved it in your pocket, heading up the stairs around the back way. You were crossing in front of Dwight’s room again, almost back to your own, when he stepped into the hall. You froze.

“Hey,” he said, shutting his door softly behind him. “What the hell is going on down there?” he asked you.

You shrugged. “I think I heard someone say one of the steam valves broke,” you explained.

He nodded. “Oh. Huh… Well, this building isn’t exactly brand new,” he said. “Can’t sleep again?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Seems to be a habit.” He paused a bit awkwardly. “Hey, do you, uhh, have a smoke?” he asked you.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t smoke.”

“Ahh, right,” he nodded. “Ya know, Sherry used to get on me about it but now she smokes, too,” he said, leaning back against the wall. You nodded.

“I remember.” You watched his face turn sad and had a sudden realization that even though you did want to beat the shit out of him for what he was doing to Daryl, for having no backbone and becoming one of them, he’d had a pretty fucked up run himself… “She talks about you still,” you said softly. His eyes shot up to meet yours. “Sherry. She talks about you.”

“Huh,” he nodded slowly, staring back down at his boots. “Well, that’s over,” he said. “I’m sure Negan is taking real good care of her. And you too.”

You felt like a knife had just been twisted into your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. Night.” You left him behind and rushed back to your room, leaning heavily against the door behind you after you shut and locked it.

You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were sitting in your room reading, not absorbing a word of it, when there was a knock on the door the next day. Your heart startled at the thought that you had been discovered and it was essentially the Grim Reaper calling, but you quickly dismissed it. You’d been careful. No one knew. You went to the door and pulled it open to see Negan standing there with a charming smile on his face.

“Y/N,” he said, looking you up and down. You were wearing jeans and a tank top with a loose flannel button-up over it. He let out a low whistle. “Hot damn. You look good in anything. I’m tempted to just have my way with you right now,” he said.

You glanced away from him briefly, licking your lips, before meeting his eyes again, raising your eyebrows. “What do you want?” you asked, purposely giving him a sassy response.

He chuckled again and straightened up from where he was leaning on the doorframe. “And that’s why I like you. You have the guts to try and put me in my place.”

You crossed your arms, surveying him, your heart pounding. “Sometimes you need it.”

He leaned in close to you his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up to your eyes repeatedly. “Sometimes so do you.” There was a deep, almost animalistic growl in his voice. He bit his bottom lip after a moment and broke into a smile again. “God, if only you were on board with my process. You’d probably be the best damn soldier I had. And then you’d come home and slip into a dress and turn every head in the damn room. Beautiful and badass, a rare combination.”

“You know I don’t approve of what you do out there,” you said, unable to prevent the cold edge in your voice.

“I know. That’s why I said if. It’s a damn shame. Anyway, why don’t you throw on something and come join us in the lounge? I put in a special order with the kitchen.”

“Alright. I’ll be there soon,” you said.

He gave you another smile and turned to leave. You did your make up and grabbed a short, form-fitting dress out of the closet, pulling on some heels, and left your room behind, feeling like a parading piece of meat as you walked through the halls. You had a suspicion that you wouldn’t be able to slip away to Daryl later and it left you feeling vaguely lightheaded and sick…

You arrived in the lounge where the other wives were milling about, chatting, all drinking cocktails. As soon as you came in, Negan grinned at you from his place in a cushy chair and he tilted his head at you, beckoning you over. “Come and sit down right here,” he said, patting his knee.

Your stomach twisted, but you obeyed, crossing the space to him and sitting down sideways across his lap. He pulled you against him and you draped an arm around his shoulders.

“My special request,” he said, dipping a strawberry from a nearby tray into a bowl of chocolate fondue and taking a huge bite, closing his eyes as he savored it and tilted his head back. “Mmm. Goddamn. Holy shit, is that good! This is the life, isn’t it?” he asked, catching your eyes.

You managed to give him a small smile and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You forced yourself to kiss him back and pressed a hand to the stubble along his jaw. You could taste the chocolate on his lips and tongue and felt a wave of revulsion.

He pulled back and gave you a satisfied and fiery look. “You are making it up to me, aren’t you?” he asked in an undertone.

Just then, movement in the hall caught his attention.

“Dwight!” Negan yelled. It was Dwight going past the doorway, pushing Daryl ahead of him. They stopped and backed up, Dwight forcing Daryl just over the threshold.

Negan tilted his head. “Bring Daryl over here. I want to talk to him.”

Dwight pushed Daryl hard in the back until he walked over and stood in front of you and Negan. You were very consciously controlling your breathing and stared down at the carpet, but you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you before he too looked down at the ground, unwilling to take in the scene before him with you cozied up on Negan’s lap. His blood was boiling and he was starting to feel out of control.

“Hot enough out there for you, Daryl?” Daryl was red-faced, dripping with sweat, and there was walker blood splattered on his clothes. “Rhetorical question because you look like shit,” Negan said laughing. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand up and down your bare leg.

“You see this, Daryl?” Negan asked, gesturing around the room. “All of this? You could be a part of this. I’m sitting here with a beautiful woman on my lap, eating chocolate covered strawberries.” Negan quipped. He glanced at the bowl of chocolate beside him and dipped his index finger into it, biting his own lip as he raised it to yours, watching your expression with relish. You felt a hard pit form in between your lungs, like indigestion. My God, how could you do this in front of Daryl? But you had no choice. You met Negan’s eyes for a brief moment before glancing back at his waiting finger and parting your lips. Negan slowly inserted it into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, pressing your tongue gently to it, tasting the dark chocolate. He pulled it back out excruciatingly slowly, the smile on his face growing all the while and you felt his growing erection below you, too. He laughed with satisfaction and you felt it deep in his chest as you licked your lips and averted your eyes away again.

Daryl saw every moment of it. He was shaking with rage and disgust and horror…

“Did you see that shit?” Negan continued. “And later, I’m going to take this beautiful woman upstairs and fuck her brains out,” Negan said, looking back at Daryl, clearly pleased with himself. You felt your face flush with embarrassment and anger. You’d never felt so horrified, humiliated in your life. Negan didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I’m not saying if you start to play nicely that you’ll live as good as me, because—well, no one lives as well as me. But you’ll get a little slice of it.” Negan ran his fingers up and down your bare thigh absently as he talked. “So, I want to remind you of your three choices here. You can die and decorate my fence, you can live in that hole for the rest of your life, or you can join up, be a man like Dwight here, and get a little slice of paradise for yourself.”

You ventured a glance at Daryl and his blue eyes were narrowed in hatred as he stared at Negan. The muscle in his jaw was flexing as he ground his teeth together and you thought you could see him shaking slightly. Negan laughed. “Are you trying to stare me into submission, Daryl? Because that shit don’t work on me. Think about what I said. We’ll talk about it soon.” Negan straightened up a little in his chair, adjusting you on his lap and turned his attention back to you. He leaned into you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, breathing you in, the scent of your hair and your skin, letting out a satisfied smile and trailing his hand up your thigh. “Dwight, take Daryl back to his little hidey-hole. I have some other matters to attend to.” Negan pressed his lips hungrily to your neck and you had no choice but to shut your eyes and receive it, knowing Daryl was watching the whole thing.

You couldn’t get away that night. Negan was asleep beside you in bed as you again laid awake, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t know how much longer you could do this. You felt like you were carving off a piece of yourself each day and giving it away. You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking on the light. You pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your fingers found a bruise on your neck, left purposefully by Negan’s lips. He liked marking you. It was ownership. It wasn’t tender or loving or reciprocal. He might as well brand you with the iron.

That night, Daryl seethed in the darkness in his cell. After what he’d been forced to see, he didn’t expect you to show up and you didn’t. All he wanted was to stop thinking about you on Negan’s lap, you taking his finger into your mouth, Negan’s hand trailing up your bare thigh, Negan’s lips on your neck, Negan taking you back to your room and—but he couldn’t think of anything else.

Daryl’s breathing was coming hard and fast and he finally let out a growl and punched his fist into the wall repeatedly before breaking down, letting out an agonized cry, cradling his now bleeding knuckles. He hated this. He hated that you were there because of him. The guilt was threatening to crush him. It wasn’t worth what you had to do to get him out. It wasn’t…

Sometime the next afternoon, Daryl heard a soft noise beside him and felt the floor blindly. His hand pressed down on what he knew was a slice of bread. He held it in his hands for a moment, feeling his stomach rumble. The bodily hunger was replaced with a deeper one, to get you out and make sure you were safe. To make sure Negan never touched you again. But how helpless he was… locked up like an animal in a cage, while you submitted to what you had to in order to rescue him. He felt useless. He felt like a burden. You’d be better off if you’d never met him. Then you wouldn’t be here. He rubbed his fingers over the swelling on his hand from punching the wall the night before and heaved a sigh. He gratefully ate the bread and went back to strenuous waiting, doing everything he could to keep his mind blank.

That night, you again laid awake in bed. You wanted to see Daryl. You wanted to give him more water, more food… make sure he was still in one piece, but you weren’t sure if you could face him after what had happened with Negan the day before. You were overwhelmed with shame and revulsion and just the thought of it flushed your face and turned your stomach. But Daryl’s well-being was more important to you than allowing yourself to avoid facing the ugliness, so in the early hours of the morning you slipped out of bed and grabbed your bag, making your way silently to Daryl’s cell.

He heard the key slowly insert into the lock and turn and he breathed in a hurried breath, straightening up. The door opened just enough for him to see you silhouetted in the dim light. You stepped inside and shut the door.

When the lantern clicked on, your eyes were downcast and he noticed you were taking deep, slow, measured breaths. You wouldn’t look at him.

He studied your expression, his eyebrows furrowing over his narrowed eyes. “Y/N,” he rasped. He saw you gulp but you still didn’t look at him. “Hey. Look at me,” he said.

Your face contorted slightly as you fought emotion, but you eventually raised your eyes to his and Daryl saw that they were glistening more than they should have been for the dim light. Far from what you expected, you saw no contempt, no disgust on Daryl’s face. You should have known better. All you saw was anger and concern and worry. “Ya ain’t gotta do this,” he said softly. “Not this.” You watched his eyes find the bruise on your neck left by Negan’s lips and you reflexively covered it with your hand. A flash of anger exploded in Daryl’s eyes for a moment and he let out an exhale that was mostly a growl, clenching his teeth. You stared back down at the floor of the cell, half wishing you could melt into it and disappear. Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and felt his stomach twist.

“I do have to. It’s almost done,” you said in a harsh whisper. You pulled out the food and water you had brought for him and he accepted it but he didn’t start eating. You could feel his eyes on your face still.

“Hey,” he whispered again, sounding a bit hoarse. “Y/N. C’mon, look at me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling tears pouring down your cheeks. You covered your face with your hands and shook your head. Your shoulders heaved with shuddering breaths.

Daryl got up from where he was seated in the corner and moved over to you. “C’mere,” he said softly. You felt his arms around you, pulling you to him. “S’alright.” You were stiff at first but soon collapsed against his chest, your fingers clinging to him almost desperately. Daryl gently smoothed your hair. He rested his chin on the top of your head and held you tighter, his heart aching and fury burning in his stomach. “Ya ain’t gotta do this anymore,” he said. “Just get out.”

That snapped you out of it and you pulled back from him so you could look up into his face. You wiped the tears from your cheeks, shoving your shame in a box you could open later. Daryl’s hands stayed steadily around you. “No,” you said quickly. “I knew what I signed up for when I came back. And I wish—I wish you hadn’t seen any of that yesterday.” You straightened up and took a steadying breath. “But you’re getting out. Tomorrow,” you said softly, again meeting his eyes.

“Ya mean we are,” Daryl said.

You gulped again and averted your eyes away from the intensity of his gaze, anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.

“Y/N. Ya mean we are,” he repeated vehemently.

You shook your head. “Just you.”

“Like hell!” he growled.

“Daryl, if I stay in, I can help Alexandria and everyone from in here. I can—I can get information. I can sabotage whatever they—”

He shook his head firmly. “Nah. Nah. Fuck that. No. Ya ain’t stayin’.”

“Daryl—”

“No!” he exclaimed as loudly as he dared.

“Just listen—” you pleaded.

“No, ya listen to me!” he rasped. “If ya ain’t comin’ with me, then I ain’t leavin’. And that’s that. I won’t leave this goddamn cell. I’m not leavin’ ya in here with them, with him! I ain’t. So, you can forget about it. I’m not leavin’ ya behind. So, either adjust your plan, or we both stay in.”

You stared at him and from the look in his eyes and the way his jaw was set, his chin stubbornly inclined, it was apparent that there would be no changing his mind. There were flames in his eyes, like a wildfire. You nodded almost imperceptibly. “Alright. Okay.”

He nodded and grabbed the canteen and food you had brought him. As he raised the water to his lips you saw that his knuckles were swollen and bloody with dark bruises across them. “Your hand,” you murmured, reaching out and taking it in yours, inspecting it carefully, your fingers light on his skin.

“S’nothin’,” Daryl said, shrugging. Your touch raised goosebumps on his skin.

“What happened?” you asked him, again finding his blue eyes.

He just shook his head and didn’t say anything more. His eyes moved back to your hand on his and they caught on the silver wedding band Negan had slipped onto your finger. You suddenly realized what he was looking at and you withdrew your hands from his and ripped it off your finger, shoving it into your bag.

Daryl watched the turmoil on your face for a moment before he spoke. “What’s the plan?” he asked, taking a bite of the apple you had brought.

Your mouth dropped open and you thought for a moment. “I’ve got the keys to get you out of here and get us out of the building. And I got the key to your bike. Negan will be gone tomorrow with a lot of his best soldiers. I heard them talking today—they’re going for a pick up at Alexandria.” You sighed. “We sneak out through the south side, where they keep the bikes and trucks. I can walk around freely and make sure the coast is clear before I come and get you. We get on the bike and we go.”

“Go where? We can’t go back to Alexandria obviously.”

You nodded. “Hilltop. I’ll bring some clothes for you to change into when I can before we leave. We gotta get you out of that awful sweatshirt,” you said gently.

Daryl considered you for a long moment, his blue eyes drinking in your face. He nodded. “It’s simple. S’good. It’ll work.” He paused again. “What about weapons?” he asked.

You shook your head and he read worry on your face. “That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to solve. I don’t know where they keep them and I don’t have access to anything. I could maybe slip away with a knife from the kitchen but—”

“Nah. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out,” Daryl said. He nodded again. “We’re gettin’ out,” he said. “Both of us.” You thought you saw his bottom lip quivering.

You nodded back at him. “Yeah. We are.”

His face contorted a little as he bit back emotion, his head slumping forward and his broad shoulders rounding. Your hands flew to his shoulders, and you brushed his hair aside gently. He gripped onto your wrist tightly. You moved closer to him, your heart breaking. You pressed a kiss to his forehead as his eyes were downcast but they snapped up to yours in surprise again at the tenderness you were showing him, despite where you were and what you were being subjected to. Your face broke into a teary smile and he was amazed at it. Everything you had been through… and you’d thrown yourself into it again, for him, risking everything. You were sitting in this shithole with him, smiling at him. He couldn’t make goddamn sense of any of it.

“We’re getting out,” you whispered.

Daryl nodded and straightened up. “We are.”

It was safe to say that even after you left, locking Daryl back into his cell for what you hoped was the last time, neither of you slept at all that night.