#alexandria is a toddler here

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Hey y'all remember Eat Shit & Live, Blitzwing? Y'all want a fun short thing I churned out that takes place sometime after that fic? Here you go! Punched out while waiting for my nails to dry and not spellchecked or proofread at all, have fun!

💜

The day is cool, a soft breeze wafting off the lake and the sun peeking out from scattered clouds. Alexandria had babbled the entire car ride, insistently pointing out the window and shouting, “Cloud! Cloud, mommy!” 

Emily had just replied that yes, that was a cloud. When they neared the air base, she started shouting out other things she saw, like planes and helicopters. She shouts an enthusiastic greeting at the guard who checks Emily’s ID when they arrive at the gates of the base. 

When she’s finally released from the confines of her carseat, she jumps up and down excitedly, already knowing what their little trip entailed. 

“Hand, hand, give me your hand!” Emily shouts, chasing after her daughter who is practically skipping towards one of the hangars. She finally slows down and grabs the outstretched hand, but continues to bounce up and down as they walk into the hangar. 

It was a newer building, built for use by Decepticons. Much higher than those used to house military and passenger planes. They walk past the massive desks and chairs towards the back, where there’s an elevator. It takes them up to an upper level filled with human sized desks and chairs, at perfect eye-level with Cybertronians. 

“Bitz! Bitz!” Alexandria starts shouting, looking down at the hangar. 

“He’s coming! Calm down, honey,” Emily says as she drops her purse on a desk. 

“Bitz and Lug-ug?” Alexandria asks. She takes an offered stuffed elephant from her mom. 

“Yes, they both should be here,” Emily replies as she sits in a chair. She checks her phone as Alexandria runs about, looking around the office space. The barrier between the work area and the drop into the hangar is solid thick plexiglass that comes up to Emily’s chest with no gaps, breaks, or small spaces a kid could squeeze into. The triple reinforcement also means that Alexandria is able to push her whole body against it without it so much as budging. 

Various work emails talking about changing the shift schedules and overhauling the tech in the tower to be able to better communicate with the Decepticons. She’s punching out response when she hears the large door of the hangar whining open. 

Emily gets up, standing next to Alexandria as she squeals and bounces. The most interesting thing Emily had experienced from being around Cybertronians was their smell. Those that flew smelled like ozone and burning metal and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on but was this faint chemical smell. Those that drove smelled of dirt and burnt carbon and that faint chemical smell as well. 

The smell of burning ozone drifts over before Blitzwing comes into view, his calm face smiling at them before snapping to his jack-o-lantern one. He cackles excitedly as he approaches, Alexandria jumping up and down in excitement as he approaches. 

“Hello, hello, hello! How are you little one?” he laughs as he stands right next to the barrier. 

“Bitz! Bitz!” Alexandria shrieks. “Mommy, up please, please up!” 

Emily reaches down and hoists her daughter into her arms, just high enough to rest her tiny hands on the edge of the plexiglass. She looks over to watch as Lugnut walks in the hangar as well, clawed hands holding a stack of metal rectangles. Megatron steps in a moment later, instantly drawn to the commotion. 

“Your sparkling is growing well,” he comments as Emily sets Alexandria down to run along the edge of the plexiglass. 

“Oh yeah. She went through a growth spurt recently and completely outgrew a bunch of clothes,” Emily replies. She knows that this likely means nothing to him, given the major difference of species and societies, but he and the other Decepticons she interacted with regularly appreciated the updates regardless. 

“Out of curiosity, what do you feed human offspring that young?” he asks. She’s running up and down the length of the plexiglass, Blitzwing following her with his gaze. 

“Same food I eat, organic stuff, just mashed down or cut up so she doesn’t choke on it,” she replies. “She’s loving white cheddar cheese right now. She’d eat a whole block if we let her.” 

Emily thinks for a moment before asking, “What do yours eat?” 

“Specialized formulations of energon, made to have more minerals and easier for the tanks to digest,” Megatron replies. “As we age, our fuel tanks can handle less processed energon. I could eat raw energon crystals and be perfectly fine.” 

“Wow,” she says. Lugnut has since walked over to wave at Alexandria. 

“You grow stronger every time we see you, tiny puny human!” Lugnut shouts. Alexandria squeals in response and jumps up and down. 

“Heard the Autobots might re-enter the picture,” Emily says, looking over at Megatron. 

“Discussions are occurring,” he admits. “For the obvious reason of not wanting to share the energon crystals popping up, I’m not impartial to it. However, Governor Nakamura is the one making the final calls in regards to who does and does not aid in protecting this state from the Quintessons threat.” 

“She’s not talking to the ones who bailed, right?’ Emily asks. 

Megatron chuckles. “Of course not. She is, although, talking to the only Autobot who has ever bested me in battle.” 

“Optimus?” Emily asks. 

Megatron nods, slowly and reverently. “Correct.” 

Emily pauses for a moment, thinking. “He wasn’t the one to pull Autobots out of Michigan when the Quintessons attacked?” 

“Of course not. He loves this stupid mudball too much to even think about leaving it defenseless.” 

“Then who made the call?” Emily asks. 

“The Autobot government is run by various bots, all assembled into one unit known as The Autobot High Council. In the absence of the Magnus, who is the highest leader to the Autobots, the Council can make a decision without their input, so long as they have a two-thirds majority vote.” Megatron pauses, glancing over to gauge Emily’s reaction. “From my understanding, Optimus Prime, now the Magnus of the Autobots, was dispatched to the planet of Nebulos to aid in clean up and recovery of Quintesson attacks. He could not be reached by the Council when the attack on Earth began. And thus, the Council unanimously voted to pull all Autobots and Autobots forces off of Earth, leaving you with only your military forces to fight back the surprise attack.” 

Emily’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry, unanimously?” 

Megatron nods. “Perhaps there was one bot who voted against it. But my current understanding is everyone who was present voted to abandon your planet.” 

Emily opens her mouth to say something but loses the words. She rubs at her face and mutters, “Fuck.” 

“I can assure you though that Optimus does respect your planet and, so long as there is no additional meddling from the fools running his faction, he won’t turn and run,” Megatron says. “Honestly, even if the Council told him to turn and run he wouldn’t. He’s quite stubborn.” 

Emily just nods in response, looking at Alexandria, watching as she holds her stuffed elephant up to them and babbles about it. She remembers the day the Quintessons attacked. Everyone in Detroit, even the whole state, remembered. She remembered the fear that gripped her tight and every horrible scenario that ran through her head. To think that it could have all been avoided if a bunch of alien robots on a completely different planet hadn’t made the call to abandon them. 

It didn’t make the Decepticons better, per se, as she also remembers the Battle of Detroit. But the difference was they were here, fulfilling their end of a contract, and not turning tail at the sight of danger. Hell, some of them were even nice enough to take time out of the day to make faces at her toddler and ask about her development. 

Megatron breaks the silence, saying, “Regardless of how their plan pans out, I can assure you everything is going well on our side. You, and the rest of your gross species, will be allowed to continue to live in safety.” 

Despite his words, Emily can’t hear any malice in Megatron's voice. She snorts, “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wry smile. 

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

But Put Together, the Cracks We’ll Close In

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of past child abuse; mentions of suggested abortion; blood and injury

Summary: Fresh into Alexandria, Daryl meets his match in a two year little girl and slowly loses his heart to her mother. You.

A/N: Based on the request/headcanon from @louifaith Just a couple of things. The child is described as in hair and eye color. Nothing is mentioned of reader so these traits could come from her father. There is also the mention of an “Eskimo kiss.” I grew up hearing and using that term but I’m not sure if it is offensive or PC nowadays. please feel free to send me a message if I need to change it. It is not my intention to be offensive to anyone! Also, sorry if anyone likes Spencer. He's always my go to asshole. I received my answer on the above questioned term. I will definitely not be using it again! It has been edited out. *gif is not mine

“S’that?”

Daryl felt the opossum sway in his grip, looking down with a scowl firmly plastered at the bright eyes returning his gaze, brimming with curiosity. She was a toddler, maybe two years old? Christ, someone had a toddler in this mess. “Dinner.” He grunted, pulling the dead animal out of her reach. He found out quickly that the curious little creature would not be deterred so easily. Standing on her tip-toes, she made a grab for the marsupial. “Knock it off.” He huffed and took a step back, bumping into Carol.

“Daryl, she’s a child. Don’t be such a grump.”

“Ain’t you got a mama—family to get back to?” He snapped, ignoring his best friend. The little girl’s eyes brightened.

“Mama! Mama!” She clapped. Daryl rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, go get ‘er.” There was an intense sigh of relief when the little human went running (waddling?) out of sight. “They got kids here.” 

“Yes, Daryl. That’s what that was.” Carol nudged him playfully. “The people seem to think they’re safe here. It gives me the creeps.” He nodded but didn’t comment. “They obviously don’t know what’s going on out there, not like we do. I think we need to be cautious here. Find a way to fit in but keep our guard up, you know?”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Ain’t got no intention of tryin’ to fit in with these folks. Livin’ in a fuckin’ fairytale here. Ain’t gonna last.”

“You’re such a ray of sunshine.” Sasha clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, earning yet another grunt. 

“Mama, here!”

Oh dear god, no. “S’back.” The hunter stated flatly.

“Oh, and she brought a friend.” Sure enough, the little girl was dragging you along, tugging incessantly at your hand as if the child had found the world’s most priceless treasure. “You did tell her to ‘go get her.’”

“Nadia, slow down!”

And slow down, she did. Right in front of a scowl-wearing redneck with a bleeding opossum in his grasp.

“Mama, dinner! Dorl dinner.”

Dorl?!? Daryl looked helplessly over to where Carl was carrying Judith, the little light of his life. Would this be what she was like as she grew up? She already knew him, loved him despite how broken and hopeless he was. She would laugh at him if he was ranting about something and hold out those chubby little hands and he was done for, whatever had irritated him was forgotten.

But this child? This wasn’t his lil’ asskicker. 

Daryl liked kids but he liked them from a distance. He had no business being around them, save for Carl and Judith. I wish I could have known Sophia. He wouldn’t bother getting to know anyone in this place. It’d burn like every other home they had anyway. 

“Dorl, huh?” You smiled.

“Daryl.” He replied flatly, his lip curling.

“I’m Y/N. I assume Aaron found your group?” 

He didn’t answer, too occupied with trying to continuously move away from the small child clumsily reaching for his knife sheath. “Stop that.” He barked, expecting the kid to balk. She did quite the opposite and wrapped her tiny arms around his leg, just below his knee. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Shake her off? Of course not. She might get hurt. While he really didn’t want to be touched, he couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow his job to make sure this kid wasn’t hurt. “Can ya—would ya—?” Shoulders slumped, he didn’t even gesture. You know what he was asking.

Chuckling, you reached down and gently pried the little girl loose. “Nadia, you’re supposed to ask before hugs, remember?”

“Hug Dorl.” The dark-headed child pouted.

That was his cue to step away, as quickly as possible, without running. He absolutely did not run. 

When you looked up, he was already gone, lost in the middle of his group as they headed in to surrender weapons and be interviewed by Deanna.

Daryl sat on the now red-stained porch, prepping his kill for cooking later. Carol had scolded him and made him promise to use the backyard going forward, but he doubted they would be there long enough for him to need the area. It was just the way the world was. Nice places like this could never last.

“Dorl dinner!” 

Jesus take the wheel. “Ya need a bell.” He grunted, looking around for you. “An’ apparently a leash.” Maybe if he ignored her, she would go find you. But what if she wandered off alone and somehow made it out of the gates? Shit. “Sit down, gremlin.”

She giggled and patted her chunky hands against her chest. “Nada.”

Daryl stopped moving and stared for a moment. Wasn’t that Spanish? Maybe? Wait. You had called her Nadia. Maybe that’s what she was trying to say. “Nadia?” Blue eyes squinted in wait.

Nadia bounced and nodded and then pointed at him. “Dorl! Dorl, Nada!”

He released his knife and leaned his elbow against his knee, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead. “Dare-ul.” He tried.

“Dooorl.”

“Oh, for fucksake.” The archer gave up, picking up his knife and continuing with his task. Nadia didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing but leaned in closely with the most serious look he’d ever seen. He needed to lean back once she made it much too far into his personal space.

“Fucksy.” She said, maintaining eye contact as if she were challenging him. 

“No! Don’t say that. Can’t be teachin’ ya sh—stuff like that!” He panicked, opossum forgotten. Daryl threw back his head with a groan. “Can’tcha please just go to your mama?”

Nadia’s little face lit up and off she went with a chorus of mama mama mama. Watching her go, Daryl wondered where the little one’s father was, but soon banished the thought. It was none of his business. What was his business was to make sure the annoying curtain-climber made it home safely. Abandoning his dinner—no time to cover it if he was going to catch up—he walked briskly until he caught sight of her. Little legs can fuckin’ move. We’re fucked when Jude learns to walk. 

He stayed close, but far back enough to not catch her attention. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. Rounding the curb to the end of the street, he caught sight of the small house. Quaint compared to the other homes. The front door was open but he dared not go closer. Boots firmly planted on the sidewalk, he observed the struggle of a tiny human tackling front porch steps. Nadia was determined though. Had he chosen to help, he was certain she would give him that serious look again and yell at him in baby-speak.

“Nadia Avery, how do you keep getting out the door!” 

Maybe cause you leave it open? He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

Regardless, there you were, swooping down to gather the bundle into your arms with a couple of sobs and more than a few sniffles. “Baby, you have to stop doing that! You scare mommy.” Nadia was nuzzling your jaw but then suddenly pointed right at him. 

“Dorl got Nada.”

When your eyes found his own, Daryl froze. His arms were out to his sides, his eyes wide. He looked nothing short of a deer caught in the sights of his crossbow when it realized it’s about to be shot. “I—uh, kid found me.” Forcing himself to relax a fraction, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Didn’t want ‘er wand’rin’ ‘round by herself.” 

Your face softened into a grateful smile. “Thank you for making sure she got home.” He nodded curtly and you turned away, only to turn back in the same motion. “Would you like to come inside? I have some stew that I’m heating. Plenty for the three of us.”

A part of him that he didn’t know existed wanted to immediately accept the offer but the part of him that had kept him alive this long spoke louder. “Nah, got my own dinner I need to take care’a. Thanks, though.”

You nodded, the smile never faltering. “Think of it as a standing invitation. Nadia seems to like you. She’s a good judge of character.”

He snorted. “Alright.”

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night.” He took two steps.

“Nigh’ nigh’, Dorl!” 

He heard the sound of a kiss being blown his way, but didn’t turn around. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

It had been three days since he had last seen you or Nadia. He found that it unsettled him but not enough to go looking. Aaron had gifted him a work area and parts to build himself a bike. It was the best thing anyone could have offered him at that point. He felt like he still wasn’t fitting in, and while that was the idea at first, now it just felt…lonely. 

Carol was always gone when he got up and not home yet when we retired to bed. Rick and Michonne couldn’t stay out of the bedroom for more than five minutes unless something ‘coppy’ needed to be handled. Carl was always outside with Jude in the nice weather. 

Daryl was alone. Though he usually preferred it that way, he couldn’t seem to shake the negativity it seemed to bring to the surface. 

Spending time around something familiar from the old world came to be a comfort. When the posh little community with its “good morning” while walking the dog and laughter over coffee at the gazebo became too much for Daryl, he disappeared into Aaron’s garage. Aaron and his husband seemed okay in the archer’s book. They never once stared at him like he was going to rob them blind or beat them to a pulp. They showed him kindness even if his only attempts at conversation consisted of nods and grunts. 

“You going to this party tonight?” Aaron asked from the doorway the led into the house from the garage. 

“Nah.” Daryl picked up a wrench and continued his work, not giving the question a proper thought. 

“You really should make an effort to get to know more people here.” 

“They don’t like me. Shouldn’t, really.” The archer shrugged. 

“They just don’t know you. Maybe you should give them a chance.” Aaron kept his persuasion in the doorway. He had gifted Daryl that space and was unwilling to step into it without an invitation he was unlikely to receive without asking. 

“Better they don’t know me.”

There was a sigh that made Daryl curl his lip. “Just think about it, okay?” The shuffle of feet and the door opening signaled the other man’s exit. 

Why should Daryl go? He had little interest in fitting in, even when his own group was making such an effort. Carol and Rick were wary and had whatever it was they had but Carol would tell him if she felt it necessary. Daryl was just plain wary, utterly uninterested. Most of them would likely be dead soon and he didn’t need anyone else to mourn. 

So why he found himself showered and in a fresh set of clothing that was his own form of presentable was absolutely beyond him. It had nothing to do with the fact that on his walk home, he thought maybe you’d be at the party. Nope, nothing like that. 

He had made it at least to the yard outside, watching the festivities through the window. Everyone he knew seemed so at ease in there. Dressed up, laughing and drinking. Mingling like they belonged there. He didn’t belong there. 

“Nah.” He said softly before turning away. He was passing by Aaron’s house when a call of his name from that familiar voice had him stopping with a sigh. “Yeah?”

“You went. Good for you. Did you have a good time?” Aaron asked from the porch. Daryl shrugged. The man’s eyes narrowed and suddenly the archer was nervous, feeling judged. “You didn’t go in, did you?”

Daryl shook his head. “Just ain’t my thing.”

“Hey, you tried.”

“Why didn’t you go?” That wasn’t supposed to sound so accusatory but Daryl was tired and had simply had his fill of the day and that place. 

“Eric’s ankle is still giving him trouble. We just thought it best to skip out on this one.”

This one? Christ. That insinuated there would be more. With an inward groan, he answered outwardly with a grunt. 

“We’ve got dinner ready. More than can feed us. Can we tempt you?” The offer was sincere and Daryl was hungry, but his battery was running on fumes. He glanced toward his own home and then back at Aaron. “Eric makes a mean spaghetti, man. Come on, you’re already out.”

Daryl sighed. “Fine.” He was grateful for the invitation, he just sucked at showing it, as with almost every other emotion. Aaron held open the door and with a nod, the archer entered, still ill at ease being inside someone else’s home when his own still felt less than comfortable. 

“Dorl.”

Before he could prepare himself, Nadia was latching onto his lower legs. Arms out awkwardly, he glared at Aaron. “Didn’t say she was here.”

The man just shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t say she wasn’t either.”

“Hi, Daryl!” You came around the corner from the dining room, no doubt to gather your spawn but he couldn’t seem to form a thought around the smile you were giving him. 

“Mama! Dorl!”

“I can see that, baby. You think you can let go so that he can walk?” Nadia shook her head with a vicious pout. 

“Dorl up?”

“What?” He looked down at the toddler and back up at you, silently hoping you’d act as translator for the little gremlin. 

“She wants you to pick her up. You don’t—”

For reasons unbeknownst to even him, he bent down and placed his hands beneath Nadia’s arms, lifting her onto his hip. It felt no different than holding Judith. Nadia was heavier of course. 

“Dorl!” Chubby arms wrapped around his neck, her little cheek rubbing against his stubbled one. “Tickle.” She giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world and repeated the action. 

You were still smiling but much more softly. “She really likes you.” Daryl grunted. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“Ain’t gotta lot to say.” He shrugged the shoulder Nadia’s chin was resting on, sending her into another fit of giggles. She pulled back suddenly, very in his space and then pressed her face against his cheek. He flinched but otherwise didn’t move. There was the smallest flutter that tickled his skin before she reared back again, smiling proudly. “What—”

“Butterfly kisses.” You informed, arms crossed but your smile hidden behind your hand. 

“What the fu—heck’s that?” 

“Oh come on, you never gave your mom butterfly kisses?” You chuckled. 

Daryl felt nauseous at the mention of his mother. The only thing he’d shared with her were bruises and a few after-beating hugs. But you didn’t know him. He took the anger and locked it down, but it must have spilled into his expression. 

“I’m sorry.” Your smile was gone, but to his surprise (and relief), there was no pity in your eyes. Only understanding. Still, it wasn’t a subject he cared to let linger. 

He turned his attention to the child, who had developed a sudden interest in the hair over his ears. “Ya ever gave a nose kiss?” He almost laughed out loud when Nadia’s eyes flew wide with wonder. She didn’t confirm or deny but the fact that she hadn’t moved was answer enough. “S’simple.” Daryl brought a hand up to the back of her head and gently urged her forward, rubbing the tip of his nose over hers. “There. Nose kiss.”

She kept those wide eyes as her little mouth began to spread open into one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on a kid, granted he hadn’t spent much time around any. 

“Again!” She squealed, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him forward. He expected to have a bloody nose from the force with which she came at him, but her movements became deliberate and gentle, as if getting it right was the most important thing in the world. 

Nadia was incredibly pleased with herself, her little hands patting against Daryl’s chest before she wiggled out her request for freedom and sprinted toward the dining room with this newfound information to share with Eric and Aaron. 

“Careful.” You said, though there was no hint of anything unkind in your tone. When he looked away from the other room, he found your expression to be one he couldn’t seem to identify. It was soft yet guarded. He didn’t move away when you reached a single hand out to adjust his vest. “You’re smiling.” And you walked away, leaving him there to realize that he was indeed wearing a small, lopsided grin. 

He shook it off with a groan, absolutely regretting his decision to come in for dinner. 

“Dorl!” Came the loud shout from the table. “Dorl, sketti!”

This was not going to end well. 

It had been two weeks since the spaghetti dinner, which in fact had ended rather pleasantly. Aside from your giggles when he realized he was eating his meal with the same gusto and manners as the toddler next to him, Aaron had offered him a job that let him go outside the walls. He’d accepted almost immediately. 

Little Nadia had been determined to take him home with them, so he walked you there with her tiny hand in his. Halfway, she had begun to tire and fuss, instinct had kicked in and he scooped her up in the same manner he would Judith. The child was asleep on his shoulder almost instantly. 

He had zero intention of entering your home and was thankful the kid was out cold so that she couldn’t initiate the suggestion. He had passed her off to you and started to leave. 

“Daryl.” You had called quietly. He still wasn’t sure why he had turned back to you so quickly. “That invitation is still open.” You smiled, he grunted. “Thanks for being so sweet with her. Goodnight.”

There had been a heavy feeling in his chest but he had nodded. “G’night.”

Now, you and little Nadia were almost a constant presence when he wasn’t beyond the wall. A presence that he found no longer really irritated him. 

He would sit on the porch with the kid, working on his crossbow while Nadia colored or played with toys. He had to find her some of her own to have there because it seemed she and Judith were at odds about Daryl’s attention. He had made the mistake of lifting lil’ asskicker out of her playpen while Nadia was on his heels and the latter had begun to wail. 

He had quickly passed Jude off to an equally concerned Michonne and scooped up the kid. “S’wrong? Hey.” Little arms wrapped around his neck and, though he didn’t see the angry pout directed at the other baby, Michonne did. He turned at her chuckle, eyes wide and confused. 

Before she could explain, those little arms squeezed harder. “My Dorl.”

From that moment on, he saved time with Judith for emergencies (there were none) and for after Nadia had gone home with you. 

“Don’t touch that, Dia.” Daryl huffed, catching her little hand reaching for the knife he had on the porch table. He had spent the morning skinning a few squirrels for Carol to use in a stew but was at that point, working on the tension on his bow. 

And babysitting. 

You had some inventory to do at the infirmary with Pete. The doctor gave him bad vibes so when you had asked, he’d accepted all too quickly. Even offered to tag along and keep an eye on the kid there. In the end, after you had politely declined, he had reasoned that you were a grown woman and could handle yourself. 

“Babysitting, again, hmm?” 

Daryl glanced up from his crossbow toward Carol on the top step, Nadia already beaming up at her from the hug around her waist. It lasted all of three seconds before the kid was back to her toys beside Daryl’s boot. 

“Mhm.” Was the only answer he offered, one that was mimicked from the little person below him. He didn’t smile but Carol didn’t miss the way his eyes left the weapon to regard Nadia for a moment before returning to the task.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, plopping down onto the other chair. She grabbed a toy that had rolled away and handed it back to the child.

“Some inventory shit at the infirmary.” Daryl shrugged, rotating the bow to check his work. Carol made a noise that gave him pause, one he didn’t like. “What?”

“No one’s at the infirmary. I was just there for Mr. Henderson’s blood pressure medication.” 

He could feel his heartrate picking up, a sense of foreboding so strong that he could barely think straight. “Pete weren’t there?”

Carol shook her head. “No one.” She sat up straight when Daryl stood, sheathing his knife and placing his crossbow on the railing. “Daryl?”

“Dia, I’m gonna be right back. You’re gonna stay with Carol for a few minutes. Tell me the rules.” 

Nadia’s wide eyes narrowed into seriousness. “No bow. No move. Be good. No shit.” It took her a moment to babble through the small list but Daryl ruffled her hair with the smallest of half smiles.

“No shit, Daryl?”

He was already stepping off the porch. “Her mama hears ‘er sayin’ that an’ m’a dead man.”

Carol laughed and shook her head, turning her attention to the little human that was already working up to a cry as Daryl walked out of sight. “Do you like cookies, Nadia?”

He checked the infirmary first. He didn’t doubt Carol, but maybe she had missed a room or something. It was, as Carol had said, empty. “Fuck.” The next most logical place would be your home. He ran the entire way. He’d feel like an absolute fool if you were fine, but he’d cross that bridge later. The door was open, he could see that from the moment he rounded the curb. You had a habit of doing that and he hated it, but who was he to tell you what to do?

“Y/N?” He took your steps two at a time and stopped on the threshold. “Y/N? Are ya here?” No answer. He felt like shit the moment his boot touched the floor inside. He’d never taken you up on an invitation for the dinner you continuously offered him, much less any offer to simply come inside. Now here he was tearing room to room, in your safe space. There were covered pots on the stove and the oven was on, but where were you? “Y/N!” He placed a booted foot on the bottom stair before your voice stunned him frozen.

“Daryl?”

He nearly collapsed in relief.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Nadia? Daryl?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Carol.” He rasped, sheathing his knife when he saw you staring at it. Your hair was wet, your clothes damp. You must have been in the shower. “M’sorry. Carol said ya weren’t at the—just got worried. M’sorry.” His eyes had lowered to the stairs below you but then your bare feet were padding down them to stop directly in front of him. “I’ll, uh—lemme go get ‘er.” He had barely moved before your hand was on his shoulder. To his shock, he didn’t flinch; didn’t even have the urge.

“Are you okay?” You asked, ducking your head to seek out his gaze. He continued to expertly dodge.

“M’fine. Just—I’ll go get Dia.” He stepped away and out of the loose grip you had on him, immediately missing the warmth of your hand. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I was making us dinner.” The words rushed out of you, like you were trying to get them out before he could leave. Daryl looked over his shoulder from the doorway, an eyebrow arched. “Us. Me, Nadia, and—well, you.”

“Me? Why?” He hadn’t meant to sound so unkind, ungrateful, but that was just who he was down deep, wasn’t it? Still, you seemed unbothered, your nervousness born of something else entirely.

“Because Nadia likes you. I like you. We’d like to spend time with you that doesn’t involve me asking for favors or the entire community leering and making assumptions.”

He still hadn’t fully turned, but narrowed his eyes. “Think they ain’t gonna make assumptions when ya have me in your house?”

“Fair point.” You nodded, chuckling. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what they think but I worry that you do.” Head tilted, Daryl turned but remained in the doorway. “You seem so private, quiet. I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Your bottom lip disappeared between your teeth for a moment. “So, will you come? Please?”

As much as he tried, he couldn’t sense a single ounce of dishonesty or ill intent in you. It was certainly there, wasn’t it? No one outside of the group that had grown to like him over months of death and sorrow wanted anything to do with him. So, why you? Why Nadia? “Alright, I’ll go get ‘er an’ be back.” He turned and took a step before you called out again.

“Don’t worry about changing or anything. Just bring you, okay?”

He nodded around the very foreign flutter in his chest, clearing his throat and leaving the house before he could overthink things right there in front of you. He’d be able to do that in abundance on the way to grab the kid. 

To say he was confused was the largest of understatements. You were a beautiful woman. Where was Nadia’s father? In that world, the absence usually meant he was either dead or had willingly left, which he couldn’t fathom either. Was the kid the reason all the single men weren’t knocking down your door? That couldn’t be it. Nadia was amazing, all bright smiles and such an innocence that was refreshing in a world as dark it was. 

Even if you did have suitors, why were you taking the time to get to know him? He was damn sure nothing special and had nothing to offer you. Daryl growled at himself. He was jumping the gun. You hadn’t expressed any real interest in him. You wanted to have dinner. Aaron and Eric had him over for dinner all the time. It was what friends did. He was your friend after all. He had to be for you to trust him with Nadia. He snorted. Maybe that was all the brat’s doing and you were just along for the ride. 

His shoulders were slumped, feet dragging by the time he made it back to his house, already opening his arms in expectation of the bundle of Nadia that would be leaping into them any moment. “Dorl!” 

“She was about to strap on your crossbow and come find you herself.” Carol teased from the doorway. 

“I was barely gone twenty minutes, kid.” He nodded to Carol and turned back to take Nadia home. “Your mama’s at home makin’ something for supper. Ya hungry?”

“Mmmmhmmmm!��� Little legs were swinging while bright eyes watched the street in front of them, her arms loosely around his neck, trusting him to not let her fall. And he would never. Daryl craned his head to look at her, all dark hair and big blue eyes. She could pass as his own kid to anyone who didn’t know better. 

Whoa. That train of that was roughly derailed. 

Easily done when the top of her head leaned against his temple and she began to hum some tune he didn’t know. It calmed his anxiety enough to not eat him from the inside out before he made it back to your house. Nadia was wiggling to be lowered before he could even get her to the steps. Much to her annoyance (if her little growl and pout were anything to go by), he didn’t place her on her feet until they were on the porch.

The door was still open and, man, he really wanted you to stop doing that.

“Mama!” Nadia squealed, running right into your arms.

“Hi, baby! Did you have fun with Daryl today?” You hefted her onto your hip, your face turned toward hers even though your smile was aimed at the archer.

“We always have fun.” He was close enough to ruffle the kid’s hair without invading your space.

“No shit!” Nadia proclaimed with her arms in the air. You were smiling but your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. Daryl cleared his throat.

“M’a tell Carol to watch ‘er mouth.”

“Carol. Right.” You chuckled. You started to reach for his arm but must have thought better of it and motioned toward the dining room instead. He found he was disappointed. “Go ahead and sit down wherever. There’s some wine and water already there.”

Daryl liked wine. He’d partake when at Aaron and Eric’s for dinner but here? He wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. The table could seat six but there were three places set, the middle chair holding a booster seat. He didn’t sit, wouldn’t until you did. Instead he noticed how close the glasses of wine were sitting to Nadia’s place and took the liberty of moving each of them to the other side. Not that the kid would bother them but it just felt—right?

“Alright, kiddo. You get to eat first.” You weren’t carrying Nadia anymore but she was right behind you, looking up at the bowl of pasta like a pup that was about to get its kibble. Daryl was already lifting the kid into her seat when you turned from placing the bowl on the table. “Thank you.” You did touch his arm then. “Go ahead and sit. I’ll be right back.”

Nadia had apparently chosen his spot for him, patting the back of the chair to her left. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he glanced toward the kitchen. Wasn’t he supposed to pull your chair out for you or something? Aaron had. 

“No, no, Dorl.” Nadia pulled at his elbow, earning a halfhearted scowl before he realized she was trying to get him to stop the anxious habit.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, not sure why he was apologizing when she just went back to dancing and eating once he had dropped his hand. He watched her for a moment, just being a kid, innocent and oblivious to the dangers and heartache that lay in wait just outside of Alexandria’s protective walls. She and you—just two more people for him to mourn in the end. What was he doing there? He had no business being in your lives. If he didn’t lose the two of you, then you would lose him. It was inevitable. It was fate. It was the way the world worked now, tirelessly snuffing out any semblance of light that could give someone like him hope.

And goddamnit, he’d be devastated. He adored your kid and though he couldn’t quite decipher what it was that he felt for you, he knew that if anything happened to you, he’d shatter. 

“Daryl?”

“What?” He snapped out of reflex, not fully out of his head before he had realized you were speaking. You flinched, the pasta in the two bowls you were holding bounced but didn’t spill. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” The bowls were placed on the table and a basket of fresh bread that he hadn’t noticed you had already brought out. How long had he been standing there?

“Yeah, uh—yeah, m’fine.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very trapped in the small room. It wasn’t really that small, was it? “M’just—” He didn’t finish before he all but ran to the door, closing it behind him like he really wished you would start doing. He had a cigarette lit within seconds, trembling fingers bringing it to his lips for a long drag. 

Pale light from inside cascaded around him as the door opened. You didn’t move any closer, obviously staying near Nadia while the little girl ate. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” Lie. 

“Come back inside?” You requested after glancing toward Nadia, finding her eating her pasta elegantly with her fingers. Daryl said nothing, wasn’t even sure he could, but he flicked his cigarette toward the sidewalk and stood, walking past you with but a beat of hesitance. 

Despite Nadia’s excitement at his return, he remained quiet, but offered the kid a ghost of a smile when she offered a bite of her own food. Disgruntled at his refusal, she wore her own version of a scowl and continued to eat. You had taken your seat, giving the bread basket a tiny shove toward the archer.

“Thanks.” He mumbled. He wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. Staring at his food, he questioned whether the way he usually ate might disgust you. It was never something he actively thought about. He grew up in a home where he snatched what he could get and ate it quickly before someone could take it or reprimand him for it. It was nearly the same now that the world had ended. Thankful for any scrap of food, but quick to make sure it was gone before someone came ready to fight for it.

“If you think any louder, I might be able to hear it.” 

Daryl glanced up, unable to meet your eyes. You were swirling the wine around in the glass with your gaze settled on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just dinner, Daryl.” 

With a barely there nod, he picked up his fork and began to eat, slowly and carefully, not noticing the way you watched him with a quizzical expression.

Nadia was having a hard time keeping her head up by the time dinner was finished, her little eyes closing before snapping open with a jerk of her head. 

“Time for bed.” You announced, attempting to wipe her face around languid movements of annoyance. “Come on, baby.” Lifting her from the chair, you tilted your head when she leaned her upper body back toward Daryl, reaching out with lazy, grabby hands.

“Dorl night night.”

Halfway out of his seat, he froze. “Think ya should, uh—your mama should handle this’un, Dia.” She didn’t seem to have it in her to argue, flopping onto your shoulder. You managed to hold up a finger, asking him to wait while you put Nadia to bed. He did, but busied himself gathering the dishes, taking them to the sink, and rinsing them out as Carol had trained him to do. “Wow, my very own human dishwasher. Can I keep you?”

Daryl felt the heat rise in his face, traveling down to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. “Stop.” God, you were just as bad as Carol.

“Daryl.” 

Oh, boy. Your tone had gone from playful to serious in two seconds flat. His stomach was in knots but he dared not turn around and rinsed the same bowl at least three times. “Hmm?”

“I’d like to see, uh—I’d like it if you'd come around more often. Tonight was—it was nice.”

And there it was. The one thing that had caused him so much inner turmoil now confirmed. You were interested and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. When he finally managed to get his tongue to work, the words that spilled out were nothing like the ones running through his head and he regretted them immediately. “Where’s Dia’s daddy?” Christ, Dixon. “M’sorry.” He tried to backpedal, finally turning toward you and leaning back against the sink with a white-knuckled grip against the edge of the countertop. “Ain’t my business.”

“Gone. I don’t really give a fuck where.” You shrugged, so nonchalantly that he had to look at you. “He didn’t want her. Nearly got himself killed finding pills for me to take. I refused, he left. But I have her and I hope he’s a walker.” Your gaze was fond but serious, and he found not a single trace of annoyance or anger. “She’s never really liked men. Even Aaron and Eric had to coax her inside for dinner with a stale candybar.” You laughed at the memory, and Daryl realized he could listen to that sound for the rest of his life. “But then you. She wasn’t afraid, not for a single second.”

“It was the ‘possum.” He shrugged, shyly ducking his head for only a moment but looking back up through his fringe when you laughed again.

“Okay, we can go with that.” You lifted yourself up onto the island, kicking your legs, reminding him of Nadia. “Doesn’t really explain why she stuck to you like glue every moment since then, though. Dorl this and Dorl that. I’m not complaining. You’re good for her.” Daryl scoffed, ducking his head once more. “You are, Daryl. And I think she might be good for you too.”

“She’s a kid. Don’t know no better.” He shrugged, the urge to run becoming more and more prevalent. He didn’t belong there. It wasn’t his family. Nadia wasn’t his kid and you weren’t his. God, he wished you were.

You hummed, holding back something. “I had fun tonight, but when you come back, don't worry so much about what I think, okay?” The way he tried to eat more slowly?

“Yeah, okay. Was nice. Thanks, uh—thanks for havin’ me.” The archer made the choice to pass you and head for the door. Your bare feet hit the floor just behind him. “I’ll see ya ‘round. Lemme know if ya need someone to watch Dia.” Why the hell did he offer that?

“I will. Thank you.” The smile you gave him was almost sad. Maybe disappointed? “Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Yeah. Night.” He crossed the threshold but turned back, keeping his head low. “Keep your door shut.” There was no time for you to answer before he was jogging down your steps, barely slowing his stride all the way home. All the lights were off when he arrived and he couldn’t be more grateful to slip in and down to his room to berate himself properly until he was finally able to fall asleep.

Logically, he should have avoided you since that night, but Daryl never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box. He absolutely did not look for reasons to go to your house, satisfied to find the door closed each and every time. If he saw you carrying something, he’d jog over to take it from you, no matter how big or small. He responded by meeting Nadia in the middle each time she called for him, even if he was covered in dark blood and brain matter.

“Dorl smell ick.” She would say.

He was down bad and though he would deny it until his last breath with the age old line of we’re just friends, Carol was smarter than that.

“Daryl, you and I are friends. You’re sweet on that girl and you can fight me if you try to claim any different.” She stirred at the brownie batter, intermittently swatting away his hand when he tried to sneak a taste. “You should just tell her how you feel.”

“Stop actin’ like ya know ev’rythin’.” He snapped with no real heat.

“Okay, fine. I know nothing.” She stated coolly, spreading the mixture into a baking pan. “Except that Spencer has been spending an awful lot of time around her and Nadia.”

Well, that had his attention. “What? When?” He hopped off the countertop and was quickly standing just beside Carol, moving accordingly so that she could continue her baking.

“Usually when you’re out. I think you intimidate him.”

“Damn well better intimidate him.”

“Why? You’re ‘just friends,’ remember?” Daryl curled his lip at her air quotes, turning on a heel to head toward the door. 

“Shuddup.”

He hadn’t been focused, lingering on what Carol had told him that morning. Worrying that Spencer was putting the moves on you that very moment he wasn’t there to do anything about it. What if he’d missed his chance? He growled, trying to take more of his own weight off of Aaron but his leg burned and ached.

“Ain’t that bad.” He tried to brush it off, but it was, in fact, that bad. He hadn’t seen the damn trap, the walker backing him right onto it. He was lucky the dead bastard didn’t take a chunk of him when he went down, but Aaron was quick. Had Daryl been alone, he’d likely be snarling and growling on the ground with his calf still locked within that metal.

“Keep telling yourself that and maybe your stubbornness will keep you on your feet until we can make it back.” The other man huffed. “First Eric, now you. I swear, I’m cursed.” Daryl groaned but couldn’t disagree. 

Christ. The archer’s head was fucked. He couldn’t focus with images of you running rampant at the forefront of his mind. The way you would smile when you saw him; how you’d laugh when he’d huff at Dia for calling him Dorl; you’d have him for dinner a few times a week and it was less and less awkward.

He was so fucked.

“Open the gate!” Aaron called urgently. Daryl hadn’t even been paying attention but maybe zoning out was what brought him that far with such an injury. The toe of his boot was dragging, his leg both numb and throbbing in a way he couldn’t seem to understand was even possible. Sasha was yelling, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He was too busy trying to look over his shoulder at the steady crimson trail that followed them. Would walkers follow it right to the gates? “Jesus, okay. I’m going to get help to carry you to the infirmary.”

“Fuck Pete. Gimme Y/N or just take me home.” Daryl slurred, his head falling back against the metal just inside the gates. He was fading, tired and smothered by a dark cloud that was creeping into the edges of his vision and mind. He knew he wouldn’t die from this, but damn, did it still suck.

“Dorl! Mama, Dorl boo-boo!”

Tiny, warm hands were on his face. He was cold, didn’t even realize it. Big blue eyes were hovering right in front of his face, a little mouth between chubby cheeks speaking with an urgency that made him want to scoop her up and soothe the worry. “Dia.” He breathed, his mind finally catching up, though he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Nada kiss boo-boo.”

Daryl chuckled breathlessly but pulled the little girl against his chest. “Nah, baby girl, don’t kiss that boo-boo. S’gross.” Big crocodile tears were forming and falling, and his heart ached. His little girl was never supposed to cry, never supposed to even be sad. “M’okay. Your mama’s gonna make it all better, you’ll see.”

“Mama, Dorl got big boo-boo.”

“I see that, baby. Can you move so mommy can take a look?” You were there, your voice a balm to the pain that was slowly fading. 

“She’s alright.” Daryl shifted Nadia to his side, letting her hold on with her head on his filthy chest. You’d have to give her a bath later and somehow, he had the energy to feel bad about that.

“Jesus, Daryl, what did you do?” You were cutting the lower part of his pant leg, right there on the street, but he didn’t have it in him to see who might be watching. He muttered bear trap but didn’t really recall it being his voice. Was it even him?

The child holding to him made a noise when the wound was revealed, jagged punctures that still steadily bled and she shouldn’t be seeing that. Why wasn’t someone taking her away? “Ssh. S’okay, Dia. Just look at me—can ya hum that song ya always do when we take ya home?” A tiny sniffle but then a little tune in his ear.

“What happened? He okay?” Rick.

“Daryl!” Ah, Carol. Good.

“Hey, take her, would ya? Don’t need to be here.” He was gentle if not weak when he tried to hand off Nadia, kissing one of her little hands when he finally peeled them away from his neck. “M’a be okay, Dia.” She cried. Even as Carol promised her cookies and brownies, she cried and his heart ached more than his leg. He barely caught the word disinfect before the hellfire in his leg struck him like a hammer to the head and he knew no more.

“S’not that big’a deal. I can take care’a myself at home.” Daryl grimaced and watched you moving things around in your living room. You disappeared and returned several moments later with pillows and blankets. 

“I know you can, but I also know you’re stubborn as a mule and you’ll try to go out of those gates behind Aaron within a day.” He barely opened his mouth before you held up an authoritative finger. “Don’t lie to me, Daryl Dixon. And don’t pretend I don’t know at least a little by now.”

“Dorl!” 

Before he could process her voice, the archer had a lapful of toddler. It was hazy but he could remember how he felt at the gate, the protective instinct, the absolute knowledge that Nadia was his no matter how untrue it was. He couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Be careful of his boo-boo, sweetie.” You admonished in the most gentle tone while propping Daryl’s leg up on a pillow. “He’s going to stay with us for a few days so I can keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” Came the innocent reply. 

“Because Daryl is naughty and doesn’t like to listen when he’s told he can’t do something. Like you with Miss Carol’s cookies.” 

Nadia gasped dramatically and turned those big blues to Daryl. “Dorl takes cookies.”

Glancing at you, expression bland, he nodded. “Yeah, I take the cookies.”

“So he has to stay right here on this couch unless mommy is helping him, okay? Can you be my junior nurse and make sure he stays put?”

“That ain’t fair.” Daryl objected with an indignant pout. 

“Why? Because you know it’ll work?” 

Daryl grunted and crossed his arms. He was in for a long few days. 

A week later, the stitches were out but there was residual swelling that was hindering healing. Nothing to worry about, you had told him. 

“Why ain’t Ken wearin’ no clothes?” Daryl was concerned to be ‘playing Barbies’ when Barbie wore a bathing suit and Ken was naked as the day he was—assembled? So far he’d been able to avoid dialogue and just bounce the doll around with facial expressions that kept the toddler occupied. “Seems a lil’ fucked up.”

“You try finding doll clothes nowadays.” There was laughter in your voice and tenderness in your touch while you cleaned the wound and changed the dressings. Only a couple more days of that. 

“Maybe I will.” The archer mused, standing the doll on top of Nadia’s head, keeping it there with his finger on the top. Her little arms could only reach the legs, facing reddening and scrunching with giggles. 

“Time to pick up your toys. Daryl needs to rest and you, missy, need to get to bed.” 

“Noooooo.”

“Don’t sass your mama.” Daryl dropped the doll in favor of patting the kid on the head. “G’on now.” The archer dropped an arm outward, fully expecting the hug that was incoming. “Night, kid.”

“Nigh’ night’, dada.”

It was at that moment Daryl Dixon completely forgot how to breathe. His eyes were already on yours before the kid decided to drop that bomb and skip away to brush her teeth like she hadn’t just turned his world upside down. 

“M’sorry. M’so sorry. I don’t—she didn’t—”

“I’m just—” you interrupted, backing toward the doorway, “I need to put her to bed.” You stumbled out of the room as if he were chasing you. 

He wasn’t sure he could move if he tried. His heart was in his nose, his stomach in his ass, and his lungs were plaited around his spine. Why would the kid call him dada? It made no sense. A couple of months wasn’t long enough for anything like that. Right? Fuck, he needed to talk to Carol. His brain was malfunctioning. He couldn’t process this. 

Throwing off the blankets, Daryl sat up, levering to his feet. He still had a limp but it was easier now. Shuffling to the exit, he stopped, staring at the handle of the closed door. You’d been doing that now, hadn’t you? He said something once and you had listened. 

“So you’re just gonna run away after that, is that it?”

The archer spun so fast that he lost his balance, righting himself with a hand on the wall. “It ain’t—I was—just needed to talk to Carol.” He admitted. His shirt was damp and he was certain he would vomit. 

“She didn’t mean anything by it, Daryl. I’ll talk to her.” You were wringing your hands, your chin wobbling. 

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. He had the sudden desire to hug you but didn’t dare move. Aside from casual touches, bumping shoulders in jest, and of course the occasional wound treatment, the two of you had never physically interacted. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Wow, had he thought about it. “I know she didn’t mean nothin’.” Ouch. Somehow that revelation was worse. 

“She loves you, Daryl. I’ll talk to her, I promise. Please don’t walk out on her. On—on me.”

He likely looked like an idiot hobbling half the distance to where you stood. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” When you nodded and dropped your head, he dared another unsteady step. “M’a stay as long as ya want me here. You an’ Dia.” With one hand, he touched your shoulder and left the decision up to you. You needed no further prompting to step into his arms. For a moment, nothing else mattered. But then you were stepping back.  

“Okay.” You nodded, turning your head to wipe away a tear you thought he didn’t already notice. “I like having you here.” He returned the nod silently. 

Nothing else was said. Daryl went back to the couch, you went to get ready for bed. The night went on with both you and Daryl feeling more alone than ever. 

“She really called you dada?” Carol asked in an excited whisper, the wide grin on her face in direct contrast to Daryl’s frown. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“No!” He shot back immediately, looking over his shoulder at the little girl playing on the living room floor. They had somehow even managed to get her to sit next to Judith’s playpen, so long as Daryl didn’t touch Lil’ Asskicker, peace remained. “I mean, yeah. Fuck, I dunno what I mean, Carol.”

“Daryl.” The seriousness in her tone brought his gaze to hers, flinching when he found her leaning on her elbows much closer than she had been just a moment ago. “I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“Ain’t never lied to ya.”

“Okay.” Her eyes, just as blue as his own, narrowed. “Do you love that little girl?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” It was true. It was so different from how he loved Judith but yet completely the same. He would give anything for her to have been his, to have been there while you carried her. He wanted to spit on the man that tried to force you to end it. He couldn’t imagine a world without you and little Nadia anymore. It was as if the two of you were the missing pieces that could give him a chance to be whole. 

“And Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you love Y/N?” Carol leaned back a little, her gaze no less intense. 

“S’a lil’ more—I, uh—”

“I said STOP!” 

Daryl was on his feet instantly at the sound of your voice, running outside. His limp was less profound and didn’t hinder him from descending the steps to see you across the street with your arm in Spencer’s grasp. You were likely on your way to collect Nadia.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re beautiful, and I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Spencer pulled you toward him. 

“You’re delusional!” 

“Stop being such a prude. You’ve got a kid. You think you got any other options out there?”

“Yeah! She does!” Daryl’s fist had already connected before the other man had even realized he was approaching. The archer stepped in front of you and stayed there, coiled to attack but holding steady until he was given a reason. 

“You?” Spencer spat, literally, a glob of blood and saliva landing next to Daryl’s boot. “The dirty redneck everyone’s afraid of? That’s laughable.”

Daryl started to move until he felt the smallest tug on his jeans. Nadia was looking up at him, equal parts curious and afraid.

“Dada mad?”

Your arms encircled his stomach with whispers of he’s not worth it repeated over his shoulder. “Get the fuck outta here an’ don’t come near my girls again.” The archer waited, arching a brow when Spencer hesitated. 

“You heard him.” Rick stepped up to Daryl’s left, Michonne and Carol on this right. “Best be going now.” Spitting again, the man curled his lip and scrambled to his feet, stomping off toward his mother’s home. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

“I’ll go talk to Deanna.” Maggie offered, nodding at Rick but stopping to squeeze Daryl’s arm on her way by. What the fuck? Had everyone noticed?

“We should make ourselves scarce.” Michonne suggested with a knowing grin. 

Once they were all out of sight, Daryl deflated, one hand falling to the top of Nadia’s head. “Ain’t angry, Dia.” She sniffled and seemed to only hug his leg tighter. When it was clear he couldn’t turn with the added weight to his injured leg, you stepped around in front of him.

“Your girls?” You asked, expression so terrifyingly unreadable. 

“I just—he needed to leave an’ I didn’t want him to think he could come back ‘round.” His bottom lip was instantly being gnawed between his teeth. “Needed to make sure ya were okay.”

“So, we’re not your girls?” There was definitely disappointment there. You were wringing your hands again before reaching toward Nadia.

“I mean, if ya—yeah.” Daryl swallowed hard. “Yeah, you’re my girls. Have been for a while. M’just a idiot an’ I was—I’m scared. Don’t wanna be like my old man.”

You hummed, stepping into him to brush back the fringe across his eyes. “You haven’t told me anything about your parents, but I’m willing to listen. I wanna know everything about you.”

“Me too—’bout you, I mean. ‘Bout Dia.” He was reaching for your face, leaning in just as you did. His lips barely brushed yours before there came another tug at his jeans again. 

“Home, dada.”

You laughed while Daryl just looked stricken and confused. “You heard her, Daryl. Let’s go home and figure this out.” 

One Year Later 

“Daddy! Lookit picture!!” 

Daryl looked up from the mess of rabbits he was skinning on the porch, blowing upward to move some of the hair from his eyes. The almost four year old was sprinting down the street from the Grimes’ house, a piece of paper waving in her grip above her head. He waved to Michonne who had been watching Nadia make it back safely. “Whatcha got there, Dia?” She was grinning from ear to ear when she presented it to him, holding it out in front of her because ew no when he reached for it with bloody fingers.

There were three stick figures. One was obviously him if the crazy hair and scribbled attempt at a crossbow were anything to go by. A small figure was at his side, dark hair and a big smile: Nadia. And then there was you. Daryl snorted. You were a stick figure with a circle drawn around the middle. 

“Your mama’s gonna ‘preciate that, kid.”

“Appreciate what?” You stepped out with two glasses of water, placing them on the table and resting your hand on your swollen belly. Nadia proudly displayed the drawing and received a big smile and mhm, so pretty from you while Daryl snickered into his shoulder. “Go put it on the fridge, baby, and wash your hands. Supper’s nearly ready.”

“Okay, mama!” And off she went in a blur.

“Not funny, Dixon.” You dug your bare toes into his lower back until he yelped.

“S’a little funny.” He wiped his knife across his jeans.

“About as funny as you cleaning these rabbits on my front porch.” He ducked his head sheepishly when he turned to watch you lower into your chair. 

“I’ll clean it up, Sunshine. Don’t get all uppity ‘bout it.” Rising from his perch, he gathered the meat onto a parchment you had given him and wrapped it, leaving the bones and fur to handle later. “Dia! C’mere!” Moving at inhuman speed, she was looking up at him from the doorway the next second. Daryl jerked his chin toward a bag on the table beside his water glass. “Broughtcha somethin’ back.”

You leaned forward with curiosity and watched your daughter pull out the contents of the bag, barely catching a glimpse of the different colors before Nadia hugged Daryl’s leg and disappeared back inside with squeals of delight echoing in her wake.

“What did you bring her?”

Daryl smirked. “Told ya I’d find clothes for them dolls.”

[daryltwdixon]

Double Lines

a requested one shot

"Hi it's me lol my request is Daryl and fem reader are a couple and they finally decided to try for a baby. When Rick returns he is proud of Daryl for everything he's done with the group as well as being a father figure to Judith and can't believe he's finally a father to his own kid. Just fluff lol up to you if there's a pregnancy loss or not in their journey to try to conceive, baby gender is up to you. Names for baby are DJ (Daryl Jr) or Elizabeth after Beth since she was your close friend as well as Daryl's 🖤🖤" @twistedprincess-92

fluffy, pregnancy, gentle Daryl, fem reader.

Daryl has his arms wrapped around you as you stand in the bathroom together. The tile flooring is cold under your bare feet, but that’s not the only thing bringing goosebumps to your skin. He’s kissing your cheeks and lips, then to your nose and temple.

“Whatever it is, I love you,” he whispers against your ear. 

You smile and tuck your face into his neck. Praying, pleading, for once to see that double line. Before you made it to Alexandria, you were terrified of an accidental pregnancy. The thought of bringing a baby into this world terrified you, even though Judith had done so well. But her early years were hard. For her and the group. Daryl was just as scared as you were about pregnancy–maybe more from the fear of losing you. So when you both settled into Alexandria, the idea of a life outside of the apocalypse crept in more and more each day. You kept picturing a stumbling toddler running out to greet Daryl when he came home, what songs you would sing them to bed with, or how soft their cheeks might be. What a mini Daryl might look like, or a little girl who looked just like you might be like. Every day when you sat on your front porch, having coffee and quality time when Daryl was around, you’d picture him or her in his lap. Their eyes would be just like his, so icy blue like the first frost of winter. Their smile would be a mirror of yours, maybe with dimples or none. When you brought the idea to Daryl he was nervous at first, but he knew how much safer you both felt here. There was medicine, doctors, support to help during birth. One night, after a particularly long love making, you confessed to Daryl your thoughts. He had been worried at first, the natural panic of the past few years coming to him. But after assuring him of everything around you, how good Alexandria was for both of you, he finally agreed. That night, you spent many hours interlocked with him. It was one of the most beautiful nights with him, where you finally felt like something was happening for the better. Since then, he’s held you closer and closer when he hugs you. He pulls you into more kisses, his arms always finding your waist. He brings you flowers almost every day, never leaving the vase on your dining table empty.

Today you had told him, in a shaky voice, that your period was two weeks late. Every day since your period was supposed to be here, you just kept telling yourself it’s the stress–something hormonal. You knew there were reasons a period wouldn’t come. You’d had so many scares with Daryl because you were both starving and it was natural for a period to be missed due to the lack of nutrition. So you got used to making excuses for it. But Alexandria was…safe. It was home. So you finally decided to just tell Daryl, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. His eyes were like saucers when you came to him. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like that before. He immediately ran from you, and at first you were nervous you scared him away, that he needed to go out for a hunt to clear his mind. But instead, he came back quickly with a small, rectangular box. He pulled the pregnancy test from it, holding it out to you.

“Together,” he said. All you could do was fall into him for a sweet embrace. 

So you find yourselves together here in the bathroom now. Waiting for those double lines. 

“I love you,” you whisper into his neck.

He pulls you back, bringing your face up to his, kissing you deeply. He didn’t need words to tell you how much he loved you. His actions always spoke so much louder. When you come out of your kiss, your eyes naturally peek over to the test on the counter, and a gasp escapes from you.

There’s two bright pink lines across the tester.

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

It’s so funny, almost like deja-vu. You remember picturing this exactly nine months ago. Sitting on your porch, sipping coffee, watching Daryl with your child. Except instead of one, there were two. Yes, twins. When you found out both of you nearly fainted, the news was almost too much for your frayed pregnancy nerves. But now, seeing Daryl with his closed eyes on the porch swing, two babies laying sound asleep on him during a contact nap was the most magical thing you could ever want or need. You look over to the street from a bit of motion in the corner of your eye, and you see Rick walking over, Judith in hand. She’s walking over, blabbing about something in her toddler talk. He is smiling down at her, nodding and answering back. When he looks up and catches you watching, he lifts his free hand into a wave. You smile and wave him to come up to the porch steps. As he and Judith approach, you begin to stand. 

“Stay, stay,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, “you must be tired,” 

“How are you doing? Hi Judith,” you say softly, your eyes twinkling at the little one.

“We’re doin’ real good,” he says, “right Judy?”

“HI!” she says loudly, still not exactly used to using her ‘inside voice’, stirring Daryl out of his nap. The babies squirm on him, but he lays still, bringing his arms up around them tighter. 

“Wow,” Rick says, watching Daryl. He’s shaking his head lightly, his eyes full of love.

“Thought I couldn’t do it?” Daryl says hoarsely with a smirk. Judith comes over to him to stare at one of the babies laying closest to her. 

“No,” Rick says softly, shaking his head, “I knew you’d be amazing. You’ve always been good with the kids, Dare. I’m just…” he trails off, his throat bobbing, “I’m just real’ proud of you. How far we’ve all come,” he looks over to you now, his eyes misty. You give him a sad smile, reaching your hand out to hold his, squeezing tightly for a moment before dropping it again.

“You’ve done so much for us–for everyone. I’m real’ happy that you finally get to have this.” he finishes, leaning over, putting his hand on his chosen brother’s shoulder. Daryl stares at him intently, and nods genuinely. 

“What’re their names?” Judith asks loudly. The baby closest to her opens his eyes, “Uncle Daryl? What are the babies’ names?” she asks again, impatient. 

“This one here, J, is DJ. For Daryl Junior,” he smiles softly, touching DJ’s soft cheeks with the pads of his fingers.

“Wow, so he’s Daryl and you’re Daryl?” she says quizzically. Her face scrunched up in confusion. 

“Tha’s right,” he says, meeting your eyes with a twinkle in his, he looks down at the other baby, still snoozing softly on him, “and this here is Elizabeth,” he says quieter now. He looks back up at Rick, a sad smile on his face. Rick returns it, and crouches down next to Judith, “that’s a beautiful name, huh, J? Tell Uncle Daryl what a nice name that is,” 

She giggles, putting her fingers in her mouth and smiling, “I like it,”

“Surprised you didn’t say one of their names was Ass Kicker,” Rick smiles widely and you all laugh at the memory.

You and Daryl had decided the names early on, knowing you wanted to honor his lost friend Beth Greene. She was so gentle and good hearted. He missed her, and you knew it would mean the world to him to name his child after her. DJ was the harder one to get Daryl to sign off on–he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of his own name. He thought it was silly to name his son after himself. 

“We’ll call him DJ for short–that way you won’t think about it,” you joked one afternoon. 

He had taken a long pause, working on his motorcycle in the garage, tinkering with something in the engine. You had come by, hobbling over with your large belly to bring him lunch. He tended to forget to eat during the long hours he spent in the garage with his bike, and you liked visiting him during the day. When he saw you, he ran up to you to pull the stool he had in the shop under you. You sighed as you sat, and he kissed your temple as you took the weight off your swollen feet. He took the lunch from you with a small ‘thanks, baby’.

“So…?” you say breathlessly. You were getting so tired of being winded by walking 20 feet these days.

“DJ, huh?,” he finally said, “alright,” and that was that. Life had finally slowed down. You felt like everything that had happened between the two of you, the sacrifices that had to be made, the things that kept you up at night–had finally been worth it. You were safe, Daryl was safe. And now you had a beautiful family that was safe. It was all you could ever want and need.

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Boo Boos"

“I want you to watch her for a good, couple of hours?” Negan held a squirming toddler in his arms as he talked to Simon about her. The said other man watched her as she whined and held on tighter to her father, and debated if it was worth it to babysit the clingy girl.

“Right, right. Just watch her is all? I don’t have to like, change her or anything?” Simon questioned, grimacing when he saw the girl bite down onto Negan’s shoulder. 

“Fuck! Okay, down you go!” Negan shouted, setting her down onto the floor. She giggled and started pulling at a string on his pant leg. Negan sighed in defeat and ruffled her hair, answering Simon’s question, “She’s potty trained, you dumb fuck. And yes, that’s all.”

Simon hummed and nodded his head. He was without a doubt a little nervous, who wouldn’t be? Taking care of The Big Man™’s girl was a huge deal, and even one fuck-up could result in getting fucked-up. 

Especially since she was such a little hassle. She’d always run away from her father whenever he didn’t keep a close enough eye on her, and she’d hide from him. She even talked to Daryl through the cell door one time, which was something Negan was not happy with.

“Hey, Negan? Everything’s ready for Alexandria.” Gavin walked past the two with a notebook in his hands, lifting it up and shaking it.

“M’kay.” Negan responded and looked down at the little girl who was eating a piece of string. “Stop that, honey. That’s not good for you.”

He sighed and looked back to Simon, who looked a bit fearful. Negan snorted and pulled his daughter off of him and held her out for the other man to take.

Simon held out his arms and awkwardly took her into them. She whined and turned herself around to stare at her father, who put a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Bye, honey. I’ll see you soon,” He shot a pointed look to his friend, “Take care of her.”

Simon nodded and watched Negan leave with the rest of the saviors and looked back to his daughter, who was emotionlessly staring at him.

“Your hair looks funny.”

–

“Kid? Where did you go?” Simon called out, lifting up a cardboard box on the ground to see what was under it.

It took two hours and thirteen minutes to lose Negan’s daughter, and now he had to find her before whenever he came back. Obviously it was a game to her, but since Simon didn’t know the exact time his boss was coming back, he was panicking.

He set down the box when he heard soft laughing come from down the hallway he was in, and then realized what she was doing. “Oh, fuck.”

Simon jogged down the corridor until he reached where Daryl’s cell was, and he saw her sitting with her back against the door.

“My daddy has the key, not me.” She smiled, playing with the skirt of her dress. The chair that was supposed to have a guard in it was empty, and he assumed that that was why she ran away to talk to Daryl. He sighed in relief, and was about to walk over to her and pick her up when she looked at him and gasped. 

“Bye, Mr. Daryl!” She shouted and stood up, running down the hallway away from Simon.

“Shit!” Simon groaned, following behind her. She giggled and took a turn to the right, and then she tripped over her own feet.

“Ow!” She cried out, holding her now scraped knee. Tears poured out of her eyes and Simon crouched down next to her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, honey. Can I look at it?” He grabbed her leg softly and scanned it over to see how bad the injury was. She sniffled and hiccuped, her cheeks wet with hurt. It overall didn’t look bad enough to see Dr. Carson, but it did need to be wrapped. 

“Come here.” Simon picked her up and rubbed her back while she cried into his shoulder, and he winced when she wiped her nose on his shirt. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Simon sat her on the sink counter in his room and opened one of his cabinets, grabbing a first-aid kit and setting it down next to her. He grabbed a rag as well, and turned on the sink to put it under the water. Negan’s daughter wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve and watched him.

“I’m gonna wipe the blood away, and it’s gonna hurt a bit. M’kay, honey?” He told her, letting her brace herself for the pain. She nodded and bit her lip, and Simon nodded in return and placed the wet cloth on her knee.

“It stings!” She complained and tried to pull her knee away from him, only for him to grab it back.

“I know, I know. But I need to clean it to put a bandaid on it.” Simon sighed, “Look, I’m done.”

She looked at her knee and pouted, and Simon opened the kit next to her. He looked through it and found a box of bandages, and he grabbed one, peeling away the paper on it and placing it on her knee. 

“Look, we’re all done!” He smiled at her and reached his hand up to pinch her cheek. She giggled and kicked her legs back and forth.

Simon grabbed her and set her down off the counter and held her hand, “Do you want a popsicle? I heard Danny from the work stations makes some damn good cherry ones.”

“Daddy says they have liquor in them.”

“Oh.”

[itsgrimeytime]

Home is Where the Heart is (Part Six) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Taglist: @1tsk1tty

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier and Begin Again by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWs: none.

[[A/N: We're back babyyyy- get that cliché cooking together scene in here. Carl is significantly younger than he was in the show when Judith was a toddler, sorry. But the vibes were a young class, what can I say? I'd say he's like 7-9, making you like a 3rd grade teacher. Anyway. Enjoy :))]]

His house was what you expected -homey, and well a bit like a farmhouse. You wondered just how much of this was Rick's, and if any of it was Lori's. Did she live here?

"I built it myself," he remarked offhandedly, almost like a boast but not quite.

"What, the cabinets?" you hummed, pointing to the white, well-crafted cabinetry -you could tell there was substantial work put into them, each detail could be harbored on for-

"The house," he corrected, gathering supplies through his kitchen like he'd done it a million times before. He probably had.

"The house?"

"Yeah," he laughed, looking at you with his blue eyes, playfully, "-why? You surprised?"

"Well," you looked at him -rugged from working on the farm, you guessed, "-no. It just takes a lot to build a house-"

"'Worked on it for years," he hummed, absentmindedly, "-Suppose to be a family home, before..."

"Before the divorce," you finished, softly -carefully looking at him.

He seemed a little somber, but it didn't seem quite as painful as you imagined just after the divorce. It still hurt though, whatever reason it ended still hurt.

"Well," you spoke, playfully, "-she's missing out, I'll tell you that. I mean..."

He laughed, staring down into the bowl -a bright little grin cracking along his face.

"-it's amazing in here, really."

"Thank ya," Rick laughed a bit.

"No," you echoed, "-I'm serious. This place is, god."

Your eyes swam along all the details, imagining his own hands working on it. Each wall, each slab of flooring, the archways, the ceiling-

Rick fell rather silent, a smile slipped across his face but he seemed rather bashful, "Thank you."

"Of course," you echoed, hands fidgeting at your shirt, so you set them along the bar top -not a real one but one built into his kitchen, "-can't have a man like you shit-talking yourself afterall."

"A man like me?"

"A good man," you settled on -contemplative, "-a great man even. If you aren't the cream of the crop, then I certainly feel bad for anyone else."

If you squinted, you could see a little blush rise on his cheeks -it made you feel kind of giddy.

"Thank you," he repeated, with the same sort of serious, but lighthearted, tone. He spoke almost as if it was hitting his soul, like it really meant something to him. Like your opinion mattered then.

You wondered if it did.

Clearing your throat, you approached him in the kitchen -leisurely, "Aren't I supposed to be helping?"

"Sure," Rick grinned, something telling in his eyes, "-but I do think you were doing a great job just sittin' there lookin' pretty."

"Ha, ha," you deadpanned, before scooting into his side -almost close enough to touch, "-Now seriously, how can I help?"

"I'm serious-"

"Rick," you laughed a bit, "-let me help. You want some bacon, eggs? I can do the whole works-"

Rick sighed, a bit defeated -flipping the little bit of his hair that had hung over as he stirred back to look at you with the tilt of his head, "Fine, darlin', you can do the pancakes."

He held his hands up and stepped away from the bowl, but he didn't go far -only a mere step to the right to take the bacon out of its packaging. If you focused hard enough, you feel the heat of his body but only if you focused.

Which you weren't, not on that anyway.

"Did you already put the mix in?"

He laughed, turning to you with hands at his chest -touching raw meat, "Ya never made pancakes from scratch? Did ya also get fed with a silver spoon?"

"Don't-" you started, pointing the spoon at him accusingly, "-my Mom used plastic, first of all, and I know what I'm doing, obviously. But if I didn't, what else would you put in the mix?"

He only laughed even harder.

It took you about ten more minutes and a Google search to finish the pancakes, and the whole time -because he was already finished- he leaned up against the counter and watched you.

"Here you are, loverboy," you sat the stack of pancakes on the table -they were small, but still seemed to be good in quality. They would be eaten, Rick assured you of that.

"You still on 'at?" He hummed, tilting his head slightly.

"Sure," you responded, "-you still on darling?"

"Touché," he chuckled, holding a piece of bacon towards you, which you politely refused, and then decidedly popped it into his mouth, "-let me get the kids up. One minute, just wait 'ere."

"Okay," you hummed.

You let yourself get lost in the house then, fingers tapping along the counter. The kitchen was so well-crafted, you absentmindedly decided one day that you'd ask him to build you a house.

Or you could have this one, your mind chimed, traitorous.

Waving the thought away, you slowly stepped off the tile and back into the entry. Looking down the hallway, where you saw not a soul, you ventured a little further into the house. Just a little peek wouldn't hurt.

Your footsteps echoed along the floor, as you guided yourself into the next room -the dining room. All along the walls were a slew of family photos and drawings, each with sturdy frames -treasured. You smiled for a moment, finger coming up to touch the wooden frame of a drawing -one where it was Rick (obviously by the bright blue dots where his eyes were) and a little boy by his side who was wearing a cowboy hat.

His son, you remembered.

You hadn't actually met him that first day, he'd never come to help -Rick said he was working on a "masterpiece". And seeing his work now, he most certainly could have been.

You weren't even actually sure of his name.

With that passing thought, you flickered through a few family photos -ones with Lori. It said a lot about a man when he put up photos of his ex-wife, a lot of good. Even for whatever reason they divorced, Rick kept her in their lives. That was really important.

You scanned the wall, looking for wedding photos -just to see if he was the kind to hang them. But you were left empty-handed. Huh, you guessed that made sense-

Your eyes settled on a photo, silencing your train of thought -it was Rick. He was turned to the side, in a professional sort of way, and your eyes dipped to the beige uniform and badge. Sheriff.

Well, you hummed, that must be where the hat came from.

He looked totally different -hair cut shorter and completely clean-shaven. Blue eyes still bright as ever, he suited it. That being said, you think he suited his look now better. He was very relaxed, at peace, and seemed to be doing what he wanted in life. In some sort of way, you could tell Rick was built for what he did, including being a Dad.

Your fingers extended, maybe just one little touch-

"If ya wanted a tour, darlin', you coulda just asked."

"Jesus, fu-" you spun on your heel, ears hearing the little mutters of kids so you corrected, "-Christ, Rick you scared me."

He was grinning, leaned against the doorframe with casual ease -how long had he been watching you? The stance indicated much longer than you initially thought.

"You did seem focused," he hummed -standing straight, "-what were ya lookin' at?"

You paused, lips snapping shut -no way you were telling him that. Luckily, you heard some clanging echo out for the kitchen, and settled on deflecting, "Oh, look at that, sounds like your kids are getting into something they shouldn't. You should probably deal with that."

It came out a little nervous, rambly even, but all Rick did was grin -shaking his head in disbelief. Of what, you weren't sure.

"Carl," you heard his voice echo out into the room, "-go sit at the table. Jude, stay with me, I'll put'cha in your chair."

Carl, you thought, you knew that name from somewhere.

You heard a young voice chime back, almost in a sing-songy tone, "Okay, Dad."

Before you could think too hard on where you recognized the name from, the boy walked in. His hair was just touching his shoulders, darker brown than his Dad's, but his eyes on the other hand were an exact match -bluer than blue. It was a little unnerving, actually.

"Hey," he crossed his arms, "-I know you, you're the neighbor Dad keeps talkin' 'bout."

"Uh, yeah," (he talks about you?), "-I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

"My name's Carl," he smiled big and wide, holding his hand out to shake -cute.

You laughed, accepting the shake, "Very professional, Carl."

He grinned, proud of himself, before standing beside a chair -he seemed to know the exact one to sit at. Maybe it was where he sat every time? Now that you counted, there was exactly enough chairs for one guest (4 to be exact) -for Lori at one point, you realized.

Something in your heart tinged.

"You can sit beside me," Carl offered, even going as far to pull the chair beside him out.

"I'd be honored, Carl," you smiled, before looking back to the kitchen, "-Just let me help your Dad first. Save it for me, okay?"

He nodded -enthusiastically, sitting into his chair and holding the other's arm with a firm grip. Protective. You wanted to laugh at the sight, but bit it back -wandering back toward the kitchen.

Rick was there, organizing the plates of food, and Judith stood by his side, making relentless grabby hands. Something in your chest warmed at such a domestic sight, you let it simmer under your skin for a second.

"You need some help?"

He spun to look at you, letting out a nervous laugh, "Could ya? I can get the pancakes, and the plates-"

"Daddy," Judith pouted, "-up, up."

"Jude, just a second, okay? Daddy's gotta get the food-"

"Rick," you put a hand on his arm, "-I've got it, go sit down."

His eyes flickered to your hand for a moment -something in your fingers tingled, before connecting with your eyes, "I couldn't ask ya to-"

"You're not," you corrected, "-let me do this. Think about it. When was the last time you were served breakfast and not the other way around?"

Rick pursed his lips for a moment, reaching for one of the plates, "'s been a while, but I can help, darlin'."

You silently grabbed his wrist, and he turned his attention back to you, "Think of it as a thank you for the breakfast."

Rick sighed, and you dropped his wrist (fingertips warm and fuzzy) -stepping back from the counter with his hands in mock surrender, "Alright."

"It'll only take me a few trips," you explained, "-plus, I've already got a seat, Carl's saving it for me."

Rick wanted to say something to that, but Judith was persistent -tiny hands pulling at the fabric of his pants. With a long exhale through his nose, he scooped her up.

"Thank you," he hummed, soft and gentle and sincere.

"No problem," you smiled, teasing, "-loverboy."

He laughed a bit, a sort of flicker smoothing across his eyes. You didn't really know what it was, but it was warm, you knew that much. It made your throat run a little dry and your heart beat a little faster -you tried to school your face into something neutral.

Breakfast was... good. Not even just in the physical sense, which it very much was, but in general; it was a homey sort of experience, Carl chattering away, and Judith using a tiny fork to pick up bits and pieces of her food. Every once in awhile she'd play peekaboo with you, and you couldn't find it in yourself to stop smiling.

Carl asked you a lot of questions, but you answered them without a smile of hesitation.

Rick, though, was strangely silent. You didn't hear from him in any of the discussions, and his low gravel was decidedly absent to your ears. Pursing your lips, you chanced a glance at him and instead found him looking straight at you.

Blue eyes concise and focused, he seemed to be watching you, a little in awe. A sort of gaze that rooted you to your chair -a fondness far too much than you thought he would've had for you. Your eyes flicked back to the kids, who were both distracted by each other.

"You're really good with 'em," he spoke, slow and appreciative.

"I try," you quipped, before falling a bit more serious, "-I was really worried... when I started teaching, that I wasn't going to know how to deal with the kids."

Rick watched you for a moment, food forgotten, "It doesn't come naturally to ya? 'Sure seems like it."

"Thank you," you smiled -a little bashful, "-but you didn't see me before."

"There's no doubt in my mind 'at you were perfect, darlin'," he countered, blue eyes in a fuzzy haze -drifting across your face, "-in fact, I don't believe I can quite see a flaw."

"What," you questioned, bringing a bite to your mouth, "-with my teaching?"

"With you," he corrected, eyes still holding the contact as he slipped his coffee.

"Well," you cleared your throat -heart beating a thousand miles a second, "-there are definitely some people who would disagree with you on that."

"None of 'em 'at matter," he offered -so sincere, you almost had to blink away tears.

Your mind drifted to your city job, your... ex-fiance, and the aftermath of it all. You had really loved him. Now, you bet he had little to say about you positively.

"Darlin'?" His voice pulled you out of your head, "-Everythin' okay? Thought I lost ya there."

"I..." you started, but your words didn't come out -instead your tone trailed off into silence.

"You wanna talk about it later?" He offered -eyes flickering to his kids, warm and inviting, but not at all pressuring, "-Don't 'ave to, only if ya think it'll help."

"Would you?"

"Would I what?" He asked, seeking clarification.

"Listen," you hummed, "-it isn't very fun to just... listen. Especially about someone's problems-"

He grabbed your wrist, which sat unmoving on the table -rough fingertips brought you back, "I'd love to listen to ya. Whatever ya wanted to talk about, I'd be happy to."

"Yeah?" You offered, soft, "-You're a busy man, Rick, are you sure you can-"

"I'll make time for ya," he hummed, fingers leaving your arm -warmth in their wake, "-you're more important than that other stuff anyway, darlin'."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, but you merely noted it, "You're a farmer, don't you need to tend to your farm? Isn't that like grueling, time-consuming work?"

"I can adjust, get some stuff done faster," he muttered, "-what? Ya don't think I can do it?"

"No, I just..." your mind dipped back into the city and feeling lonely even though there were people all around you.

Rick must've noticed something flash through your eyes, as his hand hesitatingly threaded into yours on the table, "I'll make time for ya, promise."

And you somehow believed him.

[goldenboywrites]

where do we go from here?

Apollo sat in his study, reading over the latest contracts. The requests for Cassio’s potions far exceeded what the two could handle, but they didn’t have a choice. It was either to fulfill the orders or suffer the consequences. The consequence had been the same over the years since graduation; Oliver and Isaac’s safety. It was something the two could not risk. So they worked overtime to make the potions and send them out, and they both ignored the lingering question regarding what these people were doing with them. It was better not to know, or it would drive them insane. He signed the latest contracts. As soon as the ink dried, the contracts glowed a dull red before disappearing from his grasp. “That takes care of that,” He muttered, pushing a hand through his hair. 

Apollo pushed himself to his feet, stretched, and ignored the popping of his bones, which confirmed that he had been sitting there for far too long. He ventured out of the study, waving his hand over the door to place an illusion over his work in case Isaac entered. Even after years of secrecy, it never got easier. Doing all of this behind Isaac’s back had never gotten easier. It would never get easier. But it was to protect him. To protect them and the life they had built together. 

He only made it so far from his study when his phone rang. The sound nearly gave him a heart attack because he never expected the damn thing to be on. “Yeah?” He answered it without checking the name. There were only three people who ever called him. 

“Mr. Maddox?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Apollo pulled the phone away from his ear to see who it was, but it was an unknown number. Dread filled his bones. His immediate thought went to it being his employer, but they never called him before. “ My name is Healer Emerson. I am a medwizard at St. Mungos. I need you to come down here as soon as possible.” 

The phone almost slipped from his grasp. “What?” 

“It is best if you come here so we can talk.” 

Isaac. 

He trembled his way over to their fireplace, and before he knew it, Apollo was standing in the St. Mungo’s waiting room. On shaky feet, he made his way over to the desk, gave his name, and waited impatiently. His fingers drummed against his legs; his feet tapped incessantly against the ground. Please don’t be Isaac. Please don’t be Isaac. 

“Mr. Maddox?” Apollo glanced up and saw an older man standing in front of him. His badge confirmed this was the healer that called him. 

“Is he okay?” He asked desperately. 

“He is doing just fine. Would you like to see him?” 

Entering the room, Apollo was taken aback. “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m here for my boyfriend.” He glanced around the room, taking in the colors and cartoon animal wallpaper. “This is…” 

The healer’s brow furrowed, and he pulled back a curtain to reveal a smaller toddler curled up in a hospital bed. “Your boyfriend? No, you are the emergency contact for Theodore Whitlock…” Apollo tilted his head, looking at the child. He could have been two or three years old. So, this little guy belonged to Alexandria. The woman Apollo had almost been forced to marry to continue their pureblood line. They hadn’t spoken since he was in uni. Why would she have made Apollo the emergency contact for her son? 

“I don’t understand,” He said softly, finally pulling his gaze away from the child and over to the healer. 

The doctor looked one step away from admitting Apollo to the hospital. “Sir…” he said uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "This is your son. We have been unable to locate Alexandria. A neighbor brought Theodore in yesterday when she did not return home to pick him up, and she could not reach her. We have been unable to contact her as well. We pulled his records, and you are listed as the father on his birth certificate. You are also his emergency contact. Hence, we are contacting you to pick him up."

This wasn’t his son. Not biologically, that was for sure. But why would she have listed him without forewarning him? “I didn’t know..” He said as he mulled the pieces together in his head. He did not want to give too much away to the healer. There must be some reason she would go to the lengths she had to forge his signature on her son’s birth certificate. “Of course, I will take him, and I’ll handle reaching out to the authorities to track her down, too. But can I…I'm sorry. Can I have a moment?” 

The healer was barely out of the room before Apollo had his phone out again and prayed that Isaac wouldn’t leave him over this. Isaac answered on the first ring. There were a handful of moments when Apollo tried to speak but couldn’t. It wasn’t until he heard the alarm in his boyfriend’s voice that he forced himself to say, “It’s me. I’m at St. Mungos. Can you come?”

@magiclwritings

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,162 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: language, mentions of injury A/N: This is part of a series! You can find the rest on my Master List, the pinned post on my blog.

Summary: Injured and scattered, the group tries to find each other.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl,

Our son is two years old today. You wouldn’t believe how much he’s changed in only the last few months. It used to be that you could only make out baby babble with a few words here and there, and now he’s stringing together full sentences, expressing his own original thoughts. He looks less like a toddler every day and more and more like a little kid, soon to be asking questions about the world that will be harder and harder for me to answer. He reminds me of you in so many ways and I hold onto this part of you extra tight. When I think of how much you’ve missed of his little life, of all the milestones we’ve already passed, every part of me aches, and to know he’s missed out on having you too... that hurts even worse. I know you would be the most amazing dad. You love as fiercely as anyone could.

When I think of you at all, it nearly stops me to a grinding halt, could bring me to my knees, the pain is still that sharp. If we never find each other again, I think I’ll walk around forever with this poignant sense of something profound missing. It’s hard to write this, but if it wasn’t for DJ, I may have given up by now… But if I know anything, it’s that you’re out there somewhere, still alive, still surviving, still protecting the people you love. I know that beyond any doubt, because that’s who you are. I just hope that in our continued wandering that we find some sign of you. I don’t know what it would be—but Jen keeps telling me not to give up hope, to trust that my intuition is right.

I’m not having that dream anymore—the one I wrote about before where you’re calling for me from the other side of the glass—but lately I’ve been having a new one. I find you again, out in the woods, wandering, and then the next moment you’ve vanished. It’s almost worse than the last dream, because I think I have you and then a moment later I lose you all over again. It feels so unbelievably real. I wake up completely gutted with my cheeks wet. I have to reach for DJ every time.

God, I miss you.

It’s hitting me hard today, on DJ’s birthday. I hope you’re safe wherever you are…

With love, Y/N Daryl was mentally running through the parts of your book he’d already read, and wishing he’d made the time to read more, but he was also thanking himself for not bringing it along. He was certain The Reapers had gone through his pack. He didn’t know what would have happened if Leah had found it… She’d know he’d found you again and then all of this—his pretended disconnection from “those people on the road” and the implied feelings he was manufacturing for her—it wouldn’t have been available for him to try to keep his family and Alexandria safe.

His hand strayed to the left breast of his vest and he could feel the stiffness of the picture in the lining. It was comforting. He hadn’t slept. He was too afraid to. His mind was too busy. He laid on his back on a cot, far off in a corner, and waited.

It had to be near first light when he heard bootsteps coming up the hallway outside. He turned his ear toward the sound, listening intently for anything else that could signal what was happening.

Carver showed up in the doorway. “Get up, dickhead,” he spat. “We’re moving on that info.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

A hand on your shoulder shook you awake and you startled at the sudden jolt.

“Easy.” Negan’s voice. His hazel eyes were looking right into yours beneath his raised eyebrows. The point of your blade was at his throat.

You let out the breath you’d been holding and lowered it.

Negan was in front of you, palms out. He relaxed as your knife left his neck. “I’m a little worried that reflex isn’t going to stop short one of these times,” he said.

You shifted so you could better sit up against the back of the dingy armchair. “Then stop surprising me,” you said. You winced as you moved and couldn’t help drawing in a sharp hiss of breath between your teeth. Your side, the knife wound from The Reapers, felt like it was on fire. “Fuck…” you murmured, shifting to attempt to relieve the worst of the pain to little success.

Negan’s brow furrowed. “How ya feelin’?” You thought you could hear genuine concern in his voice.

You shook your head. “Not at my best, but I’ve had worse,” you said.

He went on frowning at you. He swept a hand back over his short hair. “I don’t doubt it but, uhh, no offense… you look like shit. I don’t think the whole pale, graying skin thing suits you at all. I woke you up because I was starting to get a little paranoid that you might not wake up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so dramatic,” you scolded him.

Negan gave you a small tight smile despite the situation. “Can’t. Drama. Theater… It’s kind of my thing,” he retorted. He watched as you pulled your shirt up to look at the wound on your side. The surrounding area and the wound itself were an angry shade of red.

Negan saw it. “Well, fuck. That doesn’t look good.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and leaned back against the chair. You’d flushed the stab wound out as best you could and applied ointment but it didn’t seem to have been enough. “No shit,” you said. “Any other earth-shattering observations you want to hit me with?”

Negan let out a dry laugh and straightened up, grabbing his crowbar from where it was leaning against a dusty couch and swinging it absently. “You know, I am actually trying to help you here. You see anybody else around?”

You sighed. “Right. Right… Sorry. Just—this whole situation is—”

“Complete and utter-fucked, five ways ‘til Friday bullshit?” Negan finished for you.

You gave him a long look but eventually nodded. “Yeah.” You pulled your shirt up again and looked at the neatly stitched wound. Negan had helped you with that the night before, and you had to hand it to him that he’d done a good job. “It’s a local infection or the start of one,” you said softly. You paused to think. You had limited medical supplies left and had used the last of the antibacterial ointment the night before patching up your side and Negan’s leg.

“Alright, so, can we kick its ass before it becomes un-local? From what I hear, that’s something to avoid, what with the lack of hospitals and meds these days.”

You chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. The burning and pulse you could feel in your whole side made it hard to think. “Hopefully…”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression darkening like a cloud passing across the face of the moon. “You have a fever?” he asked, and you heard some apprehension in his voice.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.” You mopped at the cold sweat on your brow even as you answered, but you were pretty sure that was just from the pain.

Negan cleared his throat and stepped closer hesitantly. “Can I check without you slitting my throat?” he asked. “I’ve actually already had that done, courtesy of Rick, and it isn’t something I’d like to repeat.”

“Fine.”

He bent his tall frame and put the back of his hand on your forehead. He shook his head and let out a hugely relieved sigh. “No. No, I think you’re good.” You gave him a questioning look. “I had the thought that maybe they’d coated their blades… so that anyone that didn’t die right away would go full-blown undead asshole.”

You fixed a steely stare on him. “Oh, you mean like you did. To the Hilltop.”

Negan gulped and his face fell. His eyes turned down to the floor. “Maggie told you about that, huh?” he said softly.

“Mhm…”

“Yeah. That was pretty fucked up.” He was still avoiding your eyes. “But it was effective...”

“Negan—” you started angrily.

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact! And to be fair, it was a fucking war! I was looking after my own the same way—” he broke off abruptly at the look on your face.

You shook your head. “No. Not the same way I do. Not the same way they were. Not even close.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never done anything royally fucked up to keep yourself or people you care about alive? Hmm? Doll,” he said, swinging his crowbar up onto his shoulder, a smirk on his face, “I ain’t buyin’ it.”

You scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘doll.’ In fact, let’s just table any more nicknames you’ve got floating around in your head. And let’s get one thing straight, Negan. You didn’t care about those people at The Sanctuary. You gave them barely enough to stay alive and it wasn’t even a life. The only person you actually gave a shit about was yourself. And have I done fucked up shit? Yeah. Plenty. To keep me and my son alive… not to set myself up as some sort of wannabe god to assuage my bloated ego,” you spat at him, wincing and putting a hand over your side again and shutting your eyes.

There was a tense pause and then Negan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and another small laugh escaped him. “I can’t really argue with most of that. You’re right. And I see that Maggie and Daryl have been pretty thorough in catching you up already.” He sighed and sank back down on the wooden chair across the room from you. “But none of that shit matters right now. So, what do we do about your tidy little ticking time bomb there? You have any more of that—”

“No, we used almost everything up last night,” you interrupted him.

Negan laughed humorously. “Now let me make something clear here; you’ve gotta be okay,” he said emphatically. “If something happens to you while you’re with me, Daryl will fucking murder me. That is not an exaggeration. No, he won’t just murder me—he’d probably carve off little pieces slowly. He isn’t gonna hear that it wasn’t my fault. So, for your health and mine,” Negan said, fiddling with the crowbar across his knees, “we’ve got to figure this out. So, what do I need to do? You obviously can’t go anywhere fast at the moment, which is really what we need.”

Your ground your teeth together and Negan saw the muscle in your jaw tense. “You’re going to have to find me some moss and get us some water and fuel for a fire.” Negan stared at you blankly.

“Sorry, did you say fucking moss?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A specific kind. I’m gonna tell you where it grows and what it looks like.” You pulled your pack closer and dug around inside it until you pulled out a small cloth bag and held it out to him.

“Is now the right time for a scavenger hunt?” he asked, but he got up and accepted the bag from you.

“A lot of mosses have antimicrobial properties that should fight the infection and—look, just do what I’m fucking asking, okay? Or I can go myself. Like I said, I’ve had worse,” you started getting out of the chair, pushing yourself up on the arms but the pain in your side seemed to ricochet through the rest of your abdomen and chest and you quickly froze, only partially standing.

“Whoa!” Negan grabbed your upper arm and helped you lower back down into the seat. His leg didn’t feel great, but it was definitely better than your side. “I’ll get it! Fuck, just sit the fuck down,” he shook his head at you. “I can see why you and that pain in the ass Daryl are together. Stubborn with an attitude,” he said with some amusement. “Moss. Water. Fuel. I can handle that. Just tell me what I need to know…”

You did. And Negan set out and returned a couple hours later with all of it.

Soon you had a fire going in one corner near a broken-out window, any smoke trailing up and out—though you’d made sure all the fuel was dry as a bone so it wouldn’t lead The Reapers straight to you. The water had finished boiling and was sitting to cool a bit. Negan was watching you with interest from his seat again as you cleaned as much debris out of the moss as you could.

Negan was casually peeling the bark off a stick, sitting on the stiff wooden chair and watching you work. “Are you going to tell me what the deal is with you and Daryl or what?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered up to his face for a moment and you paused, completely still. Then you went back to what you were doing. “No,” you said simply.

“Ahh, come on. What the hell else are we gonna talk about? I’m dying to know how exactly he ended up having a kid he didn’t seem to know about. Especially one that looks to be about ten years old.”

You tossed the handful of debris you’d been picking out of the moss into the fire. “I’m sure you are. But you’re the last person I’m going to discuss my personal life with, Negan.”

Negan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Come on. It’ll pass the time!”

You fixed your gaze on him for a long moment. “I’ll give you one question,” you said, dusting off your hands.

“Hot damn!” Negan grinned. “I better make it a good one… Hmm. Let’s see…” A smirk grew on his face. “So, are you guys fucking again? I mean what’s the current status?”

“Negan!” you barked back at him angrily, color flaring in your face. He only chuckled.

“It’s just a question! Anybody can see the guy is head over heels. That was obvious by the way he looked like he was mentally dismembering me anytime I came within ten feet of you.”

You only glared at him. “Do me and yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” you growled. You collected the moss and plunged some of it into the still warm water and let it soak for a few seconds. Then you removed it and wrung most of the water out. Negan watched with interest as you packed it over the wound in your side and secured it around your body with a long makeshift bandage you’d fashioned from a spare flannel you’d had stowed in your pack.

“That’s gonna fight off infection?” Negan asked, interested. “Seems counter-intuitive to stick some dirty shit you found outside right over a wound.”

“It’s not dirty. And yes, hopefully. Long before we had modern medicine, plants were doing what doctors and pills used to,” you said, climbing to your feet and sinking back into the armchair again with a sigh.

“How the hell did you learn this?” Negan asked, digging in his pack for his MRE and tearing off the top.

You shrugged. “Aren’t we all picking up new things all the time? One of my people, from my last community, knew a lot about medicinal and edible plants. I paid attention.”

Negan nodded, scooping another bite into his mouth. “So, we gotta just wait now?”

You nodded. “Just have to let it do its job.” You sunk back more heavily into the chair and closed your eyes, but they were only shut a moment before Negan’s voice broke the silence again.

“You’re really not going to tell me about you and Daryl?”

Your eyes opened. “No. I’m not.”

He sighed. “What if I tell you about my wife?” he said softly.

Your brow furrowed. “Which one?” you asked sharply.

“The real one.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning, you woke up gently. Negan was already awake, standing at one of the dingy windows, staring thoughtfully outside. He turned when he heard you shifting. “You’re looking better,” Negan commented.

You stood and moved without pangs of pain and sighed with relief. Unbinding your bandage and peeling the poultice from the wound, you saw that the redness was gone and it was no longer inflamed. The moss had done its job. You applied fresh, dry moss over the stitches and rebound the bandage.

Negan wandered over, watching you closely. “You good?”

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah.” You paused. “Thanks. For your help yesterday with getting all that stuff.” He nodded once. You slung your pack up onto your shoulder. “Come on. We’ve gotta get to that house. Maybe the others are waiting there.”

“You can’t be serious,” Negan said, nearly stepping in your way as you moved toward the door. “You want to keep going? We don’t even know if anyone else made it.”

You started to unbarricade the door with a grunt of effort. “They did,” you said matter-of-factly.

Negan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do!” you snapped at him, standing up straight. For the first time, Negan saw something like desperation in your eyes. “They made it,” you said firmly, but he heard the shake in your voice. “Now, help me move this…”

Negan looked at you for a long moment and then sighed and pushed the heavy oak desk out of the path of the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Maggie, Gabriel, and Elijah waited in silence. The air was heavy with anxiety and Maggie found herself alternately pacing the length of the room and then standing frozen at the window, peering out through the wooden slats. Through the narrow space, she saw figures moving on the street outside but it was difficult to see through the leaves of the shrubs close to the house. “I got movement comin’ up on this side.”

Elijah stood and went to another window near the front door. His knife was in his hand.

“Oh my God. Oh, thank God,” Maggie suddenly sighed. “It’s alright. It’s Negan and Y/N,” she said, happy tears in her eyes.

A moment later, Elijah pulled the door open and the two of you stepped into the dilapidated interior, Maggie rushed over and grabbed you in a hug. “Thank God you’re alright,” she said.

You tightened your free arm around her, bow in your hand at your other side. “You too. All of you,” you said, looking at Elijah and Gabriel as she broke away, but at the same moment your heart sank. “Daryl?” you asked, your brow furrowing and casting a shadow over your momentary relief at seeing the others.

Maggie shook her head. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen Daryl or Frost. Alden’s hurt bad. I left him someplace safe,” she said, her voice breaking. “Agatha. Duncan. They’re gone...”

You hung your head and closed your eyes for a long moment. “Fuck…” Your knuckles shone white as you gripped riser of your bow hard. “Goddammit… I’m so sorry.”

She nodded solemnly and then scrutinized you and Negan more closely. “How are you two?”

You moved farther into the house and stood beside the small stash of supplies. “We took a little damage but I think we’ll be fine. What’s the plan?” you asked, getting straight back to your purpose.

“We’ll wait a little longer for Daryl and Frost, in case they’re tryin’ to get here. But then we have to move. It’s not too far to Meridian from here.”

Negan let out a small scoff and paced away in a small circle, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Maggie bristled. “Somethin’ you wanna say?”

“Maggie, look at us. We’re hurt. There are only four of us. One more encounter like the one we just had and that number is going to drop to zero.”

“People back home are dependin’ on us. Hungry kids. If we can’t make this work, Alexandria is done.”

Negan sighed and leaned back against the wall, but he stayed quiet.

“So, unless you’ve gotta somethin’ helpful to add, just keep your mouth shut for once in your life,” she snapped at him.

“Hey—” Elijah said suddenly. “Something’s up.” _ _ _ _ _ _

The heavy bootsteps overhead seemed to press on your ear drums as the Reapers moved through the house. Your heart was hammering in your throat. Then suddenly—Daryl’s voice. You clapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from gasping with relief. Alive. He was alive. He was okay. But then your stomach plummeted into the pit of your stomach. But why was he with them?

It didn’t take long for you to realize what was going on. A voice. A woman. “You’re either with us, or you’re not.” Leah. It had to be Leah. It was the only thing that made sense.

Your chest tightened and it was harder for you to draw in even shallow breaths. You closed your eyes, straining your hearing. Daryl again. “What do you want me to do?”

Then it was obvious; Daryl was dropping as much info as he could to you hiding below. 20 people. Weapons. Supplies. Walls. And then he was picking a fight on purpose with this “Carver” asshole.

“Shaw. Wake. Up. Everything is a test now,” Carver spat. “If you think this guy is ever going to give a shit about any of us, you’re gonna fail.”

“He’s right,” Daryl said quickly. “I don’t give a shit about any of you. Except you.” You felt a sharp pain between your lungs. “I’m here for you. It’s no secret I made mistakes. But I’m here right now.”

You were trying to suppress a rising wave of nausea. You could feel Maggie and Negan looking your way and you ducked your eyes, kept them down-turned to the cement of the cellar floor. A second later, Maggie touched you on the sleeve and tilted her head toward the cellar door. With Daryl distracting Leah and Carver, you snuck away, but the painful bubble in the middle of your chest stayed with you.

When you were finally safely away from the town the Reapers had been combing, Maggie stopped all of you. “We can stop for a minute,” she said, out of breath just like the rest of you from rushing through the woods. “We’re getting’ close. About three miles out.”

Negan let out a disbelieving laugh again, but you silenced him with a look. Maggie turned to you and touched you on the arm and spoke to you in a soft undertone. “You know Daryl was only sayin’ those things to—”

“I know,” you interrupted her, nodding, but your face was downturned. It still felt like a knife was lodged upward between your lungs. Listening in on that, Daryl saying those things to another woman, to her, had been excruciating. You hadn’t even realized how much so until you were out of the immediate danger. They seemed to ring in your head. “I’m here for you.” “I made mistakes.”

Maggie frowned softly. “Y/N, you and DJ are his whole life. I was there. I saw it. I saw how he was after. We almost lost him when he lost you. And then he never gave up on you. He never stopped searchin’. Whoever she is, she’s nothin’ to him compared to you. Believe that. Trust it.”

You gulped and nodded again and managed to give her a forced smile, though the worry line stayed between your brows. “What’s the plan for taking care of these assholes?”

You all turned as sticks cracked nearby. Walkers were wandering in. Everyone fingered their weapon but Maggie stopped you. “Wait,” she said, looking at more following behind out of the trees. She glanced back at the group of you. “Think we can find more?”

[s0ul-j0k3r]

Rick Grimes x Single Dad Reader

Maybe a new reader and his son (I would say toddler age) make it to Alexandria and reader is very protective of his son and rick offers to house reader and his kid and maybe reader and rick start talk about their past just to find out they both used to be sheriffs and eventually leads to rick and reader spending more time together and eventually they just kiss and confess their feelings to each other maybe some fluff between both their families just having a small dinner.

I'm so sorry that this has been cooking in my inbox like a thanksgiving dinner, I have a MASSIVE writing block. But I honestly love this idea.

Lil bit of warnings: Male reader, fluff, in apocalypse, language, shorter than I thought it would be, lil bit of violence here and there, probably ooc Rick.

Pulling through this entire mess was a hard job. Especially with your toddler son, you never wanted him to go through this. You've always tried your best to keep him safe in every way possible.

You were driving in an abandoned car, your son in the passenger seat sleeping soundly while you drove down an empty road. You struggled to keep your eyes open from the little sleep you've been getting.

You were so lost in your thoughts when a slam and blood was splattered across your car, causing your son to get startled and start crying. You sighed, knowing it was a walker. You picked up your son and placed him in your lap, he clung to your shirt, trying to muffle his cries.

You felt bad for scaring him. You soothed him by rubbing his back, your other hand still on the wheel.

It didn't take long for him to calm down. After a good half hour past, you found a place that apparently was heavily guarded. Walls surrounded it, your eyes lit up.

You opened the door to your car, your child in your arms. You suspected there to be either living or dead people in there. You never know until you attempt.

You found your way to what seemed to be the opening. Some man looking at you, before realizing someone was actually there. Your hand was over your gun like some 1890's standoff. Only risky part was that your son was in your arms, he was only a toddler.

The man opened the gate a little bit more to get a better view of you. "No need for violence." He stuck out his hand in front of him to show you to keep your hand away from the gun.

"Who the fuck are you?" You questioned without hesitation. "Rick, Rick Grimes." He slowly out down his hand. "This is Alexandria." He spread out his arms, representing the giant place within walls. You looked around to see if this wasn't some sort of kind of trick that was going on.

"Come in, ain't safe out here for you or your kid." He pointed at your son. He was right, you gave in.

You walked in, taking a good look to what seemed to be like a classy village. You we're honestly impressed with the place, but Rick walked by your side.

"I can get you a house of you'd like." He offered. You only nodded as an agreement. His hands gestured for you to follow him, and so you did.

"I got two kids myself." He glanced over at you. "Carl and Judith, Carl's a teenager, Judith on the other hand is nearly your kids age." "This is my son." You didn't bother to even say your sons name to some complete stranger you just met probably just 3 minutes ago.

He didn't seen to mind, he seemed to be chill, not pressuring you. You arrived to a pretty large house, people could easily said it was like a mansion. "Here we are, you can stay here if you want." You didn't overly speak when he said that.

He walked away when you walked inside. The house was nice, your son babbled, making little noises. You softly smiled, you could trust this place if you weren't dead yet. But your son in your responsibility you seemed more protective recently.

A knock was heard on the door, you swiftly turned around, but yet still being careful of your son. You didn't dare to put him down. You looked the person from head to toe, it was Rick. Wasn't long gone was he?

His hands we're on his hips as he waited for you to let him inside. You opened the door cautiously, letting out a hum. A boy that kind of looked similar to him with a sheriff's hat on his head, holding a seem to be little girl. You easily guessed what Rick said was his son and daughter, Carl and Judith.

You stepped out of the way with your son in your arms, still holding him. The 3 walked inside. "Need something?" You asked.

"Just here for a quick chat, y'know, introduction." He had an accent you could easily hear. He leaned against the counter. He introduced his kids to you.

You took a further notice to the hat Carl was wearing. "Where did you get that hat from?" You tilted your head out of confusion. "I was a sheriff." Rick added, you looked at him. "I was too." You nodded.

"Probably from a different city of yours, but yeah." You smiled, making Rick nod. "Your kid looks like you." You took it as a compliment. It was out of the blue but it was a nice thing to get complimented especially in a apocalypse.

Your son babbled once again, looking at you, "What's his name?" Carl asked, shifting Judith in his hands. You finally admitted your kids name. "It's a nice name." You and Carl smiled at each other.

Weeks went past, you soon met ever one there. They're pretty nice people. They knew you as a nice hardworking man that stood like a leader puke Rick. Daryl seems to be a bit off, you didn't seem to mind it at all. You and Rick became good friends. But he seemed to notice something quickly.

"Your son's always near you. Your always holding him, or he's always within' arms reach." "In a shitty world like this yeah. You never know what's to be expected in a world like this." Rick nodded, understanding. "I was like that with my kids, understood Carl kind of liked to be alone. Judith obviously needs to be watched." You both chuckles at that.

"Carl knows how to aim pretty good, so I let him be on his own. Best know how to beat this world." "I'm gonna' be like that with my son." Looking at your child in your arms. You handled kids well. You probably won't let him on his own, but surely let him learn how to protect himself.

"You're a nice guy m/n." He glances at you. You smiled at the compliment. "And so with you." You felt your face get a bit warmer the longer you looked at him. "Uh, I need to go." Rick mumbled.

"You don't need too." You flat out said, making him look at you. "Stay a little longer, please?" You slightly begged.

"What's the problem? You usually never leave this early." You were now standing in front of Rick. "It's nothing." He nearly stuttered. He was avoiding eye contact, his cheeks seemed more red or usual.

"You alright Rick? You look a little sick." You questioned out of worry, setting your son on the chair you were recently sitting in. "It's just..." He paused.

"I know this might be wrong in many people's eyes, but.." He sighed, he couldn't seem to spit out what was on his mind.

"I like you a lot, m/n." He looked at the ground feeling his face flush from embarrassment. You could understand why he was embarrassed but you couldn't but help but to feel hot in the face.

"I like you a lot too, Rick." You smiled warmly at him. "Would you want to come over for dinner at my house, like a little thing between two families?" You nodded and smiled, agreeing to the little 'first date.'

An hour later you arrive to his house with your son by your side holding onto your finger with his small hand.

The dinner that Rick prepared was by all honesty, pretty well made and it was nice to your taste. Your son seemed to enjoy it so he was gratefully happy.

"M/n could I talk to you outside?" You looked up at Rick, who asked you the question. You shrugged and agreed, telling Carl to keep a close eye on your son while you were gone.

Stepping outside into a cool breeze was chilling but you still felt warm by Rick.

"I can't believe I'm doing this.." You heard him mutter, you looked at him confused before swiftly he took a hand to your cheek and a pair of lips were on yours.

You didn't hesitate to kiss back, your heart was nearly beating you of your chest while butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"You're a nice guy yourself, Rick."

_________________________________________

I'm so sorry anon for keeping this request in my inbox for what seems like a year ����

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 38

Cw:dragon egg-laying in the background, toddlers displaying symptoms of trauma

Gif by @targaryensource

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @watercolorskyy @alexandria-millie @darylandbethfanforever9 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @aemondx @sweethoneyblossom1

Aemma with a child on her hip is a sight from which he can never tire.

She plays with two-year-old Viserys who has been clinging to Helaena believing she is Rhaenyra.

Three-year-old Aegon was more withdrawn, preferring Baela over everyone else save for his nurse.

It was no issue for his sister to care for their orphaned nephews, Helaena adored children, and gave her an excuse to make sure they weren’t fostered with people willing to kill them before the sentence is even completed.

Mother hardly saw them; the guilt ate at her when faced with the reality that she played an exceptionally large part in the death of their mother.

Aemma used any moment to visit them, play with them and lie to them when they asked their father.

She has Viserys on her hip as he babbles to her in half-coherent sentences about his new toy dragon.

“Vhagar’s begun laying her eggs.” Aemond greeted her with a kiss just below her ear. An onlooker could mistake it with a kiss on the cheek, a show of affection after greeting his nephew with ruffle of his pin straight fair hair.

Of course, that was as uncharacteristic of him as it was for the sun to rise from the west, but no one truly knew him except for a handful of his kin.

“Do you want to go see the dragons, Vis?” she asked the toddler with that annoying baby talk he refuses to do.

The toddler is effusive in his excitement, Aemond managed to make out a suggestion to invite his brother Eggy and Aena(Helaena) to go with them.

He has her eyes, whatever features they shared with their mother making it look like he might be her own babe.

Would Aenys look like him, he wonders.

He won’t ever admit it, but he wondered to himself how his children with Aemma would look.

Would they have her thick curls or his straight hair? Would they have his nose or hers, would something tracing back to his grandparents shine through in him?

Perhaps Alys is wrong and it’s a daughter, one who looks like little Daenaera or maybe like dead little Ellyn.

Then it hits him that he will only be uncle to them and the whole dream turns sour.

If they manage to secure Harrenhal and its surrounding lands for Aegon, he may be here to meet the babe that is his in all but name.

He could manage that, five moons is more than enough time.

“You should ask him to join us.” Jena whispers as she helped her change Vis and Aeg into clothes more suitable for an outing.

Well, sturdier play clothes and shoes.

“He is his brother, he’d never do it.” Aemma shook her head as Aeg obediently extended his feet so she may fasten his shoes.

“He’s your lover, he’d take out his good eye if you asked.” Jena said in that baby talk as if she were a toddler too. “Besides, he’d get to be king and never live under his brother’s shadow again.”

Strange how having been intimate with the same men brought people together.

It was fuckin bizarre that she’d find a friend in Jena after their tumultuous beginning.

“No, but hell would have to freeze over before the realm comes to accept a female ruler and I doubt Aemond would like to live under my shadow even if we had a joint monarchy.” Aemma countered her point.

Aemond was proud to the point of arrogance, he’d never accept that he would be her second. She would sit on the throne, and he’d wield Blackfyre.

Well, he already wields Blackfyre because Aegon can no longer fight, but he would function much like a second Hand and general.

He’d live under someone’s shadow, and Aemma is not sure he’d be alright with her casting it being a woman. After all this war was started because men cannot stop thinking their cocks make them superior.

“It could happen. Especially now that Aegon’s dragon no longer flies,” the dark-haired woman said with cunning smile.

“He’s infertile not impotent, Jena.” The queen corrected thinking she mixed it up.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Your darling grandmother, may she rest in peace, broke his little dragon and now he can’t even get it up.”

This was definitely news to her.

If Aemma could ever get an annulment, she’d get it in seconds.

House Targaryen couldn’t hope for the best with one singular heir, for fuck’s sake, Jaehaerys and Alysanne had thirteen children and yet had to call for a great council because they all fucking died.

“Fu-fork!” Aemma gasped amending her word at the last minute, Viserys had recently started picking up words he heard the adults use. In one instance he had exclaimed the word shit when his toy dragon fell out the window.

Aegon gave him a magnificently carved rocking horse made to look like a dragon as a reward.

Now it was up to Aemma, Helaena and Baela to un-teach him those words.

But that is a problem for another day.

Today was going to be the best fucking day ever, so her little brothers have some fucking joy in this gilded prison.

“Just make sure to give my suggestion some thought, your grace.” Jena whispers as she takes her stepchildren back to her manse.

And she does.

Would he be up to it?

Vhagar roars and Aeg covered his ears. He’s been afraid of dragons since mother died.

“I want muña.” He cried before running to his nurse in fear.

“I will take him back to Princess Helaena, your grace.” The nurse said quietly as she held him, and he cried harder into her shoulder because Helaena is not mother.

But Aemma thanked her nonetheless while Aemond called for a guard to return to the keep with them.

Dangerous place this was, anyone here would be willing to hurt the children for something they do not even understand.

Someone would kill them to ingratiate themselves to Aemond and Aegon, others because Targaryens are inbred abominations.

Aemma’s lost count how many times she’s been called an inbred whore now that she’s allowed to leave the keep.

Of course, she shuts them up by doing charity work and letting the Prince Regent deal with it however he likes, but two toddlers alone with no guards invited trouble.

“I apologize, he’s been scared of dragons since mother died and Stormcloud died of sadness soon after when Syrax went feral.” Aemma apologized as the nurse and the guards took both toddlers. Viserys couldn’t cope with being separated from his brother fearing he’d never come back like mother and Daemon, so he chose to leave too.

“Perhaps if he were to be given an egg, he may overcome it. I think Vhagar’s clutch will be quite large. Enough for everyone.” He suggests trying his hardest to pretend there isn’t anything going on beyond friendship between them.

But his words also betray how isolated he felt when everyone had a dragon and he didn’t.

Aemma had a little hatchling that never grew and eventually died when her wedding date was announced, Elēnar had been more loyal than a dog and more trouble than anything in creation.

I would rather have one like him than have none at all, he had once said the day before Joffrey was born and he was humiliated by Aegon’s cruel prank at the Dragon Pit.

Mother had been livid, Harwin and father as well.

The boys had no sweets for a month, were barred from the Dragon Pit unless an adult was with them, and all three of them were to have a very special lesson from Teora about why bullying is bad and why good children do not do it.

It had been so long since then. Nearly seven fucking years.

She had only been six and ten when she arrived here and now, she is just a week or so away from her eight and tenth nameday. Aemond’s nine and tenth had been just before the war, they had snuck off during the hunt in his honor and fucked like animals against a tree until they came looking for him.

“What are you thinking about, dearest?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough to send a shiver through her.

“My name day, and whether your gift to me will be as great as the one I gave you for yours.” She flirts with him knowing he still gets tongue tied like when he was two and ten and blushed every time anyone called him handsome.

“I thought the orange blossoms would have been to your liking.” He defends the flowers he had hidden in a book of hours made of the finest quality. “Perhaps a tourney crown would move you, my queen. Or dragon’s egg, you did famously have two dragons.”

“I already have a second dragon, three would be too many.” She teased him forgetting they aren’t alone. Although no one would dare speak it, and she can always be vague and have them believe she meant her husbands.

“And where do you keep this second dragon of yours, your grace? Silverwing is chained like a criminal in her nest.” He takes the bait with a smile while Vhagar’s gives out a final huff as she delivers the searing hot and fleshy egg case containing her progeny.

“Why, in my bed, your highness.”

He cannot know what she and Jena are plotting.

He loves her, but not enough to usurp his brother and that is a fault she cannot ignore.

[jasontoddiefor]

okay so, i realize that's probably not your current fandom, but i'm (once again) in a pjo content binge and i when i checked your pjo tags (Trading Tomorrow fan here) the first post was "no mist au". Which sounds really, really awesome. would you be willing to share some ideas about it or something?

I am always willing to talk about my AUs!!! And I'm glad you like Trading Tomorrow! That fic is still very dear to me!

Right, as the name says, the "no mist AU" is essentially an AU where the mist ceases existing when Percy is still like toddler age and the world is thrown into chaos. We end in some sorta post apocalyptic state where we see the return of the old worship mixed with new ways because demigods are still pretty much the only ones who can kill monsters. But now, well, normal people are praying to the gods as well again.

Some plot points include

Sally taking Percy and running and establishing herself as a person who knows what's up, and more than that, has a kid. She ends running a city alongside the coast as Poseidon's priestess.

The Roman Empire makes a return. Ne Rome adapts quickly to these new circumstances and they do it really well, expanding territory. Thalia and Jason both grow up in New Rome!

On that note, there is kind of a constant power struggle going on between various territories and gods and Kronos is also Awake And Having Some Thoughts

Camp Halfblood is the other big player. I'm not sure which name it'll get but it'll definitely will be renamed. I like New Alexandria (as opposed to New Athen as I've seen in a couple fics) because of Alexander the Great kicking off the Hellenism (just bear with this phrasing I know that's not how history works) and PJO seeming to rely more on late stages of ancient greek history.

But here are plenty of other bigger settlements with their own leader, goals and protections. Though being a demigod guarantees having kind of a higher status in society and people that are/would have been born clear-sighted have a sort of sense for when monsters are near, opposed to normal people.

But yeah, mostly this is post apocalypse meets ancient greek civilization?

And Sally doing everything she can to keep her kid safe and being very badass in turn.

Uuuh take a snippet?

Sally had devoured entire volumes about Greek mythology and the gods’ worship during her pregnancy. She’d never breathed a word of it to Percy, choosing ignorance as protection, but in their changed world, her knowledge needn’t be summoned. It was already there.

“Does anyone have sweets on them or alcohol?” Sally asked.

The people in her group only stared at her in confusion, some even in mistrust.

“It’s important.”

“What are you doing?”

“Prayer,” Sally said. She hadn’t ever been religious, meeting Poseidon hadn’t changed that. But could this really still be religion if she knew it to be truth?

Sally tossed the chocolate bar and the vodka from the flask into the fire.

“To our Lord Poseidon, for protection and safety of this commune.”

Actually take two snippets:

Leo does not like to admit that they might be in trouble, but he’s so nervous he can’t think of a weapon to aid him, never mind focus on making any fire. He glances to the right where Bryce’s body was already cooling, and nearly threw up. The scorpion’s sting had ripped right through his stomach, leaving behind an ugly, revolting wound. Luke is still holding onto his sword, but he can’t even stand properly, never mind fight.

The realization that they are utterly fucked hits like a brick to the face.

He’s survived the end of the world, myth becoming reality and this is what kills him: a regular patrol in an area that should be free of monsters. Leo hadn’t even been scheduled to go on this patrol, only volunteered at the last minute. He’d hoped to impress Luke, maybe see if he could secure permission to move outside the safe perimeters to get more parts to work with.

How stupid, not even their base is truly safe.

With an ugly roar, the scorpion turns around, aiming straight for Leo. Behind it, Luke struggles to get on his feet.

That’s it, Leo’s done for.

He tries to smile so Luke won’t blame himself and maybe do the smart thing and get away. Optimistic last thoughts so that Leo can rest peacefully in the underworld, having died a hero’s death. Phrased like this, dying doesn’t even sound that horrible.

The thought does not make the scorpion look any less terrifying and just when Leo decided to scream, he is cut off.

“Hold this for me.”

Instinctually, Leo holds out his arms and a bag gets dropped into them. The bag is warm and soft and has bright green eyes and oh, gods, that’s a baby.

Leo looks up and there’s a blur of black and blue standing in front of him. His brain is a bit slow on the upkeep, still reeling with the realization that he is holding a baby, and in the seconds it takes him to realize a stranger had come to their aid, the man has already drawn his blade. It’s made from pure celestial bronze, which is enough to make Leo’s jaw go slack. He’s only seen pure celestial bronze or imperial gold only a handful of times. The metals are incredibly scarce and Leo wants to touch that sword right now.

But he can’t.

Because he’s holding a baby and the sword is in its wielder’s hand, who is using it to systematically decimate the scorpion without ever breaking a sweat.

The monster surges up on more time, and the man simply adjust his hold on the sword and drops low, piercing the beast from below.

And just like that, it’s over and the clearing is silent.

[integra1127grimmreaper]

No Regrets - Part three

Negan Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: Nicole and Negan finally get their happy ever after

A/N: #1- thank you to Neganlover711, for gifting me the opportunity to bring your wonderful story plot to life💖.

       #2 -for the sake of the story, Negan and Alpha don't end up doing the freaky deaky, and the Commonwealth saga never happens.

Nicole was cleared to leave the sickbay after the second day of having given birth, to say that she was excited would be an overstatement. Even though Negan was allowed to be with them during the recovery time, she still felt despondent at the fact that they will have to raise their daughter in the confinement of that tiny cell.

“You ready?” Negan asks, snapping her from her thoughts.

“Yeah” Nicole nods, tightening her grip on the bundle that was their daughter.

Grabbing the baby bag, Negan carefully led them out of the makeshift hospital.

The walk to their ‘home’ felt like forever as Nicole slowly dragged her feet; a jail cell really wasn’t a place to raise a child in. But what could they do about it? They were prisoners in this place, and now so were their child.

As they neared the jailhouse, Nicole makes way toward the steps to go downstairs to the cell but Negan halts her movement.

“This way sweetheart...” Negan directs her toward the steps leading up to the house’s front door instead.

“Negan...?” Nicole furrows her brows at him in confusion.

“Let's get the lil one inside first” Negan nudges his head toward the house.

“I’ll explain then.”

Feeling a bit uneasy, Nicole silently allows him to lead them into the house where Michonne was waiting in the living-room for them.

“Michonne?” Nicole stares at her, even more confused at what was happening.

“Great, you guys finally arrived” she smiles at her.

“Yeah” Nicole nods in response.

“What’s going on though?”

“Take a seat first” Michonne tilts her head in offering.

Once they were settled into their seats, Michonne explains everything.

“A jail cell is no place to raise a child in...”

Nicole tenses up at the fear that they were going to take their daughter away from her and Negan.

“Don’t worry” Michonne raises her hands out to calm Nicole’s paranoia.

“We’re not taking your child from you. We've decided that it would be better for the three of you to move in here.”

“What...?” Nicole stares open-mouthed at her.

“Regardless of what you and Negan are guilty of, the baby is innocent and shouldn’t be punished for her parents’ sins.”

“Thank you...” Nicole tearfully matters out.

Michonne nods at her in response.

“You’re both still prisoners though, therefore you’ll be locked inside the house at night, and a guard will be present outside at all times.”

“We understand” Nicole eagerly nods in agreement.

Michonne smiles, getting up and taking a peek at the baby.

“She’s cute... reminds me of when R.J was a baby. Better soak this time up, once they hit the toddler phase, they become a handful.”

Nicole chuckles softly at her remark, staring her seriously in the eyes then.

“Thank you again, Michonne.”

Michonne nods in response, leaving Negan and Nicole to settle in.

“I can’t believe this is happening...” Nicole murmurs out.

Negan pulls her against him, pressing a kiss to the side of her head as they stared down at their sleeping daughter.

“Guess we have this one to thank for it.”

If someone had told Nicole a few years back that she and Negan would one day be free from their cell to live a domesticated life, she would have laughed in their face. And if they had told her that they’d be living that life in Alexandria; Nicole would have called bullshit.

Life had a way of changing circumstances, as well as people though. It had taken a lot of hard work and time for Nicole and Negan to gain the trust of the others, but in the end, they managed to prove themselves. Through busting their asses doing whatever shitty jobs was thrown their way, even putting their own lives in risk to protect Alexandria when new threats had arisen.

It wasn’t an easy task though, first it was the Whisperers; which Negan was tasked with having to kill their leader. It wasn’t as if he had a choice in it though, not when he had been thrown back into the cell after accidently causing the death of someone while attempting to protect Lydia.

Nicole’s turn came when they had to flee the protection of the hospital after it had been overrun by the Whisperers and their horde of Walkers. It tore her apart when she had to hand her infant daughter over to one of the Alexandrians in order to stay back and buy them time to escape.

They had managed to stop the threat of the Whisperers, but it had come at the price of a completely destroyed Alexandria. Houses had been damaged, along with the structure of protection surrounding the community, and to top it all off; their food supply and crops had been destroyed as well.

If that couldn’t make things worse; Maggie had returned back, and along with her came a new threat. The Reapers; a group of former mercenaries that had taken over her former community by force, killing nearly everyone.

Maggie’s return didn’t only bring chaos though, it also brought hope. Hope in the form of enough food and supplies to feed the entire Alexandria, only problem was that it was all stored at her old community; a community that was now under the control of the Reapers.

It was decided that a group led by Maggie would risk it all and go to take back control of it, biggest problem for Nicole and Negan was that he was being forced to guide them to there.

They both knew that doing so would be giving Maggie the perfect opportunity to take her revenge on Negan for having killed her husband. Knowing that Negan was going out there with the huge target on his back and no protection, Nicole yet again had to leave their infant daughter in the hands of an Alexandrian, this time in order to ensure the safety of her husband.

The mission was a dangerous one; having to battle Walkers, the elements, and eventually the Reapers, all this while making sure that Maggie didn’t attempt to kill Negan.

A lot of lives had been lost during it all, but in the end, they had managed to take back the community.

Safe and sound, and with the needed supplies, Nicole and Negan returned back to Alexandria and back to their daughter.

Nicole sat peacefully on the front porch as she watched her husband and daughter playing in front of the house. A smile plastered on her face at the sound of childish giggles and raspy chuckles echoing back at her.

“C’mon Mama! Come play with us!” her five-year-old daughter called out.

“Now, Ladybug... Mama’s been very tired lately and needs as much rest as possible” Negan reminds their daughter.

“Is it because the baby will be here soon?” she innocently questions her father.

“That’s right...” Negan proudly smiles nodding.

“Your little brother or sister will be making their arrival soon.”

“I want a lil sister!” their daughter remarks then, causing both her parents to chuckle out.

“It doesn’t work that way, baby-girl...” Negan snickers, picking her up to press a kiss on her forehead.

“How does it work then?” she asks, tilting her head in confusion.

“It's a surprise...” Negan dramatically whispers, causing her to giggle out.

“Why don’t you go and play with your friends a bit?” Negan suggests, placing her back down.

“Ok, Daddy...” she agrees, cheerfully skipping toward the group of children playing nearby.

“Hey, Mama...” Negan groans out as he knelt in front of Nicole.

“How ya and the lil one doing?”

“We’re ok...” Nicole smiles, rubbing her belly.

“Good...” Negan comments, resting his head against her belly then.

Gently running her fingers through Negan’s hair, Nicole hums out softly at him pressing a kiss to her belly.

“Do you regret it?” Negan suddenly remarks.

“No” Nicole responds, continuing to stroke his hair.

“I don’t regret anything.”

Negan looks up at her then, a look of vulnerability in his eyes as he asks.

“You sure?”

Flashing him a soft smile, Nicole cups his cheek.

“I have a wonderful husband that loves me, a beautiful daughter, soon we’ll have another child, and what matters most; is we’re both free and our family is safe.”

“So, no, my love...” Nicole reaches forward to kiss him, pulling away with a love-filled smile.

“No regrets...”

[masterwords]

I've got a fluff request! Jack asking Hotch if Derek's going to live with them. So he isn't alone in bed, cause Haley and him are separated.

Two stories in one day? Must be the end of the year push to get to a nice even word count! My goal was 475k and I'm inching toward it little by little...so here, have about 2.3k words of SHOPPING. Pure fluff with a dash of angst, some Hotch & Dave best buddies time because it's been a while since I've written Dave. This story was inspired by how very confused Hotch's apartment decor is and how there is no other explanation outside of depression and allowing a toddler to take charge. Set in a vague post-divorce but pre-Foyet time when he still has some dim hope that his life will get better.

****** you worry too much******

Hotch's apartment was new. It smelled like fresh paint and chemical carpet cleaners. More than just professionally cleaned, the place had been torn out down to the studs and remodeled along with half of the building. Even some of the pipes were new, a treat the landlord impressed upon him many times when he'd toured the place. The cabinets came sealed with tape, proving that they'd been installed brand new, and the stacked washer/dryer combo still had the user manual taped to the front. Everything in the place was muted, Earth tones, beige and brown and cream and other shades of boring. He'd toured a number of places, including every single apartment recommended to him by his team. One was down the street from Penelope, but it was only a one bedroom, and if he had any hope of having Jack come and stay with him, he would need two. There was an opening in Emily's building but no one else there had children, most of the tenants were young and hip, not the type of place he saw himself living at this state of his life. Finally, he found this place, a building filled primarily with tenants at least as old as his parents, very few younger than retirement age, and just two blocks down was a quaint little park that he could walk to with Jack. It was a far cry from his beautiful home in Alexandria, but it suited his needs and it fit easily into the budget he'd set for himself. The muted walls were calm and boring, they made him feel nothing.

He liked that part. He'd never been fond of Haley's painted walls, the whims on which she'd acted in turning their dining room red or their bedroom blue. He preferred neutrals. But this felt almost clinical and it only served to bolster his already uncontrolled depression.

The first night in his new place, he'd cried. Not for any reason he could pinpoint either, just the finality of it. The lease signed with only his name, the quiet absence of life outside of his own barely beating heart, the noise of the neighbors next door talking quietly. The walls were thin, though his landlord assured him that once he had furniture inside it would cease to be quite so easy to hear his neighbors and they him. He rarely made noise, though. Quiet as a mouse, save for the crying he was doing as he sat on the couch with his grocery store pre-made salad and his plastic fork. He hadn't done much of it since he'd moved out of Haley's. A night or two with Dave at his place, a few nights in a hotel, and then there was Derek there to catch him when he fell and hold onto him until he found a place to call his own.

Now he'd had it for a couple of months but had done nothing with it. He'd been spending so many nights at Derek's that he'd almost forgotten he had a place of his own. But Haley insisted that as nice as Derek's house was and as kind as it was that Derek set up the spare room for Jack, the kid needed his father to be stable and that included having a place of his own.

“You wanna go do some shopping?” He needed plates, cups, bowls, pots, pans...really, he needed everything. Bedding, pictures, an entire bedroom set for Jack. He needed to buy a new life, because he'd left the old one in Haley's care. She'd insisted he take the couch and mattress from storage, and for now that was all he had in his entire place. One queen sized mattress on the floor of his bedroom and one rumpled old gray couch that made the trek with them back from Seattle because Haley insisted they might want it someday. He wondered if this was what she'd envisioned when she talked him into keeping it.

“YEAH!” Shopping was always an easy request. Hotch didn't care for it, but as he stood and looked around his apartment and thought about the way Haley had been hesitant to even leave Jack there, he knew it was high time. The couch and the frozen dinners were fine for him, but she was right. Jack needed to see that he was doing alright, and that would start with where he lived. Not where Derek lived.

The mall was busy. Too busy for his taste and he held a little too tight to his son's hand to keep him close. “Why the mall?” Dave asked, approaching the two of them with coffees in hand. Hotch hadn't exactly asked for Dave's help, but he hadn't turned it down either. The coffee was a nice bonus.

“I figured we could get it all done in one stop.”

“Ahh...smart.”

Hotch could feel the sarcasm from where he stood, and as he looked around at the sheer number of people traveling from store to store he wasn't feeling great about his decision. Their first stop was a home goods store that had plenty of trendy decorating schemes to choose from, whole entire display rooms he could purchase and not have to think even a little.

Jack hated all of it. “BOATS!” he squealed, pointing at a display wall of paintings. There were several different types of boats in thick ornate frames, and Jack stared at them with adoring eyes.

“What about them?” Hotch asked, crouching to speak with his son. He wasn't sure he had an aesthetic, necessarily, but of all things he thought boats would come low on the list.

“Like the ones at the beach!” Ah, yes. The boats at his family's beach home, of course. Jack had spent as many holidays there as time had allowed in his short life, and he'd developed quite a love for sitting on the end of the dock watching boats sail by. Hotch sighed.

“You think I need boat paintings?” Jack nodded, and that was it. He couldn't say no, even when Dave wondered aloud about the more abstract paintings, something a little more subtle.

“BOATS!” And Jack pointed at each painting he wanted, and that was it. Settled. Later he would add some knights, a key, some beautiful polished rocks for bookends...his car was filled with a scattered mix of random items and Dave was absolutely beside himself.

“Aaron,” Dave said quietly as he helped load the last of the paintings into the car. “I don't mean to be rude here, but you're a very eligible bachelor now. What kind of message does this décor scheme send to your dates? You bring a lady home, she walks inside and she sees...” he indicated the absurd spread in the back of the car with more than a little of that typical sarcasm. Hotch chuckled.

“I believe the message it sends is that I'm a sad, recent divorcee who doesn't know the first thing about decorating a home and let his toddler do it.”

“Going for the honest route, huh?”

“It's all I've got, Dave.”

“We can make it work. I say we go to Pottery Barn for Jack's bedding, but for you...you'll need to splurge. I insist. And I know just the place.”

Try as Dave might to get Jack to settle on one theme for his bedroom, the kid was predictably all over the place. Knights in shining armor, dinosaurs, sports motifs, a little of everything. Hotch didn't try to sway him, this divorce had been hard enough on all of them, the last thing he wanted to do was create a bedroom that Jack wouldn't want to sleep in. If the kid wanted it to be a wild mixture then so be it. Thinking back to his own childhood bedroom with its sparse white walls and dark wood trim, his neatly made bed, he thought this couldn't be anything but an upgrade. A bedroom that felt comfortable, that let him express who he was and how he felt, a bedroom that could get a little messy during play...it was one small thing he could do to ensure that Jack had it better than he ever did, in spite of his many shortcomings.

Their final stop was an upscale boutique, Dave's just the place. Hotch would never have even looked twice at the shop and here he was walking right into it with the intent to buy something he'd rather forget entirely. “Dave,” he pleaded when his friend held up a gaudy duvet in a pattern he could barely bring himself to look at for long. “That isn't me.”

“Okay, okay, here how about this one...” he pulled up a simple navy blue, rich and dark, luxurious. He ran his hand over the too soft fabric, the delicate way it almost felt like velvet but not quite. “Yeah. You like this one.”

“I do,” he said a little reverently before snapping out of it. “But Dave, I almost never sleep in my bed. This feels a little frivolous for something I would rarely use.”

“It's bedding, Aaron.” The implication that it was a necessity, that it wasn't a new toy, struck Hotch as a little off the mark. He hardly slept in his apartment, and even less did he sleep in his bed. More often he fell asleep at his desk or on the couch, somewhere that wasn't so wide open, somewhere that didn't quite showcase exactly how lonely he was.

And when he shared a bed, he did that at Derek's house. A place that was far and away more comfortable, better decorated, more livable than his own. Dave didn't know that, though.

He leveled his glare at Dave and ultimately gave in. “Fine.”

The sheets Dave pulled to go with it, bright white, had a higher thread count than Hotch knew what to do with. This was the stuff he would expect from a high end hotel, not for his home. But he allowed it because arguing with Dave was a lost cause, and it was either that or explain to Dave his very precarious situation with Derek. A situation they were both very keen on keeping under wraps, at least for a while longer. His divorce was barely final, and sure he'd been separated from Haley for a long time and things were more than settled, but it still felt like they were walking through a minefield. Haley had a boyfriend, too, it wasn't out of the question, and they were both doing their best to ease Jack into this new thing slowly.

He liked Derek, though. Liked him a lot. The transition was going about as smoothly as it could. “Daddy!” Jack chirped, tugging on his jacket. “Is Derek gonna move in with you?!” He was eyeing the fancy sheets with some wild thought twirling around in his little mind. Hotch could see the gears shifting and turning over ideas for how great things would be if. Always if. Wouldn't it be fun if Derek lived with you daddy? Then we could go to the park all the time cos Derek loves to play! Chalk that up to Derek being more or less an overgrown child, he'd figured, and at that time the answer was a pretty solid no. And it still was, mostly, but this bedding he was paying a heavy price for felt like the kind of thing you wanted to share with someone special. He could picture lying there staring at the luxurious royal blue against Derek's skin, diving beneath it, curling around each other inside of it.

“DADDY!”

“Yes, Jack?” he asked, as if he hadn't heard the question. He avoided Dave's look entirely though he knew if he did glance his direction, the man's eyebrows would be meeting his hairline.

“Derek could move in with you and then you wouldn't be lonely in your bed anymore!”

“Derek has his own house,” Hotch reminded his son casually, still avoiding Dave's piercing glare. He could feel a flush rising hot beneath his collar as he reached out for the receipt. “Thank you.”

The drive back to the mall, to drop Dave off at his car, was silent and awkward until about halfway when Dave could no longer stand it. “Why would Derek move in with you?”

“You know children,” Hotch attempted around his parched tongue. His vision was going spotty and he gripped the wheel tighter, glad for a red light.

“I do. And I know your child, he's not one to fabricate elaborate stories. Shall I ask him?”

“He's asleep.”

That much was true, Jack had almost instantly fallen asleep the minute the car began moving. Shopping had worn him out. Hotch couldn't blame him, he wanted a nap too...he hadn't slept a wink the night before.

“Aaron. Are you and Derek fraternizing?”

The way Dave said that word made him laugh, he simply couldn't help it, and that relaxed the coiled muscles in his shoulders, it released the tension in his jaw. “I suppose you could say that.”

“How long?”

“A while. It's complicated, Dave.”

“Well, that I believe. Does Haley know?”

“Yes, she's aware. We're moving slowly, both of us, for Jack. He doesn't seem to mind any of it though. In many ways, Jack is better at all of this than we are.”

“Aaron, why didn't you say something? I called you an eligible bachelor earlier and you didn't even react. Did you think I wouldn't approve?”

Hotch licked his dry lips and pulled into a parking spot, letting the engine idle. “Nothing like that. We simply weren't ready to make anything known. We're taking things slowly. This situation comes with many challenges, with my family and our jobs. Contrary to what Jack seems to think, Derek will not be moving in with us anytime soon.”

“Are you happy?” Dave asked, finally, turning toward Hotch.

“Yes,” he answered quickly and with a soft smile. “Very.”

“Well, then. Mazel tov. He's going to love that new bedding of yours...”

“Dave.”

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Hadley Freeman

Published: Nov 29, 2022

It’s incredibly easy to criticise Susie Green, the influential and, as of Friday, ex-CEO of Mermaids. But I’d like to say this in her defence: she never lied about who she was.

From her early interviews in 2012, when her trans daughter, Jackie, then 19, became a Miss England finalist, Green, then an IT-manager, was utterly open about how she first knew her child was trans: “As a toddler, Jackie always headed for the dolls in toy shops.” And if a four-year-old looking at dolls weren’t evidence enough that this child should be committed to a lifetime of medicalisation, Green added, “[Jackie] loathed having her hair cut.” Green put Jack — as he was then known — on puberty-blockers and flew him to Thailand for a sex change operation when he was 16, making him the youngest person in the world to undergo that surgery.

She merrily recalls in a YouTube interview that because Jack’s penis hadn’t developed due to the blockers, “there wasn’t much for the surgeon to work with” when constructing their vagina. “Sorry, Jackie!” she laughs.

During her time at Mermaids, Green has been advising parents, schools, the police, the media and NHS trusts about how to deal with other children who dare to not be gender stereotypes. She was their first staff member — before Mermaids was run by volunteers — and under her leadership, she has transformed the organisation from a quiet, low-key charity to an energetically active lobbying group, and her theories about childhood and gender have been at least as influential as Judith Butler’s. Mermaids has been endorsed by the Be Kind brigade, including Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Jameela Jamil and Emma Watson, accrued a slew of corporate sponsors and been awarded £500,000 by the National Lottery. Progressive newspapers advise readers to contact the service should they have any concerns about their child.

Since 2017, I regularly asked editors at the newspaper where I worked if I could write about Mermaids in general and Green specifically, because it was so obvious that something was very wrong here. The answer, always, was no, but the reasons given were fuzzy: it wouldn’t be right in that section, they couldn’t see the news peg, it felt too niche. A more likely reason was one articulated to me with some passion on social media any time I tweeted anything sceptical about Green or Mermaids: to question either was to wish trans children would die. Doubt the charity, hate the cause, in other words. Weirdly, this attitude seems to hold true only for charities connected to trans issues: no one, as far as I know, screamed that The Times hates starving people when they investigated Oxfam in 2018 about allegations that some of its workers paid for sex.

I do have some sympathy with those who were too scared to question Mermaids. Under Green’s leadership, the organisation has done its utmost to evade scrutiny, trotting out — even in parliamentary committees, even in the 2018 ITV drama Butterfly, starring Anna Friel, and for which Green was the series lead consultant — the claim that 48% of young trans people attempt suicide. A terrifying statistic for any parent of a gender dysphoric child, and almost as scary for any organisation that cares more about being kind than being accurate. Happily, the statistic is bunkum, as the researcher behind the study it’s based on has said, because the study involved 27 self-selecting trans volunteers, and therefore its findings should not be widened out to all gender dysphoric young people, as Mermaids had done.

You would think that discovering attempted suicide is not as common among young gender dysphoric people as previously believed would be greeted with triumphant cheers and celebrations by a charity that claims to support them, and the celebrities who frequently tweet their love for the group routinely described as “the most oppressed people in the world”. And yet, strangely, not so much. As a result, that statistic is still routinely banded around by activists. (Is telling oppressed people that they are likely to try to kill themselves, despite the facts suggesting otherwise, really Being Kind?) It’s the same story with puberty blockers: for years, Green and Mermaids insisted they were fully reversable. Green had given them to her child, as she repeated so often, and she wouldn’t deliberately harm her own child, right? Online obsessives — such as one full-time tweeter, part-time lawyer and occasional fox murderer — parroted these claims, and people went along with the theory that a drug originally licensed to treat prostate cancer would be fine for children. In fact, it is now becoming widely accepted that blockers affect bone development, and may prevent the young person from ever being able to orgasm.

Despite telling Jackie’s story over and over, and always including the detail about the girls’ toys, Green took pains to stress that being trans child went deeper than a desire for dolls. But how else would a four-year-old boy express a wish to be a girl other than through the medium of toys? What else would being a girl mean to them? In her Tedx talk, Green says that as soon as her baby boy “got mobile” — ie, learned to crawl — “he was gravitating to things that you would think are stereotypically female”. Like what, tampons? Was her one-year-old trying to book an appointment for a cervical smear test? Nope, “the Polly Pocket and My Little Pony”, she says, and then quickly adds “that was fine – but not for Dad”. Green’s then husband disapproved of his son playing with My Little Pony toys and therefore banned them from the house. (A macho father who abhors effeminacy in his son is a common feature in the life stories of trans women; Paris Lees’ semi-autobiographical novel, What It Feels Like for a Girl, is a recent example.)

Shortly after that, the child then known as Jack told his mother, “God made a mistake and I should have been a girl.” As Green recounts in her talk, “What I had come to the conclusion, up until she was about two, was that I had a very sensitive, quite effeminate little boy who was probably gay.” So when four-year-old Jack told her he should be a girl, Green felt “it explained so many things”. And to be fair, a trans four-year-old makes about as much sense as a gay two-year-old. No one has ever accused Green of failing to maintain fidelity to her extraordinary version of logic.

Jackie Green has occasionally spoken up in defence of her mother. In 2018, a journalist tweeted that Green had “castrated” her teenage son when she arranged for the sex change operation in Thailand. Jackie tweeted back that this was untrue: “I was meant to be female and thus had surgery to correct my small defect,” was how she put it. As to how she knew she was meant to be a girl, Jackie said, “For a long time I was told I had to play with action men and other ‘boy toys’, another concept I find rather silly, but I still wanted the Barbies and little mermaids.” And so her mother arranged for the “small defect” to be “corrected” so she could.

No one has said why Green is suddenly no longer the CEO of Mermaids. But the fact that the charity has said they are appointing an interim one for now suggests the decision was quite sudden. The timing was certainly peculiar, coming 10 days after Green gave a rare interview, refuting all recent criticisms of her organisation.

Slowly, it seems, the tide is turning against Mermaids. When it was announced this year that the NHS was going shut down Gids, its gender identity clinic for children, in the spring, attention quickly turned to Mermaids. Former clinicians at Gids have accused the charity of having a “harmful” effect on the clinic by promoting transition as a cure. Mermaids has denied this, but it didn’t help matters by putting itself in the spotlight when it launched an appeal against the Charity Commission’s decision to award charitable status to the LGB Alliance, now the only specifically gay charity in this country which does not include trans people. Witnesses for Mermaids have had to defend gender theories under questioning this autumn, which has led to extraordinary moments such as Mermaids’ chair of trustees, claiming, “I’m not sure that people come out of the womb with a sex.”

A Daily Telegraph investigation in September found that the charity was offering to send breast binders to children against their parents’ wishes, which prompted the Charity Commission to open a regulatory compliance case. Green later defended Mermaids in The Guardian by saying a binder is better than “a young person using duct tape on themselves”. In October, the Times revealed that one of the Mermaids trustees, Jacob Breslow, gave a 2011 presentation for B4U-ACT, an organisation that aims to promote better understanding of paedophiles, in which he criticised the negative ideas about “paedophilic desire”. “We did some general top-level Google and internet searches. We did a social media search [and it] didn’t come up,” Green told The Guardian. Then, 10 days later, she was ousted.

Maybe the Mermaids board belatedly realised that if they want their organisation to endure, they needed to get rid of the wacky front woman. Ultimately, I don’t care why she went, because so much damage has already been done. But what I do want to know is this: how did so many people take Green so seriously for so long? Why did so many people turn off their intelligence when faced with this former IT consultant from Leeds? And how could so many LGBT activists champion and defend a woman who saw effeminacy — and therefore homosexuality — in her two-year-old and feel she had to “correct” this “defect”?

Green kept telling the story of Jackie because, for a long time, it gave her moral authority. No doubt, parents have long been great advocates for the rights of their marginalised children. But an alternative way of looking at Green is she was at least as good an advocate for her own rights: the right to put her child on untested hormone pills, the right to take her child to Thailand for a sex change. There is a fine line between using your parenting experience to help others, and validating your parenting choices by encouraging others to do the same.

I’m not waiting for celebrities such as Emma Watson to own up to their foolishness, mainly because I don’t care what Emma Watson thinks about anything. But all the journalists, teachers, editors and activists who endorsed Green’s obviously ludicrous ideas and shouted down anyone who didn’t, they really need to take a long look at their judgement, their motives and themselves. Because Green never once hid who she was.

==

Like Nancy Kelley, the best thing Susie Green ever did was unashamedly tell everyone what she stood for and what she was up to.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

What’s some highlights of the Salas family drama?

I was gonna write a sparknotes but ended up writing like 500 words so sfdhjkhsdkhf maybe I'll share that later but here's some bullet points highlights

Alexandria Salas, founding member of the family, had triplets after getting pregnant in a one-night stand. While she kept the kids, she did not spend time with them, dropping them off at daycare in the morning, spending her day busking in the street, and evenings working in entertainment, and not picking them up until around midnight.

Alexandria became a minor celebrity, partially from busking, partially from giving a lapdance to some celebrities, and ended up having a one-night stand with a major celebrity and having another child.

2/4 of her children are gay, 3/4 married highschool sweethearts despite their less-than-ideal childhood.

Miranda, one of the triplets, married the lesbian daughter of a vampire. Bruno, other triplet, was a jock and married a jock #lovewins.

Valentino, the youngest, the one from the celebrity hook-up, tbh idk what he's up to he's married I believe and has twin daughters and lives in the house Alexandria built

Catelaya, another of the triplets, is a character for sure. Married childhood sweetheart Mehdi Seddiki. Went into the scientist career, went mad scientist. Had an alien baby after getting abducted by aliens, but she sent the baby back to space. In I'm sure unrelated news, she became the author of the best-selling sci-fi series Cosmo Hike (like Star Trek, get it lmao). As an elder and after her husband died, she spent a while just as an archeologist in Selvadorada.

Her eldest human daughter, Jasmin, ended up having to raise her younger siblings because Catelaya died when her youngest was just a toddler I believe.

Nyla, Catelaya's middle child, took the death of her parents pretty hard, it happened right before she became a teen. And she just had a lot of drama, skipping school, getting in trouble at school, having a string of like 5 boyfriends which she dated each for like 2 days. Ended up getting pregnant from one of the boyfriends, had a miscarriage. Ended up getting pregnant again, getting into a fight about the teen pregnancy with her mother and father's ghost, and dropped out of highschool and moved out to the big city on her own.

Catelaya's youngest, Devonte actually ended up fine, but he felt a little weird living in his older sister's house when his older sister has a boyfriend and child, so he struck out on his own shortly before graduation.

Back to Jasmin, though, so Jasmin works as a social media/pr manager and actually has like 250k followers on her vlogging channel. And she just got married to Ahmed, her boyfriend of many years with whom she already had 2 kids (Nadia and Omar).

OH I ALMOST FORGOT remember Catelaya spending time as an archeologist in Selvadorada? Well after her death, Jasmin and Ahmed were going through her things and figured they might try and uncover and clean up some of the artifacts and such and then started doing some of their own work with archeological digs and well long story short they're now both getting probably a combined 12k a day or so unrelated to their day jobs because their reknown as archeologists meaning they get consulted and asked to help out with things.

[writermuses]

@elegancemultimuse continued from here

Was it a bad idea to come back into town just to see Alix for the holiday? Absolutely. But Vincent was banking on his tormentors being too busy with their own families to come to this city to kill him or, worse, hurt Alexandria. He leaned down and took her hands, "We'll find the perfect spot, Princess. I promise. Even if I have to throw a few elbows and make a toddler cry." With a wink, Vincent led the way to a cozy spot, right at the corner of an intersection. Taking the camping chair off his back and flipping it open with ease, he sat down and pulled her onto his lap, pointing just down the sidewalk. "Looks like there are vendors walking around selling food and drinks. You let me know if you want anything, okay?" Vince brushed her hair back from over her ear, kissing the spot just behind it. "Missed you so much, Alix."

[aviandtheseals]

The Rowntrees Ultimate Decades Challenge - 1360s Recap

I started posting this challenge in 1357, so this also includes some major late 1350s events. This decade saw 8 deaths, 3 births, and 1 marriage for the Rowntree family. I've been trying to get back to a large family since the famine, but it has not been working. Hopefully, once Finnian is married a large family will be possible. Everyone died left and right this decade, here's hoping fewer sims will in the next one.

Births

Ursula Rowntree (1359)

Ursula Rowntree was born in 1359 to Alexandria Butterfield Rowntree and Arthur Rowntree. Her father died shortly before she was born and her mother died at the birth, but she was raised by Kymmie Betts Rowntree, her step-grandmother.

Gilbert Hedgecock Jr. (1364)

Gil was born in 1364 to Gilbert Hedgecock and Sarah Rowntree Hedgecock. He was loved by both his parents who wanted him to have a happier childhood than they did.

Sabina & Marie Hedgecock (1366)

Twins Sabina and Marie were born to Gilbert and Sarah Hedgecock in 1366. Unfortunately, Marie and Sarah died soon after the birth, but the family was glad to welcome more children into the world.

Deaths:

Arthur Rowntree (1339-1359)

In 1359, the Rowntree heir Arthur was mauled by a bear. Arthur was a kind father to his young daughter Jacquette and a loving husband to his wife Alexandria. He was also a protective older brother to his younger sister Sarah. Arthur was a farmer but made most of the family's money by woodworking, which he was talented at. He died at the young age of 20.

Alexandria Butterfield Rowntree (1338-1359)

Alexandria Butterfield Rowntree was a loving wife and mother. She loved caring for her own daughter Jacquette as well as Finnian, another child in the house. She was also a talented lute player. Alexandria died in 1359, shortly after her husband Arthur, while giving birth to her third daughter Ursula. She died at the young age of 21.

Ursula Rowntree (1359-1362)

Ursula (left) was a friendly and happy toddler, despite growing up an orphan. She was especially an affectionate sister to Jacquette. She died of chickenpox at the age of 3.

Sarah Rowntree Hedgecock (1345-1366)

Sarah had a difficult childhood and lost many relatives, but she never let it wear down her spirit. Sarah always worked hard to provide and care for her family. She was a great big sister to Finnian, and always helped Kymmie care for Jacquette and Ursula. Sarah created the life she always wanted and guaranteed her own happiness by marrying her sweetheart, Gilbert Hedgecock. As a wife and mother, Sarah loved and cared for her children. She thought it was important to spend a lot of time with them and for them to always be happy. Sarah died shortly after giving birth to twin girls Sabina and Marie, but her big heart will live on with her family. She died at age 21.

Marie Hedgecock (1366)

Marie Hedgecock was born with her twin Sabina Hedgecock in 1366, but they were both very weak and Marie died soon after. However, she was loved by her family.

Gilbert Hedgecock Jr. (1364-1367)

Gilbert Hedgecock Jr. was a curious toddler who enjoyed exploring the house and loved learning from his mom. He died from the mumps at the age of 3.

Jacquette Rowntree (1357-1368)

Jacquette was a warm-hearted toddler, but after the death of her sister, she became more of a loner child. Although she wasn't the friendliest, she loved spending time with her chickens and always worked hard around the farm. She was also very close with Finnian. Jacquette died tragically in a fire at the age of 11, leaving her family heartbroken.

Clarice Hedgecock (1346-1369)

Clarice was a mean-spirited older sister to Gilbert, because of their stressful childhood. However, after their older brother Isaac died and Gilbert got married, she became nicer and helped care for GIlbert's kids after his wife Sarah's death. Clarice died from the 1369 famine at age 23.

Marriages

Sarah Rowntree & Gilbert Hedgecock (1364)

In 1364, Gilbert and Sarah got married. They were 18 and 19. Gilbert and Sarah met a couple years before and fell in love, but couldn't get married because their families didn't have the money. However, after Gilbert's older brother Isaac died, he became the heir of their farm and finally was able to marry his love. Gilbert and Sarah went on to be very happy for the next two years and had three children, but their marriage did not last long due to Sarah's death.