#between tricks: an anthology

[tricked-out]

Hi there. I have a prompt request for your anthology. It includes Ivy being sick at home and off school. Her parents are out for the day and she doesn’t want to be alone so, you guessed it, she goes to Jack. Cue Jack doting on his human while she’s ill. Hope you like it.

(Thanks Anon, I did!! Read the full excerpt below the cut or on FF here)

Ivy scowled at herself in the mirror. That in itself wasn't particularly new, but the ever-present redness in her cheeks and the weird shine in her eyes was. Her throat and back were sore, but she ignored them stubbornly and doused her face in cold water instead, hoping that might clear the stupid fog in her head.

It didn't work. And now her face was cold. Great.

She stumbled her way back to her bedroom, wondering if she could get away with adding another layer without looking suspicious. The autumn weather was setting in, so that might help mask the chills that were starting up and down her body. She wasn't sniffing or anything, so hopefully the increasing soreness of her throat could pass by undetected. The fluffy warmth of her bed was calling, covers pulled back perfectly to display her spot, but Ivy resisted and pulled on an extra sweater. She'd be fine. Pop a DayQuil, maybe drink enough water for once, and it'd be fine.

It had to be. She may…not have to go to school at the moment, but somebody had to make sure Anton got up, and since – she checked her watch – both her parents were at work now, it had to be her.

Steadying herself against Anton's door, she took a deep breath and knocked. "C'mon, Little Leite. Up 'n at 'em."

No response, but even with her blocked ears Ivy could hear her little brother groaning and pulling the covers up higher. Enhanced hearing had its benefits, after all.

She knocked again, wincing as the sound bounced off the walls. (Ok, maybe not.) "Anton, dude, you've gotta get up. Wach auf, Kind. You're gonna be late."

A high-pitched whine and no movement. Normally she'd be just plain frustrated, but today Ivy felt a surge of jealousy that she couldn't be the one under the covers. But noooo, she had to be responsible today, because if she wasn't –

New tactic. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the door, mentally preparing herself for the pain in her throat. "All right, you asked for it." She dramatically cleared her throat, grinning to herself.

"Waaaaach auf, wach auf du deutsches Kind! Du hast genug geschlaaaaafen!"

"Nein!" Anton yelled from within. "Nein no no nein NO!"

„Drum magst du wohl aufaaaachen!"

Ivy was many things, but a singer was not one of them. Anton burst through the door, full of six-year-old fury. He stamped to the kitchen for his Muesli and Ivy cut off the song, grinning despite the renewed pain in her throat.

It was easy enough from there – pretend to run a brush through his hair, shove some snacks in his backpack, help him tie his shoes. (Only after he insisted on trying it himself half a dozen times, naturlich.) But the moment her little brother walked out the door, waving once before sprinting down the road to Kindergarten, her symptoms came back in full force. The distraction was over.

Ok, fine, a bit more sleep. Ivy checked the locks and trudged upstairs, swallowing down what was (hopefully) the correct dosage before flopping back into bed.

This wasn't too bad, she thought. Her classmates were off learning calculus or whatever, and she got to (had to) stay home, instead of learning or studying or seeing her friends or –

She rolled over and yanked the covers up over her head.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Ivy woke up - or, at least thought she did. The room was pitch black, her mouth was dry, and her heart still pounded from whatever strange fever dream she'd had. She was under every blanket she could find but her teeth still chattered. She rolled onto her stomach and fought to breathe, trying to piece together where reality and the dream world were separate.

Her principal reading aloud the contents of a letter, exposing her for being connected to Halloween? Ok, not real, but almost -

Being recruited for some strange interdimensional team that wore bright pink? Definitely not real.

Both her ears totally blocked? Real.

Jack talking to her? Not real.

"Are you there or not?"

Wait, what?

Jack's voice following her out of her dream and into the (presumable) waking world cleared away the exhaustion, but not the delirium. She considered, briefly, sitting up. The thought of dealing with whatever auditory hallucination this was and moving was way too much.

"Jack?" She whispered, holding perfectly still and unsure of what response she wanted.

"Ah, you are there! Why are you in the dark? Why do you sound like that?"

Questions. Too many questions. Ivy reached out a hand and fumbled for her Rollladen strap, yanking the blinds up and burying her face into the bed as the sunlight shot into her cave of a room.

"My, that is quite bri- ah. Um. Am I interrupting something?"

The human counted to five before turning her head, grateful that Jack's lanky ass frame wasn't really in her room. Instead, his voice (and image) came from a small mirror hanging on her wall. Jack looked puzzled; his head tilted in its usual cat-like fashion. Ivy considered flipping him off before deciding it was too much effort.

Oh, he had asked something, hadn't he.

"Yes." She grouched, pulling the covers up higher under her chin. "Go away."

Because he couldn't take a hint to save his life, Jack only clicked his teeth at her. "Come now, I thought you're only supposed to be nocturnal in Halloween! It's midday, my girl, let's go!"

Ivy inhaled deeply to start arguing, but at that moment her throat gave a warning tickle before she launched into an eye-watering coughing fit. She clawed her way upright, leaning against the back wall and tried to breathe it out. God, weren't you supposed to feel better after resting?

She fumbled for her water bottle and downed the rest until the cough finally eased. Head pounding, she turned to glare through bloodshot eyes at Jack, who had the decency to look at least slightly sheepish.

"Human ailment, I suppose?" He offered weakly. This time, Ivy managed to find the energy and flipped the skeleton off, sniffing as she did so.

"If you want me to look at new Halloween decorations again, I'm throwing something at you," she said through the phlegm in her throat, waving the empty bottle warningly. "I'm so serious, Jack."

Jack frowned. "You sound awful."

"Gee, thanks."

"Do you need anything?"

Ivy sighed, looking around her room. She had meds. She had water. She even had a bucket in case things got worse. Realistically, she had everything she needed.

But it wasn't everything she wanted. A memory flashed by of her dad cutting toast into strips, of her mom making lavender tea with an amount of honey that would be way too much normally but somehow felt perfect. And sure, she could get up and hobble to the kitchen and get those things, but it wouldn't be – it wouldn't be the same.

For a moment, she let herself imagine Jack's no doubt cool hands on her face but dismissed it immediately. Jack had better things to do, especially this close to Halloween.

"I'm ok, Jack," she said, shrugging. Her chest was hurting, her voice raspy, and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep (maybe after a good cry). "I'll just sleep some more until Anton gets home."

She wasn't looking at him, but Ivy could tell he was squinting his eye sockets at her, trying to see how far he should press.

"Are you parents there?"

"Nah, but it's fine. They'll probably be back tomorrow."

Another long silence. Ivy drank more water and fiddled with the top of her bedsheet, already feeling herself slip into a doze.

"Alright," Jack finally said, though she could hear the doubt in his voice plain as day. "I'd come in there properly to check but – "

"The Rules – "

"Yes, those Rules. But if you need anything – anything at all – you find the nearest Gateway and come to me, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." She waved her hand, flopping back down and tucking herself in haphazardly, stubbornly ignoring the sweat on her sheets. The mirror went fuzzy, and Jack's face vanished.

Yes. Leave off with the pesky, cranky, sickly human and dive back into Halloween prep. Ivy held the water bottle close to her chest, a faux comfort item. She'd be fine, she decided as she closed her eyes. Maybe just a bit more sleep…

The next thing in her awareness was the sound of rain absolutely slamming into her window. Her limbs seemed to be filled with wet sand, and even blinking felt way too exhausting. She winced from the grey light coming in through the window, squinted eyes tracking a stray raindrop before she slid her eyes closed again.

Her mouth was dry, but the bottle in her loose grasp was empty. She couldn't have been asleep long – there were still hours to go before Anton would be home, when the house wouldn't feel quite so empty.

God. Even if they couldn't do anything, she wanted her parents. The fever made her vision watery as she thought about it. Would they even be willing to look after her like they had when she was little? Or was that only for the daughter she'd been before?

How did anybody do this, getting sick all alone?

Teeth chattering, she stumbled out of bed and shoved her feet into her Hausschuhe, yanking her robe on for good measure. It did absolutely nothing – the chills were coming from within, despite the sweat on her back. She sneezed and gripped the banister, making her way downstairs. She needed another dose of medicine and some honey, jezt.

The process felt far more tedious than usual. Get the kettle. Find a clean mug. Try not to pass out while she waited, swaying from side to side on the cold kitchen floor. She blinked at the kitchen clock, the hand doubling before her eyes. She rested her forehead against the cabinet door, breathing through her mouth. It made her chapped lips worse.

"Yeesh, kid, you look like a walking corpse. And believe me, I've seen way too many of those things."

As it turned out, Ivy's normal senses weren't the only things dulled. Her Halloween instincts, buried deep within her and hibernating, suddenly leapt to life at the sound of the voice. Adrenaline reluctantly flooded her body as she grabbed the handle of the saucepan (thankfully not yet filled with water) and swung.

"HEY! Watch where you're swinging that – uh…"

Oh, hell, that had been a mistake. Ivy didn't bother to feel relieved, crouching down and coughing as the adrenaline seeped from her body. Dizzy now, very dizzy, world spinning very very fast -

"Ah, shit." Marvel – because who else would it goddamn be – seemed to shuffle next to her as she sat (collapsed) on the floor before one invisible hand patted her back. "There ya go, kid, crunchy cough it out."

"I – hate – you," Ivy wheezed. She jabbed the handle of the saucepan into the invisible man's side, too tired to properly appreciate his small yelp of pain.

"Yeah, sure ya do. You gonna get up?"

"No."

"Eh, fair." She heard the slap of skin on linoleum (ew) as Marvel sat down next to her, one naked shoulder bumping hers.

"Ok, so what are you – "

"Jack sent me to check on you," Marvel replied almost lazily. If he was visible, Ivy was sure she'd see him stretched out across her floor. "Wouldn't shut up about it either, so you'll forgive me for seeking some peace."

Ivy sniffed and leaned back fully against the cabinets. The thought was… well, ok, it was a little comforting, but not without a slight burn of humiliation. "Look, I know I'm, like, centuries younger than you guys, but I'm not a little kid." She glared at Marvel, hoping her anger made up for her less than impressive appearance. "I'm not gonna drop dead from a cold; I can take care of myself just fine."

"First of all, you're only a few decades younger than me, so don't go aging me more. Second, no shit you can take care of yourself; you've been doing that for months. But that doesn't mean you have to."

She wanted to argue, really she did, but that took energy, energy she just didn't have. So she crossed her arms instead, fighting back against the frustration in her throat.

Neither of them moved for a long moment. Marvel, for once, was keeping his mouth shut, seemingly content to play with a rubber band left on the kitchen floor. Lazily, she tracked it with her eyes.

"So you're feeling like - "

"Shut up." Her lips were dry and cracked. The kitchen was dark, the rain outside casting a soothing pattern against the glass. She couldn't quite focus her eyes get her night vision to kick in, leaving the edges of her awareness blurry and soft. The whole world seemed to match the image outside her window: smeared and unfocused and very, very distant. "C'n…my meds, on the – they're on the counter, can you toss 'em down?"

"That's Jack's job, kid, not mine. I'm not doing this for you."

"Bullshit," she whispered drowsily.

"That's – whatever. Not arguing with you. We're going to – you know, let's get horizontal, ok?"

"Hmm?"

She thought she heard Marvel huff, though the sound didn't seem as annoyed as she'd expected. "Ok, that's enough of that. Don't pass out on me."

"Jack," she whispered. Nausea suddenly struck her stomach.

"Uh, nope, wrong monster. Marvel, remember? Your favorite invisible pal?"

"No." God, she was tired. Who filled her limbs with wet sand? "Jack…can Jack…"

"Look, if I try and punt you through a Gateway right now, you're gonna dissolve. You get that? Rupture, scatter across the cosmos, all of that. No Halloween trip this time, kiddo."

Ivy's breath came a little faster. "Jack – I – Jack – "

"I'm not - are you gonna hurl? Oh, damn, don't do that. Ok, look, c'mon, let's get you off the – "

"An – Anton –"

"Covered." There was the sound of fingers snapping together, somehow close and far away at the same time. "Look at – kid, look at me."

"How'm…how am I supposed to – "

"Ok, fine, you know that - that one's on me. When do your parents get home?"

"Weiß nicht." Whispering was a lot harder when you were trying not to cry. "I don't - I don't know what – time is it? When is… I don't know…"

"Shit. Don't go – do not cry on me, you little -"

She couldn't even retort. Her throat hurt so bad. Everything hurt.

"Son of a…alright, alright, listen to me."

He was really close, Ivy noted distantly. Normally the thought would freak her out, but right now, with the world as fuzzy as it was, she couldn't find the energy to care.

"Close your eyes, kid."

Well, that wasn't a hard request.

"Great. Good. Alright, now, just focus on not passing out, alright? Keep those eyes shut. Don't want you yakin' up everything you've got." He heaved her to her feet, and Ivy's knees buckled.

She didn't know what happened next – maybe she passed out, maybe she just blocked the memory of whatever strange travel she'd made, but the next thing to come to her awareness was the familiar press of bone against her cheek. There was a low voice speaking to her, tinged with amusement, but she couldn't understand a word of it. All the same, she fought to turn her head towards the hand, a shiver running down her spine as the laugh she got in response, steady and deep.

Blinking her eyes open – or at least, half-open – gave her the sight she was expecting. There was Jack: still fuzzy in her squinted eyesight, but there all the same, his black jacket off and white sleeves rolled up. He didn't seem surprised to see her stirring, but he patted her cheek all the same.

"I'll wait to say, 'I told you so' until you're a bit better," Jack teased, in almost a whisper. "So focus on curing that human ailment of yours, alright?"

"M'not sick," she said, closing her eyes all the same to avoid Jack's grin. "J's tired."

"If you say so. Now go back to sleep."

"N'pe."

She didn't hear his response, already dead to the world once more.

XXXXX

Time was pretty irrelevant, Ivy thought. Her watch wasn't on her wrist, but she didn't think she could read the tiny numbers anyway. The room was dark every time she opened her eyes from naps that felt like they stretched on forever but took no time at all. Even with her ears blocked, she could hear one familiar sound: Jack's bones creaking as he sat next to her or walked over the floorboards, Jack humming to himself, Jack whispering something to her. She should listen, she knew she should, but all she could do was snatch snippets before sinking back into the soft surface beneath her.

"Alright, my girl. Ready for some water?"

"Easy, easy now. You're safe."

"It's over, love. I promise. You're not there anymore."

"Please don't cry."

She'd been crying? God, her head hurt.

When she could focus enough to hold her eyes open for more than a few seconds, Ivy's sweaty brow furrowed in confusion. Instead of the candlelit rooms of Skellington Manor, with scratchy blankets and the sound of screams in the background, she was facing her rather plain kitchen. Strewn across the sofa, with several (too soft) blankets piled on her, Ivy took in the sight of the empty room. A single light was on, the dishes from Anton's breakfast still piled high, and a clock ticked comfortingly in the distance.

The loneliness crashed harder than she could've ever expected. A pain seized her chest, her breathing becoming shallow. Had she imagined all of it? Was she really so much of a baby, so pathetic that she'd thought up Jack being there? Did she really want to be back in Halloween so bad that she'd hallucinated him?

"Not a single bit of elderflower or yarrow anywhere," came an annoyed grumble from the next room. "Honestly, humans, you'd think you'd – Ivy?"

What. What. Ivy stared, her breathing picking up in pace as she stared at the impossible sight.

Because – Jack? Jack was here? The image before her made no sense, no matter how long she looked. Jack was standing there, slightly hunched over to not hit her ceiling. He had a collection of loose tea leaves in his hand and a disgruntled look on his face that melted instantly upon seeing her. And that was – it was a welcome sight, sure, but it was still Jack who was here, looking so odd next to the microwave and picture of her family and he was in her house –

"Ivy? What's wrong?" Jack came closer, freezing when Ivy scrambled back, pressing herself against the couch. Her eyes were wide and glassy, and she was gripping the armrest with impressive strength for her state. He set the tea onto a side table and held his hands up, slowly crouching and approaching once more. She didn't move, eyes tracking his motions and he knelt in front of her, putting them at eye level. Her breaths were ragged, and she wasn't quite looking at him anymore – she almost seemed to be staring through him, to something that wasn't there.

"Ivy, can you take a breath for – "

"Are you here?" Ivy whispered, voice small and cracked. "Like – really here."

Jack frowned. "Of course, love. Why would - "

"Please don't lie to me," she begged. Her eyes were shiny, not just from fever but the tears he could see forming. She still wasn't looking at him, her hands shaking. "I can't, I don't know what's – don't lie, are you here, please – "

He took her hand (ignoring the way she flinched) and guided it to the top of his ribcage, then clasping her other in both of his own. "I'm here, Ivy. I promise. It's just you and me right now, alright?"

"I think I'm seeing stuff," Ivy whispered, still as a statue. Her hands twitched. "You're – how are you here? I thought the Rules – "

Jack couldn't help but snort at that. "I'm the one who set the spell, you don't think I can amend it?"

"But – but I told you I was – "

"And you think I'd just believe that and let you go on your way?" Jack tsk'd at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Even if I didn't have my own concerns, Marvel running into the Manor like the Town was on fire told me all I needed to know."

"Marv…he was…so he was here too? I wasn't – "

"He was here," Jack assured her, not liking the way her voice shook in the slightest. "You're not going crazy, I promise. No more than any of the rest of us, anyway." She swallowed at that, eyes still darting around as though she were in a crowded room. "Can you look at me?" He slid in some of his persuasive charm, just light enough to calm, and waited patiently as her eyes finally met his sockets. She gasped and shuddered, blinking furiously. "That's it, Ivy. Can you see me?"

"I – yeah."

"Can you see just me?"

She shuddered again, and Jack watched curiously as the gooseflesh traveled up her arms. She closed her eyes and shook her head forcefully, as though attempting to knock something loose. Jack tapped out a mindless pattern on the back of her too-warm hand, waiting. Finally, she opened her eyes once more and bit her lip, staring at him.

"Alright, now – Oh!"

Ivy's grasp on his lapel tightened and she fell forward, giving a rather clumsy but forceful hug. She shook in his thin arms as he hastened to return it, keeping her steady as she shook off the last of her confusion.

"Jack?"

"There's my girl," he said with a smile. "Are you with me?"

She nodded against him but made no move to get up. It couldn't be comfortable, slumped over the way she was, but she didn't seem to mind. Jack eyed a nearby candle and urged it to light, letting the warm flame slowly bathe the room in a soft glow. Another mental nudge and the switch on the wall flipped down, plunging the two into a more familiar darkness. Slowly, gradually, Ivy's breathing slowed as she calmed down. Carefully, Jack gathered her thin hair and peeled it away from her skin, feeling the heat where her face was pressed against his chest. He gently laid his cold bone hand against the burning skin of her neck, feeling her sigh in relief.

"Oh, dude, that feels awesome."

Now that sounded more like his human. "I'd imagine," Jack answered. "That fever feels terrible, if I do say so myself. How do you go about living with no treatments for it?"

He could feel her lips turn into a frown. "What do you mean?"

"You've no medical plants in this house! Where is your supply, eh? Have you any yarrow I can use, or is every human determined to stubborn their way through illness like you?"

"We don't use that, Bone Boy," came the muffled response. "If you'd grabbed me the Tylenol, that would've been fine."

"…the Tylo-what?"

"Human medicine," she said, still slumped against him. "For dumb sick humans like me."

Jack urged her up, gently taking her chin in his hand. Her face was pale aside from the red splotches on her cheeks, the skin creased where she'd been laying on the couch. Her hair was an absolute mess. "Listen here," he said sternly, "it's not your fault for being sick – I presume, anyway. You are fragile, yes, very. However – "

"But Jack – "

"It was 'dumb' to not ask for help." He knew she still wasn't in the state to accept advice – if she ever was – but a sense of duty moved him to speak. "If I ask you if you need help, I expect an honest answer."

The human squirmed, trying to get out of his grip, but Jack held fast. "But…we're pretty close to Halloween, Jack, don't you have – "

"Oh, ye human of little faith." Jack sighed and tapped her nose. "We have been running Halloween for centuries, my girl, my absence of a few hours won't derail things."

In fact, a dark voice in his head whispered, it runs too smoothly, doesn't it? No need for a Pumpkin King when things are the same as they were before and before and before and –

"Still feels stupid," Ivy muttered, oblivious to the skeleton's thoughts. "Sixteen and I can't even – wait, did you say a few hours? Anton – "

"Your brother is fine," Jack said patiently, keeping his hold on the human that attempted to launch off the couch. "He's asleep now, upstairs. As you should be, young lady."

"No way." She shook her head rapidly. "I can't, it's – no, Jack."

"I'm getting déjà vu from this conversation, love."

She attempted to glare at him, smacking his hands. "When you regain the ability to have freaky fever dreams, then you can tell me not to go back to sleep."

He dipped his head. "Very well. Tell me where to fetch your strange human medicine and we'll see about getting you on the mend, hmm?"

He rose to go, ready for her instructions, when her hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. They both stared at her grasp, Ivy looking as startled as he. "Yes?" He asked.

"Sorry." She let go, clearly reluctant, and pulled her hand back to her chest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to – sorry."

"It's…it's alright," he said, tilting his head at her. Something was off here, something beyond his understanding, and Jack's curiosity demanded he get to the bottom of it. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Jack, medicine is upstairs in the – "

"Tell me."

Slightly more power now, but Jack couldn't feel regretful. He waited, arms crossed, until she finally mumbled an answer.

"It's just…I know you're here, or – I'm as sure as I'm gonna get, anyway. But I don't want to…I don't know, forget that when you leave." She shrugged, forcefully casual, as if her words didn't make Jack's ribs ache.

"Come now," he said, trying to grin. "You've seen me, you've heard me, you've touched me. That feels real, doesn't it?"

Ivy wasn't looking at him again, her eyes fixated on some faraway point. "I dunno," she whispered. "There's a lot of stuff that feels real that…can't be."

Warning bells went up in Jack's mind. He crouched back down, trying to get back into Ivy's eyeline. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head.

"Ivy, tell me, what do you mean?"

It was the most power he'd used yet, but this time there was no effect. He watched, almost angry, as she closed herself off, an eerie blankness falling over her face. Ivy, for better or worse, wore every expression and feeling openly, even when she tried to mask them. To see her fully retreat inside herself, as though her soul slipped from her body, was a sight that sent a chill up Jack's spine. It was pointless; the human wouldn't say any more on the matter. Despite his question, Jack wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

Before she went too far from him, Jack leaned forward and scooped the human up, standing and holding her on his hip. It took a few moments, but Ivy shook off some of her stupor, blinking at him in confusion. "Uh, Jack? What're – "

"Easiest way for me not to vanish," Jack said breezily. "Or, if I do, we'll vanish together. Now. Which way to your cures?"

Ivy laughed for the first time since he'd arrived. It was husky and weak, but sweet all the same.

With Ivy's whispered directions, Jack navigated his way to the second floor of the Kunze residence. The hallway was dark, and Ivy insisted on peeking into Anton's door, just to be sure. Together, they watched the small human boy breathe, his fingers loosely curled around a stuffed giraffe. From there, he set her on the counter in her parents' bath, where she popped two bright red capsules into her mouth from an obnoxiously colored bottle. Jack wasn't sure what help the two pieces could be, smaller even than candy, but Ivy seemed certain they'd help. No matter: he'd take a placebo effect if it would help.

Back downstairs, he lit the kettle (thankfully their stove was one he could understand) as Ivy re-tucked herself into the blankets, swapping out the ones too sweaty for use. Her eyelids were almost beginning to drop when he returned with a new hot cup of tea and honey, with a few of his own Halloween editions crushed at the bottom. She may have trusted the capsules, but Jack knew a few of his own supplies wouldn't hurt. He sat next to her on the couch, marveling at the lack of rips and stains as she sipped. It didn't take long for her to worm her way under his arm, leaning into his ribs and sighing in deep contentment. With practiced hands, he dragged his fingers over her scalp, the repetitive motion soothing them both.

"y'r good at this," Ivy slurred. Her eyes kept dropping shut before she'd fight to open them again, with a determination that dared him to ask her to sleep. Jack didn't bother, knowing a bit of patience would give him what he wanted. Ah, teenagers.

"Well, I have had some practice," he teased.

"Yeah." She repositioned herself, trying to press even closer. Jack kept his arm tight, hoping his touch could say what words couldn't. "Did James ever get sick like this?"

Jack's fingers stilled. He hadn't meant his son from long ago, thinking more of Ivy's coma in Halloween, but the memories demanded his attention all the same. Reluctantly, he let himself comb through them. It was always hard, their clarity lost to the centuries, but the more time he spent around Ivy, the easier it became to remember his other child.

"A few times, yes." Jack smoothed a hand down her back, staring into the candle flame. "He had smallpox, as a boy. He shook for weeks." Jack could see hands replacing cold cloths on James' head, the boy's features blurred. "When that rash appeared, I thought for sure it was the end of him, but within two days he was nearly better. We were lucky, I think."

"Jeez." Ivy sighed, one hand coming up to clutch Jack's sleeve again. He pretended not to notice, smiling to himself when this made her secure her grip. "Smallpox sounds way worse than this."

"Suffering is suffering," Jack chided mildly. "It makes no difference to the illness if that of another is better or worse."

"Hmm." Her eyes were closed, but he could tell she was still awake. "Can you tell me more about him? About James?"

"I…I don't remember much."

"S'ok," she mumbled. "You always rememb'r the important stuff."

It didn't feel that way to Jack, but he wouldn't deny her this. And so, he dove back into his treasured, limited memories: the day his son first learned to walk, the time he'd caught a frog and accidentally released it into the house, the pride on his face when he'd first held his own child. His voice returned to its low, smooth monotone as he traveled through distant, misty memories. He slipped into Irish at one point, hypnotized by familiar way the words formed, but Ivy stiffening under him caused him to switch once more. He settled on Latin until the tension seeped from her body. He talked until his own throat grew dry, until he'd gone over everything he could recall, until his ribs hurt. James was long since gone from every plane, but in moments like these, he almost seemed to return to life. A perfect ghost to haunt Jack's memories, a beautiful, welcome pain.

Perhaps she'd been right. He may not remember the details, but he remembered, all these centuries later, that he loved his son. And that, to Jack, was the most precious and important memory of all.

The house was dark, the candle flame low. Jack could sense the dawn approaching. It was still a way off - perhaps another hour – but he could feel the tug to return to Halloween all the same. He didn't know where the two Kunze parents were, but he wasn't willing to risk running into them. Moving for the first time in hours, he glanced down at the human sprawled against him. Only the tip of her nose was visible, the rest of her buried beneath the blankets. She was breathing through her mouth, lips chapped, but when Jack brushed the tips of his fingers over her forehead there was no more fever. He moved slightly, ready for the next step, only to find that she was still gripping his sleeve, face tight with worry.

The faraway look she'd had, the fear of the imagined becoming real – it dug itself into Jack's mind, burrowing in the space where his worry for the human lived. (Every day, he swore, it seemed to grow.) He wished he could dig a hand into her mind and pull whatever worries plaguing her away. Instead, all he could do was crouch down and slowly extract Ivy's hand from his sleeve, gently patting at her soft skin.

"Sorry, love," he whispered. "I have to go now."

The human gave no response. He didn't want to leave her there, comfortable though she now looked. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to scoop up the unconscious human and step sideways through reality to Halloween. But one look at her still-fragile form banished the idea from his skull. Her Gateway traveling abilities were shaky at her best – he didn't want to imagine what it would be like to pull her comatose self through.

And so he brushed his hand over her hair one final time, taking care it was tucked away from her face. Water was close by, there were plenty of blankets, and she'd even brought the bottle of strange capsules with her, so she could have her next dose. All was right – or at least, as right as it could be.

"T'nks, Dad," Ivy mumbled as his hand lifted away.

Anytime, Love.

[blkkizzat]

⋆༺𓆩𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙈𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙅𝙅𝙆 𝙈𝙚𝙣 𓆪༻⋆

18+ Only - Minors DNI Kinks: Boob job, Riding, Edging, Sadism/Darcryphilla, Overstimulation, Double Penetration/Cockwarming A/N: So I am a flop and I went out this weekend and now I have homework to do so I couldn't finish my first Kinktober fic on time but hopefully by this Weds! I did want to post SOMETHING for the 1st day of Kinktober so I hope this suffices! This isn't officially apart of my Kinktober Thrilling Ghouls & Smooth Criminals but will add this to the bottom of the list as a bonus! WK: 2.1k Song Inspo: Monster - Lady Gaga (slightly) Slightly black fem coded but no descriptors

Edit - 11/1: The Trick or Treat Anthology or Halloween Fluff with JJK men is now up as a part 2!

Enjoy!

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Gojo: Tittyfucking

He might be one of the most powerful sorcerers ever and fight curses more terrifying than anything a Hollywood writer can imagine but that doesn’t mean he still isn’t going to scream like a bitch at the tinniest jump scare.  

You watch horror movies with your boyfriend Gojo so he can comfort you but you end up being the one holding on to him.

You suspect at times though he plays it up a bit, just so he can lay his head on your soft tits and rub his face in between them when a “scary part” comes on.

Your suspicions are confirmed when his hands slip up your shirt and pushes up your bra to cup your tits.

“Aw come, on babe let me just play with them a little– they’re like stress balls.” This always results in him somehow convincing you to let him straddle you. Gojo is placing his already-dripping-and-hard cock between your tits even before half the movie is over. “Aw, come on pretty girl, I’m so close! Open up that tight little mouth for me wide like you scream when a scary part comes on.” He groans out as he fucks himself between your soft tiddies. “You mean the way you scream Satoru!?” you retort rolling your eyes.  Clearly you haven't learned much Gojo thinks. Your slick mouth gets you into trouble frequently with him and you are quickly silenced when he reaches back and shoves 3 long fingers in your dripping cunt. Your pussy tightens as his fingers continue to bully themselves deeper thrusting in time with his hips into your breasts. AHHH! SHIIIIIIIT TORU, F-FUCK! “No sweet girl, I mean the way you screamed just now.” Gojo says smugly taking advantage of your scream to bust ropes of his hot seed on your tongue.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Nanami: Riding

Nanami loves to do things you like to do to make you happy. He even will sit through one of your trashy horror movies without complaint.  

Although he might end up reading a novel or the paper after 15-20 minutes, he will never miss a chance to give you reassuring kisses to the temple or a rub on your lower back whenever you get scared. 

However you can’t watch horror movies with him because you are actually the one always distracted by him.

The way his handsome face looks utterly uninterested in the movie other than an arched brow on occasion but still is still sitting here for you and even makes sure to take care of you is too sexy to you.

So sexy you slowly become less interested in whatever the hell you were watching and more needy for him to pay attention to you. 

This always results with you bouncing in his lap midway through. “What about your monster movie Y/N?” Nanami questions you amused. His voice has an air teasing concern. Your mouth goes slack as drool and moans spill from your lips, you can’t form a reply. You just lean to bury your head into his neck wrapping your arms around him holding on. When you tire yourself like this, Nanami assists in you riding him as his hands grip your soft waist. He brings you up to his tip almost pulling out of you completely before he forcibly drives you further back down onto his dick. You bottom out on him every time your hips come down on his lap, you’re practically screaming at this point. “Nothing more monstrous than Daddy’s cock stretching this tight cunt full, isn't that right doll?” Nanami coos in your ear.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Toji: Edging 

Yeah you’ve just gotten to the point where you don’t even put on a movie to watch when Toji is over. 

His attention span for it is zero as nothing scares his ass ever so the opening credits aren’t even over before he already has his hand down your pants.

Toji lazily plays with your clit and teases your pussy with his fingers while you try and fail miserably to ignore him enough to watch your movie. 

You pouted at him as you really wanted to watch your favorite horror movie tonight!

However by the 20 minute mark you are now begging him to let you come.  

“Nah, baby see this is the good part.” Toji says, smirking into the back of your neck. Toji has not a single fucking clue what’s happening in the movie he just wants to teach you a lesson.  He sucks on the back of your neck hard enough to leave a mark, making you moan. However, you are still left unsatisfied. Just when you think the burning between your legs will consume you he resumes digging his thick fingers into your guts. Toji knows your insides so well he knows how your pussy feels the moment before your body will release sweet toe-curling-bliss and his hands come to a complete stop again. “Daddy, Puh-leaseee!” You beg with tears in your eyes as you lean your head back to pout at him. You grab the hand in your cunt to try to force him to move again to no avail. “Not a chance, brat. You wanted to watch this shitty ass movie so bad. So we are going to watch the entire fucking thing before I let you come Y/N.” "What are we even watching– " Toji grabs the remote and the overlay pops up. "Oh Alien? Yeah, you picked a long one this time slut, buckle up."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Choso: Overstimulation

Choso’s edgy emo ass is more than happy to watch horror movies with you. 

However due to his curse abilities, Choso is constantly pointing out the technical feasibility of the movie so much it ruins it for you. 

Don't let it be a slasher movie as Choso is non-stop critiquing “That blood spray pattern isn’t realistic” and “Did you know you could lose up to 40% of your blood?” 

You end up being so annoyed with your forensic encyclopedia boyfriend you grab his face to kiss him in order to stop his ranting.

Choso ends up repentant as the death painter comes to the realization he forgot himself again and ends up spoiling yet another scary movie for you.

Choso hates upsetting his princess so he always ends up trying to make it up to you. Truly, just shutting the hell up and watching the movie would be enough for you. Yet that wasn’t good enough repentance for Choso and as a result you ended up face down on the sofa while he ate you out from the back.  A true munch to the core this man was a messy eater. Tongue, lips, nose all up in your cunt. Slurping, lapping, nibbling– Choso kept his face in your pussy gobbling up your juices like he hadn’t consumed any liquid in days. He once remarked your pussy tasted more refreshing than water. You would wonder when the man even took time for a breath if he didn’t have you squirting to the point of mind numbing overstimulation, your legs shaking and chest heaving. “Keep those hips up Y/N baby, I’m not done apologizing.”   He slaps your ass and is so transfixed by how your pussy dribbles out a lil more squirt he does it again, returning his mouth to your cunt to suck out more fluids.  “FuckFuck I- F-uck… I f-forgive you C-Choso damnit -OH!,” you babbled and came on his tongue again for the umpteenth time that night.  "That's it baby, keep being messy on my face yeah? Let me show that nasty lil slit how sorry I am, 'kay?" Completely pussy drunk Choso sounded deranged. This man was going to completely dehydrate you before the night was over. 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Geto: Sadism/Darcryphilla 

Geto is probably the easiest one to watch horror movies with by far. He actually is amused by them and how bad they all are.

He will let you lay reclined on him and run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly giving you a scalp massage.

The big problem here though is that your squeals and yelps of fear make his dick throb.

Even better if you get so scared there's tears that start falling. He wont be able to stop his hard dick from straining against the fabric of his pants.

Geto loves to hear you cry out so much that if the movie isn’t scary enough he had been so inclined on occasion to release a relatively harmless, yet gruesome looking, curse to pop up behind the TV. He would wait for a suspenseful part to really give you a fright and start the waterworks.

Although as much as he loves the sound of your cries there’s a sound he loves even more.

“F-Fuck, you hear her princess?” Geto is ruthless when he is pussydrunk and he makes you hold your legs wider for better access as he roughly splits open your cunt in a mating press.  Your pussy is a gooey mess as you cream around him from what has to be the 5th time that night. In your own cockdrunk stupor you wonder how long he has been pumping into you and filling you up now.  Is the movie over?  But you can’t see anything as his long hair and dark robes dangle open around you. You also can’t hear anything except for the obscene squelch of fluids gushing out of your cunt. All you can do is hold your legs and take Geto’s assault on your body until he had his fill of you. “Sugu–” you sobbed in protest but he cut you off. “Shhh, Y/N quiet while she’s talking to me–” He reaches down grabbing your soaked and discarded panties before balling them up. Geto pushed them into your mouth, muffling your cries as thick tears seeped down your face.  “Awe, baby I love you… but I only want to hear from her right now. Shit, this filthy pussy is a real scream queen.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Sukuna: Double Penetration/Cockwarming

Yeah he is straight up the worst to watch with. 

He will most definitely ridicule you and make you feel like an idiot when you ask him to watch a scary movie of all things with you. 

“Oh my ditzy lil’ slut wants to see something scary?” No, you remind him you do NOT want to find some random sorcerers just to see just how quickly and in how many different ways his Malevolent Shrine domain could kill someone.

If you pout enough though he eventually relent. On his terms.

Sukuna lets you know if you get what you want, he gets what he wants too.

What does Sukuna want? He wants you double stuffed and dumb on his cocks, of course. Your cunt and your ass are both stretched to their limits from his huge twin cocks in his True Form. Sukuna tells you mockingly long as you kept sitting nice ‘n pretty for him, he would watch the movie with you. “Hmmmrghhhh”, you moan as your eyes roll back into your head and your body trembles. It’s hard to even breathe when you are this full of him. You feel as if his dicks are reaching up into your throat as you choke for air. Winded from just sitting on him, the gravity alone had you cockdrunk on him almost instantly as you felt his four hands everywhere along your body. You gasp out loud when you hear him laugh and the hardy vibrations from his chest travel straight into your pussy. You clench and cream around his cocks. Not even his huge cocks could plug you up enough to keep from dripping a big giant wet spot onto your sofa that he definitely wont be helping you clean up later. “HA! Brat, you see that fucking loser who cried ‘I’ll never leave you’ then his head flew off two seconds later? What a dumbfuck.”  Scary movies were like comedies to The King of Curses.  He slaps your thigh for emphasis. Sukuna is both equally entertained by how stupid the movies humans called 'horror' are as well as you trying to keep from blacking out on his cocks. An hour in, you were doing so well he smirked. “Brat!” Sukuna growled when you didn’t answer him. You were supposed to be watching the fucking movie.  “Come on slut, pay attention" he taps your cheek (lighter than you expect) as you gurgle back in response, completely gone. "Don't cry so hard for me to watch next time brat if y'er gonna tap out like this just from sitting on some cocks.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/N: Reblog or comment and tell me which JJK man you'd watch with. Likes are appreciated as well!

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

[writella]

Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You

Synopsis: A detailed record of all the special objects Daryl has found for you while hunting, riding, supply gathering, and living in the various places he has in the new world. These objects often lead to sweet moments of kindness, joy, and understanding between the two of you, deepening your connection. Although they are things others might not think much of— they were simply small gestures or trinkets after all— you believed these memories and mementos to be gifts of gold; they would shine in your mind forever onward.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, mutual pining, kisses, lots of love and ♡ sweetness ♡ (true self indulgence at its finest), but there are also descriptions of trauma, abuse, and self-hate. Though other than that, it’s nothing else except Daryl being an endearing friend and future loverboy to you. This travels across the plot and setting of season 6-8, but it might not be a perfect fit. Lastly, even though these can be read anthologically, I did write them in a storyline as if there was an order in which Daryl gives or does these things with the reader as their relationship grows, so some past trinkets might be mentioned in the next story, but it truly isn’t too big of a deal; this is one you can have fun with! ♡

Author’s Note: My dearest reader, this one took much longer than I intended, but I think it’s because I put so much of my silly heart-filled imagination into it— truly one of my favorites to write thus far. I’m just so happy to give it to you. Feel free to read these all at once, one at a time, or pick the ones that best fit who you are. with love, writella . ♡ ⋆ ☽

Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!

Trinket No. 1: The Ribbon ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ⟡.•

A Bow from a Bowman

Daryl was out on a hunt one morning when he found it. It’s like he was compelled to pick it up, he did it without even thinking. It was nothing, honestly: kind of silly really, and flimsy, slightly covered by grass blades— it was dirty and discarded. But there was something about it, something tender… it reminded him of you, even though in some ways still, he hardly knew you at all.

It had been over a month since Daryl came back home to Alexandria; just a month since you entered what was supposed to be your new home. But also a week or so long journey it had been to unexpectedly find you and bring you back.

He remembered it well: you were covered in dirt, tired and hungry, running for your life from the past group you were with. He was going to let you go and mind his business— you looked scared of him anyway when you crashed into him. But most importantly, he had just lost his crossbow, his bike, and maybe even a little bit of his dignity to Dwight who stole them. He didn’t feel like getting tricked again, especially since it takes a lot to trick him; he wasn’t letting that happen again. Especially not the day after. And most especially not for a seemingly young and innocent-looking girl like Dwight’s wife, Sherry or that kid they were with, Tina.

But then, he heard the yelling, the hollering, the men– they wanted you, and none of it was for the right reasons. Very wrong and scary reasons they were indeed, ones he would soon come to understand were things you’d never want to live out or discuss again. He understood that feeling, so he stayed. He hid behind a tree. He decided to help again. Who knows of your innocence, but what was definitely true was that you were a lost and lonely girl in the woods. He knew a thing or two about those unfortunately, those stories ended badly.

Sad enough, the hiding and helping— or attempting to— led him to become a prisoner with you and your ‘group.’ He barely got scraps of food, and every night was just another day of seeing your tears, your face in a permanent state of desolation and misery; staying ever silent even when you were yelled at— even when you were forced to do things you didn’t want to do. You looked scared and small.

It was only when you all reached a hospital, one you burned to the ground just to get away from them, that Daryl saw the fight in you. You didn’t even ask for his help and he tried to save you, but in the end, you saved him. A silent soldier, you were. He returned the favor with the least he could do: he took you home.

And now there you both were. You sat by Rick’s fireplace. No one was home yet, and you had just put Judith down for the night. Daryl found you there on the floor with a book. He quietly sat near you. All you two said was hello.

And this was normal, actually– the being around each other, showing up unannounced, sitting beside each other– talking or not– or you, trying to help him with whatever work he was up to. He tried to fight it at first, but it became a regular thing. It’s what helped Daryl get to know you, and you to him.

You were equally as fierce as the fire you created not long ago, but just as gentle. Just as desiring to smile and create friendships. He knew that now. And he— he was just as rock solid and straightforward as the crossbow he once carried, but just delicate. Just as easily hurt and as quick to hide, yet so deeply desiring of loyalty and acceptance. You know that now too.

It’s still so soon, but you admired him, so deeply. You wanted to learn from him. You thought he was strong, and you wanted to be strong. All that anguish and pain and he came out a fighter, a leader.

Little did you know that is exactly what he thought of you. He went from seeing you cry yourself to sleep every night to becoming the kind and generous friend you were to almost everyone you met. Always offering to care for Judith, or allowing Carl to come to you to talk, or learning about guns and shooting with Rosita. And of course finding a way to go on supply runs, or learn to hunt, or fight walkers with Daryl as much as you could. As always, he pretended not to care that much, but he did. He couldn’t help it. He values his independence, but it was nice that there was someone who wanted to be around him so much. And he admired you for his own reasons as well: You’re someone who fills others up with lightness when such dark things have happened. He felt like that every time you two we’re together. He wanted to learn from you too.

As he sat there, thinking, he wondered if maybe that’s why he thought of you when he saw it. Maybe it was the brightness and softness of it, despite finding it on the ground, despite it being dirty. He cleaned it up, and it still shined, that’s like you but… he was still unsure. Maybe it truly was nothing, maybe it was stupid.

He looked to his side, watching your figure for a moment as he decided what to do. You were on your stomach, laying on the small rug that sat in front of the fire. You were continuing the chapter you were on, paying little attention to him. He only said ‘hey,’ after all. And you did wave back, you asked him how his day was, but all he gave you was a typical response, ‘fine,’ he had said. You thought maybe this visit wasn’t about talking so you left it. And all of this was typical anyway, for Daryl to come by Rick’s, or for you two to sit in peaceful silence, but then you started to see him fidget in his spot in your periphery, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, hands adjusting his jeans, moving things in his pocket.

“Do you wanna go to the porch?” You thought maybe he was reaching for a smoke. “I can put on the baby monitor…” He just shook his head at the suggestion.

You decide to move to the spot next to him, leaning your back against the wall. “Did something happen today?” Your voice was soft as you tilt your head, trying to reach his eyes.

“No,” he shook his head again, he was facing forward. “It’s just…”

“What?” You asked calmly.

He found it hard to speak, “Just- just brought something.” He reached into his pocket one last time, his hand in a fist as it made its way closer between the two of you until he started to release his fingers from his palm slowly.

It was a ribbon. A pearly light pink one. Just scattered in his hand. “It’s stupid,” he grumbled quietly, trying to shove it back down his pocket, but you stop him.

“Wait,” your hands gently cupping the other side of his and then you pick it up, letting him go. You wrap the ribbon around your finger and you tie it into a bow, examining it in your palm now. “This is for me?” Soft disbelief enchanted your voice. You made sure not to sound too excited or too surprised. You didn’t want to scare him, especially since he replied with:

“It's nothin’.” He was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It's so nice,” your voice continued in its understated tone despite your smile becoming uncontainable. You couldn’t help the way your lips were curling upward, it was even hurting your cheekbones to try to make your teeth shine through a little less— Daryl Dixon just gave you a gift. And it was a little pink thing at that. Perhaps miracles are real. “It's perfect,” you say, “I can wear it in my hair.”

“It's stupid.” He repeated, brushing you off, but you saw right through him. Daryl doesn’t do anything for no reason at all.

“It's not.” Your words are so kind as your interject, “You know, sometimes it's the smallest things that mean everything. They become our favorite things even.” Your lips pressed together, forming another smile as he meets your gaze, “Like your vest that needs to be patched up.”

“It's fine,” he almost sounded defensive. It made you laugh.

As messed up as it is, it truly was fine. It was his and he loved it; that made it so. And he didn’t only have the vest, he also had his cut-up button-downs, and those ties he laced on the bottom of his jeans— you knew those were probably because the pants available didn’t always fit all the time, but nonetheless— these were all things that made him and his clothing unique from the others. Even in the apocalypse, Daryl was one of the few that maintained a personal style. You couldn’t help but love it. He could, and often always was, the guy covered all in dirt and grim and blood but he still had something about his look that was simply just him.

You missed that. Having those personal touches, and now here Daryl was with this. The simplest thing, but he brought it for you. It was your special piece, your special something. It truly was perfect.

“C’mere,” Daryl gestured, taking the ribbon from your hand and moving your shoulders so your back faced him. He undid the bow and cuffed your hair, he actually almost yanked your head with the way he gathered the ponytail, honestly– he forgets his strength, but you said nothing. Only giggling slightly, but you were mostly quiet. You tried to keep it down, afraid he might stop if he thought you were making fun of him. You wanted to reel at the closeness for as long as you could. You couldn’t believe the fact that he was doing something so domestic— you almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to detangle some pieces with his fingers and then he tilted his head to the side to leave some shorter pieces out at the front. He didn’t know what he was doing and he probably was doing it badly, but he tried his best to be delicate. He’s never touched you like this before. Every time his fingers accidentally brushed against your ear or your neck he relearned just how soft you are. And every feeling of his skin almost made you shiver; like when someone whispers in your ear, it always feels so sensitive, traveling down until you feel it everywhere. His touches felt like that. You always end up feeling his everywhere. He’s entrancing, filling you with hearts and stars.

Finally, he ties the ribbon into a bow right at the top of the ponytail he created. He’s done. He lets go. They shapes and colors fade. Everything is cold again.

But to him, everything looked warm and vibrant. Looking at you was a sight so sweet and so gentle among all this dark wreckage of the world— it was precisely how he saw you: the way the ribbon now laced around your hair looked like an angelic embrace.

You turn to him, “Thank you, Daryl.” Your smile is so sincere, so lovely, there might as well be a halo and hearts invisibly drawn all around you.

A moment passes as you continue to look at each other and your heart jumps. He’s still looking directly at you. There are moments that he looks away and you can’t help it, the bashfulness creeps up on you two, but he’s giving you all his attention; it feels great. You decide to take the chance, you can't help yourself, you hug him, you have to. It has been so long since someone gave you something. So long since someone thought of you so specifically and intimately.

He’s caught off guard, his hands don’t wrap around you until a few seconds later, but when they do, they are sure, and tight, more sure of it than you surprisingly.

You breathe him in, giggling again, “I’m surprised you smell this good.”

“Fuck you.” It makes you laugh just a bit louder, it’s the nicest ‘fuck you,’ you’ve ever heard. Its tone has a hint of sincerity in tandem with humor in just the same way you delivered your line. He shakes his head, “You’re silly.”

He lets you go and you turn away, but it’s only just a little. He watches how the ribbon lays right where he put it again, seeing the side of your face light up with your rosy smile as you sway your head. You’re trying to not make it obvious that you want to feel the wag of the bow and your hair back there so you do it slowly, it just feels so cool and so pretty. You liked it so much. You didn’t even know what it looked like yet, but it already made you feel more like yourself. Like a part of you that had left before this world began— it fit well like a missing piece finally snapping into place. It was your unique touch and he found it for you. He did it for you. Just for you.

For me, you repeated it in your mind, he found it just for me.

Trinket No. 2: The Lesson ō͡≡o˞̶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams

You had asked and asked for weeks with no let up. It made you start getting creative with your pleas: “You know, Daryl, we really should be teaching each other our skills,” you had insisted, sarcasm lining your voice. No one else in the group knew how to ride yet they were doing just fine, but you were incessant, “You never know what kind of situation we’ll be in where we might need it… I could die,” your hands raise as your voice does, “and your bike could be my only escape but I wouldn’t even know how to ride it!”

He would always just stare at you blankly, ignoring you, especially when you got dramatic like this right before you two were leaving. “Get on or stay,” he would say, “go help Rosita or somethin’.”

You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.

But then one day, one lucky, lucky day for you— it was your earnest approach, and your silly smile, and sun-filled eyes that got the best of him as they looked up to meet his darker ones. “Please,” you said, stretching out the word, it was just as cheesy as your smile. He looked back at you from his front seat as you continued, “I just want to feel capable and- free… I don’t know,” but you did, you meant it and felt it from deep inside you. “To know I have the option I wanted to… I… I didn’t really have those before.”

He was still for a moment and then he nodded, restarting the ignition. You guessed that was another no until you started to ride past the walkers that lined the outer gate. “An hour,” he said, his eyes forward as the trees became a blur to both of you, “then we gotta get work done.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, you only used to cup his waist or hold his shoulders, but you felt fearless today, head leaning against his back and neck, arms hugging around his torso. He finally said yes.

As time went by, you had gotten comfortable with completing your drills. You learned the controls, how to shift gears, how to waddle and power walk with the bike, operate the clutch, throttle, and lift your feet up, riding on a straight path all by yourself. Turns were still hard though, and the fact that Daryl always insisted you think about the worst-case scenario wasn’t the greatest either. He’d look you dead in the eye, his voice clear and unrestrained from his usual grovels as he said, “If a herd is comin’, or people are shooting, or if there’s something tryin’ to crash into you, you need to think about how you’re going down. Decide on what won’t fuck you up completely, then do it. ” He always got way too close to your face without realizing it in those moments, his finger almost crashing into your nose as he vigorously pointed to get the idea across.

“If something goes down, I’m not arguing,” you say. “You'll be in front.” You meant it, your voice was quiet, you understood.

But really, you didn’t: “If something go down, either of us should be able to do it.” He paused to make sure you got it this time, “That's the point.”

As if you didn’t already sense it, this was the first time you absolutely understood that Daryl was serious when he decided to do anything. Full commitment. Start to finish. You said you wanted to learn, that you wanted to be capable, then that’s exactly what he was going to teach you. You would take it seriously too.

Soon enough, Daryl allowed you to ride out of the gates of Alexandria first instead of switching off after you got a few miles out. You were getting better. So much so that today would be a different day, he explained. Daryl wanted you to ride to the Hilltop. This would be the longest distance you’ve ever rode. A whole 23 miles. But before you guys got there he would steer you in the direction of a turnpike: he wanted to practice speed, and most crucially for you, right and left turning.

His weapons and guns were strapped to his lower body, some on his thigh holster, and a machine gun over his back, all just in case, and his hold on your waist was fixed as you rode. It made you feel like a child and such a little teenager all in one with how excited you would get. Not only were you becoming skilled at riding a whole fucking motorcycle, but you were the one he was holding onto this time and it was the longest amount of time he was holding you at that.

As you reached the turnpike, he guided you around the semi-circular road. Continuing on, you saw a few walkers in the distance. He told you to speed up, there was enough space on the road and there were only four of them, they were far away anyway.

You looked back at your surroundings, other than those four, the road was pretty clear other than some broken down, discarded cars. This accidentally became a lesson on tight turns and swerving too.

Some of your turns were abrupt as you tried to go around the cars, it made you nervous. You knew it was okay not to be perfect, but it was still a little stressful to make mistakes when a master was watching behind you.

“Relax,” he’d tell you, sometimes putting his hands over yours on the handles and helping you out. “You got it.”

You went on and as the walkers approached closer, an idea arose. It was probably irresponsible, but you joked anyway, “Daryl,” you whisper-shouted with fake suspense, getting his attention. “We’re on a mission. Got to take those guys out before they get to Rick!”

He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. He leaned in closer as you leaned forward, gaining speed. One arm wrapped around your hips in totality, hand placed firmly there as the other reached for his gun, extending his arm out as you two got closer to the walkers. You two turned to face them as Daryl pulled the trigger: one shot each, straight in the head, “Got ‘em.”

You gasp, your laughter sounding so wild and fun and unrestrained in a way it hasn’t been heard by either of you before. “Is it bad if I say I hope we find another one?!”

“No, that was fun,” he agrees understatedly, trying not to fully give in. You couldn’t even see his face, yet he was trying to hide a smile.

And you were too. It was all too much honestly. You were balancing riding and having Daryl right behind you, holding onto you, trusting you to do something he’s never let anyone else do before; and you just proved you both could probably kill it in a high stakes situation. Well, maybe not, this was very, very low stakes, but still, it made you believe. You decided to ride the high, quite literally as you kept going, shouting back: “Imagine us in battle?”

Oh, wait— your grin fades slightly, you immediately regretted it after you said it. The point of this life was to try to find a way to live, not always fighting to survive. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

The silence makes you feel like an idiot until Daryl speaks up, both hands now on your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, “If we were in battle,” he almost whispers into your ear, “we’d be their worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

You feel your smile practically reaching your ears. “We’re a team,” you say, the humor coming back to your face now, the shine in your teeth reflecting the sun as it always does. “A dream team.”

A dream… Maybe. You definitely were at least, but that is a thought he doesn’t let come to the forefront. He let it go. But it was true… something about you felt unreal to him. The way you wanted to be around him this much, so interested in the things he does; he still didn’t get it, it almost felt unbelievable. He wondered when it was going to stop. When he would wake up. He didn’t want to wake up. The thought grows, he can’t avoid it now: you are a dream. One he didn’t even know he wanted.

Trinket No. 3: Lucky Charms ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flying Away With You

You gasp excitedly, “The Eiffel Tower!” You hold the bottom up to the light as he still holds the top. “Nice,” you say with bright eyes, “I found the Statue of Liberty in the mom’s jewelry box and a few others that weren’t on her charm bracelet.” You showed him the mother’s sterling silver and he showed you the daughter’s that he found. “I guess they were traveling family… or wanted to be.” You feel a heaviness behind your eyes after you say it.

You loved collecting these charms, but sometimes there was a sadness to it. Like you were collecting other people's tokens, little pieces of their personalities and their stories, keeping it as your own. It almost felt invasive. But it was something that you and Daryl did together. You liked that. Another thing that made you feel close to him… Maybe this was like keeping their memory alive? You may not have known them or know what happened to them, but you were giving something that they loved new life. The charms did make you happy, after all. Especially because it was Daryl that got you into it. But it was also you who got Daryl into it too.

You both can recall the first day it all started: He found it incredulous that you cared more about a little piece of jewelry you saw in the dirt rather than the bigger thing that was right by it: the deer Daryl just shot, the one that you two had been tracking for what felt like hours.

His face twisted up to you as he collected his bolt from the body, “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin’ at that?”

“We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s literally good luck!” You held the gold sun charm to the actual light source it was designed after, “Look at us… Lucky charm, dream team, remember?” Your smile was just so wide after you said it, he let his slight irritation go. It was easy actually, he was always taken aback by that smile. It still wasn’t that long ago when he thought you weren’t the type to do so, like him most of the time. He had only seen you sad, but now, I’m Alexandria, you just glowed. Eyes and an essence as bright as the sun, and that smile, all teeth and just as pearly as the moon… The charm was perfect for you and it needed its match. Maybe a star too. He would find it.

He still remembers where he found those. He came across a silver crescent moon necklace discarded on the floor of a girl’s bedroom. It was simplistic, like one or those expensive necklaces that shouldn’t even be that expensive because of how small it was, but it was a perfect charm size, and it shined, there were no scratches. In the other girl’s room in the house, probably the younger sister, there was a charm bracelet on the desk. It was kind of childish and clunky, like one you could get in those supermarket toy vending machines. He took the first charm he touched and removed the clasp from it for your moon. It was hard to do it with his fingers on something so small and dainty but after a few tries, he managed.

As for the star, he found it on a walker in the woods. It was a little girl, it almost made him feel bad to do it because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but her and what looked like her mom and dad went straight for the two rabbits he just caught, ripping their skin, eating them. He shot them all in the head. The thud of their bodies to the ground only seconds apart. Oh well, were his thoughts, their fault for messing with his catch. After that is when he noticed the gold charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. It was different from the one he saw last time in that other girl’s room, it wasn’t a fake toy, it was more refined. Maybe they were a well-off family.

There was a star was at the center. It’s all he wanted, but he thought you might want to see the others she had too— they were all nature themed, he kind of liked it— so he tried to take the bracelet off but it wasn’t working. The thing fit her wrist perfectly and the bracelet clasp was stuck so, in typical Daryl fashion… he just chopped the girl's hand off.

Kind of gross, and he would definitely have to keep the red off of everything now, but the star charm was gold, it would match the sun charm and the moon would stand out at the center, he assumed. He thought it could look nice… and beggars can’t be choosers in the apocalypse anyway. After he took the bracelet he discarded of the hand, tossing it to the ground like it was nothing. (He’d leave that part out if you asked for the story later). Now that he had the bracelet, you would also have a gold owl, a bunny, a bird, and if it couldn’t get any better, there was a deer charm too. That’s what was most important about the account anyway.

That night, Daryl crawled into your bedroom from the window while you were asleep. He placed the star and moon on top of your journal that was on your desk, and after that, he left. That was it. He just wanted to surprise you. He’d give you the rest later. You only realized he did it and how he did it when you closed your window that was slightly left open the next day. There were scuff marks on the window sill. They were from his shoes.

After that it became a game; a little side quest. Like how people would count red versus blue cars or shout ‘punch buggy,’ when they are out with their family. An activity that took you out of your boredom, or really, for you in the apocalypse, it was an activity that made you feel oddly sane again, since you always dealt with the insane everyday anyway.

That was what today was about. At least on the down low; at least after you found anything of value for the community; at least to you two. You guys had found what seemed to be a wealthy neighborhood a while ago, when you passed that turnpike. The houses there were so big there, but all you had was his bike at the time, nowhere to put supplies and you were expected at the Hilltop, you couldn’t stay and look around.

It had been a little while after that and you had a plan now, a few Alexandrians backing you up with cars. You two finished your portion of houses to sweep and now you were waiting on the others, sitting in one of the house porches. That’s why you both were showing each other your finds from this place and the others.

You continued to hold the Eiffel Tower charm in your hand, “Maybe we should go to Paris…” Your voice was wistfully, then a quietness lingered in the air, it made you laugh awkwardly, releasing the tension. Your suggestion was one of those silly things you say where you mean it, but you pretend it’s just a joke, knowing it won’t have any outcome. “All of us, I mean,” you do mean it, but at the same time you we’re just talking about him right now. “That would be nice.”

“What would I do in Paris?” He asks it while he fixes his weapons, you’re sitting back, looking at the trees. He thought it was a ridiculous idea. He’s never been anywhere. He hadn’t even been to Virginia or D.C. before this and there’s no way he could go anywhere else now.

“Well I guess we’re never going to know unless we find out… you can eat!” You laugh, “You do like eating.”

He snorts, “Who knows if there’s food left there.”

Pessimist. “Again— we’re never going to know unless we find out.”

“Have fun tryin’ to become a pilot,” his drawl comes out strong on that last word. “Or a plane.”

“I guess that’s the next charm we need to find, an airplane or a captain’s hat. I am a pilot… or I can pretend to be.” There’s that smile again, “I can do anything.”

“Bet you could.” He meant it.

You nod, your next words making you laugh at yourself, “I’m Barbie.”

“Better,” he mutters. You can barely hear it. You don’t know if it was real so you say nothing until—

“We’re going to travel the world some day, Daryl.” You say it so surely, breaking the moment of silence, “We’ll find a way.” As long as we’re together. As long as you want me.

That’s all you wanted, truly. Even if this world really couldn’t take you to Paris, or New York, or anywhere out of Virginia. All you wanted was him. All you wished and hoped for is that he wanted you… but did he? You still weren’t sure.

Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸

Back Pocket Memory

You two were almost near Alexandria, only a few miles left to drive. “Do you think we can just sit down over there before heading back?”

Daryl continued driving, “Dangerous to leave a good van with supplies just put.”

You pointed to the clearing you were referring to ahead. The trees were sparse in that area, it might have been a meadow, but you didn’t know the difference. There was a little pond near the center. “Can we just drive the car a little bit closer? Just for a few minutes?” You look up at him, your eyes doing that little sunshine thing as it always does, “I just want to sit in the grass,” you say, putting your hand out the window, feeling the wind through your fingers, “the sky feels so nice today.”

He huffs, but does as you ask. “Get out,” he says, gesturing to you to walk over to the area you pointed at. “Pick your spot.” You run over and he follows. You have this wonder about you, it was almost childlike, but not childish, more— sweet, innocent perhaps.

You jump down to the ground and cross your legs on the grass, looking out at the pond. Daryl parks the car a little behind you and comes out to sit on the hood. His legs spread, knees almost to his chest, his elbows lay on there, arms extended.

You look at him, “You’re really not going to sit down?”

“If someone comes up behind us and steals our shit then that’s gonna be your fault.”

Fair. You gesture at him to move over and you sit to his side on top of the car.

As you settle, you close your eyes and you raise your face to the sky. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your closed eyelids. There was a majestic kind of wind that blew in the air today. It made everything look effortless, especially Daryl.

His ever-so disheveled hair had pieces flying on both sides, brushing some parts out of his face, and pushing others in. As always, it was just enough that they didn’t completely cover his eyes. How does that always happen? Thinking about it makes you giggle lightly as you look at him.

“What?” He asks, becoming a little self conscious.

You shake your head, your eyes looking at him kindly, hoping to ease his nerves. “You just look nice.” Your voice was silvery and sweet as you said it.

You get up and skip toward the pond, picking a flower and coming back to him. You sit down and try to put the tiniest white flower behind his ear.

“What’re you doin’?” He tries to swat it away, playfully hitting your other hand that tries to hold him in place and he takes the flower from your other hand. He successfully places it behind your ear instead. “Better,” he says.

As he looks at you, he notices light pieces of your hair frizzing up at the top from the wind, other pieces at the bottom still moving around slightly. It didn’t look bad, to him, your hair looks more like that invisible halo he sees when you’re around, and with that flower in your hair, you look like a true angel or maybe even a fairy with all the greenery surrounding you. You’re just lovely.

You give him a closed smile, your head falling to your knees. “Pretty day,” you sigh contentedly.

Pretty girl.

Handsome man.

Then a thought comes. Your smile turning to a grin.

“What?” He asks sharply. He knows the look you get when you’re up to something at this point.

You grab your backpack from your side, slowly bringing out the polaroid camera you found earlier today.

“No,” he pushes the side of your face, already detesting the idea.

“Daryl,” you whine.

He says it straight this time, “No.”

“But…” your eyes trail his face for a moment before continuing, “you just look… I don’t know. It’s like I said, you just look so- nice.” There’s other words you could use, but you don’t, not yet. “I just think it would be nice to have a nice picture. All we take pictures of is the houses and work. It’s boring and a waste.” You pause, “Daryl… Please?”

He rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You first.”

He’s glad no one was around when these moments happened. Someone might think you had him completely whipped. His brother definitely would think so if he was still around. Daryl was almost embarrassed of himself because of it. But you don’t ask for much. Other than the bike thing, you really didn’t. You trusted him and you were patient. You went along with his plans and you could sit for long car rides and periods of time in quietness if that’s what he wanted. You never pushed him to tell you his story. He only knew a part of yours circumstantially and he didn’t push you for more details after he brought you home, so you did the same. He could feel you wanted to ask more questions, but he also saw you stop yourself, move on, you were creative with your conversation topics: you asked him about what the best thing he hunted was, or what his favorite things were about your friends. You were so gentle with him. Maybe you could get him to do almost anything you wanted without you even knowing, but it was worth it for someone like you.

You look down shyly, “I’m not good at pictures,” you admit.

“You’ll look fine.” He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. You’re so alike, more than you know.

He tilted your jaw with his thumb. It was too quick for you to melt into it but the feeling lingered, it made you buzz with excitement and it was easy to smile after that. He looked through the viewfinder, seeing you do that pretty sunny smile, matching the yellow bud of the white flower. He clicked the button. Beautiful.

You snatch the camera instantly, “Your turn!” You were too eager but you didn’t care.

You take the flower from your hair and bring it toward him. He sucks his teeth, saying your name as he does so, “No!”

“Yes, Daryl!” You push it over his ear, but not before he pushes you knee, just to do it. He didn’t even know why he was fighting, he knew he was letting you have your way right now. “Look,” you sound like a school teacher, “very nice.”

You even out some of the frizzy parts at the top of his head, the light wind was still blowing through it, it was futile so you left it, he looked great anyway. A perfectly imperfect mess.

He crossed his arms over his knees and looked into your eyes. You held the camera to your face and snapped the shot. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. If anyone else was here that could see those all to familiar hearts and stars around you and in your eyes, it was so hard to hide. “I’m keeping this,” you said, placing the polaroid delicately in your back pocket. He said nothing, he wasn’t going yo let you know he cared about a dumb picture. “Okay, thank you for indulging me,” you start, taking the flower from his ear, “let’s go home.”

Later that night, past one am, he came through your window again. But this time you saw. Your head was almost covered by the blankets, your eyes slightly open. He didn’t even look in your direction. Maybe he wanted to be quick.

You saw him go into your bookbag. It was hanging on your desk chair. He took the picture out. He wanted it. He wanted your picture. The one that matched yours of him. Maybe this was something. Maybe he did want you.

You closed your eyes quickly when he started to turn around, then watched as quietly as you could as he neared the window, starting to climb out but not before he placed the polaroid in his back pocket, just like you did. Now you both had a piece of each other, forever.

Trinket No. 5: The Music Player and the Wish on an Eyelash ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ♬♪

Never Fade Away

It’s official, in all the ways it possibly could be: Alexandria was truly your home. More time has passed: you live in a house, you have a job, you have family— it’s your friends. In some ways things are better than they have ever been… yet you still think about the night and the dark just as much as you used to. You tried to hide it, you wanted to be grateful and you were. But the things that used to happen to you, and the people that hurt you… they still lingered like ghosts when night came.

In the closed and guarded walls of your community, you hoped night could be a time and place that was peaceful. But thoughts of an attack, thoughts of losing your first real home, it left you apprehensive and paranoid of what could happen in your vulnerable state. And when you close your eyes, sometimes the past visits your dreams. It all felt inescapable.

It makes you so fearful that despite keeping your window’s curtain open, a battery-powered lantern resides practically glued to your nightstand— always on when the sun goes down. You knew it was a waste of a resource, but at least you kept it on low, at least when you woke up in the middle of the night, closer to morning really, you remembered to turn it off— the sun making its way back around soothed your nerves; it was always that initial getting-to-sleep part that made you need it anyway.

And of course, you’ve tried to calm yourself down at night using different methods to see what stuck: You do read— your neighbors were always kind enough to lend whatever books were in their houses— and you did daydream— letting your mind wander to happier, more wondrous places when you wanted to escape— and it did help sometimes, but on other nights, it wasn’t enough.

You miss watching tv in bed. There was something about the buzz of the box, and the voices of humor and romance and relatability that miraculously took you away, and helped you stop thinking, even allowed you to drift to sleep… it was a luxury you didn’t have anymore, and not only did you not have that luxury, you also had an overabundance of dead or deadly issues to worry about. It all haunted you.

You sat with your back against the headboard of the bed. You’ve yet to put on any night clothes. You had already read the next chapter of your book, and you would have read another, and possibly another after that, but tonight you knew it would have just kept you awake as something to do instead of worrying about sleep. You were tired though. That’s why you stopped, but you also weren’t ready for trying to catch sleep that wouldn’t come.

Part of you hoped Daryl would stop by, but he doesn’t always, and he probably won’t tonight. Some nights he’s out until the next day or the next week, who knows how far he went this time, you didn’t go with him and he left too quickly to ask. It had been a few days since you saw him last.

When he was here though, he did start to make it a habit of stopping by to see you, especially when it was time for Alexandrians to settle into their homes for the night. He stopped being so quiet through the window and only dropping things off. He would start coming through the door. It was just a light chat for a couple of minutes at first, then there were the times when he stayed an hour or two. He always sat on your floor, by the window, or by the door. You never understood why until you insisted he sit in your chair by the closet. It was only until a few more visits later you realized the chair's light color becoming just a bit visibly darker. It was soot and hard work and the air, he worked outside all day and usually visited before he called it a night. You made sure not to mention it, you just cleaned it yourself. No need for him to feel embarrassed.

Besides, you didn't mind, anytime he walked through your door or jumped in from your window, that was his chair, at least that’s what you called it in your head. You liked that. You liked that after he brought you home he didn’t move on and let you be. In his defense, you didn’t let him be either, but he could have always distanced himself if he wanted to, told you no, but he didn’t.

You two have gotten so close quite quickly. You both felt it and you didn’t know why, but at the same time, you did. It was something left unspoken, even in your mind, always on the side toward the back of your brain. That part knew you could fall in love with him, but why admit it to yourself if the other person might not feel the same? You were still feeling that way. Despite all the moments you’ve shared thus far. His silent nature was endearing at times, but it could also be a very confusing gripe of yours. There were moments when you knew exactly where his mind was, but there were other times when you simply did not. Especially when it came to you. Daryl always gave you just enough, and maybe tonight, it would be nothing at all.

At least that’s where your thoughts resided until you heard the creak of your door slowly pushing inward.

Daryl’s hand holds the doorknob, meeting your eyes as he steps in further. Your window casting just enough light on his face.

“Hi,” you meant to be clever, ask him if he knew how to knock, but only wistful, subdued surprise is all that came out in your one-word greeting.

“Hey,” he replied, it almost seemed like he was surprised too, you couldn’t tell it from his voice but from the way he cut the word short. “Didn’t know if you were awake.”

You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t see you in the window.”

His voice is low, your house is quiet, and people are asleep in the other rooms. You match his tone with your own quietness, “Right,” you say. The window did hit the bed end, not the top. But he knew you were a late sleeper. He even came and sat with you for longer the night before he left because you had told him about it— he knew, he had to, but you didn’t question it.

“Um,” he’s looking down, “Was just gonna leave somethin’.”

He starts to walk to your nightstand but you stop him, your hand reaching out, not touching him, but it’s just enough to pull him to your gaze. “You’re gonna leave without showing me?”

Daryl positions himself toward you and you sit up. Gingerly, he takes something small out of his front pocket, it was covered in one of his bandanas. He looks at it for a moment, almost unsure before placing it on the bed, right in front of your lap.

It was an MP3 player. One of those slim rectangular ones with a digital rectangular screen to match and a big circular button with the controls covering the bottom half. There were some small scratches in the screen corners and some dent marks in the back. The arrow buttons were starting to fade too, but he handed you some headphones out of his back pocket as you continued to examine it, it must have worked.

You look up at him, eyes wide, shining just a bit in the dark just like the little silver miracle that was in your hands. You remembered having one of these, the thought made your lips curl, a light open-mouthed smile forming as the nostalgia set in.

You move closer to the edge of the bed, the sky illuminating you more in your semi-darkened room. You place your hand on the other end of your bed, “Come,” you say as your tap the spot. He’s hesitant before he finally accepts the invitation, sitting down. You would have insisted anyway if he didn’t.

You flip the switch on the side then and the music starts instantly in your right ear where you set one of the earbuds in. You tried to put the left on him, but he shook his hand, “You listen.” You let him be for now, you were too excited to see what the previous owner was into.

The songs are scattered from different decades, but what you notice the most of as you skip through were various 90s and 2000s rock, pop-punk, pop, and the like. There was Nirvana, but also Fiona Apple to Blondie, and even Elvis. It was a little all over the place, really. This definitely had to be a teen’s in the early or late aughts. You thought maybe Carl would like this. There was even some stuff that you were sure had to have come out in 2010, right before the apocalypse began… Another kid who wouldn’t get to spend the rest of their teens, or young adulthood, or adult life like they were supposed to, like you were supposed to.

Having these thoughts while Aerosmith’s Fly Away From Here played was not helping, especially since it made you think of your lost family, and those from your found family that were gone now too, so you decided to skip, but the button seemed to fidget. You tried again, then again, even touching the screen. You accidentally made the shuffle icon come onto the bottom corner.

“Don’t like Aerosmith?” Daryl read it on the screen, but he also recalled the melody, even from just the soft buzz produced by the headphones, the volume was accidentally turned all the way up, you set it down.

You give him a light smile, “Aerosmith’s fine. Just have to be a little more careful with this, I guess.”

You continue to press forward to see what else is there until you shriek, color coming back to your face as you shake your head at the memory emerging as you listen. “Oh my god, my sibling used to love this song when we were younger.” It was Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend that was playing. “We used to put on the radio or look up the music videos on the tv and dance. They loved doing that…” Your voice was soft, both sweet yet desolate, “I knew all the popular songs and all their favorite songs whether I liked it or not.” You giggle, “I can lie this one is fun.”

You knew Daryl would probably scoff, but you lightly place the left earbud near his ear for a few seconds so he can hear what you’re talking about.

“Definitely a chick’s.”

“‘Chick’?” It was funny, and you did laugh, but you still decide to protest, “It’s just one song and…I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty eclectic mix of artists…” You continue to press forward as you ask, “Were there kids? Or- did there used to be?”

“Based on the rooms.” He nods, “Boy and a girl.”

“Hm,” you say curiously, flipping through the songs: the next one that played was by Linkin Park, then Alanis Morisette… you wondered if the kids shared it or shared interests. Suddenly, the player starts Lit’s My Own Worst Enemy. Your eyes are starlit as you gasp, “Oh, this one is so you.”

This time you fully push the headphone into his left ear, turning the volume all the way up as the first verse plays, his face is fixed, “This ain’t me.” There is silence as the music continues and he scorns, “You think I used to just get drunk all the time?”

“Daryl,” your laugh is light, “no.” It was a ridiculous thought and he should know it, but nonetheless, you console him, “Of course not.” Your hand reaches forward onto the bed, nearing where his own resided, but not touching. It saddened you to see Daryl always react like this to small things. He was never judgmental, but he was always so quick to believe others would judge him. “Maybe not that part,” you smile, slightly mischievous, “but- okay, this-” you sing-speak along lightly, remembering to stay quiet, “it’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy, cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me- that's you! That's literally you.”

He shakes his head, ‘Whatever,’ the gesture says with his grunt.

“No, you’re actually a little bit self-deprecating, I think. At least internally.” You continue, “Oh, and this part— I didn't mean to call you that- you see?” You say, humor still in your smile, “That part is you.”

Daryl gives you another small grunt indicating ‘no’ as he shakes his head again. “If I say something to someone, then I mean it. Wouldn’t say it if I don’t.”

“Well, you also mean a lot of what you don’t say,” your eyes trail to the side. You knew that didn’t make sense, but it did to you. There was a part of you that was still in denial of your feelings or if there was a possibility he had any for you either. You’d never see him talk or treat anyone in a more than friendly way– or whatever Daryl’s version of friendly was. You wanted to protect yourself by not admitting you adored him, even to yourself, but really, you knew. And there was the way he kept giving you these things, these little moments: the ribbon, the picture, the charms… It made that smaller part of you that believed something was there, glow and warm inside your heart.

You look at him, there was a sorrow placed on both of your faces, but he just looks at his hand that is placed on the bed through his hair, the one that's so close to yours. “You really don’t think there is anything you don’t regret saying?” Another song passes, you didn’t recall it, but then the playlist shifts to something slower, it’s the Beatles. “I just think you keep a lot inside… It’s okay though. But it is just something I notice.”

Normally, a comment like this or something similar to it would sound trite and judgmental, there are a lot of things people don’t talk about now, but you say it with understanding, a little sad because you can’t help it, but your voice is kind, like gentle fingers through his hair, evening it out; a voice that shows you care, you see him and respect him even if you do want more. “It’s okay,” you whisper as Paul McCartney’s voice sings softly, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me.” It felt like he was speaking right to Daryl as he continued to look away from you.

It’s moments like this where he wants to say it all. The sad stories from his childhood that he has never been able to tell anyone before. Stories about his brother… the bad, yes, but even some of the good ones. He knows he could talk to Rick if he wanted, or Carol. His group was loyal to him as much as he was to them– he knew that, but they probably wouldn’t care to hear about Merle, it would probably make them angry to be reminded of all the bad things he’s done to them. He wouldn’t blame them. In many ways, and for more reasons then all of them, he will always be angry at his brother too. This is why he didn’t even like to let himself think about the past, but in other ways, it still sucked. It makes him feel alone, like talking about himself or his brother or the past was just a gateway to hurting himself and scaring others, scaring you.

You wipe him away from those thoughts even though you didn’t even hear them, your voice pulling him out of his trance, “Things are harder now, Daryl, but I think you’ve only gotten better.” There is still so much you don’t know, but nonetheless, it’s like you can read his mind.

“This is the only me you know.”

“And even then I don’t think you’re the man I met when you found me… We’re definitely not the same people.” Your hand is just inches from his fingertips now. “We all have things to improve on, even if we think we’ve already grown up. I think that’s a part of growing up actually… just realizing that you never do, or at least not entirely. You’re always going to continue to grow.” Your words linger in the air as the next song starts, it’s Paramore, it’s The Only Exception— something still laced with melancholia but it has a sweet gentleness to it. It's just like you. This is how you were trying to be with your words. “It’s better if you allow it though, or work toward it instead of against it, I think.” You laugh at yourself then, “But I'm far from perfect so I should really stop talking.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks, you’re hopeful the night’s light doesn’t show it too much.

He wishes he could tell you he thinks you’re perfect, or at least something close to it. At least for him. You truly were like an angel. Maybe Radiohead is on this too.

The chorus continues to play, leading to the song’s ending and his jaw tightens. It’s annoying that you were right, your words from before echo to him. They weren’t nonsensical, he did get it: he does mean the things he never says as much as the things he does, but no one will ever get to know. Not that everyone has to, but maybe for you, maybe just a little, maybe you can be the exception. And he can tell that you’re trying to me: who carries around a silly little ribbon anyway? Or who keeps their window open almost every night, even on cold nights? He felt like he was failing you. Maybe these gifts and these small moments weren't enough. Maybe they were just trinkets; meaningless, giving you false hope for a love he couldn’t provide.

You both hear the outro, “Oh, and I’m on my way to believing,” and his heart pangs at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to fail, maybe he can try, at least right now, “It’s just…” he speaks up, his voice clears, “It made me think of you when I saw it.” He was talking about the mp3, “That’s why I brought it back… You’re always humming under your breath. Now you can stop annoying me with the same old thing.”

Your eyes roll, but you aren’t mad, in fact, you can't help that it makes you smile. “Oh, okay, Daryl,” you say through quiet bits of laughter.

“Also thought it could help you sleep… I dunno.”

You nod intently at his words, “Thank you,” and that wistfulness in your voice returns. “That's really kind.”

He nods back. He’s so gruff and straight-faced all the time, but was it bad to say that there were moments when you can't help but see him as adorable? He was always trying not to meet your gaze through his hair, and it was always messy like a kid’s, just like when you took that photograph.

Muse’s Starlight starts playing as you brush some of the hair out of his face. It's an awkward transition, but it's what you get from accidentally pressing shuffle so many times. In the end, though, the words make it seem perfect for the moment. The singer spoke of desire and escape, about missing loved ones and wanting to keep someone special, someone that's like starlight, close by. You understood that. He did too.

You giggle lightly, “Daryl, you- you have something…” You point at your face in reflection of his.

“What?” He wipes his nose.

“No, it's- it’s here,” you say, taking your finger to lightly catch the eyelash that threatened to slip away from his face and onto the bed. “Make a wish,” you whisper. Your face is nothing short of innocence and wonder.

His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”

“Daryl,” you eyes widened with apparent prodding and pleading annoyance, but your words still have a sense of amusement to them, “I think we need all the luck we can get.” Your head tilts as you say through your smiling teeth, “I’ll do it with you…?”

“Fine.” He can’t help that your squeal makes his lips curl but he’s trying to hide it.

“You have to really do it.” You turn the music down, it's in the background now. Your usual sun-filled eyes are currently wide like the moon as you look into his, coming closer to his face.

He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise?” You sing.

“Promise.” He meant it, he even closed his eyes before you to prove it.

You closed your eyes too, “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Squeezing them tightly, you whisper, “Think about what you want, and then I'm going to count to three and we blow.”

Instantly, your heart foolishly thinks of Daryl. You know you could be thinking about the safety of your group, the stability of Alexandria, or hoping that the threat everyone feels coming subsides into nothingness, but all your thoughts are just of him. It makes you feel like a silly little girl, waiting for that big romantic confession of love that you dream about, the one that will probably never come.

I wish for you, you think. You can’t help it, you can’t say anything else, this is the only thing that’s true, I just wish to stay by your side, forever.

The song echoes your hopes too, I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.

You agree, never fade away, please.

“Okay,” you say softly aloud, “1… 2… 3…” And then your wish flies into the air. You two stare at each other afterwards, eyes starry like the sky from your window.

You wished for each other.

Trinket No. 6: Scars, Marks, Tattoos, and Internal Wounds ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Things I Only Trust You to Know

It’s another night. Another visit. It wasn’t intentional this time, but your curtains were drawn. They’re almost never drawn, at least not completely. The window was still open though, the night’s breeze ruffled them backwards. Daryl became concerned, so he climbed up, opening the window wider and pushing the curtains to the side to get through.

He saw you crying.

Hearing the thud of his boots stomp lightly to the ground triggered you to turn, body facing the closet as you were curled in your bed. You didn’t want him to see you. “I’m tired tonight, Daryl.” Your voice was low, you tried to keep in neutral. For the most part you were doing well, but it was still obvious you weren’t fine— he saw your face before you covered it.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, his legs hitting by your feet. He didn’t feel like asking if you were okay if you were going to lie and say no. “You can tell me to go if you want,” was all he said, rubbing your arm as he did and then let go. You starting sniffling involuntarily because of the touch. You realized you were holding in a breath, the shaky exhale came out louder than you wished it did. “I’m sorry,” your voice blubbering. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t done this in front of him since before he brought you home.

“Don’t gotta be.”

“I feel stupid,” you say under your breath. You’re still trying to hide your face.

“Stop.” He puts his hand over your body now, on the bed, and he faces you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head slowly, looking at him, “I don’t know how to say. I can’t-”

“Just say it,” he said calmly.

You felt heat rising from your throat, it was like the words were trying to come out, but it felt scary to do so, it made your teeth grind against each other. Your head shakes harder, “I don’t think I can.”

He brings a hand to your face and wipes some of your tears with his thumb, “What would you tell me?”

You would tell him to speak, that it’s okay, you both knew it. The thought makes you sit up in your bed, tears still running down your cheeks, but you were going to try.

“You’re just going to get annoyed,” you wipe some of your tears with your wrist, “think I’m dumb, like a little girl.”

“You’re not dumb,” he spoke over you before you finished.

You pause, you shake your head again. The words are on your tongue but you just feel so bad and so embarrassed to admit it. “Sometimes I just…” your voice hitches and your hands goes to your head, more tears fall, “it’s just one of those days, I guess.”

One of Daryl’s hands goes to your shoulder and your upper back, he pats you until it quickly becomes a soft, swaying motion.

Your voice doesn’t go above the lightest whisper as you try to start again, “Sometimes- I just look at myself and I-” a sob erupts from your throat and tears roll much quicker, “I know you’re going to think I’m stupid, but sometimes I just wonder if anyone could love me.” It doesn’t even feel good to finally admit it, but you continue, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like maybe I’m not enough. Or I’ll never be.”

Daryl’s face heats up. How could you ever feel that way about yourself? How do you not see yourself as anything less than everything he’s seen in you since the day he met you? You’re not stupid. Never. He feels stupid for not seeing this in you. He feels stupid for it being so hard for him to tell you everything wonderful about yourself in the way you deserve.

He thinks for a moment, he wishes he was more poetic, but he wasn’t and there are still certain things he’s not ready to say. So he decides on something else as he calls your name, “You’re telling me you can’t see you’re a tough son of a bitch?” The phrase makes you laugh involuntarily through your tears, he always says it like it’s one word. “One that found a way to burn down a hospital and kill a bunch of dickheads in one go just to stay alive?” He huffs, “Prettiest arsonist I’ve seen.”

You gasped but it made you smile lightly, it was funny. “I’m not an arsonist! And it was only part of the building.”

“Coulda fool me.” He tilts his head, “But you’re also probably one of the best scavengers we got. And you’re a good friend.” His hand travels to your knee, “You’re really good at talkin’ to people… and to me.”

You try to let his words fill you up but there is still doubt. “I don’t feel like pretty and really good are the right words.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t get it, “Well, what do you see that I’m not?”

Your heart beats ferociously, you don’t move, you’re hesitant, you don’t know if this is right, but there is a part of your that wants to. “Can I show you something?” You asked.

He nods.

It’s scary, but you decide to trust him, showing him the part of yourself you felt most ashamed of. The part of you that you thought was unloveable.

But he sees nothing shameful, nothing bad, he just holds onto it or another part of you, caressing you gently. “You’re perfect,” he says, shrugging as if his words aren’t a big deal, but he knows they are. This is the first time he doesn’t keep a thought like this in his head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He turns his back on you now, and he takes a breath, sighing deeply. You’re confused until he sighs and starts to speak; “When you were with those guys— and I know it ain’t the same, but— I know what it’s like. For people to use you.” He swallows hard, “I don’t like myself all the time neither.”

Your eyes widen. He was taking off his shirt. The first thing you see are tattoos, until your eyes travel to the other side, you see what he meant; the scars. “My dad. He was a drunk and a loser and an asshole.” Daryl's voice hitched, you couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but you had never heard him like this before. “He did it to my brother too, Merle. But then he just left when he was old enough. Didn’t even give a shit that our dad was gonna do it to me,” there was anger in his voice. “He said he didn’t know,” and then he chokes on his words, “but how can I believe that? Thought it’d just skip a generation? He never changed. Neither of ‘em.” You wanted to hold him, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. He was still speaking, “Then when I got old enough, I left too. Some time later I started drifting ‘round with Merle, like that was gonna be any better… Two fucked up kids doing nothin’ with their fucked up lives.” His face turned to the side, you saw his profile, his eyes were red, “That’s what I did before Rick… You all were going to do good things with your life and I was gonna be nothing.”

“Daryl…” you were crestfallen, “I’m so sorry.” You held his arm, stroking it softly. “But you weren’t going to be nothing.”

“Yes, I was.”

“There is no thinking about what could have been. This is how life is. Maybe this was always going to happen,” your voice falters as you say it. “You’re not nothing. You’ve become everything to so many people.”

He turns his face back around and you look at his back again. It was difficult to look at, you won’t lie. Your heart sunk low, like it was being squeezed and brought down to the pit of your stomach to know that someone put him through this. Someone who was supposed to love him. Another tear escaped your eye at of the thought.

“Daryl,” you stutter meekly, “Is it okay if I hold you?”

His nod is so faint you barely see it, but he doesn’t say anything else so you believe it is a yes.

Your fingers ghost over his back until you let the tips of them finally lay on his skin.

His eyes wince and squeeze as he shutters despite your fingers trailing so tenderly. Your palm is now flat on his back as you move downwards and back up again. You kiss near his shoulder, right on the tip of his highest tattoo and then you wrap your arms around him, under his arms over his waist, and he holds your hands there.

You stay there for a long while, you don’t have a recollection of time. The moment feels like forever, although it is sad and you wished you weren’t discussing the things you were to get here, you don’t want it to end. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him.

It’s quiet until he says, “No,” disagreeingly, “You’re not brave just because you go through some shit.”

“But you still are,” you insist. “This happened to you and you chose to be the person you are now despite it. You became someone invincible.” You pressed him against you tighter, “I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Finally he turns around and takes you in his arms, your head now resting over his shoulder as your chests touch, closing the gap. You lay down on the bed and he stays on top of you. One hand plays with your hair and you continue to caress his back.

“I really like your tattoos,” you whisper, almost a giggle in your voice. “They look really good on you.”

He smiles a little. He never takes off his shirt so people barely see all the ones he has. He liked that you liked them. “Thank you,” he says.

“Do you want more? If you could?” You also want to ask why he got the ones he did, but the crying has made you sleepy and him being on top of you is making your mind hazy. “I wish I could,” is all you add.

He looks at you, “Maybe that’s the next thing we find.” He was talking about a tattoo gun, “That’s the kind of junk people don’t need now, we’ll look.”

He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.

“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”

“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”

He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”

You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.

He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.

You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.

Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.

You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.

Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.

Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.

Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-

Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut

It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.

The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.

And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.

But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.

Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.

All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.

It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.

He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.

This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.

And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.

The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.

After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.

This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.

But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.

You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.

The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.

Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.

As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.

He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.

There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.

“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”

You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know,” he mutters.

Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.

Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.

He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”

You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”

“I left you-”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”

You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”

“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”

You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”

“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.

You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.

Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”

His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”

Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”

The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.

“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”

“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”

“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”

You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.

He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.

“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.

“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.

You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”

“It aint.”

“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”

“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”

He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.

As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.

He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.

Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.

You’re worried, “What happened?”

He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”

Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.

“How long have you had that?”

“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.

You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.

He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.

It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.

“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.

He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.

… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩

[st4rgzer]

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY

—> spencer reid

coming soon…

Fortnight…

-in which your unlawful affair with fbi agent spencer reid must come to an end, instead, a revelation is made.

The Tortured Poets Department…

-despite your complicated relationship with spencer reid, you need him, and you know he needs you.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

-in which you dismiss all the warnings from your friends, but who could deny spencer reid when his eyes light up every time he sees you, like a new toy.

Down Bad

-in which passion takes a form of frustration when you can’t have what you want, the object of your adoration being spencer reid.

So Long, London

-a withering relationship you can’t stop from fading which you decide shall come to an end.

But Daddy I Love Him

-your parents worries of you becoming an fbi agent increase when they find out who your heart desires.

Fresh Out The Slammer

-a night in prison bring out a realization about who’s arms you wanted to run into, fresh out the slammer.

Guilty as Sin?

-fantasies in your head start manifesting and interrupting your life, and spencer reid can tell.

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

-your rivalry with dr. spencer reid reaches a near end when he takes it too far (burntout!reader).

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

-you try and trick yourself into thinking a relationship with spencer reid won’t crash and burn…but what if it doesn’t? (postprison!reid).

‎loml

-you thought it was perfect, everything with spencer reid was new and familiar at the same time. what are you supposed to do when it ends?

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

-profiler spencer reid can see behind your big bright eyes and witty remarks, yearningto know where your mind goes when you’re alone, when you’re not surrounded by people.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

-in an unfortunate series of events, spencer reid betrays you. he threw everything away, and for what? you decide to see him one last time.

The Alchemy

-in which the undeniable chemistry between you and spencer doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

Clara Bow

-…?

*********

summary pending…

The Black Dog

​​imgonnagetyouback

The Albatross

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

How Did It End?

So High School

I Hate It Here

​​thanK you aIMee

I Look in People's Windows

The Prophecy

Cassandra

Peter

The Bolter

Robin

The Manuscript

a/n: if anyone has any ideas for any of these fics, please share! this is long asf ik but just bare with me. also took “florida!!!” of cause i had no idea what to write for that one

[ddodol]

   [ 💙 — fluff ] [ ♨️ — smut ]

   quick drabbles ⭑.ᐟ

connected — j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ sungchan keeps losing his airpods. ]

bedache — l.cy ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ nothing better than spending mundane birthdays with anton. ]

terms of endearment — s.es ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ eunseok tries out different pet names. ]

starry-eyed — p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ showing off some tricks using wonbin's old hair tie. ]

past life — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ drunken nights where you can't help but overthink. ]

   oneshots ⭑.ᐟ

you got me — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you just can't help but play along when the cute pizza delivery guy attempts to prank you. ]

throwing a bone — j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ sungchan was there for your every need, heavy emphasis on every. ]

just a little — s.es ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ eunseok likes your haircut a bit too much. ]

sick man — p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ wonbin gets you out of more work and thinks he should be getting rewarded. ]

popsicle — l.cy ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ the summer heat is starting to get to anton. ]

get even — j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you feel responsible for sungchan's injury, it's only right if you help him out. ]

two on a good day — p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ wonbin should know better than to challenge you. ]

after hours — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ sohee finally sleeps over at your house, though sleeping is the last thing he had in mind when he agreed. ]

new hobby — s.es ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you only thought about picking up a new hobby, not a new man. ]

tastier — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ they say food is tastier when you say how much you love them. ]

acting up — j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ date nights with sungchan are always fun when there's a bit of mischief. ]    song series ⭑.ᐟ

soft — s.es ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ glossy lips look a bit too good on you, eunseok just can't get enough of them. ]

blushing! — p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you get high with your friends at wonbin's house, not knowing you'd get this needy. ]

oh no — h.sh ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ oh no, you just love him too much. ]

candy — l.cy ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ a sweet girl like you deserved better and anton was down to prove that. ]

cotton candy lemonade — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ 💙 — [ late night hangouts with sohee. ]

too deep — s.es ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you and eunseok were in too deep. ]

last chance — l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ — [ all you wanted was to reminisce a little, you didn't expect to have sohee back in your life so suddenly. ]

saturn emoji — p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ you just love the way wonbin makes you feel. ]

guess — s.es, j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ — [ you just got your first tattoo. ]

pretty please — s.es, l.sh ꩜ .ᐟ — [ and they say trios never work out. ]

guess — j.sc, p.wb ꩜ .ᐟ — [ you just got your first tattoo. ]

   mini series ⭑.ᐟ

all the ways — o.sr ꩜ .ᐟ — [ the cute kindergarten teacher thinks you're anton's mom. ] [ kindergarten teacher!taro series ] [ all the ways 💙 ] [ the kids are weird 💙 ] [ can i give you what you need? ♨️ ]

good girl — j.sc ꩜ .ᐟ — [ you make it hard for sungchan to keep it in his pants ] [ dilf!sungchan series ] [ good girl ♨️ ] [ anniversary♨️ ]

working — riize ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ the corporate lifestyle can be unexpectedly fun sometimes. ] [ anthology ] [ #✧₊⁺ working ] [ lost ] [ ...baby one more time ] [ look at me a little more ] [ nonsense ] [ nasty ] [ you can be the boss ]

between friends — riize ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ tba. ] [ anthology ] [ #✧₊⁺ between friends ]

   series ⭑.ᐟ

good luck, babe! — riize ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️ — [ it's rent day! luck was, in fact, not on your side at all— but hey! you have seven handsome guys by your side and that's a win in your book. ] [ choose your own route! ] [ #✧₊⁺ good luck babe! ] [ 787 ] [ 888 ] [ 877 ] [ 1111 ] [ 770 ] [ 780 ] [ 1122 ]

user doddol's kinktober2024 — riize ꩜ .ᐟ ♨️

[canmom]

comics and animation have a lot in common, but one interesting difference is that arranging pictures in space rather than time means there's a tradeoff between the amount of drawings you use to show an action, the amount of space each drawing is given, and the amount of pages you cover which determines the 'pacing' of the comic.

if you slice the page up into a lot of tiny boxes to show many stages of a motion like an animation, then each panel has correspondingly less space for background details, and it may affect the aspect ratio of panels. if you give yourself space for a large splash panel, then the pace will slow.

one solution to this problem is to break the convention that a panel is a single 'frame' of action and show multiple images of a character in the same background. Kentaro Miura did this sometimes, and Tradd Moore (on here - @traddmoore) is an expert who uses it frequently (I'll reblog his spiderman comic in a minute). Kamome Shirahama, a genius at creative paneling, also uses it in a couple of places.

a similar trick will have a single background continuous across multiple panels, showing a static 'camera shot' at different times.

the limitation of these methods is that breaking convention makes the panel a little harder to process - you need to make absolutely sure you cue the reader clearly about where to enter the panel. and it requires action that involves a large movement so the drawings don't overlap. so most authors use it as a 'once in a while' thing.

an opposite approach, used in early parts of Superpose by Seosamh and Anka and Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto, is to go even harder with the cinematic convention and give each panel the aspect ratio and detailed backgrounds of a film camera, taking all the space you need - Superpose opens with about two panels per page which may be very similar to each other, creating a very deliberate sense of pacing. to pull this off you need to be either extremely fast at drawing like Fujimoto, or accept your comic taking a long time to get anywhere - and you also need to be very good at placing the camera in space. you're basically drawing fully rendered storyboards at that point.

one of the interesting difficulties of comic-making is controlling pacing. if you draw many very similar panels it will convey a sense of high concentration and intensity, or a heavy atmosphere, like a long take in a film. much like in prose, if you spend a lot of pictures on something it draws attention to it. so you want to use the 'slow down' sparingly for effect.

as in animation, you're also limited by your own capacity to draw all those pictures, and moreover the space to put them. this is one reason why comics in magazines tend to be sharply limited in page count, and webcomics tend to be very slow compared to other forms of serial fiction. (perhaps manga can make heavier use of pacing tricks by virtue of cheaper printing and endemic overwork. i don't think that's the full story though.) meanwhile, when Transmetropolitan started to experiment with manga-style pacing, apparently it upset fans who felt the story progression was being diluted. when reading Transmet in one go, though, you don't even notice. what works well in an anthology of hundreds of pages may work poorly in a serial.

i think the pace of the reader is often controlled primarily by the text - at least for me I find I sometimes have a tendency to jump very quickly over panels to get to the next bit of the story and have to consciously slow myself down to make sure I don't fail to appreciate the art. so while a series of text-less panels is effective artistically, you might want some words to act as speed bumps. but too much text per picture and your comic becomes exhausting to read, like Subnormality. and you don't want to over-explain what's conveyed perfectly well by the pictures, as many older comics do.

ideally, you use your text, small panels and large panels to create a sense of rhythm. a big splash panel can act as the full stop in a sentence, or a longer take after a series of rapid cuts. negative space is an especially powerful device in the right hands: when you hit a page of Chainsaw Man or Berserk that is almost entirely white after several pages of dense illustration, a character bursting into the void, there's an immediate 'wow' effect before you even process what's happening in the illustration. (i can't seem to find the chainsaw man example i had in mind, so here's one from berserk.)

and on that note, the other thing that comics have that animation doesn't is the impact of being confronted with the whole gestalt page. in the manga I was helping Fall translate when she died, We Are Magical Boys (Bokura wa Mahou Shounen), Fukushima Teppei frequently puts one panel much larger than the others so it dominates the page, usually a close-up or full length character portrait, allowing the cuteness of their unique art style to treasure centre stage. Sandman, which I'm currently rereading, is full of elaborate page compositions, where a drawing might not even be a panel per se, but a visual element. Witch Hat Atelier is full of elaborate borders and clever compositions. just look at this...

how did she come up with that! the absolute madwoman! the right side is relatively standard Atelier (establishing shots, the main cast eagerly stepping out of their panel) but on the left, we have a set of panels falling down from above onto a large splash panel. even though this image is concurrent, the panels invite us to appreciate it in chunks, and the page as a whole has this great visual of the pages of a book, continuing the image of the previous page. (more of this on upcoming post on Atelier)

a character emerging from their panel to overlap others, breaking up the monotony of the grid and adding a sense of depth to the page as a whole, is a reliably appealing motif. also, drawing one panel borderless, so it implicitly continues behind the other panels. large areas of black and white and choices of colour saturation can convey a mood to the page as a whole.

the danger you run is always the loss of clarity. the reader must be able to tell what panels to read in what order without thinking about it. Sandman will sometimes do a double page spread where you're supposed to read across both pages, and this consistently trips me up. Dresden Codak is by an adhd author and her drive to give every page an elaborate layout is very familiar to me, but especially in Hob, it messes with the flow of the comic overall.

so every comic page, every comic, is a fascinating balance of all these factors. how to create a strong, visually interesting composition, control the pacing appropriate to tone, create a thrilling sense of rhythm... all without sacrificing clarity.

not much more to say about this as yet, it's just something I'm thinking about while trying to lay out a page of Ghost Barrier. my tendency is to generally use larger panels, and try to be creative with layouts, but you have to consider not just each page in isolation but how they relate to other pages. so to make the splash panel land, I need to contrast with a denser page immediately beforehand.

the more I make comics the more of a feel I'll get. cool medium!

[keystonepublishing]

Sheriff, Rancher, Soulmate: A Solidaritek Anthology

Ignore the title spelling error, please

So remember how I made those three Solidaritek ficbinds? Just as I was finishing them, a little thought whispered in my ear "What if these fics are all together in a thick book? What if you add-in comments and meta and extra stories from Tumblr? And what if you made it all pretty and super extra?"

And from that, I embarked on a month-long quest to create an anthology of Solidaritek fics. With my drive for wanting things to look pretty, I added some new tricks and effects to the book that I normally wouldn't, such as pasting marbled paper (actually wrapping paper - the same ones I used for the past ficbinds) to "divide" the stories as well as making graphic double-spread title pages.

Creating those graphics was one of the more time-consuming parts of the project. It took literal hours of scouring the web to find the right pictures, graphics, and effects that could best fit the vibe of the stories. It took hours more to finesse them all together in Microsoft Word, a program not known for being good with graphic design.

All the three stories are formatted like how I did their individual past binds. But also I added an additional section to this book that took up even more time: the Meta and Comments section.

This was inspired by some of the ficbinds I saw on Tumblr - if fandom is a transformative place created between discussions and insights between fellow fans, then the comments section deserves equal credit in the creation of fan pairings. As such, I archived selected comments from all three fics for how they appreciate the stories, the authors, or how they understood the pairing.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE.

Over the months I lurked in the Solidaritek pairing, I have saved a number of Tumblr ficlets. Given how my earliest intrusive thoughts on this project is to save them from deletion, I decided to put a spin on the binding concept: create an accompanying booklet of Tumblr ficlets and a book cover-pocket to store said booklet.

The ficlets are, in order of printing:

The Canary of Death and his Coal Mine by @fellfromavent

They Have One Bed by @kitspot (sadly deleted)

Jimmy meets his soulmate through death by @percivex

"But do they have to mean that?" by @habeascorpseus

"Good morning Canary," by @silverskye13

Hermitcraft / Empires Reunion by @pixiemage

In all, from formatting the first page of this book till today, the entire production of this took a full month. While I may not engage in such a complex project again for the near-term (or god forbid, do this again), I am still so proud of this book!

[whencyclopedia]

The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky

The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky is a folktale from the Arapaho nation about a girl, Sapana, who is tricked by a supernatural sky-being into traveling to his home, where he keeps her, and then must find a way to return to her people, helped by the buzzard and the hawk.

The story is nearly identical to the first part of the Cheyenne legend of Falling Star in which a young maiden climbs an ever-growing tree in pursuit of a porcupine and finds herself in the sky realm, unable to return to earth. In that story, the young woman dies trying to escape, but her son, Falling Star, is rescued and raised by the meadowlark, finally returning to his people as a great champion. In the Arapaho story, Sapana is rescued by the birds who hear her cry and come to her aid.

North American Porcupine

J. Glover (CC BY-SA)

The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky deals with many themes common in Native American literature including devotion to a cause and determination (exemplified in Sapana's pursuit of the porcupine), things not being what they seem (the porcupine is actually a sky-being), and the importance of one's home. The tale also serves as an origin myth explaining why the Arapaho always left food for the buzzard and hawk after a buffalo hunt. The story is still among the most popular Arapaho tales, is also told by citizens of the Caddo nation, and is frequently included in anthologies.

Cheyenne, Arapaho, & Bird Figures

It is not surprising that the Cheyenne Falling Star and the Arapaho The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky share similarities as the two nations were – and still are – closely related. The Cheyenne and Arapaho allied against common enemies in the early 19th century, and, although they were different nations, they had, and have, many cultural aspects in common. Scholar Adele Nozedar comments:

When the settlers first came upon them, the Arapaho were already expert horsemen and buffalo hunters. Their territory was originally what has become northern Minnesota, but the Arapaho relocated to the eastern Plains areas of Colorado and Wyoming at about the same time as the Cheyenne; because of this, the two people became associated and are also federally recognized as the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes. (25)

It is unclear where the name Arapaho originated, but it seems to have been given to the people by European colonists who mispronounced the name given them by the Crow – Alappaho ("Many Tattoos") – and then the Arapaho began to refer to themselves by that name. They called themselves Hinono'eino ("the people" or "our people"), and the Cheyenne called them Hitanwo'iv ("People of the Sky"). After forming their alliance, the Arapaho and Cheyenne intermarried, and their histories became entwined. As Nozedar observes, their close relationship is recognized today by the US government, but it should be noted that they are distinct nations, each with their own culture, religious rites, and stories.

In regards to religion, the Arapaho have acquired the reputation of being more spiritually oriented and introspective than other nations, which has led some writers to make sharp distinctions between them and the Cheyenne. Scholar Michael G. Johnson, for example, comments, regarding the two in the 19th century:

The Arapaho were often noted for their religious and contemplative disposition, less warlike than the Cheyenne. They were a nomadic equestrian people, hunting bison, developing military and age-graded organizations, and observed the Sun Dance. (119)

While Johnson's observation on the religious disposition of the Arapaho is accurate, the other aspects listed apply equally to the Cheyenne. The Cheyenne also had military societies, hunted bison, had age-graded organizations, observed the Sun Dance, and were no more "warlike" than the Arapaho. The Cheyenne Creation Story and Arapaho Creation Story also have much in common. The differences between the Cheyenne and Arapaho, though marked, are not as great as their similarities, and this is evident in their literature, which features common themes and figures, including birds.

Birds frequently appear in the tales of all Native peoples of North America and often as helpers, messengers from the gods, and guides. The use of birds in stories, lore, legend, and ritual prayer is not at all unique to the Cheyenne and Arapaho, but there is a familiarity between birds and humans in the stories of both nations that, generally speaking, seems warmer than the same relationship given in the stories of the Sioux or Pawnee or Cherokee or other nations.

Collection

Twelve Stories of the Plains Indians

The stories of the North American Natives articulate and preserve their culture and history. Although the indigenous Nations of North America were...

In Falling Star, it is a meadowlark who saves the hero and raises him, and in The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky, it is the buzzard and the hawk, and in both, the birds are presented more as family members, helpers, than as spiritual guides or messengers. Like family members – in theory at least – they may not always be able to save or even help a person, but they are always there to lend what help they may. In Falling Star, the meadowlark is unable to save the maiden but raises her son. In The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky, the buzzard is presented as a friend and helper, but it is not always depicted that way in Native American literature. Vultures are sometimes portrayed as "helpers" who dispose of the dead and clear away waste but, often, are seen as bad omens symbolizing death or disaster.

Continue reading...

[st4rbe0m]

HIGH SCHOOL IN JAKARTA - TEASER

TEASER WC ▸1.1K

PAIRING ▸ jock!older! Yeonjun x reader

SUMMARY ▸ The world is about to end. It's crashing and swooping down around you, because tomorrow is the first day of highschool. Not even the most extreme hyperboles can explain the battlefield that is navigating the next 4 years. Luckily, or unluckily, you have the summer to prepare - and maybe a cute older boy as well to put in his 2 cents of tips and tricks. But does the summer ever last forever?

RELEASE DATE ▸ RELEASED

PART OF "THE ANTHOLOGY" SERIES

The world as you know it is ending. There’s meteors and asteroids crashing down, balls of fire and smoke rapidly descending on your world. The world you’d built since middle school. 

Not the world as we know it, of course. No, the world with its 8 billion population and sprawling cities and countries wasn’t coming to an end - but it was your world, with its own islands and own niches coming down to debris rapidly. 

Your world meant the things you did - it meant how you stayed up all night on school nights to play Minecraft with Soobin and Beomgyu, your two closest friends since childhood. It means the music you listened to. Usually that included whatever preppy tune that used to overtake the charts. The One Direction boys’ perfect harmonies were all the rage of 2014. Justin Bieber had the hearts of young girls by the fist. But that was middle school. That was 2014, which ended a few months ago. 2015 was the incoming year of the new batch of freshmen in their town’s high school. 2015, and there’s new artists and new bands and new games. It’s 2015 and the world you crafted with wide-eyed dreams and glitter pens is over, and the swooping lurch of reality hits you square in the chest just as the summer heat settles over everyone. 

The First Summer - summer before freshman year 

“Soobin, can you pay attention maybe? Fucking hell.” Beomgyu’s loud usually. Beomgyu’s louder when irritated however. And today he decided to be loud, irritated and angry, and the unnecessary screaming match between Soobin and Beomgyu was just the strike of the match of patience you had needed. “Enough!” Seriously, if you’re gonna fight this much, just beat each other up! I’d rather have you both in battle than this silly screaming match.” Your voice is shrill and the annoyance is heavy. Yet, it does nothing to affect the pair. Instead, all they did was give short laughs. “You can’t shout at us like that Y/N '', the pouty eyes and whining tone of Beomgyu softened you up immediately, and you grinned back with a retaliation ready. “Beomgyu, let Soobin text his sweetheart next door, or else he’ll wilt like a plant deprived of sunlight.” The statement leaves the both of you in a fit of giggles the moment the entire sentence left your lips, and left Soobin to be the pouting one this time. “What do you both even know? To be in love with someone?”, the dramatics were oozing off Soobin, the sore subject of his very strong feeling for his next door neighbor making him more susceptible to teasing from you and Beomgyu. “And what do you know? You haven’t confessed either!”, accusatory, as you told him. It would be wonderful, absolutely delightful for Soobin to pull up his big boy pants and finally ask the other girl out. Not only because they’d make a delightful couple, but also because maybe he’d shut up about the qualms of unrequited (which honestly was quite requited if he just stopped being so blind) love. 

“How’s the existential crisis popping along, Y/N? Are we still the lamest duo you could hang out with that will kill your nonexistent street cred?”. Chucking a throw pillow at the boy, you sighed, the dramatics being your concern now. “You guys don’t get it, do you? This is highschool. The real deal. The next four years of people’s cherished memories.” “You want to peak in highschool badly, don’t you?” “Shut up Soobin!”

They wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t get how highschool mattered to you. How being 15, then 17, then 18 happens only once in life. You’re young in love as a teenager once, and you’re living life on the cusp only one. Romanticizing highschool was a silly cliche, and you were by no means a daydreaming romantic (Eh, maybe sometimes). But living, to experience, to feel, to love, meant something to you. It meant something to the little girl who watched those romcoms in the darkness of her room on a blue light screen. Watching how wonderful guys fell in love with wonderful girls. Watching how the boy loved the girl regardless of status quo. High School was a lake and you were a small pebble ready to skim its surface with accuracy and precision. 

“Are you Machiavelli or something? Stop making that scheming face, seriously. It’s giving me the creeps I’ll be honest. This just resulted in another pillow to the face.

The summer heat, a slow wave of buzzing energy that rolled over the entire town, made most of its residents lethargic. But lethargy wasn’t an option for 15 year olds, especially 15 year olds in the Y/L/N household. Several nags and a good scolding from her mother had Y/N working at the convenience store two blocks down. A job that Y/N was certain of, might just be the first of its kind in the way it could kill the employee of boredom. “At least you get the AC, Y/N. And us!”. Huening Kai was an absolutely wonderful person. Honestly, there was no way to say anything negative according to Y/N, which made Taehyun roll his eyes often. The two boys would frequent the store often. The first day because Kai was craving an ice pop to battle the heat. But once the pair had seen the pretty girl working the register all by her lonesome, and the boys not having anything interesting to while away their time with, began to visit Y/N on her shifts, eating the almost expired stock and chitchatting. 

Even from the corny sentence Kai had just said, Y/N could only bring herself to frown, but not get annoyed at the sunshine boy. The summer reinvention was in full swing for Y/N. Calling it a reinvention made her uncomfortable sometimes. It was just a few tweaks right? It’s not like she was gonna lose herself completely.  A harmless fine-tuning of the machinery, shinier gears to turn her and a fancier covering. 

Convenient store afternoons were idyll - no customers, and usually no Kai and Taehyun, who’d take the most deep afternoon naps they could take. Today, however, they’d decided to forego the naps, and they hung around the back, to analyze which candy was the best for the summer. 

Y/N’s sitting at the till, bright light shining right through the spotless plexiglass, hair gently swooping over her face, illuminating the strands. There’s a slight breeze from the droning AC that cools whatever sweat was beading her forehead.  A lazy afternoon, light and airy, with the low hanging summer making the world around simmer like a boiling pot. It was this afternoon, that the bell tinkled as the convenience store’s door opened, the sound jingling faintly over the sound of buzzing cicadas and grasshoppers. It was this afternoon, uneventful like the rest, until it wasn’t - that Y/N looked up to meet the eyes of Choi Yeonjun. 

[tough-n-dumb]

weave a lovers' tapestry: an anthology of stand-alone Kanej fics and ficlets

Latest ficlet—chapter 8

a skip in perception

Inej spends an evening watching Kaz perform card tricks. (For @insignificant457)

Excerpt: 

After fumbling with the lock and wiggling the pins for much longer than she would have liked, Inej shoves the window open, finally earning her reprieve from the rain. The attic is cold but blissfully dry.

But the sight she’s greeted with takes her breath away faster than the frigid weather. Kaz is seated at his desk with his shirtsleeves pushed up and hands bare. He shuffles a deck of cards and the way they move between his long, slender fingers is reminiscent of wind in tall grass.

Read on AO3

[english-mace]

You really like using 2nd person in your (published) fiction, and present tense. Is that a big preference or just how it shook out with the short fiction?

What a fun question!

Honestly, it's a little of both. My friend Valerie Valdes has a great essay about why second person sometimes appeals to marginalized authors - essentially, it feels less alienating because we're very used to being asked to step into an experience very different to our own (since so much fiction is anchored on the 'universal' straight-white-cis perspective). For myself, I started out in poetry, where writing to 'you' feels very natural, so, particularly with flash fiction, I drift back into that mode easily.

Second person is great for simultaneously inducing empathy while also distancing the character from what's happening, in an odd way. It's the epitome of 'tell don't show.' In third person, we can do a little bit of informing-on-emotional-state - at least in close third - but we also give the reader context to make their own judgment on whether the character really is feeling the way they're telling us they are, and whether that feeling is justified. In second person, we can get very sparse. A character might only give us one angle or detail of their experience, or a character might refuse to tell us anything at all about how they're feeling, practically dissociating (like the betrayed god-monster of Birds Are Trying To Reinvent Your Heart, a story which displaces emotions onto physical objects rather than placing them on 'you'-the-reader). A really good author - Rebecca Roanhorse's Hugo- and Nebula-winning Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience springs to mind - can use second person to incept emotions into the reader, using the complicity of the PoV to get far deeper under the skin than first - conversational, confessional - or third - documentary, informative - ever can.

The trick is, second person is a lot harder to maintain suspension of disbelief. Audiences are far more likely to reject a PoV - like an organ transplant - that asks them to mutate their own self-identity for the length of a story. It's very doable in small slices. Start going for longer, you are likely to lose people.

So that comes back to the difference between what I write and what I manage to sell 😅 I tend to write second-person in pieces under 2,000 words - Sparsely Populated, Birds, and (arguably second, but reads like first) Upon What Soil are all under 1,000, and I have a second-person lesbian forest-witch necromancy story coming out in Haven Spec next month that's ~1,700. And I've had a lot more success selling my flash fiction and poetry than I have my longer pieces. Of the ones I have sold, both my Silk & Steel story (6900 words) and my pirate feather-witches story in Skies of Wonder (4200 words) were third-person past, as are all three of the novels I've gone out on submission with. But alas! If no one buys them, or if only anthology markets which don't post online do, then no one can read them.

...having said all this, I am currently plotting out a second-person detective noir novella, but I'm 90% certain my agent will make me rewrite it into first when I'm done, so there's that 😅

[booktomoviebrawl]

We are not judging how bad the movie is, we are judging which adapted the book the worst. There are good movies that are bad adaptions.

Propaganda below the cut (spoilers may apply)

World War Z:

The only thing from the book in this film is a two minute scene with a guy with the same name as a character from the book who gives basic exposition and only vaguely alludes to the stuff he did in the book. It’s just a bland Brad Pitt action movie that wanted to trick fans of an interesting book into seeing it. I wanted to go see Pacific Rim but my cousin dragged me to this shit instead. And yes I am still mad about it.

It shares almost nothing with the book except the title, the zombies, and a couple of locations

It took a genuinely interesting, anthology-like book that featured incredible scenes (of surviving the zombie apocalypse), and used its name to create a generic snoozefest action movie with Brad Pitt because he wanted to be the main character of a story with no main character. There were like 20+ zombie scenes in the book that I still remember to this day and IT USED NONE OF THEM. Battle of Yorktown? The blind Japanese guy and his shovel? The castle? The zombies crawling on the ocean floor???! NONE OF THEM IN THE MOVIE!!!!!! When will this get rebooted into an anthology TV series we deserve???? WHEN?

The School for Good and Evil:

oh my fucking god. okay. this movie absolutely should have been a TV show. it cuts out so much of the book and is still two and a half hours long. it would have worked much better as a tv show with six hour and a half episodes per season. they also did some…things to both of the main characters’ personalities and motivations that change the story. for the most part the movie is ok, but it just Should Not have been a movie. as it is, its incredibly campy and all of the actors are fucking incredibly. speaking of the cast, it is Stacked. sofia wylie, charlize theron, kerry washington, kit young, michelle yeoh… iconic. they slayed fr. the main issue is that it just Doesnt Work as a movie and i guess i see why it was one but like. shoulda been a tv show.

It victimizes the villainous actions of one of the main characters and makes the other main character pretty much useless since there is no conflict between the two as a result of the victimizing.

Listen it was a fun movie but uhhh. Gavaldon's been dealing with regular-as-rain kidnappings for a couple hundred years. Lady Lesso wasn't a Reader, and DEFINITELY not the last one kidnapped. WHERE IS AUGUST SADER. This is literally not the same story.

[imagibunny]

do you have any favorite horror movies? in general i mean

GOD YOU HAVE ASKED THE WRONG PERSON

i'm. picky about horror i watch. quite possibly a bunch of it is cult classics, indie films, or just really obscure things i don't really think people have seen

for example, outside of like. the child's play movies and the latest scream movies, i don't particularly care for any horror mainstays like jason, freddy, leatherface, ect ect. they're just not interesting to me

HOWEVER

i have Varrying different favorites depending on catagory because i am a freak

favorite anthology;

trick r treat. this has been MY MOVIE since i saw it back when i was a kid. sam is my son boy allowed and i am one sidedly fighting his va for who has the most sam merch (don't ask me about the supposed sequel that's been announced for over a decade i hate the director)

runners up;

the v/h/s series and the abcs of death movies. v/h/s is fun and i LOVE the later instalments (especially 98 and 99) but the first 3 were kinda weak?? and god i hated the first ones wrap around story arc. abcs of death are honestly just really fun!! love seeing all the different ways people can interpret their word they got and can get silly with it (SHOUT OUT TO W FROM THE FIRST ONE AND P FROM THE SECOND I LOVE THE SILLY SHORTS SM)

favorite found footage:

paranaormal activity. i'm normal about it (is not) pa1 changed my brain chemistry idk what else you want me to tell u kjnKJD. i however am very insistant on watching it IN THE CORRECT ORDER, which means i more often then not have to watch it alone. don't ask me about "next of kin" i hate it it's bad it's worst then ghost dimension. pagd actually stayed on story and gave us closure and a finale!! nok just feels. like they said "oh pa is just about recording a demon obsessed with a woman" NO IT'S NOT YOU BOZOS I'M HOLDING YOU HOSTAGE TO WATCH THE MOVIES AGAIN

runners up;

quarentine. let it be known i AM AWARE this is a remake of rec, i just ended up seeing quarentine first and havent had the time to see the rec movies. i definately want to though, quarentine was a fun zombie movie

favorite mockumentary:

ABSOLUTE TIE BETWEEN SAVAGELAND AND THE RISE OF LESLIE VARNOM. savageland is just Really solid and i love the inclusion of the photos and the 3d map and everything OOOOO I LOVE IT!! behind the mask is a favorite for another reason and that is leslie varnom my little freak. i know he's a serial killer but he's so SILLY! i'm putting him in a bug cage to study him as we speak thank you. a bit upset they took away the found footage bit near the end but that ending has me holding out my wallet ready to fund a sequel movie <3

runner up;

the tunnel! it's only a runner up cause i just recently watched it, i know in my HEART if i had watched it longer ago it would've been a top favorite

favorite foreign horror:

i'm grabbing gonjiam haunted asylum LIKE A SQUEAKY TOY. it's basically a korean grave encounters but the difference here is that it's good /lh

runner up:

ONE MISSED CALL. i originally watched the eng remake with my dad but gave the original japanese version a go after finding out it exists and OOHHHHHHHH OHHHHHHHH!!!!!! /pos literally the only reason it's not my favorite is because my father (derogatory) set the ringtone from the movie as HIS ringtone. any time his phone went off he would look at us all worried like "that's not my ringtone..." my dad's a jackass

and because i'm on a roll legally i can say anything by eli roth fucking SUCKS. granted this man is a zionist so he fucking sucks in the moral department, not to mention his movie "green inferno" is his adaption of "cannibal halocaust" but like. his movies are just. so Mean, and for no good reason either. i dunno man i watched hostel too young so anything with his name attached gives me bad vibes

anyways i'm sorry for rambling you unleashed the autism curse urself good luck

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

EVERY WEEK I WILL POST VARIOUS REVIEWS I’VE WRITTEN SO FAR IN 2024. YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY GOODREADS FOR MORE UP-TO-DATE REVIEWS HERE.

___

35. Mistakes Were Made by Meryl Wilsner--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Meryl Wilsner has done something that I rarely see in romance and automatically earned them a five star rating: a anxiety-free age gap romance that could have been super messy but was surprisingly stress-free. I know that a lot of readers like the messiness, but I found MISTAKES WERE MADE refreshing.

First, I'd like to thank my coworker for recommending this awesome read for me. I have this thing where I start craving a new book and I ask a coworker to find me something and if it sounds good, I'll buy it and try it out. This was an A+ recommendation.

I really enjoyed the character growth on both sides and how both were imperfect and jaded by past relationships. They worked off each other really well--even if it was sometimes the blind leading the blind.

I LOVED the friendship between the one FMC and her childhood best friend. It was so healthy and I loved that their friendship wasn't sacrificed for the sake of plot. It's like Wilsner saw all the tropes I disliked and decided to do the opposite. Also, props to the other best friend (the daughter of the second FMC). She surprised me a lot.

Also, the SPICE. Phewwwww. This was a SPICY book. Just, wow. Was not expecting it, but I thoroughly enjoyed it LOL.

I love a good age gap and this delivered. Everything was respectful and I just loved it so much.

___

36. Okay, Cupid by Mason Deaver--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I realized, as I started the audiobook for this one, that I've somehow read all of the books Deaver has written (not including the anthologies). Knowing this, I'm not entirely surprised that I enjoyed this newest one, OKAY, CUPID. It was unique, cute, and had some super introspective moments.

I loved how incredibly diverse this book was and how it explored some pretty important topics. Deaver has a way of creating characters that have a lot of heart--even if they are sometimes heavily misguided (which also fits because these are teenagers.)

The concept of the MC being a Cupid was so fun--especially when they are trying their hardest to get their love targets into the perfect opportunities for a love match. The little tricks and the tips the MC receives from their best friend made me think about how, if any of it were real, people all around the world would be thinking about someone they couldn't truly remember somehow getting them all together.

Okay, the concept had some holes (I do wish we had a bit more to go off about this Cupid Alt. world because it was such an interesting idea) and I think it was glossed over a bit too much. I did like that ending though!

My heart belongs with Cal, though. What a loveable himbo.

___

37. Divine Rivals by Rebecca Ross--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I didn't write a review for this one.

___

38. The Secret of Red Gate Farm by Carolyn Keene--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I love how all of these mysteries fall into Nancy Drew's lap and she's just like "Sure, let's do this dangerous thing!" and her dad is like, "Sure honey, have fun!" and the police is like "Good job, Nancy!" when we know damn well that in real life, Nancy would be a nuisance to the police and her dad would either be grounding her or popping tums every thirty minutes.

LOL. Listen, even though I have been enjoying these books, the level of teenage invincibility that Nancy and her friends have adopted throughout the various mysteries has been entertaining.

Anyway, I enjoyed the mystery of this one. I found I liked the multi-levels to the mystery and how everything was revealed at the end. I also liked seeing Nancy with her friends--they're truly ride or die.

I'm excited for the next book because it's where we meet her famous boyfriend for the first time!

___

39. Our Lives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield--⭐️⭐️⭐️

Much like the waves that beckon one of the MCs to the ocean, the themes in this book are like waves that beckon confusion (for me). There were various storylines happening (between the past and present from the pov of one character, and the past from the pov of the other character) and when I thought I was starting to get a grip on where the story was going, something else would happen to confuse me.

The friends who've read this have loved it, I'm straddling the line of thinking it's genius in its ability to cause chaos, and thinking that this was a beautifully written story that amounted to...a hand cupping water that slowly seeps out through your fingers until you have nothing left in your palm. One part of the ending made sense because we were leading there, but the other part was so confusing and gave me nothing. It's like that meme that says "Yes, girl, give me nothing!"

I could feel the palpable grief, however, and I did love the way the grieving process was described. Despite the confusing nature of the book, Armfield can write. There is no question about that.

I almost DNF'ed this a couple of times, but was curious about why my friends loved it so much.

Was my review confusing? Was my writing all over the place? Welcome to my experience reading this book. LOL.

___

40. This Wretched Valley by Jenny Kiefer--⭐️⭐️⭐️

On the surface, THIS WRETCHED VALLEY is incredibly intriguing and captivating. You have a group of "researchers" entering haunted woods that are known for the people that go missing within (according to the waitress). Then you have a series of creepy events that lead up to the eventual death of these younger people (not a spoiler, it is literally the first chapter). Like I said, on the surface, this book holds a ton of potential. A collection of things kept this book back from being higher rated by me, but let it be known that I still had a spooky good time.

One of the things I wish was done different was how the author kept pointing out what the character saw and what was the reality. I'm going to be real honest: I would have preferred to fall into the madness with the characters. I don't need to know that the character sees a clue of something and then have the author tell me something like "if the character had looked deep inside themselves, they would have noticed that this didn't make sense." Or, the characters will be walking through some creepy spot and the author would pop in to say "if the character looked down, they'd see that there was nothing there."

Let me fall into the monologue. Trust the reader to know that the characters are probably tripping hella balls. It's fine.

Other than those instances, this book was fun. It made me want to read THE RUINS. These characters were all unreliable and super flawed, but I liked how the author slowly made them worse and worse as they fell under the spell of the woods and land.

___

41. Dead & Gone by Charlaine Harris--⭐️⭐️⭐️

It's interesting to see how far Sookie has come as a character. I found that this book was a little all over the place and the romantic interests in her life (old and not so old) were all coming out of the woodwork. There was one redemption arc I was never expecting. In retrospect, I wonder if this was just an outward sign of what Sookie is and the events of this book. Maybe her appeal was heightened?

I do like that one character brought up a situation Sookie is falling into like a fly caught in a spider's web, even if that character acted a little out of character. He was a total dick.

Overall, this was entertaining as always, but not a favourite of mine. I think a lot was happening (like a certain reveal, which I loved) but at the same time, it just felt purely chaotic. And Sookie, to me, was acting a bit different than usual. I'm staring down the last four books in the series, so who knows what comes next!

___

Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

[mazm-imagines]

Mr. Utterson - I have been indulging in an anthology series about 7 Deadly Sins. I have finally reached to the 'Greed' part and this quote piqued my interest: "Money is the best lawyer in hell". What are your thoughts about this one..?

"What a curious idea indeed..." Utterson pressed his chin between his pointer and thumb to think upon the matter before responding with his thoughts.

"I suppose it could be referring to how a sinner has no defense in Hell, no lawyers to defend them as they have already been tried by God himself- and found guilty of their sins." He clicked his tongue in disdain.

"Perhaps only a fiend could fall for cheap tricks such as bribery... although as far as I know, money means nothing in Hell. Souls are no longer individuals, only defined by their sins. Unless this 'Hell' is a metaphorical one, that would be another case entirely then. If this world is our 'Hell' then I would be inclined to agree... unfortunately it seems far too common that money speaks louder than the words of truth.

"But I would like to believe, that we live in a kind world with kind people..?" Surely it was a kind world, if someone as virtuous as Jekyll was in it, how could it not be?

[burningexeter]

[PITCH]

Incredible Stories Told By Shego

What is it —

A spin-off/reboot of Kim Possible, and a horror anthology series hosted by Shego in animated wraparound segments that appear in the beginning and end of every episode with Nicole Sullivan reprising her iconic role.

PREMISE:

As with most antholgies, each and every episode has a new setting, story and characters although some details connect the stories and therefore not only does it help make the series stand out from others of its genre but also heavily imply a shared universe.

But another thing that adds to it is that the series is live action with animated wraparounds featuring Shego in a Rod Serling/Cryptkeeper type of host role that book-ends every episode and the overall tone of the show is a mix of enchantment, sci-fi, adventure, mystery and most of all, horror with inspiration being taken from Amazing Stories, Trick r Treat, R.L. Stine's The Haunting Hour: The Series, Tales From The Darkside and last but not least Wild Tales.

Every episode obviously features a different cast in a scary and often surreal situation that would involve ghosts, aliens, witches, zombies and monsters but the storylines are much darker and some episodes serve as very dark morality tales. Better yet, the threat of death is not implied, being both clear and permanent. In addition, death in the show is not limited to antagonists and minor characters with some stories even ending with the main protagonist(s) being killed.

That said, there will be a good and solid as a rock balance between good and bad endings with the formers feeling the most earned and the latters being dark and twisted horror ends.

EPISODE IDEAS:

The Rain In The Trench — Set in World War I, a fighter pilot who's shot down, a sadistic and ruthless private and a soldier who's left eye is bloodshot after a gunshot to the head all find themselves trapped behind enemy lines in an abandoned, almost maze-like trench where the spirits of those they've killed who were innocent begin to haunt them and play off their deepest and most darkest fears.

Purgatory On The Way — A spoiled beauty pageant queen is on her way to compete and win her 100th competition when she ends up in a violent car accident that leaves her in a bloody coma and winds up stuck in purgatory where it's revealed she's destined to die later on but she refuses to pass on before she wins the award her career has been building towards.

Bad Wolf Rising — At one of the best but most toughest military schools in the state, a cadet who's not known for his bravery is the only one who's able to stop a deadly wolf-like creature that's infiltrated the school and it's starting to feast on the flesh and meat of the teachers and students when the moon is out and the lights fade.

Sticky Fingers — With the skin of her fingers ripped off, a rookie police officer must use all of her skills she's able to do in order to escape from the clutches of a demented serial killer who's been responsible for the deaths of several officers in the city and is about to add her to his victims' list.

Deer In Headlights — A group of rowdy college students accidentally run over a deer after getting drunk at a party and try to get it out of their car windshield its head smashed through, only for it to keep on coming back to life again and again no matter how many times they actually kill it.

NOTES/TRIVIA/DETAILS:

• The show will run for a total of three seasons as a get in and get out sort of way.

• If the show is a success than it will spin-off into Global Justice.

• While she will still have her signature sense of humor, Shego is far more darker and scarier here than she is in the original series.

• At the end of the show, it will be heavily implied that Shego is somehow responsible for the events in every episode.

• The show will push the rating for how much violence and darkness we can get away with.