#and this is only my second season can’t believe what people who grew up with it feel like

[comradejoanmir]

I don’t even care about seb leaving as much as I do that an era of formula one is over

[dizzyduck44]

Content creators are cutting off their noses to spite their face

Tonight as I lie in bed, I’m reading. (Lucy Worsley’s “Jane Austen at Home” if you must know). For the last few years bed time has normally been YouTube videos or instagram scrolling. More often than not F1 related.

As a Lewis and Lando fan I accepted long ago finding Lewis friendly content was hard, but there was at least lots of Lando content out there.

During the “Dando” years of McLaren there was good content if you could ignore the Daniel crazies (fans who’s god like bias goes beyond reason or reality). However now, with his second Aussie teammate on the bounce (this one people really want to believe is the driver he will be in 5 years, now), the Max fans trying to process their disbelief, the Lewis fans looking for anyone to retaliate at (because apparently it’s an eye for an eye), George fans who mock Lando because George does it (they skip the point they are actually friends and Lando gives as good as he gets) and recently Ferrari fans (I can only assume overtaking Charles and being closer to a title that he is 🤷‍♀️), Lando hating seems to have become a global sport.

And content creators, some who fall into one of the above categories (P1, Tommo), some jumping on the bandwagon (WTF1, CameronF1, FormulaBone). Some who apparently have beef with Lando for god knows what reason (Aldas) are playing up to this.

Literally there is one F1 content channel I would go out of my way to watch, Josh Revell and even he has had a pop (albeit half his content is comically admitting how wrong he was, Sir Lancelot aside).

Even The Race who, whilst their news report are generally unbiased, their race reviews have become hyperbolic personal opinions based on who they dislike.

I know I won’t be alone with this, Sergio, Logan and Carlos have been getting it all season. But I’ve actually found myself unsubscribing and ignoring people’s content because of their sudden Lando pile on. If I don’t engage, they won’t make money off me.

And if others are doing the same, I can’t help but feel they are willingly pissing off one of the largest fan bases in F1 and hitting themselves in the bank balance for it. I struggle to see the logic.

Because here is the thing. This will pass. And those casual viewers will drift away. What are they going to do from December to February with no F1 and subs down? They will find a new punching bag but the Lando fans won’t be coming back.

There really are the big 5 in F1, the drivers who bring the fanbases, sell the merch, inspire the crazies; Lewis, Max, Lando, Charles and I would say Checo. (I think Lando took Daniel’s spot 😬). If you have pissed off the fans of 4 of those drivers already I really hope you have a back up career available.

I’d rather read than tolerate or support most of the BS being put out recently. Because if your issue is someone grew up and at the first chance at a championship they refuse to be an arse, I can safely say I wouldn’t make time for you in real life. I sure as hell don’t have to online.

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

There’s a reason I trust Junya “Enojun” Enoki’s interpretation on the projects (that I love) he’s been doing. He did excellent portraying Yuji Itadori. He was so lovable (and believable) as Toto Isshiki. There is this insight that he and, interestingly enough, his co-VAs see when it comes to the interaction of the two main characters of “Kuroshitsuji /Black Butler.”

(Ryumaru) Tachibana: I thought it would be nice to have a taste that doesn't change even after years have passed. Because it is a long-lasting work, there is a part that grew up when it became an anime for the first time in a long time, but there is something like a “long-established taste” that does not change. When I saw and heard the interaction between Sebastian and Ciel, “The Black Butler is back!” I felt like that.

(Junya) Enoki: Sebastian and Ciel's interaction has an exquisite “flirting feeling” (laughs).

Toshiki Watanabe, Shunsuke Takeuchi, Tachibana: That's right! ( lol)

Enoki: That sense of distance is interesting. It's not that they like each other separately, but for some reason, I thought that the two people who seem to be flirting are unique to “Black Butler.”

If the VAs notice the nuance of S and Ciel’s relationship, why can’t we?

Other selected passages :

The P4’s impression of “Black Butler : Public School Arc”

Toshiki Watanabe: "Black Butler" was originally my favorite work, and I also had all the original comics. When I saw an anime for the first time, I said, "That is such a fashionable work!" I remember thinking that. I also like British fashion, and it is a work that stuck in my heart, including the world view. In the “Public School arc,” I like the Houndstooth check pattern of uniform slacks.

Junya Enoki: It was a work that I knew before I became a voice actor, so I didn't expect to be involved like this over time. I read the original story well after I decided to participate in the boarding school edition, but after all, the line of “I’m one hell of a butler” is amazing. The picture is beautiful and popular, so I thought it was only for women, but the mystery part is also interesting. I felt like I understood why it was loved by a wide range of people regardless of gender.

Shunsuke Takeuchi: I'm also in the generation that hits directly around the second season, so I have many friends around me who are reading “Black Butler” comics and watching the anime. I myself was shocked when I was watching Seasons I and II of the anime, and the character design was amazing. The color of the characters drawn by Ms. Toboso is chic, it leaves a great impression. The character has depth. The illustration itself is gorgeous and fantastic, but each person feels realistic and muddy as a human being. I was entertained, including such nuances, so it felt rewarding to be involved expressing in that world.

Tachibana Ryumaru: There is also grotesqueness in the beautiful world view. Originally, I was watching it under the influence of my sister, but it was a content that can be enjoyed by both men and women of all ages. While there is a serious part to solve the case, it feels good to see the interaction between unique characters. There was also a variety of scenes that made me laugh, and I was looking forward to it as a viewer when "Public School arc" started, because it was a work that I had been watching for so long as a longtime fan that I didn't think I was addicted to it. I never thought I'd be involved in that... While doing my best, I'm playing one of the P4 because I want to become a breath of fresh air of the latest “Black Butler.”

The dirtiest dormitory

Tachibana: Violet Wolf Dormitory is a group full of weirdos (laughs). It's a dormitory that can be recognized if you are good at one art, so personality is more important than anything else. Each of them has a strong view of the world, so no matter what the people around them are doing, there are many students who can't see anything other than what they are concentrating on. We have a lot of love and pride for our dorms, but the dormitory seems to be the dirtiest among the four dormitories. I feel like I'm not cleaning enough (laughs).

General atmosphere during the recording

Enoki: Bluewer and Redmond are a bit like arguing. There was also a sense of disjointedness, but there was also a sense of sharing with a hidden thing or an attempt by the four of us, so I think that teamwork was played well.

Watanabe: There was also one scene that was significant to the P4, and I really remembered that it was fun.

If you are going to enter the prestigious boarding school Weston, which dormitory do you want to enter?

Tachibana: Purple dormitory!

Watanabe: I want to enter the red dormitory, but I think it's the purple dormitory that suits my personality.

Takeuchi: Purple dormitory where you can concentrate on what you want to do at your own pace, isn't it?

Enoki: If I were to go in, I wonder if it would be green or purple dormitory.

PS: I am so sorry but the photo shoots/press releases on P4’s VAs are suggesting the possible pairings of their respective characters. First and foremost, it has always been Yana T’s idea.

[gimmedamemes]

i dont think im gonna watch HSMTMTS season 4 :(

I cannot watch this. Maybe I’m a debby downer. Maybe I’m a negative nancy. Maybe I’m expecting too much realism from a TV show. However, no show has made me feel so  offended by the treatment of one character more than this one. 

My poor boy EJ was completely and totally DISCARDED by EVERYONE in the last season. He was juggling so many things such as college, his friends, his dad, and his girlfriend, and all he wanted was to enjoy his last summer as a kid by spending it with people he felt he could be the most comfortable around. 

Instead of that, however, he is suddenly and without warning pushed into being the director of a musical that he did not know anything about, while also being the pseudo-camp counselor because apparently, investing more than one adult into a summer camp is worth it to the Camp Shallow Lake owners. And yet, no one seems to acknowledge how unfair this is, not even EJ himself. 

All he does is push through and do his absolute BEST to make it happen. However, because he can’t adapt to this new role flawlessly and balance everything perfectly, to his fellow campers who are not dealing with anything of that nature (no, Carlos’ inability to climb a rock wall doesn’t count) he becomes a bad friend, a bad cousin, and a bad boyfriend. 

And due to the fact that he was too busy while running a show that he had no business running, to devote every second to his girlfriend, the final straw in their relationship is Gina’s discovery of a letter that was not her business at all. Perhaps his reason for hiding it was because of her reacting the way she did. We’ll never know, because EJ’s feelings were never given a first thought, much less a second and he was never able to explain. 

And thus, in the last half hour of the final episode, we get Ricky and Gina, who have decided that they’re each other’s one true love based on.... what again? Oh yeah, some chocolates she thought he gave her. And some other stuff too, I suppose, but that’s all it took for some to decide that they were a valid ship. 

Ricky who was HOPELESSLY devoted to another girl for 2 seasons straight, whose whole reason for being in the drama club was for her, for whose primary interactions with Gina were either because of her or about her, suddenly decides that Gina is the one he’s looking for ONLY after driving to said summer camp on a whim because his other girlfriend was discovered to be the saboteur we all knew she was. Shockingly (but, maybe not to some), Gina reciprocates. In the last few minutes of the last episode, Ricky and Gina kiss, not even 12 hours after Gina breaks it off with EJ for good. 

Now, what’s my problem with this? It’s so sloppy and unrealistic. Now, the show itself is unrealistic and as a theater kid myself, I can tell you that for sure. Our sets aren’t anywhere near as elaborate, we don’t have a strong supporting ensemble cast and overall, the whole concept of any school club having that much devotion is a serious stretch. But it’s done well. Or it was. N

Rini was a couple we were somewhat rooting for from the start. Portwell we grew to love because of the slow burn and the slow reveal of the couple’s true feelings for one another. Now, we are expected to believe that 2 seasons of solid Portwell build up (as well as the first half of season 3 before they began having problems) is just calmly thrown away and for what? For Rina? A subplot/sub-ship that was made possible by under 10 scenes together? Ricky, who was so devoted to Nini and promised never to let her go again and Gina who wasn’t able to give her obviously overburdened boyfriend any grace? That’s the ship that we’re supposed to root for?

I don’t think so. It was sloppy and badly done and it made no sense whatsoever. If they had to end the Portwell relationship, for whatever reason, I don't know, perhaps they didn’t want to encourage a sophomore-senior relationship or going to college while dating someone in high school. They could’ve easily done what they did with Ricky and Nini, and break them up on amicable terms because a relationship with someone in high school and someone in college just doesn’t work. 

They had no reason to abuse EJ’s character and ruin some of his relationships, before never talking about him again, while Ricky swoops in and takes his girlfriend AGAIN. It was so unnecessary and at this point it's repetitive. Because everytime there’s a season that starts off with 2 characters being madly in love, we all know it goes. 

So I don’t know how much I'll be watching.

(lol i just wanted to get this out of my system after watching the season 4 trailer)

[marley-manson]

House MD for ask meme :3

Thank you 💖 Caveat that I've only seen the first two seasons when they first aired lol so this is without knowledge of most of the show.

my favorite female character

There were two when I watched and I preferred Cuddy to Cameron.

my favorite male character

House.

my favorite book/season/etc

lol I guess the first season if I stopped watching after the second. Though I'm the kind of person who just straight up sucks at watching ongoing shows, so it was pretty inevitable that I was gonna drop out at some point tbf.

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

Had to look up an episode list to refresh my memory, and it was Babies and Bathwater. I still really like the song Happiness that I first heard in that ep lol. And I can still distinctly hear Wilson's voice breaking on "stupid screwed up friendship." Good times.

my favorite cast member

I'll answer this one because I do enjoy a lot of Hugh Laurie's British comedy stuff. Though I also did watch Tape because RSL was in it back in the day.

my favorite ship

House/Wilson. From what I've heard I'm kinda sad I got off the boat because it sounds like an absolutely wild ride that I will never experience now.

a character I’d die defending

None of them.

a character I just can’t sympathize with

I don't think I have an answer to this either.

a character I grew to love

I didn't like Cameron because I felt they were shipteasing Cameron/House and I hated that, but I actually warmed to her a bit after including some pointed clips of her and the shipteasing in a vid to the song Falling for the First Time by Barenaked Ladies. Sadly my House vids are lost to time and dead harddrives, but I'll always be fond of that vid for teaching me that I don't have to believe something to convey it in a vid, and that vidding a perspective I disagree with can help me understand what people get out of it and make me soften to it.

my anti otp

House/Cameron at the time, though from what I've heard Cuddy's the one who actually ended up a love interest. I minded that idea less because at least she wasn't the typical young hot 20 something, but I still wouldn't have been happy to actually see it lol.

ask meme

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Valentía (Spencer Reid)

Valentía - Spanish – Courage

At only nineteen years old, working at the BAU for six months, being just as smart as THE Spencer Reid if not smarter, Zoe Noble-Valdez is the mysterious new girl who is both empathetic beyond most people and apathetic when it comes to social skills and dealing with her own emotions, being completely unpredictable other than her inane compassion and passion for the rights of mental health and everyone's right to live, is she just the person capable of saving lives and righting the assumptions of mental health.

But certain cases will prove to be difficult for her via her traumatic past, will she be able to hide her past trauma and internal darkness from the team and keep up her guise of both sunshine and apathy?

Only the oldest members of the BAU know her true identity as the daughter of two of the BAU's co-founders. Aaron Hotchner who met her when she was ten and still semi-innocent compared to how she is now; Jason Gideon—who was like a second father to her along with retired agent, David Rossi, both of whom helped raised her and her twin sister like one of their own; and one of their fellow co-founders of the BAU, Alexander Noble, the single father to two genius twins after his girlfriend was kidnapped and killed by an UnSub after giving birth to Zarah but before Zoe while Zoe barely survived.

Zoe shows traits of all her mentors. But she’s also Zoe Noble-Valdez and certain parts of herself scare her, especially when she can’t really see too much difference between her and the UnSubs she catches… how can she when she’s missing gaps of memory for long periods of time in her life.

Reeeeeaaaaally slow burn, but I mean come on, there's sixteen seasons and I think his first serious love interest is in season eight so buckle up. I'm talking about half way through they still won't be together. Also, I will recast Lila Archer (I like the episode,  it's one of my favorites from season one, the actress being the glaring issue in it) as she grew up to become a real life UnSub. (Obviously, I’m exaggerating but she still tried to ruin the life a very good man—Johnny Depp. How dare she try to ruin his life!?) I will also recast Seaver, I don't have anything against the actress but she's just too similar-looking to JJ, I think. It will still be a blonde actress, maybe Lili Reinhart, you know because she played Betty Cooper in Riverdale and if you seen enough you know the other similarities between those two characters. Warning: This series will have violence towards all kinds of people, descriptions of discrimination, mentions of rape and pedophilia, death, and mental health. The main character has ADHD (which will be somewhat accurate because I have ADHD too), Cyclothymia, PTSD, Non-suicidal self-injury disorder, and high-functioning borderline personality disorder (this is what I'm most worried about because she is a bit of a violent character and may be pushed to a violent dissociative break a few times, but this is not an insult or a judgment of the disorder, simply her character and her way of dealing with certain situations in order for her to survive.) This character also deeply believes the Hispanic beliefs associated with the Day of the Dead (I am not Hispanic but I love this belief and when I first started writing this I was not aware that it was not actually a religion so I apologize if it comes across like that.)

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with L’Officiel Hommes Italia (2021)

In preparation for the second season of Bridgerton, Jonathan Bailey took daily horse riding lessons. The actor, who got his start due to the global success of Shonda Rimes' Netflix series, has a story that's waiting to be discovered. His story peaks through when he shares his favorite song, "Graceland" by Paul Simon. The song that shares the journey down Route 61 towards Elvis Presley's estate in Memphis is not one that people would assume, but it's what makes Bailey all the more intriguing. In reality, it serves as a metaphor for a long, cathartic trip that shares the end of Simon's poignant romance with actress Carrie Fisher. If this isn't enough to make you wonder what else is on Bailey's mind, the actor dives deeper into his quirks and passions with L'OFFICIEL.

L'OFFICIEL: Bridgerton was the most-watched series ever on Netflix. How has your life changed since the show aired?

JONATHAN BAILEY: I feel exactly the same as before. It is true, for some more practical things there have been changes, but I'm still the same. Success came at a time when everyone's life has changed dramatically, I can't see my friends but that's what we're experiencing, not my success.

L'O: The second season of Bridgerton will focus on Anthony, the character you play. In the first chapter of this saga, we saw how much your character had to sacrifice because of his fears ...

JB: It will be a second season with lots of surprises for all the main characters. I have a soft spot for Anthony, not just because he's the character I play. I think he has a complicated and troubled history. I can't wait to show everyone what will happen to him and to accompany him on his path to happiness. Mamma Bridgerton (Ruth Gemmell) is amazing and you will see her support Anthony exactly like she did with Daphne and then next season she will do the same with ... I can't say, that would be a crazy spoiler.

L'O: How does it feel to know that you're in a saga that will, in all likelihood, last eight seasons?

JB: I'm going to get older as the younger Bridgerton brothers grow up and become adults, it's going to be weird. But being in such a production is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

L'O: And how exactly do you feel after the success of this project?

JB: It seems to me to be in a hurricane, but still and in the center. I see everything turning and I wonder what's happening, but at the same time, I'm in the tranquility of my home. Hearing my friends reassures me and brings me back down to earth.

L'O: Despite your 900,000 followers, you're not the social networking type?

JB: I enjoy Instagram and I love photography a lot, but I'm also a reserved type. Social media allows you to communicate with a lot of people, which you wouldn't normally do, that sense of connection is exciting. I like knowing that I have the opportunity to see what is happening but also to be able to step back and stay at the right distance from it.

L'O: You are very reserved, yet you decided to come out early in your career?

JB: Actually, I've always thought only about being myself. There were no strategies. The truth is that as an actor I approach a project with a different approach every time. I have always trusted the directors I have worked with, and therefore I found myself playing many different roles that I have always believed in. Thanks to Netflix, Bridgerton arrives in countries where homosexuality is still illegal, and perhaps knowing that you have an openly gay actor in the cast who plays a role like Anthony's can make a difference.

L'O: Have you ever regretted this choice?

JB: There are times when it's more difficult, but I've never regretted it. I believe that gays must somehow always adapt, learn to dodge certain obstacles. We grew up in an age where we had to learn to be creative to survive. Being openly gay in the theater is completely different from being gay in the cinema or television environment. If you work hard, there are entry points and no matter what you like, it only matters if you're good.

L'O: After being in various cinema productions, theater productions, musicals, and TV series, what was the turning point of your career?

JB: I think a really big thing for me was the 2013 National Theater live [production of] Othello. Being there, in that theater, I felt totally overwhelmed. I had six auditions, and I really cared about it because playing Cassio was a privilege. It was the end of December when they told me I got the part, and I remember it was the best way to celebrate Christmas.

L'O: What kind of friend are you?

JB: I like watching what my friends are doing, enjoying good times with them, and being there in difficult ones, that's empathy. The past year has brought us much closer, at least I think so. We are all tested by what is happening to us and knowing that we have the support of loved ones is essential. I have many acting friends with whom I talk regularly and above all from whom I ask for feedback when my work comes out and vice versa. When their time comes I almost feel it more, I get very excited.

L'O: Were there times when you thought about giving up your acting career?

JB: Sure, I've thought that many times. But then, as in any job, you have to be able to work on your weaknesses and, in my case, to be able to play roles that may not be made for you and to be able to accept that those you think are perfect for your strings are not assigned to you. At one point I thought, If this audition goes badly I will try to go to work in a circus. I am still surprised and I will never cease to amaze myself at what is happening to me.

L'O: When you collected the Laurence Olivier Award in 2019 for your performance in the musical Company, you spoke of love. What is love for you today?

JB: I think it's when everything suddenly aligns and you feel on the right side, when everything finally feels right.

L'O: Are you in love?

JB: Now, I feel full of love and I wonder if I've always felt this way. I come from a nice large family. I believe that life gives you many surprises and that love comes in different forms. But in the end, the secret is really to learn to love each other and then make room for what comes and love it to the fullest.

L'O: You definitely love music. What do you like?

JB: Drake, and today I discovered Sonia, a Croatian singer. I get lost in Spotify's suggestions and make wonderful discoveries. Do you know what a singer I love is? Tove Lo. I listened to her throughout the first lockdown.

L'O: And if you had to choose a song that is your song, what would it be?

JB: "Graceland" by Paul Simon.

L'O: What are you good at?

JB: I'm sure I'm a good listener. I like to pay attention to whoever is talking to me. But I would like to learn to say no more often.

L'O: The thing you miss the most about pre-pandemic life?

JB: Dinners, parties with friends, and the theater. When we went to the theater we took it for granted, thinking about it now it was so nice to be able to enjoy three hours out of this world.

Source

[philosophika]

In honour of the final season of the HBO His Dark Materials series, let me present what I believe my daemon would have been if I’d been born in Lyra’s world: the Eurasian Lynx.

Rejoice, the adorable, fluffy meow-meow in the pictures above is me!

✨ Lynxes ✨ are:

Independent/Autonomous: Lynx kittens become fully self-sufficient at nine months, at which point they separate from their mother and siblings and go on to lead mostly solitary adult lives (the exception being mating season). They are considered symbols of autonomy, strength and self-reliance. *If this isn’t the story of my life lol 😅 Despite being very close to my family, my life diverged substantially from theirs from age 18 onwards, culminating in my now being in a completely different country. This separation, combined with my experiences as a Third-Culture-Kid, meant I learned to rely on my wits and independent judgment fairly early on. Incidentally, this has had the additional effect of making me somewhat unpredictable. Since I don’t really look to convention for guidance (who’s convention? Yours? Mine? Those held by the country I was born in? The one I grew up in? The one I’m in now? All of the above?), you can’t really be sure how I’ll react or what I’ll do unless you know me very well.

Determined/Perseverant/Goal-Orientated/Opportunistic: The Lynx is an ambush hunter who doggedly stalks its prey until the opportune moment to strike presents itself. *This not only describes the manner in which I’ve pursued my academic degrees but also the manner in which I approach life and decision-making in general. I’m always ~a l w a y s~ playing the long game (this has probably been accentuated by my immigrant status, which has made it necessary for me to know what’s going to happen six months in advance for visa purposes).

Discreet/Stealthy/Tactful: For Lynx to be successful ambush hunters, they must be stealthy enough to go unnoticed by their prey, often over long stretches of time. These cats are, therefore, famous for their discreet and tactful approach. They’re also known to hunt primarily at dawn and dusk, during the “quiet” hours. *I’m acutely context-conscious and am skilled at adapting what I reveal about myself to ensure I fly under the radar when needed (again, this is probably due to being a Third Culture Kid). I don’t fight battles I can’t win. I’m highly diplomatic. If you see me at a semi-formal dinner, you can be sure whatever I’m saying is the second or third corrected version of the first thought that came into my head. I edit in real-time.

Clear-Sighted/Perceptive/Insightful: Lynx are known for their clear night vision, impeccable sense of smell, and overall keen senses. *Although I was always intelligent, I don’t think I was born as perceptive as I am now. Two things have sharpened my insight down to a razor edge: my philosophy degrees and my abuse-induced hyper-vigilance (yay me). I am both keenly aware of micro-expressions, especially aggressive ones, and highly skilled (via years of academic training) at dissecting the various layers/hidden influences/unspoken implications of a given interaction/statement/situation. When I look at anything (and I’m actually paying attention), it's like looking through a time-warped kaleidoscope: I simultaneously observe the original image and all the resulting fractals. At this point, I do this reflexively, which can be annoying, because sometimes I don’t want my mind to analyze the movie I’m watching; I just want to lay back and enjoy it. That said, this skill has helped me accurately read and dodge perilous conversations with higher-ups, so it's not without its benefits.

Formidable/Intimidating: Like all  “big cats”, Lynx are ferocious predators and inspire caution in those who encounter them. *This is one of my most perplexing traits because I see myself as highly approachable. Nonetheless, my friends and family have described me in these terms, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that people seem slightly intimidated by me (maybe it’s because of the observant thing?) I compensate for this by making myself as bubbly and soft as possible when being introduced to someone new (who isn’t a threat to me, of course, lol. Otherwise, I lean right into the terrifying).

Affectionate/Playful: Lynx can be very playful and affectionate, just like house cats. *And who am I, if not the very spirit of affection and fun? In fact, the main reason I’m leaving academia is that it’s stopped being a source of curiosity and excitement. I don’t like having to perform dull scholarly aloofness all the time. I want ✨ dilated ✨ cat-pupils ✨ time. ✨ I am happiest when I can infect a lecture hall with a sense of jittery wonder. “If the revolt of Prometheus against the Olympic Gods doomed him to eternal torment, then so much worse for Olympus, down with the view of perfection which can be purchased only at the price of putting chains on the free independent will, the unbridled imagination, the wild wind of inspiration which goeth where it listeth.” (Isaiah Berlin, The Crooked Timber Of Humanity.)

Cute AF, But It’s Giving Ice Age: Lynx have large paws and longer hind legs, which gives them a slightly prehistoric and lop-sided appearance. *I don’t quite know how to say this, but I’ve always felt a bit... large? Not in size, in a sense that means I need to be gentle with other people lest I accidentally hurt them or scare them? In the sense that I have to be aware of my strength, my claws, so as not to wound them. In the sense that I have to be aware of the intensity, the wilderness, of my passions, my ecstasies, so as not to burn them. And curbing these intensities, tempering them, has made me feel a bit clumsy? A bit like I have longer hind legs and paws a bit too large for my body? A bit like a creature outside of time?

Anyway, if you want to play, I’m tagging anyone who wants to participate to share their daemon and characteristics! <3

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 27/01/2024 (Noah Kahan/Sam Fender, Benson Boone, Becky Hill/Sonny Fodera)

I think it’s this week that I’ve realised Noah Kahan might be a bonafide star. We’ll get more to it later, but “Stick Season” spends a fourth week at #1 - welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

As always, we start with our notable dropouts, which I define as songs exiting the UK Top 75 (read the FAQ) after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40, and this week wasn’t too busy but it did come with some fair losses. Therefore, we bid adieu to “When We Were Young (The Logical Song)” by David Guetta and Kim Petras, “Stop Giving Me Advice” by Lyrical Lemonade, Jack Harlow and Dave (might be back next week given the album), “Won’t Forget You” by Jax Jones, D.O.D and Ina Wroldsen, assisted by a (bizarrely, credited) “donk” edit featuring The Blackout Crew, “One of Your Girls” by Troye Sivan, “Me & U” by Tems and FINALLY, “Anti-Hero” by Taylor Swift. It feels like it’s been there forever.

When it comes to our returns, we see the oddity of Sam Fender returning to #35 assumingly because of a boost to “Seventeen Going Under” that resulted from… well, you’ll see, but otherwise, we only have a handful of notable gains that, during a pretty dreadful-looking week, show some promise, and no, I don’t mean “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi somehow still here at #59, more so “Praise Jah in the Moonlight” by YG Marley at #51, “Scared to Start” by Michael Marcagi at #47, kind of grew on me, and “Nothing Matters” by The Last Dinner Party at #41… and less so “Toxic” by Songer at #32, please, let’s not do this, and on that same pleading note, “Alibi” by Ella Henderson featuring Rudimental at #26… why?! I suppose on a good note, Flo Milli is up to #17 with “Never Lose Me” and I can’t really complain about Natasha Bedingfield’s second wind at #13 with “Unwritten”, but it is majorly a mixed bag over here.

Our biggest story, however, rests in our top five, as “Homesick” by Noah Kahan debuts at #5, thanks to a version with Sam Fender who, surprisingly enough, is actually credited by the Official Charts Company, probably because, well, it would have no reason to as high as this without him. More on that later, but for now, it’s pretty standard elsewhere - Jack Harlow’s “Lovin’ on Me” at #4, “yes, and?” by Ariana Grande at #3, “Murder on the Dancefloor” by Sophie Ellis-Bextor at #2 and of course, Mr. Kahan still sitting at the very top. Now we have a… considerably unpromising set of new songs to discuss, so I guess we’ve just got to trek through that, and our starting point is…

New Entries

#75 - “Coal” - Dylan Gossett

Produced by Dylan Gossett

There aren’t that many new arrivals this week but the songs apart from one all fall into being either by singer-songwriter types or working as faceless EDM, and if you’ve been following this blog at all, you’d know those two styles really aren’t my thing, but hey, an independent folk singer racking up a streaming giant with a song from last year, notching him licensing with Republic, it could be promising in the same way I like Zach Bryan or even Oliver Anthony, who I assume we will never see again but appears as a recommended song in Mr. Gossett’s Spotify search terms. One has to wonder why and how but first of all, the elephant in the room: Diamonds aren’t made from coal.

I found several articles, both from sustainable energy advocacy outlets like TreeHugger and the people selling diamonds like With Clarity, clarifying that diamonds cannot really be made from coal. Coal is an impure carbon whilst diamonds are purer and whilst pressure is involved in the process, it is not a simple “one equals the other” sum, since coal has too much organic matter to be made into crystalline diamonds, especially since you can see vividly in the colour of rarer diamonds to what other chemicals may be found in them. Now I’m tempted to believe these articles as they’re backed by science, but if I’m wrong and these articles are just using words I don’t understand to spread a mythical debunking of an already existing myth that diamonds originate from coal, which is actually true all this time, then I’ll stand corrected. For now, the main conceit of this song, asking why under all this pressure, how the Hell he’s still “coal”, doesn’t really make much sense, and the rest of the song reads like listing off proverbs and sayings that fit the part but he doesn’t fully understand them or tie them together. Singer-songwriters are supposed to weave stories, when this feels like playing word association with common and universal wisdoms. For all of Oliver Anthony’s imperfect wording, at least you can tie them together to refer to a specific viewpoint, seeing where those views align, without becoming vague “woe is me” platitudes that don’t hold much reason for said pity, or really any narrative detail. You might see this as nitpicking but when it’s just a guy with a guitar, he opens himself up for interpretation and autopsy, possibilities he seems to willingly flail away by displaying disappointingly little to even work with, and as the song fills itself up with non-verses, as tightly as this kind of song can be produced without a particularly impressive vocal performance, one starts to wonder what the appeal in this even is. It’s a non-song, let’s move on.

#71 - “Incredible Sauce” - Giggs featuring Dave

Produced by Payday and David Morse

The #1 album this week was Green Day’s best album in decades. I have a full first-impressions review of Saviors on my RateYourMusic listening log (exclusivelytopostown) and whilst I understand that sales factor in here, I’d have loved for the only song here that bucks the categorical trends I laid out earlier to be a cut from that record. Instead, we have a Giggs song from last year that I’m honestly surprised has yet to chart already, given the Dave feature and that it was released in August of last year. Apart from the… choice of a name, I still don’t really know what level of quality to expect from Giggs, outside of a comical menace that emerges largely from his attempt to be “laidback” that can more accurately be described as an active  coveting of his natural voice to sound much more relaxed than he really is, considering he’s never sounded comfortable with a flow he picks out, which becomes especially clear with Dave on the hook as he actually pulls off sounding effortless. Giggs’ delivery honestly reminds me of Dean Blunt’s satirical British rap project Babyfather more than anything, especially with the half-asleep cadences leaving so much dead air in this eerie, stagnant trap beat. The song doesn’t end with a piece of classic Dave wordplay, though he’s not on his A-game here comparing himself to Sonic the Hedgehog, it just ends with “Lingerie on a special occasion”… okay. That’s barely even a flex, why does it punctuate the track’s final moments? This is just another ugly showing of substanceless pretence from Dave over a pretty minimal beat with an absolutely worthless performance from Giggs, whose verses feel double the length and really halt any possible fun that could be had from Dave’s bite-size verse. Somehow, this ends up much like “Coal” - there’s just nothing here.

#39 - “Whatever” - Kygo and Ava Max

Produced by, well, Kygo

Speaking of nothingness, welcome back, Kygo and Ava Max… Jesus Christ. Okay, well, if anything is the saving grace this week outside of #5, it will be this.

I have just checked the sample credits, I have bad news. To delay the suffering, I will say that I kind of like the production here, the acoustics remind me of Avicii’s pretty seamless blend of folk pop with the anthemic festival house that defined much of his catalogue. Kygo has always been a detailed producer who pays much attention to ensuring his songs are as easy as possible on the ears, and he succeeds in the sense of this being a very pretty little tune with depths of cute synth pads, guitar rolicks and plucky percussion. Ava Max herself actually impresses me a tad here vocally, mostly because since this is a Kygo song, she can belt without clipping unnecessarily in the mix for once. However, and this is a big however, the main hook of the song, its crux, if you will, is a direct interpolation and rewording of the iconic melody to Shakira’s “Whenever, Wherever”, a 2001 single that debuted and peaked at #2 for two weeks in 2002 here in the UK, being kept off the top spot by Will Young’s double A-side of “Anything is Possible” and “Evergreen”. I can’t believe such a classic was blocked by not even Westlife, but a Westlife COVER, yet I digress, this is just a lazy and frankly obnoxious way of using the song’s chorus. Kygo is clearly dipping into the David Guetta pool of reskinning prior hits, and I will give it to him that he’s not just redoing a classic EDM track, this is largely a unique house single, but that may make the last-resort hook that much more disappointing. I’m disappointed in you, Kygo. Not you, Ava Max, you can just do whatever. Albania forever.

#36 - “Skin and Bones” - David Kushner

Produced by Rob Kirwin

Oh, we’re actually making David Kushner a thing, fantastic, that other song just had so much to offer, didn’t it? I feel like I can very quickly summarise this melodramatic, uber-serious noir piano ballad, deepened by some of the ugliest froggy-sounding snaps I’ve heard in pop music and only plunged further into sludge by Kushner’s insufferable lyrics, by just a stray observation. When I clicked on the Genius annotation for the first verse of this song, it was completely empty. At least to the first verse, there’s literally nothing there: an empty annotation box. It may just be a glitch on my part, or it was deleted for whatever reason, but regardless, I think this exemplifies how little this song has to offer: someone attempted to just touch upon the pretty self-explanatory first verse, attempted to offer some wisdom or deeper analysis that seems granted with the cinematic grandeur of it all, and couldn’t cough anything up. Once again, there’s just nothing here.

#34 - “Never be Alone” - Becky Hill and Sonny Fodera

Produced by Sonny Fodera

I mean… it has a pulse at least. In fact, this is much more interesting than I expected for Becky, and not necessarily in a lyrical front, simply because she does not need to do much more than recite boardroom word association over four-on-the-floor, but moreso with her vicious delivery, going into an attack that sounds like it was overpowering the mix before being blended a bit more clearly into the nostalgic breakbeat hardcore rhythm that punctuates a surprisingly long build-up into a… surprisingly unique drop. This is really just a flex show for Sonny Fodera here, but Becky stepped up to the plate to match his passion and energy, bringing more of a rough instinct to the trickling alien synth critter that grounds the 90s pads and rock-solid breakbeats into a killer pre-drop that genuinely took me aback, as did this drop, which completely ditches the breakbeats for a tense hardcore kick and more atmospheric, glitching pads that run through the mix like a spiralling staircase, as Becky’s vocalising becomes little more than an inhuman drone until it’s removed altogether. The intensity of the track, filling up the mix with padded quirks even when the breakbeats are relegated to simple fills, is genuinely unprecedented for Becky Hill, and I’m actually really glad that she is not only on hopping on much more effective and unique production, but stepping out of her comfort zone to riff and meander in a way that she never really lets herself do, even in her looser songs. I am honestly quite shocked, but this is fantastic. If this doesn’t smash like much of Becky’s tighter, more restrictive cuts have in the past few years, I will be immensely disappointed.

#18 - “Beautiful Things” - Benson Boone

Produced by Evan Blair

Sigh… one of my first thoughts when Kushner had success with “Daylight” was how much he seemed cut from the same cloth as Mr. Boone over here, and to be completely honest, the concept of the two charting the same week chased me in my worst of nightmares. Hey, at least my dreams have become reality! To be fair to Booner Boy here, he has what Khrushchev and Gossamer lacked: genuine lyrical detail in the verses. There is a certain dichotomy between the universalities of the choruses and pre-chorus compared to the pretty niche and incredibly lucky situation he’s found himself in during the verses, it almost reminds me of Tom Odell’s “Black Friday” given its wordy mundanity, but that’s only lyrically, as I don’t hear much here connecting the two sonically, especially given the faint bass and reliance on soaring guitars on “Beautiful Things” that makes it almost more of a pop rock tune, one that is surprisingly willing to ditch much of its initial build-up for a desperate screech over stop-and-start staccato guitar rhythms that go way harder than I expected. This is what I’ve been saying Lewis Capaldi should be doing for years, if these moan and drone singer-songwriter sadboys are going to have their voice fit over anything, it’s not basic adult contemporary swells, it’s melodramatic, no-holds-barred pop rock, and this honestly becomes pretty killer by that first chorus. The guy can let out a desperate cry, and I’ll be damned if he’s not convincing as he airs out his paranoia about this perfect relationship breaking down. The second chorus could use some deviation, but I’m a sucker for radio rock that takes itself way too seriously and considering his dire earlier material, this may as well be Mr. Boone: The Animated Series. I really want to hear more of this from this guy, and it seems that these last few songs may be the light at the end of the tunnel for an unpromising week.

#5 - “Homesick” - Noah Kahan and Sam Fender

Produced by Noah Kahan and Gabe Simon

Okay, it’s Noah Kahan: there is a base level of quality here and I am actually always excited to hear a new song from him because at least there’s always a lot to uncover and appreciate even if the song isn’t great or has some grating element throwing a spanner in the cogs. This is especially true with Sam Fender in play, as this raises the standard of quality to at least bearable and at its worst, it’s going to be an interesting and perhaps powerful narrative… and if we’re talking about lyrical detail, I mean, Kahan’s your man, almost too much so given some of the awkward wording in that original version from his Stick Season album. On hearing those church organs sliding just slightly off the careening heartland rock groove, I knew exactly why Mr. Fender ended up on this specific song, and this actually lets Kahan let out a little, have a little more fun as he vocalises playfully about his frustrations, delivered largely in the form of punchlines, about his slow small town, with the chorus being him breaking down and basically begging for a reason to grab him out of that place, even if it’s where he grew up, using an on-the-nose but still fun play on words with the term “homesick”. I do wish there was a bit more to its mid-section, it feels like it stagnates a bit once we reach the chorus for the first time, mostly structurally. I want to hear more of Kahan’s stray, funny observations, but we don’t really get more of that even with the ramped-up intensity and a guitar solo way too Weezer-coded for me to not get a stupid grin on my face.

As for the Fender version, well, this is the best-implemented anyone has been in these Kahan duets yet, given Fender brings a new verse giving a unique and personal story about the background of riots in northern England that informed his town, injecting further reason to why one may be Kahan’s form of “homesick”, but also, despite being more strikingly intimate and less darkly comic in his observations, finding a valid and heartfelt reason to live his life outside of that home town: the dreams his father set out for him lay far away from where they were instilled. It adds a lot of depth to the song, and whilst Kahan and Fender don’t play off each other incredibly well, they have a decent chemistry that from interviews with Dork and People seem to have arisen from very similar hapless upbringings and recurring topics in both catalogues. Additionally, I like Fender’s voice more than Kahan’s, and the harmonies fill out the  mix so it’s a tad more impactful, so I think this new version actually beats out the original. I’m also pretty happy that this week, starting off with a lot of mediocrity and not exactly a promising set of artists for me, personally, ended up surprising me with that three-track run by the end, and trailing off with two killer rock songs is the best way to make me feel a lot happier about a week as a whole.

Conclusion

I’m relatively predictable, especially when we get alt-rock on the charts, so I feel like despite how much I liked the Becky Hill song, it’s no surprise that Benson Boone ends up snabbing an insanely close Best of the Week for “Beautiful Things”. It was pretty much neck-and-neck with “Homesick” by Noah Kahan and Sam Fender, which is of course the Honourable Mention, and whilst I think that it is lyrically more insightful, there’s an instinctual raucousness to the emotion in The Booney One’s track that just hits that bit harder. As for the worst, I mean David Kushner obviously gets Worst of the Week pretty much effortlessly with “Skin and Bones”, but I do think I was just frustrated enough with Dylan Gossett to grant his song “Coal” with the Dishonourable Mention. At least Giggs wasn’t trying to say anything profound, and if he was, then I sincerely worry for him.

What’s on the horizon next? God knows, it’s January, but Justin Timberlake has a comeback single, Tom Odell has an album, it may be the week of even more whiny white dudes. Story of my life. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you perhaps a bit earlier than next week.

[j2memories]

Telegraph India article (October 19th 2013)

Supernatural siblings

WE ARE BROTHERS FOR LIFE, SUPERNATURAL HUNKS JARED PADALECKI AND JENSEN ACKLES TELL T2 Priyanka Roy What Would You Tell Jared And Jensen If You Met Them? Tell T2@abp.in   Published 19.10.13, 12:00 AM

Through nine seasons, the Winchester brothers — Dean and Sam — have battled demons, busted metaphysical myths and redefined chills and thrills on the small screen. In an email chat, Jared Padalecki (who plays Sam) and Jensen Ackles (who plays Dean) tell t2 about the show (Season 9 currently airs Monday to Thursday at 8pm on AXN) that’s made them a household name across the world.

When you were first approached to play brothers who bust ghosts and hunt down devils, did you ever think that Supernatural would become the show it is today?

Jared Padalecki: We’re one of the longest running shows on television! When I turned 31 (on July 19 this year), I remember thinking, ‘Wow… I’m 31 and this is my ninth season. This is a third of my life!’ It’s pretty amazing. I feel that what we’re doing this season could go on for however long the writers, and the fans, want to keep it going. We’ve opened so many doors and we didn’t close any... we didn’t kill this or stop that, we just left it so that we can do anything. What the writers have chosen to do is so awesome. I want to strangle them because I’m really excited about it — but I’m not allowed to tell you anything more at this stage. My hands are tied.

How does Season 9 carry the drama forward?

Jared: Season Nine is really cool! I’m more excited about shooting this season than any other season of Supernatural. I was really excited when I read the first five scripts and I think they are the best five episodes I’ve ever read, including Season One. As an actor, and as a fan of the show, I’m really excited about it. I am certain that the fans are going to think the storyline is badass this season. And I’m really hoping that they like my choices as an actor when they see what happens.

At the end of last year, Sam was not getting better. Well, this storyline will explain how Sam gets better. Dean says, ‘Hey buddy, stop the trials and you’re not going to die.’ And so Sam does stop the trials, but clearly he does not get better. We know that at some point between then and the second episode of Season Nine, he gets better and you’ll find out why immediately.

How much of Sam is Jared and how much of Dean is Jensen?

Jared: I grew up with Sam — I started the show when I was 22. I even met my wife (Genevieve Cortese who played Ruby) on this show. In fact, now I try to find similarities between the character and my own personality.

Jensen Ackles: The longer we become these characters, go through so much on and off, we get a greater clarity about ourselves. Now I know the clear differences between Dean and me. The only exception being that we look exactly alike!

What’s been the most challenging bit about playing Sam and Dean?

Jensen: I’d say... just I think, the emotional toll that he has sometimes where he doesn’t think that he is of value, that he isn’t equal to the people that he surrounds himself with. He’ll put other people first before himself. He’s very quick to sacrifice himself, and that’s difficult. I think it’s also a noble trade. 

Jared: And I feel Sam is very pensive and he’s very fastidious when he’s trying to get a task done. And Jared’s like that. I read instruction booklets, I really do... when I get something, I can’t buy something and just go like, ‘Oh, I’ll figure it out.’ I read and re-read it and I try and really figure everything out. And I like that... Sam kind of takes that approach. And I guess before I started acting, I was going to be an engineer, and maybe that’s what it comes from, just that kind of break everything down to put it all back together, reverse engineering or whatever. However, sometimes I feel like I wish Sam would make a hard decision.

Do you believe in the supernatural?

Jensen: I wouldn’t call myself superstitious, but I do suspect there’s more between heaven and earth... even hell. I’m open for spiritual experiences, although I haven’t needed any salt yet to ward off evil spirits from my home!

Jared: I firmly believe that things happen for a reason. That may sound melodramatic, but I don’t believe coincidence exists. And I also believe we’re not the only living creatures in this universe.

Which have been your favourite moments on the show so far?

Jensen: My favourite moment is when the brothers made a commitment to each other in the church. This is a commitment that they’re going to check in with each other... that they are going to remain partners and stay on the same track and not be like, ‘You go do this while I go and do that, and we’ll all try to solve the world our own way.’

Is there anything you would want to change about Dean and Sam?

Jared: There’s a term we use, to “man up” — “man up and get the job done”. Sam ends up making a decision, but I don’t think he takes a stand. There’s a small difference, and I wish he’d take a stand sometimes.

You guys have been sharing screen space through nine seasons. What kind of a dynamic do you share off screen?

Jensen: That’s almost impossible to explain. Nine months a year we’re stuck with each other literally 24 hours a day, seven days a week because we’re working on the show. Even doing stuff for ourselves in between isn’t possible. We’re constantly together. And even when we’re not actually working together during the nine months, or the other three months out of the year for that matter, we always find ourselves choosing to hang out and be together. But what I’m saying is, if you compare our relationship with Dean and Sam’s relationship on the show, there is a huge difference. Jared never drives me up the wall.We can talk to each other about anything.

Whenever we’ve fought, it’s been for each other! Like, I’ll do or say something and he will too and the other one might not like it, but in the end we’re doing it to help or protect them and it’s never against him. I think we do have that loyalty and I can honestly say you know, I’d trust my life with this guy and I guess in relevance to Dean for Sam, I would jump in front of a bullet for him any day and never think twice.

Jared: And the best part about Jensen and my relationship is it’s gonna be that way when we’re on the show and not. I mean, unfortunately for him, he’s stuck with me for life now and that’s important. But look, brothers and sisters, for that matter, sometimes fight. Or worse... they can’t get along at all. Between Jensen and me there have never been any issues and I think that’s rather special.

Jensen: We’re best friends, period. He’s my best friend for life. I don’t think it’s that remarkable, but it’s definitely special.

Are you aware that you have a huge fan following in India?

Jared: I was so surprised when I was informed that we have a huge fan following in India. Until recently, I had no idea that the show was even airing in India! It feels so good to know we have fans across the continent.

Jensen: I had no idea either. Jared and I both found out about it together! We are dying to come to India... it would be amazing.

What’s the craziest thing a fan has done for you?

Jared: The people will come up and be like, ‘Oh, my gosh! I saw an episode where this happened and it made me think of this time when I saw this.’ And you’re like: ‘What did you do? Get the salt?’ So the fans are pretty funny. The fans of the show are certainly. They’re not casual fans. People, if they know the show, they know the show, which is nice. It’s wonderful to have such a dedicated audience and a loyal following. It’s become part of the show and we’ve made episodes about our fans. So that’s fun, and they certainly share their stories with us.

Source: telegraphindia.com - October 19th 2013, written by Priyanka Roy

Link to the article

[meanwhileinstasiville]

And so on the 1st, the *only* car I encountered walking the alleyways around town, was a 501-plated z71 at the intersection of 6th street.

Because nobody has anywhere to be. Saturating the upper city park earlier that day, were people clad in what I used to call “olive green” but really, it’s somewhere between marijuana and army green. And *only* the parents, most of them men. I left out the part where on any day of the week, not unlike “Clock Town “ Majora’s Mask, there are people attendant to “zones” throughout the city park. In my case specifically, you can “happen” to meet the exact same couple walking the path at a certain bridge *any time of day* you approach it. (because there’s a semi famous theater here that only operates a certain season, freeing the actors to freelance the rest of the time)

Sort of a dye in the water for gang presence since “the fires” and America’s inflation problem, and some housing market failures, among other things. I would say “but it’s New Years!” like a whiny white person, but the intersection of company town and cartel doesn’t care; having their way every day of the week in any and all situations, as it were.

The roof leaks at the most expensive store in town, with a restaurant in house, and a “cooperative” of investors backing it up. Can’t afford to fix it *somehow*. Some new year for them. And someone there owes me a bag of Peet’s coffee gifted me by a church food pantry donor. Again, some new year.

Safeway is as bad as its ever been since the remodel; three separate trips, three different minority cashiers open a line in front of where I’m standing. Some Portuguese woman opens up at moderate business, directly in front of me (because Portuguese is like Spanish sort of, and Mexicans have reason to believe they can become white here), first trip. Second trip, black woman new hire opens up at no business in particular. Third trip, next day, just to test the theory, turns out to be a seeming gay coded Italian. 

(Not a coincidence, as I had said, because the gang presence runs out of the office where I used to work be it Latin King, MS-13, Aryan Brotherhood, skinhead this or that, even the p-stones that used to meet at the defunct vinyl club below the now closed “pita pit” intersect there)

Since the Safeway remodel, I’ve seen some pretty interesting happenings there. Several people have returned the *exact* number of cans and/or bottles to max out the counter of the machine right in front of me. And there’s was the hope of a sort of “cockfight” on camera at one point, too. Semi-truck parks crooked shielding the “cage” of the bottle return area from sight with his 53′ trailer. While the wide eyed meth/heroin something or other guy cuts the upholstery from the driver’s side of car with a decent size knife. Of course, he keeps it out and pointed in front of him in stabbing fashion as he throws away parts of his car in the store garbage. Truck leaves, he leaves. QED, someone was expecting a “show” behind the store camera feed to that side of the building. Yesterday was extra special, because a person was returning bottles at a lazy pace as though waiting for something specific to come to pass (I had thought maxing out the counter, as cartel types had done before), which actually turned out to be the sound of Suburban starting. He said he was “struggling” in passing at the *exact* moment a sort of distinct 454 engine rev (like one of my parents vehicles a long time ago) matched up with his presenting his “profile” not so different my late old man’s; this kind of stuff is normal here.

And full disclosure style, completely ignores how I grew up, whatever end the gang harassment is geared toward. Sometimes I think it’s the neighboring town’s drug kingpin wanting to re-up on whiteness (which is an old story that no one wants to hear). Other times, I think its the bay area siccario (who is super white) retired here about town, who may or may not have “daddy issues”. There’s of course the long standing “3rd” option unique to Oregon, where Mexicans have done all sorts of funny and imaginative things believing them to confer “whiteness” without actually making changes. Somewhere in here I should mention that food portions at dinnertime, were based on how attractive my mom was feeling on that particular day (and that her diagnostic history was three feet thick); loveable? Hearty, nutritious things, like sloppy joes and sides that were easy to digest. Not so much (and this is all subjective beyond anyone in the house at the time to reconcile), and a single can of beef with barley soup was a “meal”. In a family of four with a monthly food budget of thousands of dollars (no joke). 

I’m pretty dang sure that that specific practice around dinner time was inspired by the Latino family of her first husband, combined with a mental breakdown and a touch of insanity. I should also mention in lieu of that, that my grandfather was at one time the sort who could break your arm for fun. Calling 911 about that, would net a callback asking for him by name, to make sure he hadn’t “intended” you to have a broken arm. 

(these are real things from real life)

And speaking of reports of missing coffee, I happened to see the “loss prevention” lady from another store (maybe where I used to work) at the other end of town, at Safeway. A solid highlight that all crime is organized where I live, and sometimes these things are intentional, and people want attention for them in the aftermath. So of course, loss prevention lady was with someone wearing that “army green” I spoke of, like every single customer on the front end of Safeway at the time I was there, who *just so happened to be male*. Every single one of them. And one woman. 

Great dye in the water for white supremacist street gangs, that “uniform”. I’m beginning to wonder when we’ll begin to have “BLM” style problems of our own, in one of the whitest towns in America historically. Bread and circuses style to keep the “peace” between the cartels, nazis, neonazis, and other gangs, on the backs of people’s academy training and/or center mass shooting drills. It’s not a good look. 

[yandere-sins]

Past and Future

Horrortober Day 2: Decision  |  “It’s your decision. Choose wisely.”

Day 2 woop! Got a chance to work on my Kazuha a bit more. I hope to write for him more in the future!

Warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Possessiveness, Stalking Mention Characters: Kadehara Kazuha x Reader

Kazuha couldn’t not notice the yearning in your gaze as you looked across the plaza at your old friends. These scumbags. Wannabe goody-two-shoes. Oh, how much he despised them. And yet, you longed for their laughter in your ears, the wrinkles in their eyes as they grinned and smiled at each other cheerfully. They were celebrating something Kazuha didn’t know about. But undoubtedly, you remembered after having been close to them since early childhood. 

And yet, you didn’t belong to their circle anymore. You hadn’t been invited to wine and laughter, food and celebration. Instead, you absentmindedly squeezed his hand tighter, and Kazuha took that as a sign. “Come on,” he mumbled, watching how sadness overcame you with every passing second. Frustration and anger, but mostly disappointment, snaked their way into your expression. You had been so excited for today, going out with him, exploring Liyue Harbor with your boyfriend, but the mood was ruined now. 

When you didn’t react, Kazuha used his free arm to lay it around you, pushing you forward despite your feet being unwilling to move. Part of you wanted to go to your friends, to join them in their festivity. But without being invited, you were way too hesitant to approach, and it hurt you even more. Your head hung low as you two finally disappeared in the crowd of people working and shopping, the night market making for a great scene. Still, you couldn’t take it in anymore after remembering your past heartbreak now.

Kazuha wasn’t the type to leave you alone, never wishing to be separated from the warmth and comfort you gave him by being by his side, but in your depressed state, it was hard to do anything with you. Placing you on a bench, Kazuha left to get you something to drink. His mind was wrecking itself of how to help you as he bought your favorite, seasonal beverage, still hot and steaming in its cup, and brought it back to you. 

Unfortunately, no one heard the clattering sound as he dropped it, watching you talk with some of your old friends. When did they come over to talk? Why were they here? How did they notice you? Why now of all times? This was his evening. His time with you. And yet, you hadn’t been as happy with him all night as you were when you talked to them. Kazuha’s expression changed from worried to upset as he had to watch you laugh with them, even though the mood seemed awkward from afar. Maybe they were apologizing, or perhaps just trying to replicate the good old times with you, but you seemed very receptive to their presence, smiling in a way that you never did when you were with Kazuha. 

It had taken a lot to break you guys apart. Not willingly, but they weren’t a good influence for you. He had never done anything to them, but one day they had decided they didn’t like the way he looked at you. That Kazuha was too ‘possessive’ and that the ‘took up all your time’. They told you to stay away from the outsider, to ignore the soft, wonderful feelings you two had for each other—the strong bond you were forming with your boyfriend. Your friends decided he wasn’t good for you but were they really your friends when they made you choose between them and your love? Gods, he hated what they did to you. Hated how miserable they could make you. You had been so nervous and anxious after they started harassing you to leave him, crying at night and into his shoulder when you didn’t know what to do. The first time you said you loved him was while you were assuring him that you still had feelings for him; that being the reason why it was so hard on you to be forced to make this decision. It wasn’t a romantic moment, but one filled with tears. Kazuha would never forgive them for robbing him of his amazing confession from your lips.

However, in the end? You chose him—naturally. You chose him for this very reason. Because you love him. Kazuha never made you decide. Sure, he didn’t like your friends, but he didn’t go out of his way to engage with them. He only ever had eyes for you, following you whenever you met with your so-called friends and making sure you’d be safe from them. However, he was better than them, and even if they made you cry on your way home, he never once went back to hurt them just as much as they hurt you, even if his blood was boiling. Kazuha would rather spend his time comforting you, asserting his place in your heart, than stick to the ones who were desperately trying to tear him out of said place. 

But maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have demanded that you decide on one side. After all, you were already distancing yourself from these people that kept hurting you in the name of ‘only wanting the best for you’. He was the best for you. There was nothing that could be better for you than Kazuha. He was strong; he was safe for you. No one else tended to you as gently and lovingly as he did. Comforted you when you were down. You had to wear the burden of everyone around you, but Kazuha only committed to you and your worries. He was the saving grace and the helping hand you needed in your desperation. The person your friends should have been if you had actually mattered to them. 

In return, you were the same for him. You gave his life a meaning that he had long searched for. A new friend and a love to wake his lonely heart again. No one could ever stir him like you did, and he was thankful. Thankful for the opportunity to be by your side, to warm you on cold nights, and to tell you about the past he never shared with anyone else. You were the listener he wanted; gave him the attention he needed. And Kazuha...

Kazuha wouldn’t lose you now. He couldn’t lose someone again. Not you.

Marching up to you and your friends gathering around, he listened to the meaningless conversation you had. “We’re sorry for saying such harsh things,” and “We were worried about you.” Loads of empty words, in his opinion. But seeing your eyes tear up at them made his heart sting and his blood boil all over again. It made him furious. Furious for you. You deserved so much better than these lies. They didn’t care about you!

Pushing through them without roughly, Kazuha only looked at you, finding your eyes instantly. You were surprised by his appearance but quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and returning to the silly, little smile you usually graced him with. One that was as empty as your friend’s words. One you adapted just to please him and not worry him further, but once he’d put an end to this, Kazuha knew you’d be able to smile at him properly again with a sincere one. 

“Choose,” he prompted, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion while your friends began to grow tense and murmur between themselves. 

“These people-” he made a vague gesture between the few gathered around, “-aren’t good for you, and you know it. They dropped you when you needed them the most while I’ve been with you all this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathed, but Kazuha didn’t confirm your wish. He was serious, even if that meant upsetting you. This was for the best. “It’s your decision. Them or me. Choose wisely.”

“That’s unfair!” one of your friends cried out, upset about his intention, and Kazuha looked at them sharply from the corner of his eye, silencing them effectively. “It’s not unfair,” he shut their argument down, looking only at you as he spoke. “They made you choose first and broke your heart. I never have and never will hurt you. But I am not so sure about the people who already did it once.”

Kazuha’s words had impact; he could see it in your eyes. You, too, remembered the bad times that felt like your heart was ripped into pieces by the people you put so much trust in. And instead, it had been him who was there, making sure you ate and drank in your troubled times, and got rest when you needed it. Even if there was no luxury in his life, he still had been a better friend than any of them. Kazuha completely missed that he suggested dropping you the same way your friends had when he made you choose. He didn’t want to believe you would choose anyone over him after all he did for you. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. That’s how love worked. 

“I love you.” 

A dirty trick. One that your friends couldn’t use. Kazuha directly pulled at your heartstrings, making you miss a breath as you grew even more blindsided. “I don’t want to lose you, again,” he didn’t hesitate to add, noticing how your friends’ faces grew worried and upset at his words. He was hinting at the bad time you two had gone through. The one that made a part of you die. But you only looked down, hands balling into fists as you felt conflicted. There was no need for you to wreck your pretty head over these nobodies, Kazuha decided, holding out his hand. You only needed him—as much as he needed you. 

Timidly, you reached for his hand, and he gripped yours tightly, pulling you up from your seat and after him, away from these fake friends and their fake worry without another word to them. “It’s better like this,” he assured you, dragging you through the crowd so you wouldn’t be able to look back at your past. He was before you, your future, and he wouldn’t let anyone take you from him and ruin this for you. 

But when you were unresponsive, he threw a glance back over his shoulder, noticing the tears streaming down your eyes. You two came to a stop as he turned around, cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss. Even though your hands came to rest against his chest, pushing, you never managed to escape his grip, forced to kiss him until neither of you could hold your breath anymore. Leaning his forehead against yours, you were left speechless, but not Kazuha.

“I love you. I love you so much. Promise me you’ll never go back to them.” It was hard to commit to that, but his hands grew tighter around your face, desperate to hear it. “You chose me,” he insisted, pain swinging in his voice. “You’re not leaving me.”

There was no way of saying where those emotions came from, but he didn’t give you time to think them over. This was the future he chose, by your side. And that night, you chose it too, even if you ended up not liking it once you found out that your friends had been right all along.

[foxwritesstuffsometimes]

In defence of Billy Hargrove (part two: affects of abuse)

Billy Hargrove was not the best of people. Despite what antis may suggest, the majority of us can acknowledge that, I’m not going to sit here and fully defend his actions, because many of the things he did were pretty reprehensible, but I’d like to go further into the affects of his upbringing and it’s possible affects on his behaviour. And most of all, despite his actions, I still hold firmly onto the belief, that he deserved a second chance.

Billy Hargrove lived a pretty shitty life. His father was an awful person who abused him, and the mother that was present in his life (his step mother Susan) stood by and watched this abuse happen with little intervention. To grow up without parental love is extremely damaging, from a psychological point of view, we all need a certain amount of nurture to grow up, to grow into ourselves, and to grow up without that may sometimes lead to little to no self esteem. This is what I believe resulted in some of Billy’s behaviour.

Throughout the shows runtime Billy is portrayed as arrogant, confidant, flirty and brash, with little to no cracks in the mask, however the little slip ups we see in his behaviour are very telling towards his real mindset. People who are miserable often put up facades to distract the world of how they really feel, and oftentimes to distract themselves as well. I believe Billy Hargrove was no different. He grew up beaten and bruised by his father, with no real mother to rely on, learned through experience that any show of real emotion could land him a beating, so hardened himself and created a new exterior within himself to protect himself from showing any weakness.

A couple times we really see him break, both in season three are the scene where he is trapped in the sauna by the main crew, and towards the end when he sacrifices himself to save them. The first scene in the sauna, we see him distraught, trying desperately to convince max that the killings he committed under the mindflayers influence weren’t his fault, miserable, and broken, far from the character that we witnessed prior. And the second, his final scene, he is finally shown comfort by someone, eleven, and sacrifices himself to save his sister and her friends. I for one, hate the majorities of this trope of redemption, but somehow I believe this one was a lot deeper than meets the eye. Billy Hargrove, I believe, hated himself. He was a miserable person who likely believed he was just as much of a monster as his father, so it’s telling that in his final moments, the first time we really see him being shown comfort within the show, he chooses to sacrifice himself to save the girl who showed it to him. However despite this I cannot fully agree with Billy’s passing, as I believe the notion that abuse victims can only find solace through their deaths as a pretty disgusting take.

Trauma is an extremely heavy load to carry. It can lead to feelings of misery, loneliness, anger, and hatred towards yourself and the world in general. Billy’s behaviour in my mind, seemed to wildly stem from this. He treated max poorly because he never really learned to treat her with care, something he himself hadn’t felt since his biological mother was around and he lashed out at the people he wanted to be close to (Steve Harrington in particular), because he didn’t know how else to get their attention. In my mind, Billy Hargrove was an extremely damaged and sad individual, and truly the fact that most other people can’t really see past someone’s anger to the underlying pain within is pretty upsetting to me.

Sibling relationships are complicated, I would know as I have three younger sisters. In the past I was pretty horrible to them myself. Taking out your pain on the people who you are close to isn’t as uncommon as you’d think, especially if seemingly they don’t see how much your hurting. Max and Susan became a part of Billy’s life after Neil Hargrove remarried. In my mind I believe there was a high likelihood that Billy had begun to get abused long before Susan and max joined the family, so it is likely the anger and resentment he had been feeling had already begun boiling over. Billy was already hurt and miserable, and I can only imagine how much more hurt he would feel seeing how max and Susan were treated in contrast to himself. Neither were beaten as far as we know, Neil was never shown to be violent to either, so seeing this I can imagine Billy only became worse off, more miserable and angry that ever before.

Billy was never really able to show any signs of redemption throughout season two, but we see a couple glimmers of hope in season three where him and max have appeared to grow closer. Max was the only one who seemed unable to accept Billy being possessed by the mindflayer, she seemed miserable, worried, and most of all I’m a state of pretty heavy denial, and I believe despite how poorly they seemed to get on, they both still cared about each other deep down. I’m unsure if max was aware of Neil’s mistreatment towards Billy, but when season four hit and she seemed in such a heavy state of grieving for him, I found myself really wishing that they’d had a chance to be close one day.

I will not sit and excuse Billy’s behaviour, like I said before, he did some pretty shitty things. But I think seeing through the complexities of a persons actions can lead to a much healthier mindset. Billy was never able to break away from his abuse. He was never able to get better, never able to get therapy and never able to build a healthier relationship with his sister. If it were up to me he would’ve been redeemed in a much healthier and more complex way. If it were up to me, his character would be written in a show with much better writers who cared enough to handle his character with the care it deserved. Despite his actions, I still love Billy’s character. It’s not often we see a character like him that’s deeper than meets the eye, and god it’s been nice being able to really connect to a character in the way I have to him. It’s not often that abuse/trauma victims are given a character to represent how we feel. And that’s why it’s so saddening that he was handled so poorly, people like us, we need hope, and if we’re treated like monsters, as was the case for Billy, things will only get worse.

(Let me know if I missed anything, been a while since I watched season 2+3, final part will be out tomorrow)

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

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The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That’s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh —” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[queerofthedagger]

Look I like, talk a lot about how much I love Arthur but I feel like I rarely if ever elaborate, and it's 4 am and I'm running on little sleep but --

The thing about Arthur is, he isn't just inherently good. No, my boy grew up in an environment so fucking toxic, as a social worker I can say with confidence that it's a miracle that he didn't turn out really, really horrible.

Privileged to his teeth, no positive, caring influence in his life apart from -maybe!- some nannies, and a father that makes my pedagogical heart throw bricks. Like. There's absolutely no positive, constant role model whatsoever, the best influence you can argue for is Gaius and well. Let's just say the road to hell is paved with good intentions and leave it at that.

Do you think Arthur got hugged as a child? Told that he was doing great? That whatever he was into at the time was appreciated? That Uther ever took the time to sensibly explain what happened to his mother? That it wasn't his fault? Do you think Uther ever told Arthur that Ygraine's death wasn't his fault? And if you do, do you think it was convincing? Because Uther sure as hell considered it at least partly Arthur's fault and believe me when I say that kids sense this shit.

Arthur might've been cared for on a material level but honestly? I think that's about it and let me tell you that it's not even anywhere close to enough. Not, like, at all. I want to cry just thinking about it and to draw a real-life comparison - kids I work with that come from these kinds of situations struggle so badly because there's a whole axis of guilt to it. Of course, there are loads of kids who have it way worse but we're talking about children and this is not the trauma Olympics.

Anyway. "I've been trained to kill since birth." Ever think about a 6, 7 year old Arthur who gets a wooden sword pressed into his hands, not for fun but for a training that is ingrained in him, will be his whole purpose? Ever think of Uther always finding him lacking and him not having any real friends because again, kids sense this kind of shit? Ever think about a 15-year-old child being forced to murder people? Ever think about how disgustingly ingrained the whole "sense of duty" thing is and where it comes from? That shit doesn't go as deep as making someone who's in their early 20's willing to sacrifice their life if you start telling them at 16. And even that is disgusting but anyway.

Arthur's whole existence, from the moment he could understand it, was always aimed at duty and responsibility and what Uther wanted from him. I'd bet the little money I have in my bank account that Uther made damn well sure there were no outside influences to "tarnish" the mind of his heir; and I'm not only talking about magic.

And yet. And yet, the moment there actually was an outside influence, the second Merlin stumbled into his life, "I know I'm just a servant and my word doesn't mean anything," Arthur fucking Pendragon leapt that shit up. Lancelot, maybe a commoner and forged his sigil but if he can't be a knight, the code is wrong. Let's go save a druid child Uther is turning the castle upside down over because Morgana and Merlin asked (and if this wasn't a recent change, Morgana would've enlisted his help much sooner, fight me.) Ealdor. The unicorn, obviously magic and because Merlin said so. Etc etc I could go on and this is just season one.

This is getting ridiculously rambly and long and is basically just an incoherent version of my extensive Arthur character analysis but what I mean to say is: yeah maybe he didn't legalise magic in the first four years of his damned rule, and there are definitely things he could've handled better or where his character was just inconsistent (though I'm also going to die on the hill that opposed to what tv shows make you believe, actual change of ingrained beliefs and behaviours does take a lot of time and in that regard, Arthur was maybe more realistic than this fandom was ready for. Anyway.) Considering the 100 bad experiences compared to the maybe 3 good ones with magic, Arthur did fucking great and I'm so tired of people shitting on all he did in the context of his reign/the show.

Uther was a tyrant, and he was an abusive, horrible father, and frankly it's a wonder Arthur didn't simply end up worse than him. No one ever really took a leap of faith on him - and I don't blame them, no one is ever required to reveal something about themselves that could put them into danger (unrelated but yes this applies to Merlin telling Morgana too, deal with it) - and there was little to nothing provided that could've prompted him to change his mind in the first place. And yet he kept questioning it. I'm sorry yeah it's not the Golden Age and it's oh-so-easy to find a single culprit to blame it all on but Arthur is not it, it's -imo- never what the show was about, and I'm just about ready to throw hands over this.

Arthur wasn't just inherently good, he fought and worked to be better, constantly, and to be honest that is bloody hard and it eludes me how people can not see this.

[macybeckham7]

Grid Kids

Azalea #5

Azalea was sat in the paddock, there was a red flag and she found herself clicking on the interview Lewis and Cairo did together. It was ahead of this season, they were sat in the living room of the London house. 

‘Who is your favourite child?’ Cairo smirks. 

Lewis rolls his eyes. ‘It depends on the day, which ever one isn’t giving me a headache’ he laughs. ‘And that is mostly Lea’ he adds. She smiles down at the screen. 

‘Who is your biggest rival going to be this season?’ he reads the card in his hand. 

‘Truthfully, Azalea. You know she is a Hamilton and I believe she has more natural talent than me, and with Michael, they seem like a scary team’ he admits. 

She looks around the paddock and finds him sat on the chair with Adelaide sat on his lap, they were both in their own little world. For her, she was always so jealous of her brother, he exuded talent, he had more talent in his little finger than all her 5′6 self. She could go on track and leave everything out there, and he could easily do the same, but with less effort. 

She searching up the driving standings, clicked on the link and waited for it to load up. 

Driving Championship table: 

C Hamilton- 291

A Hamilton - 290

J Verstappen- 289

J Leclerc- 287

There was still a lot to play for. And that was what excited the fans. It was the Grid Kids all competing. 

There was suddenly hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze which made her pull a face, she looks up and saw Michael Schumacher. Since she was young, she had always looked up to him, he was one of her hero's. He saw her as his own, while a lot of people pushed Cairo, he saw her as the next big thing. There was a lot of times the two of them got into a big argument, and both leaving with a limp like a wounded animal, but their love never faded. Lewis trusted him with his daughters career and knew he would walk to the end of the Earth for her. 

‘How are you my little lion cub?’ he asks still massaging her shoulders, not letting her get away from him. 

He has always called her a lion cub, because she was still a baby (in the formula one world) and despite her cuteness, she was dangerous and could do damage if you go to her unprotected. And it was only a matter of time till she grew up to be a lion, the king (or queen) of the jungle. 

‘Ok’ she nods. Before the red flag she was in pole position, there was only 10 laps to go, so this couldn’t of come at a bad time for her. 

‘You have Cairo and the Jack-ass behind you, defend and do not let them pass’ he explains. The Jack-ass being Jules, safe to say he wasn’t a big fan of him. He had comforted her, most occassions. When she felt her heart was being blended, he was there to tell her ‘he doesn’t deserve you, you are a diamond’. 

That was probably why she didn’t have him back or forgive him so quickly. Azalea would do anything for him, she hated him for how he made her feel. But she loved him more. And that was also probably why she was giving Jacob a chance. ‘He is a good kid’ he mumbles as he sent her some flowers to the Ferrari office. ‘He can’t do any worse than the fucker’ he smiles. 

The race finished with Azalea on pole and Jacob second with Cario coming in third. Jacob suggested that the three of them should go for food. ‘Can’t I’m sorry, you two have fun though’ he smiles. 

So that was why the two were in a booth in a sushi place. Jacob’s arm was wrapped around the back of Azalea as they talked. When they weren’t hating each other they actually got on. Jacob was telling a funny story about how he had a few dates with a girl and they were on a trail on two horses. And how his horse got spooked and he couldn’t for the life of him stop the horse, so he was holding on for his life. Her head goes back as she was properly laughing about the story, making tears come out of her eyes, as Jacob just watched her. 

‘Well what do we have here?’ a voice appears, they both look up and see Jules. ‘Been texting you and find out you are here with him, couldn’t you find someone better, at least make me jealous’ he says before getting into the booth. 

Azalea shifts awkwardly while Jacob moves his arm and the two making room between them. 

‘This is cute’ he smiles between the two of them. ‘How long has this been going on?’ he raises his brows at Azalea. 

‘I don’t know why you are offended, aren’t you the one who cheated on her?’ Jacob asks. 

Jules ignores him as he just stares at Azalea. Even though she wouldn’t like to admit it, he was only a few people who really knew her. It felt like he could see into her soul which freaked her out. She dropped the eye contact, which just made him laugh.

‘Fuck you!’ you snaps looking up at him. ‘Fuck you for making me fall in love with you, making me bring my walls down just for you to fuck me over!’ she says a little too loudly than she expected. 

The three of them didn’t care that they had everyone’s attention. ‘I know that it was nothing about me, I know my worth’ she smiles. ‘You should leave’ 

Jacob stands up and tells him that he needed to leave, he laughs as he stands up to him. Azalea didn’t hear what he whispered into his rivals ear, but it must of been bad as Jacob swung for him and punched him in the jaw. And next minute they were having a fight. Jacob had Jules on the floor and was punching him, and then they switched. 

‘Jules get off him!’ Azalea shouts, she looks around shouting for anyone to help. 

That night, Azalea stayed with Jacob. She got the first aid kit out as he refused to go to A&E. And they shared a kiss. 

----

The whole week Azalea and Jacob were together, they travelled together and slept cuddled up. Max and Lewis giving each other questioning looks. It was news to them that they could even stand to be in each other’s company let alone all over each other. 

There was extra eyes on Azalea ahead of the GP that weekend. She kept her earphones on to block out the noise. She was starting sandwiched between the two of them, which made it even more exciting. Jules was zoned in and could see the massive target on the #5. The red lights light up above the grid cars and then the flag was waved and it was go time. All the cars weaved around each other as everyone wanted to find a gap to get further up the grid. Jules gets up the side of Azalea which makes her in the middle of him and Jacob. She was closed in and she suddenly went up. All her wheels were off the floor and she goes into the board. 

It was like slow motion, she knew it was inevitable that she was going to have a bad impact. 

You could hear a pin drop around the track. The red flag was being waved as Michael told Cairo it was Azalea. He parks up on the side, as the cars all go past him. ‘Cairo what are you doing?’ Michael asks. He unbuckles himself and climbs out the car, he didn’t care about the points, or the race or even the season, He just needed to know his little sister was alright. The dust settled from the gravel and he saw how the car was. A steward holds onto him as he was shouting her name. Lewis and Michael were stood together just watching on in shock, both praying. Adelaide held Gisela as she was crying. 

Jules and Jacob walk into the paddock, Gisela launches for the ex and starts hitting his chest, blaming him. 

Cairo goes to the car as the stewards try to work out how to get her out of the car. ‘Please get me out of her’ she cries as he leans over to take her hand. ‘You’ll be out, just hold tight’ he says with a smile, she gently squeezes his hand.

‘You need to move back’ someone says to him. 

He looks down at his sister who shakes her head, he could see the look in her eyes that she was scared and hurt. ‘I am not leaving her’ he says. ‘Get her fucking out!’ he shouts. 

After a while she was out, Cairo holding her as she walks to the ambulance which she demanded she would to let everyone know she was ok. 

-----

‘What happened?’ she asks as she sits in the hospital bed. ‘I don’t think we should talk about it?’ Adelaide quickly says. 

She feels the tension in the room between Jacob, Cairo, Gisela and Elias. She could hear shouting coming from the corridor, which when she listened hard enough she could tell the voices belonged to Michael, Sebastian, Lewis and Jules. She looks at Jacob and looks at him. 

‘It was him wasn’t it’ she says with her voice breaking. 

He didn’t have to say it, she knew. She pulled all the wires off her and gets out of bed and storms out. 

‘What is your problem? Wanted to hurt me more than you already have?’ she shouts walking towards him, with the four of them hot on her heels. 

‘It was an accident, I would never’ 

‘What have you forgot how to fucking drive like a normal human being? Have all your sluts sucked out your talent?’ she sasses. Sebastian stays in the middle of them. ‘Fuck you’ she yells letting Jacob pull her away and back into her room.