#damn we got crisp rat

[v-v-x-x]

It's so funny seeing you all get upset that your favorite actor is probably a trash person. Like I can't even with some of the posts I've read on here already trashing Maria Elena Rios. Like imagine getting that wet over some dick you'll never get to even see. He's not gonna fuck you I promise you that. But yeah continue writing your fanfictions about a character in a marvel movie that wasn't even good. Y'all scream feminism at the top of your lungs everyday on this app but get silent real quick when it's your favorite actor that's a creep.

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

Hi hello and howdy

Since I can't contain my thoughts here's all the "Mirage" logicistics. Basically they either swap or enhance ones personality, heres a few examples:

Mirage Lenore is way more looney and impulsive, with a practically nonexistant off switch having to be dragged off screaming before she sets anything on fire, her group mainly sticks with her for fear of their own lives and she and Annabel are ALLOWED TO BE GAY!!! HOORAY!!! They still have the pretend to hate each other thing but thats mainly due to Annabel's paranoia

Mirage Duke is a shit magician who constantly looses parts of his tricks, he's also like WAYYY too overdramatic, the kinda mf to fall over if you steal his chip,

"MY CHIP!!"

"Its... its just a crisp.."

"I WAS GOING TO EAT THAT!"

"Oh my god..."

So yeah, pathetic cringefail looser LMFAO, but he is the kinda person to pull a "OMG MY BEST FRIEND! MOVE!" And shove whoever out of his way

Mirage Pluto is if you took a wet cat and made him a golden retriever. He's very hyperactive, social, easily distracted. Mf is like "wanna hear abt my hyperfixations?!" Talks and doesn't wait for an answer a neat thing i did with some characters Mirage's is i inverted stuff abt them like hair, emblems, all that. He still thinks M! Duke's magic is cool

Mirage Berenice is a feral little creature, constantly biting or nibbling on things (mainly Eulalies arm, or her own. I dont think chewlery exists in the victorian era). She's also the queen of being unhinged, in spectre form shes somewhat normal at least. For the most part she's in her own world

Mirage Eulalie is the mean autistic, less into creepy/old things n thinks their lame and/or weird. She's the one dragging Berenice around and keeping the gang from falling apart. Her and M! Morella really out here sharing the only group braincell, shes also blunt as fuck and wont hesitate to tell you you look bad. I wanted to lean more into the japanese part of her character so she just kinda- speaks more of it now (lol idk how else to explain it)

Mirage Morella, like M! Eulalie, is a mean autistic. She's less emotional, and more of "I dont give a damn just get me out of here.", sticks with whatever group she's feelin that day tbh. Won't tell you you look bad, will probably just call you a dumbass and leave

Mirage Annabel is kinda like regular Annabel but without the "Life is like chess" mentality. So more jumpy, kinda a walking talking mental breakdown waiting to happen. Excess paranoia and increase of hallucinations cus pookie and I decided we aren't giving her a break

Mirage Prospero is no longer fancy and polite, he is sopping wet germaphobic wet cat. He will go through great lengths to avoid disease, faints around blood and puke, screams at the sight of his own rats (or just rats/bugs in general), actively raising his and Annabel's blood pressure with how scardy he is.

Mirage Montresor is imo the funniest one cuz he's just a polite little gentleman, doin all the chivalry shit like opening doors, pushing chairs in and out, saying his pleases/thank yous/welcomes, he's even calling everyone "Sir" and "Ma'am". He's still an asshole, but you really gotta provoke him to see that

Tbh, I didn't think much abt Mirage Will since Will to me is kinda just there as Monty's lackey who gets kicked around. SO he's less of a pushover, more demanding, up and refuses what people tell him, bullies M! Monty, he tried bullying M! Ada and M! Morella but bro got his ass kicked. On top of it, he's unfortunately more sexist and stubborn. No more people pleasing ig 🤷‍♀️

Finally, Mirage Ada. What I wanted to do for her is have her be an absolute girlboss who is always serving 100% of the time. Everything she does is her choice and for her and her friends, and and and shes Aroace too, pretty chill when she has to reject someone just like:

"Hey i like u"

"Oh! I don't feel the same but we can still be friends?"

"Ok"

EPIC HIGH FIVE

She also beat M! Will up, good for her

So uh, yeah! Thats all i got. If you have questions, feel free to comment or ask in the askbox. :)

[gingerbreadmonsters]

stupid cupid

or: stop picking on me!

gn!reader, no content warnings, fun dumb fluff for the soul. sam collins, you’re a real mean guy! takes place inside the wonderful lexi’s prissy au, where alexis and christian are together - @autisticempathydaemon i hope i do your blorbos justice! as always, i owe everything to the discord girlies - i get the sudden feeling that @zozo-01 ​ might want to hear about this... oh, and all my love to my lovely dialect coach, the incomparable @sri-rachaa - without whom, you would all be subject to the most unholy combination of accents imaginable. be very very grateful! 💕💕 heavily inspired by stupid cupid by connie francis, which i demand you listen to while you read. spot the 五二零 reference! sam being absolutely, thoroughly to blame in just over 2200 words.

“Well. Fancy seeing you here, hmm?”

Sam Collins is an idiot.

Yeah, you’re not afraid to say it.

Sam Collins is an idiot, and you’ll tell anyone who listens, swear up and down it’s the honest truth. A bleeding-heart birdbrain who couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag. An empty-headed vamp with a talent for healing and an even bigger talent for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Nobody else alive can put their foot in their mouth quite so quickly or obviously, and - despite Asher’s continued existence - he actually holds the state record for most dumb things said in a single minute. He’s a moron and a fool and the stupidest goddamn loser you’ve ever met in your life, and the worst part about it is that you’re absolutely, ridiculously, so so so in love with him.

It’s not fair!

What even is there to like about him? His stupid face and his awful smile and that horrible way he says there’s my darlin’, all relieved and deep and easy, when you come traipsing back through his door like a drowned rat because you hadn’t checked the forecast and it had started raining about twenty minutes after you left. His old-fashioned, ugly haircut that’s the perfect length to run your fingers through, all messy and falling across his face when he’s asleep in your arms, unfairly soft and pretty even though he barely takes care of it at all. That god-awful scruff around his jaw that you can’t help but kiss as he fills the kettle up with water, those strong hands that gently find their way around your waist as you’re listening to Milo’s tale of whatever bullshit he and his mate got up to last week, the way he likes to prop you up against his chest whenever you’re watching TV together…

…Sorry, what were we talking about?

Oh, Sam, right. Yeah, yeah. He’s an idiot. Have you mentioned that yet?

He gets back and finds you perched on the kitchen counter, elbow deep in the bag of crisps you said you didn’t like but he knows you do, because he pays too much attention to stupid shit like that for his own good. He lets you play your music in the car way more than the 50/50 you’d agreed on, which you know is true because you’ve started counting, because he’s a lying liar who lies. He always opens doors for you and pulls out your chair at the table and brings you flowers, but never lets you do the same for him, because he’s an enemy of goodness who hates things being fair.

He’s just so - he’s - the - he - aargh!

Stupid, stupid Sam Collins. It should be illegal to be so - so like that, you know? Who even let him get like this, anyway? Kissing your hand as he says hello with that damned smile, like some dashing hero out of one of those gushy romance novels Vincent’s always carting around - you know the ones, the cringy airport-duty-free types with the big cursive letters and a stock photo of some windswept white guy plastered across the cover. Your real life white knight, stepped right off the page and into your arms like it’s where he’s meant to be.

(It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, but sometimes you really do have to wonder. He gives Vincent shit for reading all those cheesy romance novels, but you’re starting to think it’s Sam who takes them to heart. He does know that those aren’t instruction manuals… right?)

He’s something else, that man. Unfortunately, you can’t say you don’t like it.

At first, you’d thought he was just playing it up - trying to be courteous, trying to be nice, and accidentally laying it on just a bit too thick. It seemed like the sort of thing he’d do, from what you could tell. He’s just so good - the kind of guy that you can’t help but admire in a sort of ‘oh, he’ll make someone really happy, one day’ kind of way. Does that make sense? Charming, really charming, even if he thinks he isn’t - and thoroughly, utterly, absolutely meant for someone a lot better than you.

You don’t say it. Never have, never will. It’s obvious. Larger than life, moonlight on the silver screen. He’s always been meant for more than this, more than you, and you won’t insult his intelligence by pretending you don’t know. He could do so much better, couldn’t he? To start with, you’d thought he must be more of an idiot than he’d seemed, to want you the way he says he does.

You know a little better now, but it doesn’t stop surprising you - he doesn’t stop surprising you.

Credit where it’s due, he’s stuck around, even when you thought he wouldn’t. The truth isn’t hard to see, but he does his best to persuade you otherwise, in as many words - and sometimes not so many clothes. More often than not, you tend to believe him. He’s very convincing, when he wants to be - that or he’s just stubborn, and you never learnt the difference. Whatever it is, it sounds so nice when he says it. If that’s what his version of persuasion feels like, you’re more than happy to, uh… to be convinced, if you will.

You don’t have to say. He knows. He already knows, and he stays anyway.

“...Darlin’?”

Oh, fuck, he - um-

“Uh - yeah, I - oh - yeah, I, um…” Startled out of your daydreaming, you’re caught off-guard by that foaming, fizzing feeling that bubbles up in your chest as he catches your eye, leaning down to prop himself up on the side of the sofa right next to where you’re sitting. “I was just, you know… sitting here…”

He laughs low and easy at your smooth comeback, shifting his weight to rest on one arm so he can reach out and take your hand gently in his. “Gettin’ comfy, are we?”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumble, trying desperately not to look as flustered as you feel. Fuck, does everyone feel like this when they see their mates? Or is it just the effect Sam has on you? You’d better start cutting Milo some more slack for that dumb face he makes whenever his mate walks into the room. “Got back early from David’s.”

“He alrigh’?”

“Seems it.” It’s always a bit awkward, going over to hang out at David’s house, but it’s generally a good time when you can pluck up the courage to actually go. “Ash spent half the time giving him shit for losing at Mario Kart, and the other half was mostly David beating him into the ground at Gang Beasts, so… yeah?”

The afternoon had been pretty good, all things considered - barring one minor mishap with a deck of UNO cards, a saucepan full of rice and some god-awful rhythm action game - and it had been nice to spend some time just relaxing with the others again. Everyone’s been so busy that it’s been hard to find a day you could all do, so it was a good change of pace.

Sam nods, thumb idly stroking over the back of your hand. “Seems like the pair of ‘em are settlin’ right in with this whole engaged business, then.”

“Business as usual, more like. They’re all lovey with their mates anyway, so it’s no different.” It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault - it’s just the way the bond works, you know? Not a compulsion, it’s not forcing you close or making you want to be all soft and touchy all the time. It just… it feels nice, is all. Like it’s good, like it’s true, like it’s right. You’d like to say you’re not as PDA-heavy as the really ooey-gooey ones like Milo and his mate, but��� Well. Maybe most of the time.

“Mm, ‘spose you’re right on that front,” he muses, regretfully letting go of your hand as he stands up and starts walking off towards the kitchen. “‘Sides, ain’t David the one who proposed to his mate on solstice day? Guess he’s just the romantic type.”

“I…” When you think of romantic people, David Shaw isn’t top of the list, but maybe he’s right. When it comes to all that cheesy, cutesy stuff? Angel isn’t exactly the most subtle pet name, after all. “Yeah, I guess.”

You make to get up and follow him, but he holds out a hand to stop you before you can even properly stand.

“Nope - you stay right there, darlin’,” he says, grabbing the remote off the side table and tossing it lightly into your lap as he disappears out into the corridor. “Won’t be more’n a minute.”

“Everything alright?”

“Left my phone on the counter, ‘s all,” he replies, voice echoing slightly in the hall as you turn the TV on, idly flicking through the channels. “Vincent wanted me to take a look at some website or other - last I heard, he’s been makin’ plans for some Valentine’s Day thing?”

“He’ll be disappointed, then,” you snicker, readjusting yourself slightly to make room for Sam as he comes to sit next to you on the sofa. “He has realised that Valentine’s Day was, like, two weeks ago, right?”

A long-suffering sigh - which, to be honest, is most of the clan’s reaction when Vincent starts waxing lyrical about his partner again. There’s been a meeting at William’s all evening, something about making preparations for an event at one of the properties in a few months’ time, so Vincent must have got a hold of him there.

“Well, whatever it is, he’s got all sorts of ideas floatin’ around. He normally asks Alexis about this kinda thing, but she wasn’t there tonight so he came to me.”

“Huh.” That’s unusual. Alexis is normally really on top of these sorts of things - say what you will about her, she’s always on time and she never misses anything business-related if she can help it. “Maybe she’s just feeling a bit under the weather today.”

“Vincent said she had some ‘prior arrangement’ in town she couldn’t miss.” Sam shrugs, settling in next to you as you switch over to Netflix. “Guess she must’ve been double-booked tonight.”

Hmm. Why is that familiar? Playing truant, ‘double-booked’... You haven’t heard anything about Alexis being busy tonight before, so why does ‘prior arrangement’ ring a bell?

...Wait.

Oh, so that’s why Christian left early! You’d thought he was looking unusually dressed up. Their date night is normally Wednesdays, so it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but now that you think about it you remember Chrissy bitching about being on an out-of-town job all this week and having to miss it.

Oh, fair enough then. If someone had tried to send you out on some boring security gig for a week and you couldn’t see Sam until you got back, you’d probably be pretty pissed off too.

The conversation trails off a bit as you finally find a show you want to watch, and you’re just reaching for the blanket behind you when he - oh, when - um, when, ahhh…

“This alrigh’?” Curse his vampire speed! Before you really know what’s happening, he’s got you pressed right up against him, legs draped over his lap and curled in close under his arm, blanket over both of you. Not that you need it, anymore - your face feels like lava with the way he’s looking at you, impossibly gentle and kind.

“Yeah, yeah…” The spotlight of his attention, turned fully on you, and you’re practically blinded every time. “Good, yeah, it’s uh… yeah, ‘s fine…”

“Good,” he says, smiling softly like he has no idea of the effect he has on you. “Wouldn’t want my mate gettin’ cold on my watch.”

Fuck, does he always have to say it like that? Doesn’t he know what it does to you? Mate, mate, mate. Rattling around in your head, that firecracker-fizzing in your chest that runs through you at just the thought. He’ll end up giving you a heart attack one of these days, the way he’s going. And if it means he’ll heal you, hands all over you, holding you close as his aura cracks and sparks with healing magic? Maybe it’s overkill - but you can’t say the thought isn’t very appealing.

You hide your smile against his shoulder, burying your face in his chest in a vain attempt to play it cool - unfortunately his ridiculously-affectionate little laugh as you twist your fingers in his shirt tells you that it hasn't quite worked.

“Y’know, you seem a bit distracted, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The TV is long-forgotten as he gently tips your chin up, that idiot, idiot Sam Collins - dumb silver eyes and horrible smile and stupidly-handsome face just inches away. Is it just you, or is it a bit warm in here? In the arms of an evil, awful, wicked man whose favourite thing to do is make your stupid brain stop working, who sets your face and your heart and your soul on fire without a second thought, without even knowing he’s doing it. Honestly. What’s become of you? A house and a life and a mate that’s yours, it’s yours, he’s yours.

“Penny for your thoughts, darlin’?” A soft kiss, pressed lightly to your cheek, and all of a sudden the inside of your brain lights up a familiar shade of bright, bright blue.

He - you - oh, that’s - he just - aargh!

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[iironwreath]

Clean [Redback]

Redback was seventeen when pirates attacked the Neverending Wave. ‘Attacked’ wasn’t totally right; out on the open sea, one’s sight was only limited by the weather. On a cloudless day when the waves were tame, one could see all the way to the uninterrupted horizon. It was nearly impossible to sneak up on another ship without the use of magic.

The pirates made their first stretch at night. By morning, when they first spotted the ship’s dark silhouette against the water, they were too close. Through a spyglass, black flags marked with a hooked fang dipped in blood snapped in the wind. They were with the Blood Fang fleet. The Neverending Wave picked up their pace, course be damned.

They should have been able to outpace them. Cannons, in their infancy, were heavy, and the Neverending Wave didn’t have any. But by some preternatural force, the pirates caught up the following evening. It was an emotional trial as much as a physical one, watching them prowl closer as the sun wheeled across the sky—knowing a predator was on the hunt and only being able to stare and watch. 

As soon as those cannons were within firing range, they hoisted a white flag and slowed. The pirates cut over the inky waters and boarded them with criminal efficiency.  

Most of the crew and a handful of the pirates faced one another on the deck. Her dad half-pushed her behind him, tucking her into the meat of his side. She peered over his arm, the pirates illuminated in a mixture of crisp, fleeting moonlight and soft, muddy greys. It unsettled her how much they looked like regular people, just with far more weapons.

“We’re the Maelstrom, and I’m her Captain,” a brunette man announced. He was bearded and broad-shouldered. His jacket was clean and of a high quality, a midnight blue with silver trimmings. “Sister ship of the Blood Fang. Who is your Captain?”

Their half-elf captain stepped forward. “I’m Captain Wymar.”

“Ah. Pleasure.” He removed a hat and bowed in a facetious manner. “I’m Captain Isadore. We’re here for one thing. One person, actually. You give her to us, we’ll leave without a fuss. You got an Ada Avilla?” His lip curled. “She still go by Ada? Girl’s got a lot of guts but not a lot of brains if she is.”

Whispers broke over the Neverending Wave’s crew. Red searched the crowd for their resident genasi—Ada’s jaw was set, her eyes flint and steel, her gloves pulled taut over clenched fists. 

Wymar glanced between her and the pirates. Isadore followed his gaze with a slow, feline smile. 

“Ah, there she is.”

“I’m not in the habit of giving up crewmates to pirates,” Wymar said cautiously. “What do you want with her?”

“Caused us a load of damage and money. We’ve come to claim redress. You sure you want someone like that with you? She’s trouble, Captain.”

Ada marched her way forward, stopping beside Wymar. “Why here? Why not ambush me on land, then? If you really wanted me and just me, you’d’ve done it there. You’re showboating.”

“More fun like this, innit? Everyone can learn who you really are.” He addressed the Neverending Wave’s crew: “Ever wonder how miss Ada got her guns? She served with us—destroyed ours but couldn’t help keepin’ some for herself. Nobody really stops being a member of the Blood Fang’s fleet. Her actions were always gunna catch up to her, and she selfishly chose to drag down you lot with her.”

“I wasn’t there by choice!” Ada shouted, and beneath the anger, Red detected a sliver of fear—not of the pirates, but something else. Then, simmering, “I don’t regret what I did to leave.”

“Figured you wouldn’t, disrespectful bilge rat. Will you regret getting these fine folks killed? I do mean it when I say you come quietly, we leave everyone else alone.”

“You’re a liar,” she sneered. “You’d take me then kill them all anyway, just to make me watch.”

“Presumptuous.”

“But accurate.”

The crew looked at each other in alarm, a bunch of them shifting, creating ripples of distress. Nobody wanted Ada to give herself up, but nobody wanted a bloodbath, either. Ada discussed their lives so casually. The thought of them forcibly taking Ada or giving herself up made Red want to sob, but there were also cannons pointed at them. She didn’t want to die.

“Coming here was a mistake.” Ada raised her hands. “But fine. On the off chance I’m wrong, I’ll go with you.”

“Ada—” Wymar pleaded.

Isadore’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Good. We’ll be taking those guns, love.”

The pirates shuffled towards Ada. She took a single step to meet them, then ducked through them and charged. Chaos erupted with Ada as the epicenter—the sharp crack of her pistol, then a few more in succession. The hiss of blades leaving their sheathes sang out, feet hammered the deck, and fists started flying. Red’s dad staggered backwards, knocking her in the face and sending her sprawling.

A pirate descended on him, but Rugarth intervened, smashing his staff into ribs. She lost sight of her dad and uncle in the bedlam, retreating on her elbows and feet like a crab. An elven lady stalked towards her with a rapier, scenting easy prey, and Red startled, scuttling faster.

A blade speared up through the woman’s ribs, glistening with a deep, pomegranate red. The woman’s breath wheezed out of her, then ceased; a clean kill. Ada snapped the sword from her back and kicked the corpse aside, then fired her pistol over Red’s head with a zip of the bullet. Hair had escaped Ada’s braid and plastered her face and wind snatched at the fringes of her coat, giving her a wild, untamed look.

“Red,” she panted. She twisted to jab her sword at another assailant, disarming him by staking the blade through his hand. He fell to his knees screaming; she spun and hauled Red to her feet by the arm before Red could even blink. “Keth!”

Her dad reappeared wielding a woodcutter’s axe, looking harried with a bloodstain on his shirt. Red couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s. He grabbed Red by one on her biceps.

The worst happened, then: the Maelstrom’s cannons unloaded, punching the Neverending Wave’s side like a set of spiked brass knuckles. The boat rocked violently, and if her dad hadn’t been holding her, Red would have toppled to the deck again.

The blast had a disarming effect, all for Ada, who rallied. “We need people patching those holes and bailing any water! Anyone with mending get on it! Rugarth, Albert, Annie—with me!” 

Keth made a break for the stairs leading below deck, lifting Red’s heels off the ground. He barrelled over another pirate on the way with a wide, unforgiving sweep of his elbow.

They plummeted into darkness and landed with a shudder. More crew jumped in or sped down the stairs after them, aiming themselves at the punctures in the hull. The lanterns rocked wildly, throwing chaotic swinging light on the task. Most holes were above the sea, only weeping in water whenever they dipped. Her dad set her gingerly on her feet, checking over her face and her arms, concern in every line framing his mouth and eyes. He thumbed at a trickle of blood escaping her nose.

“Who did this?” he asked.

“You did.”

“Sorry, honey.”

When he couldn’t find anything else, he belted his axe and joined those hammering at the damage, situating her at the far side of the room but away from the walls. Nowhere was totally safe, but it was probably even more dangerous than the surface, depending where the pirates aimed next. Red realized that holes from cannons were new. Up until then, having their ship damaged by magic or dangerous sea monsters was all there was. But holes were holes, regardless of what wrought them.

“Dad,” she gasped. “Rugarth is still—”

“I know. He’s tough, sweetie. They stand a better chance if he’s out there.”

“And us!” Red squared up even though she shook like she’d been left out in the snow overnight. “I want to help.”

“No,” he said firmly, the most forceful he’d ever been. “You’re staying down here. If they make it in, we’ll hide. Rugarth taught you how to fight, right?” He pressed a knife into her hands. “I’ll protect you if we're found. Okay?”

Red chewed her lip. Even if she argued, he had the strength to end any of her ideas prematurely. He gave a nod when she didn’t answer, then ushered her back into her corner. 

Boots stampeded above them like the drum of a storm. There were cries; of the triumphant, of those gathering courage, of the wounded, of the dying. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes, trying to block out the sound. Time distended uncomfortably. Every passing second felt like an hour, skinning her nerves raw.

Beyond the hull, she heard a crack and an explosion. Cheers and cries of fury and anguish followed it, then reinvigorated fighting. The boat rocked under her feet a breath later. Her dad came over to squeeze her. Damp wood and the coppery scent of blood infused her head, all tinged with salt. She was light-headed and trapped, out of place.

The roar of combat died down. The latch in the center of the room rattled, then opened, spilling fresh light into the cabin—not just moonlight, but the dim, orange glow of fire flickered in from an angle. Her dad tensed. Red did as well, but a crewmate’s upper-half appeared. Her dad relaxed.

“It’s safe now, but it’s—” She glanced over her shoulder, forehead creasing. “You should all stay where you are, keep patching things up.”

Red ducked under her father’s arm and bolted for the opening before he could react. She scrambled up the ladder onto the main deck. The crewmate startled backwards, falling on her tail.

The tang of blood tripled on deck, so thick it clotted the back of her throat as well as her nose. Coal black billows of smoke blew in off the splintered, burning remains of the Maelstrom, rent in half and foundering. Combined, they nearly made her retch, but she raised her sleeve to her nose and took shallow breaths until the nausea passed.

Most of their crew and a handful of pirates littered the deck. Some half-sat up, catching their breath or staunching blood from wounds. Others flit about, helping. Some lay dead. Red skipped over them, hoping to avoid branding them on her mind, hoping to stop their names from springing to her mouth, searching for two people—

Rugarth was up and alive, charred and with a few places on his skin starting to colour with bruises. He and Albert supported Ada between them, limping. She looked as though she barely clung to consciousness, strung-up. Her right shoulder was torn open from deltoid to neck, missing a chunk of her jacket as well as skin. A similar injury burst open her leg on the same side, her pants shred apart around the calf. Beside the two most gaping injuries, she had a few lacerations, though none looked too deep. Her sword and pistol laid in a heap at her feet. 

Anodyne hurried towards them, hands outstretched. Red followed.

Rugarth’s face went from pinched with worry to relief at the sight of her. “Sweet pea,” he said. “You should go back below.”

Red would’ve flung herself at him if not for Ada, who listlessly raised her head, her gaze blurry. It steadied on Red a moment, her lips twitching in a smile, then hung limp again. Somehow, through it all, her lipstick remained intact. Red had always wondered if the shade was meant to resemble blood, but with all the real blood everywhere realized it was meant to be cherry or strawberry, something sweeter.

Anodyne relieved the boys of Ada and laid her on her back. Spells lit up her fingertips and bandages and cloth came out of her bag; Albert crouched to help. 

“What happened?” Red demanded.

“Ada blew up their ship,” Rugarth said.

“How?” Red asked.

“Gunpowder,” Albert said. “And rum.”

“You helped,” Ada croaked to Albert and Rugarth from the ground.

“Will there be more?”

“Hopefully that should serve as a lesson to them,” Rugarth said. “Pirates are persistent but they’re not suicidal, I think, not unless they’re desperate, and the Blood Fang fleet isn’t that. I don’t think they’re so keen on revenge they’ll risk another ship for one person, y’know? But only Ada can say for sure.”

Red’s gaze flicked to Ada. Annie had removed her jacket once she’d stopped the bleeding with magic and cleaned her wounds. Ada’s eyes had closed, head tilted to the side, her long hair forming messy, pendulous arcs around her head. If she heard them, she didn’t answer.

Keeping her past out of sight made sense when it involved pirates. Red wondered what else she had been keeping from them. 

“Did she ever tell you?” Red whispered to her uncle.

Rugarth shook his head. Albert looked up from Ada and nodded once. Red, her dad, and uncle had joined the Neverending Wave after Ada, but apparently Ada and Albert had joined together. They were rarely seen apart. Anger and hurt sparred in her gullet; she wanted to be let in. She wanted to be treated like one of the adults and allowed to fight. She wanted—

Her dad’s heavy steps jogged up behind her, his hands wrapping around Red’s shoulders. She barely registered them, her mind drifting into foggy waters. “Varonda, back inside,” he whispered. “It’s not…you shouldn’t see this.” 

She nodded mutely, allowing him to wrap his arm around her and steer her back. His bulk hid most of the massacre from view, but through a narrow window out of the corner of her eye, she saw the crew tossing bodies into the sea.

[poetryoncoffee]

AN: this is original since i don't know where to start with fanfics lol, this i think will be the start of the first draft I'm writing for my first attempt at an actual novel! any feedback is really, really appreciated

The Busy Life

I loved the simple life, my cottage, my little routine, the books i read, the shows i watch, the simple life. So how did i end up in the middle of the big city, looking as out of place as a sewer rat in a suit? having never visited London and always hating cities i just stood at the side of the road, watching some big ass red bus drive up the busy road, incredulous that people could stand to live here, do they not hate the constant bustling? the smell? the people everywhere? i guess not. It had never been the life for me, even when I got the chance to go to a good university i rejected, I was happy with my life of peace i didn't need higher education. I attended college in a city and that was enough. The day i passed my course i told my parents i wanted to move back to the countryside. "Marissa, why do you want to move back?" Mother questioned "Marissa, don't you prefer it here?" Father asked, my answers? "i want to move back because i like it there, it isn't loud and overcrowded and it smells like organic animal shite instead of gas and fumes" I said to her "no i don't prefer it here" I told him, i wanted to go home. Against their preferences i went back to our family home alone, believing that living alone with no money would be better then living in the city, i started farming my own food, keeping my own animals and took a job in the nearest village a few miles away. I made my living stocking shelves and mopping floors in a small, local shop a short bikes ride away from my cottage. I worked there for years, years that I spent alone in that cottage, happy with the amount of social interaction i got at the shop while stocking the shelves and mopping everyone's muddy footprints at the end of the day. i was happy to have that be the rest of my life until she walked in that day, that day that she stopped to talk to me, that day that I gave up on everything i ever knew.

I never thought i would feel this way about anyone, definitely not a woman, all my life i believed i was asexual, i had never felt any attraction, sexual or otherwise, to anyone. no personal or celebrity crushes. I realised soon after meeting her that it may have been the fact I never leave the countryside and don't see anyone but upon thinking on my school and college days i realised it still didn't make any damn sense. My sexuality could be anything, all I knew then was that i felt a new type of way towards the girl in front of me, I wanted to talk to her for hours, I wanted to get to know her. We talked in the aisles of the shop until she finally checked out and left, we agreed to meet in the field near my farm after dinner, it was all i could think about the rest of my shift, all i wanted was for it to hurry up and end so i could see her again. i biked home, barely looking where I'm going, too excited at the prospect of seeing her again in only two short hours. Short was what I thought at the time but I remember that they felt like the slowest two hours of my life like the universe slowed time down just to point and laugh at me as i paced my cottage, distractedly snacking on crisps and carrots. A pretty rubbish combination but i was too giddy to cook. I remember being so excited that i ran to that field a good 40 minutes early and setting up snacks and a blanket, trying to make it look fancy even though it was the most basic shit, i just wanted to impress her. We talked into the middle of the night, she told me her name was Olivia and she was visiting her sister who lived in the village, Olivia lived in London. I will never forget the feeling in my chest when she said that, my heart sunk and I immediately gave up on any form of relationship with her, still naively believing that i would never move to the city, how wrong i clearly was.

[lindsaystravelblogs1]

Days 4 and 5 - and we’re off!

Day 4, Monday, 19 December

We both slept pretty well after taking sleeping pills and dozed luxuriously next morning. It almost made us late for breakfast and the hotel staff were clearing everything away while we were finishing our coffee. Heather has not been well for several days and was careful what she ate so I almost felt obliged to eat for two. She spent most of the day in bed and it was all a bit depressing with the possibility that she may not be able to enjoy the next few days. Hopefully, the antibiotic she is taking will have her bouncing along with all of us in a day or two.

I spent an hour or two wandering around the immediate surrounds of the hotel and nearby dense forest and spied a few birds that I was subsequently able to identify. I also saw a few flashes of feathers (no doubt attached to birds) that I was not able to identify. Damned little things won’t sit still for photographs or even long enough for me to take a mental photo for later identification. Most inconsiderate of them.

Most of the trees here have little orange balls on them, often clumps of them. They look like bright balls of coral, but they are actually a damaging fungus. Most of them eventually fall off and there are many thousands of them on the ground as well as dozens in most trees. Quite remarkable.

Like Orange Coral 

We ate the last of our well-travelled leftover pizza from Buenos Aires for lunch and both did some more writing before Heather got out of bed and we went down to do our official registration process for the ship. Having travelled with Aurora numerous times before (this is our sixth trip with them), it was all a bit old hat but still necessary.

Interestingly, I found my toothbrush that I had been looking for. It was in my backpack where I thought it was but both Heather and I had emptied and searched it a few times. I turned out to be secreted in a fold of the lining and I was quite relieved because I was so sure I had put it there and thought I must have been going nuts. On the other hand, I may still be going nuts. I packed a comb in the case that we didn’t want to open until we were on board so after trying quite a few shops in BA, I bought a new one and used it once. It is now nowhere to be found - and I am definitely going nuts!

We walked down to a nearby lookout where we got some great views across the city. Our hotel is quite high on the mountain and someone had cut the tops off the trees in front of the viewing area so the spot was ideal for photos.

I walked around a bit more and saw the same birds I had seen in the morning but got some better sightings of them (photos later!).

We ate dinner in a bar area just outside the swanky restaurant we patronised last night. We sat and enjoyed a drink or two before ordering some lighter meals. Heather had an interesting dish - malfati, a bit like gnocchi in a cream sauce - and it was great. I had chicken and sweet potato chips - a dried out sliver of crumbed leather and some crisp chips left in the oven an hour or two too long. At least the coffee was quite good and I definitely enjoyed helping Heather finish her meal.

Day 5, Tuesday, 20 December

We had to have our RAT tests at 7:30 this morning so we were up a bit earlier and went down for that. We are both negative of course but for some reason, mine took a lot longer to get a result than Heather’s. Then it was breakfast and packing up everything in our room to be taken to the ship.

We both need Police checks for our Chilean visas that have been such a mammoth saga and Heather’s came through during the night. I am still waiting for mine, but we went through the fairly complicated process of paying for the visas and saving a receipt to prove to the Melbourne embassy that we have really paid. Heather’s is now on the way but I can’t do any more until my Police check arrives.  (A month later, and several reminders later, I am still waiting!)

After we surrendered all our cabin baggage to the tender mercies of the Aurora staff, we paid our bill (2 meals for about $AU250) and settled in the bar area to wait. I went looking for birds for an hour or two - nothing new - and we had lunch in the bar.

The guide on the bus of our mini-tour of the city gave us a mountain of information about Ushuaia (Ooz-why-ya is how she pronounced it) but she spoke very fast with an accent I couldn’t get my head around, so most of it went over my head.

The first stop was beside the river, behind the old airfield with numerous old planes and other items of seemingly abandoned equipment.  The main Port area was just across the inlet but there were plenty of boats on our side too. From there, we got our first glimpse of our ship just across 250 metres of water.  There were good panoramic views, but I couldn’t remember how to take a video with my camera – I have since figured it out so maybe next time…....

Second stop was close to town, beside an unattractive lake (but attractive to me due to the many species of ducks and other water birds our guide assured me I would find – I will try to revisit it when we are back in Ushuaia) where a few gimmicky things had been set up for people to have their photos taken in Santa’s sleigh or peering through a hole in a board – but I can’t recall what was painted on the other side of it – I was too busy adding two more species to my bird list.

The third stop was at the Museum: the original gaol and one of the most depressing places you could imagine.  It housed more than double the prisoners it was designed for in horrendously cramped concrete cells too small for a man to lay flat to sleep. The rest of museum is actually quite creative now with one wing for an art display, one for a display of the original inhabitants of the area with their tools and crafts, one with an old Post Office and telegraph display, one about some of the local shipwrecks and, I think, two others that I can’t recall at the moment – and of course, one for a souvenir and snack shop.  There are a couple of other museums nearby, one being a naval museum, but we ran out of time to go inside.  The main museum also had areas, including a large outdoor area, that we never explored either.   A likely place to revisit when we return.

From the Museum, we were taken back to the Port to board our ship.  There had been quite a bit of confusion about what cabin we were to go in.  We originally selected Cabin 616 but they ‘upgraded’ us to 425 (the cabin we had been in on the Greg Mortimer a few months ago). That is right above the galley and we were woken very early by the noise of them preparing breakfast.  We had asked to decline the ‘upgrade’ but in the meantime, someone else had been allocated Cabin 616 and they refused to swap. In the end, they managed to get us into Cabin 607 where we are very comfortable.

As soon as we were a bit settled, we all had to go to a couple of compulsory briefings, including the lifeboat drill that went a whole lot smoother than on the Greg Mortimer.  We had a few minutes to start unpacking and then it was dinnertime. Guests can now sit wherever they like and serve themselves but alas, the Bridge is still closed and viewing opportunities on this ship are even worse than on the Greg Mortimer.  The best viewing would be from a window seat in the dining room but that is closed outside actual dining times.  There are two ‘Observation Lounges’ but the squidgy little windows are so high that you have to stand up to see out.  It simply doesn’t make sense that rational people in this century could design an expedition ship with virtually no way to see anything – unless you stand outside in the rain.  I have been out there numerous times, but it seems always to be spitting a bit of rain, not to mention the howling icy wind, so I have been forced back inside pretty quick-smart.

One of the briefings highlighted the ferocious nature of the infamous Drake Passage and the need to take our seasickness medication before we headed into the Beagle Channel.  Heather and I both used Scopolamine patches and Heather was OK. Unfortunately, I reacted badly and my mouth and throat were absolutely dry all night and until late afternoon the next day – even though I removed the patch early in the morning.  As it turns out, we probably didn’t need any medication because the most treacherous part of the ocean has been very kind to us.  Most of the time, the swell has been under a metre although we have periods of perhaps 2 metre swells.  But the ship is amazingly stable and a gentle rocking has been the worst we have experienced.  Of course, even very mild movement can be risky when we are walking around the ship.  There is not a lot of lateral roll, but the pitch cna be quite unsettling - and unpredictable.  You put your foot down only to find that the floor isn’t there – it is a bit further away (or sometimes closer) than expected and the handrail moves ever so much (or less) when you reach out to grab it.  Still, only one guy has had a fall as far as we know.  It is a guy we had been talking to and we don’t think it had anything to do with the movement of the ship.  Rather, it was a reaction to his seasickness patch and with about a dozen people rushing to help him, he was soon up and seemed none the worse for the incident.  (His name is David, wife Megan, from Canberra and we spent quite a bit of time with them over the rest of the voyage.)

While we were eating dinner that evening, the ship weighed anchor (about a tonne or two I would guess) and we slowly made our way down the Beagle Channel and out into the treacherous Drake Passage.

[s1mpl3sp0ng3]

that was an hour and a half commercial for mario games

and i fucking loved every second of it

MARIO MOVIE SPOILERS AHEAD!!

bad stuff (that's not really even bad tbh) first:

toad and peach's introductions felt very, very rushed in and i wish they could've given more time to the mushroom kingdom downtown tbh

all the toads being the exact same kinda irked me but that's been a nintendo problem for at least a decade now so. i don't necessarily blame the movie for that

not enough bowser or luigi. i wanted MOAR (but what we got was awesome)

i feel like it didn't devote enough time to fleshing peach's backstory out? like what she mentioned was super interesting and i hope it comes back around full circle in the sequel if it happens

some of the line reads from fred armisen could've been better, he sounded kinda bored (also more of that dk and mario parallel could've been done)

i would've liked to see more peach on her own, they gave her a really interesting setup but she kinda just falls a little flat compared to mario and luigi and doesn't really get a lot of scenes just to herself

not enough charles martinet

there were so many slow-mo shots?? why, like that's technically not bad but there were like 5

the good

IIIII LOVE MARIO AND DK'S RELATIONSHIP they're so stupid i love them seth rogen dk was pretty damn good

crisp rat actually did pretty damn good? i forgot it was him halfway through the movie

charlie kelly luigi. oh my god

jack black put his whole bowsussy into this role

the fight/battle scenes were REALLY kinetic and they didn't pull their punches when it came to these characters absolutely whaling on each other (also very very cool detail that mario didn't sustain physical injuries in the mushroom kingdom but does in brooklyn)

peach was already a badass but they cranked it up to ten here, and it's really nice they didn't go "i'm not like the other girls" with it. what i love about peach is her kindness, bravery, and compassion for her people! they nailed that

illumination did their homework, none of the references or sight/audio gags felt out of place

the score is so good holy shit that end credits theme fucks so hard

illumination didn't do any of the usual annoying shit! no real pop culture references outside of nintendo, no annoying side characters, no bland or boring protags, almost none of it felt like an illumination movie and that fucked

love that they kept mario and luigi in their usual clothes throughout the movie WITH a realistic explanation as to why they dress like that in brooklyn. it made them fit into the world around them while still being visually distinct (that being said seeing them in casual clothes more would've been cool)

they did mario and luigi's relationship perfectly. when they hugged and mario cupped luigi's face in his hands so lovingly... goddamn. they love each other so much!! they're such good brothers!!

there were so many deep cut references, i definitely was not expecting the eel

what they ended up doing with the kongs was hella interesting even if it was the part of the movie that felt the most like an ad for mario kart

i love that actual love and care went into this movie. it has flaws but at its core it feels like mario and that's all i could ever ask for. letsa fuckin go.

bout 2 watch tha mario movie i will come back with thoughts

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

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

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

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

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

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

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

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

He appreciated the quiet these days.

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

And then he thought of her.

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

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

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then suddenly, it stilled.

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

And then he saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not Daryl.

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

Little did he know.

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

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

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

“Need a hand?”

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

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

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

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

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

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

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

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

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

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

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

“Hey, wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

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

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

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

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

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

But then her eyes met his.

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

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

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

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

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

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

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

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

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

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

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

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

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

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

No matter what the cost.

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

But Y/N was just as quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old habits die hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daryl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence that followed was deafening.

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

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

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

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

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

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She became his solace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

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

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

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

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

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

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

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

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

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

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

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

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

The archer felt his throat constrict.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’d move on to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But hers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

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

He never got to thank her.

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

And he never got to thank her.

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

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

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not from her.

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

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

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

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

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

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

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

It was better than before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not against her.

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

And then the screaming started.

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

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

Just let her be okay.

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

He’d made peace with his decision.

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

Just let her be okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just let her be okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Daryl had seen enough.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, neither spoke.

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

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

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

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in its place…her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl flushed at the memory.

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

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

And now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only thing he could do was just be there.

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

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

And then she squeezed back.

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

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl huffed a breath.

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

Except that didn’t happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then sleep came for him as well.

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

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

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

A love that came without warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he spotted a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

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

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

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

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[tamakissimp]

B.K- I could never

READ PART ONE HERE

summary: Weeks after meeting Bakugou, you break and call him up for comfort. Unbeknownst to you, he has been dying to hear from you.

warnings: cursing, crying, guilt, Bakugou hating himself?

wordcount: 2099

a/n: the fact that we all just decided that Bakugou smells like caramel is so funny lol

Three weeks, five days, thirteen hours and six minutes. That's how long Bakugou hasn't seen you. To anyone who asked about it, he would groan that he couldn't give a rats ass about you. But he couldn't deny it to himself. Not when he was lying awake at ungodly hours, staring at his phone in hopes that you would call him.

What if you realized how much of a dick he is and decided that you didn't want to see him ever again? The thought of having fucked up after only seeing you for less than three minutes makes his gut curl up. It makes him want to sew his mouth shut to stop the hateful words from flowing out. Every day that passed by without a call from you adds to the pile of guilt building up inside him.

His words never mattered to him. Not when he yelled at his friends. Not when he screams awful words at his parents. Not when he told Izuku to jump off a fucking roof. Never did he think about how his words affected others. But when he saw the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, the cold and broken look in your eyes, that's when he knew he fucked up.

Ever since that godforsaken day, he hasn't said a mean word to his friends. Irritated ones, sure. But Izukua was suddenly spared from the usual insults. Denki didn't get called a dunce for everything he did. His father suddenly got hugs instead of rants about how pathetic he is. The change was weird and it makes everyone feel uneasy, though it wasn't unwelcome. All of a sudden, Bakugou wasn't associated with anger and insult, now it was just anger.

His damned anger, that seemed to grow with every day. Normally, his anger was pointed at others but now it was pointed at himself. Because he was the jackass that hurt you. He was the asshole that tainted your skin with disgusting words.

Why can you only say such hurtful things? He runs his fingers over those letters that taint his wrist. Even though his room is dark, the blue light coming off his phone is enough to illuminate the space to the point where he can still make out the words. Why could he only say hurtful things? It was a conscious decision that he made. The only thing that drove him into pushing people away was himself.

His ringtone sounds through his room. His body perks up. He reads the number on the screen. Unknown. He doesn't waste a second with answering it. "Hello?" he says. The softness of his voice surprises him.

"Hi," you say. He jumps off his bed. "It's...It's Y/n.". Your voice is still as kind as it was that day. Bakugou's heart skips a couple of beats at the sound of it. He didn't know how much he missed it until now.

"Hello, hi. How-How are you doing?" he asks. He doesn't even try to keep his voice down anymore. The people sleeping around him be damned. You're more important than they will ever be.

"I'm good. I'm great," you say. It stays silent for a couple of seconds. "Actually, I'm not. I'm fucking terrible.". Bakugou remains silent. He's sure that if he says anything, he'll fuck up again. "I know this is weird, like really fucking weird but could you....come over?".

Bakugou clams his phone between his cheek and shoulder and quickly starts pulling his shoes onto his feet. "That's...weird. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," you say. His heart aches at the words. "You know what, just forget it. Forget I called, okay?".

"No," he says firmly. You're silence by him, taking aback for a bit. "I'm coming over, alright? Text me your address.". It isn't a question, it's a command. You need him. You're doing bad, something in you wanted him there so he well crosses all the seven seas just to get to you.

"Okay, okay. Yeah, I'll do that," you say. Bakugou hums in acknowledgement as he closes the door of his dorm behind him. "I'm gonna hang up now, okay? And I'll...I guess I'll see you in a bit.".

"I'll see you," he says. The click of you ending the call bounces through his ears before he grabs his phone and opens his messages. The address you sent him is all too familiar. The general studies dorm. Curses fly out under his breath as he roughly stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants. He doesn't have time to wait for the elevator. Instead, he runs towards the stairs.

Bakugou runs down the stairs with a speed that would put Iida to shame. While the walk to the general studies dorms would normal take him five minutes, Bakugou manages to do it in under two. He finds you already standing outside of the building. A blanket is wrapped around your body. The hood of your hoodie is pulled over your head, covering your hair.

As he gets closer and closer to you, the state you're in becomes more clear to him. Your eyes are bloodshot, your chin is wobbling and dried tears have stained your cheeks. Even though you look like you're one second away from breaking, there is still a smile on your lips. That damned smile that makes Bakugou's heart skip a beat. "Hey," you say.

Bakugou doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, head burying in the crook of your neck. The sudden human contact was all you needed to be pushed over the edge. Another stream of tears rushes down your cheeks. Sobs shake through your bones as you bite your lip to keep the sounds in. It's only when the disgusting taste of blood fills your mouth that you let the sounds go.

Pathetic whimpers and sniffles ring through the night as you bury your face into Bakugou's chest. The smell of burnt caramel floods your nose and calms you down. Who knew something so sweet could be so comforting?

"Let it all out," Bakugou whispers. His hands run up and down your spine. Everything feels foreign to him. He is never one to comfort others, though, with you, it comes naturally. His body immediately knows how to calm you down and bring you back to a relaxed state.

You whisper apologies out in between sobs and ragged breaths. Even when you're falling apart in front of a total stranger you're still trying to comfort him. Running your fingers through his hair, saying praises through your apologies. It all tugs onto Bakugou's heart. Nothing in him should deserve someone as kind as you. Yet the universe still decided to tie you to together through an eternal bound of your souls.

Bakugou grabs your wrist and brings it up to his lips, gently placing a kiss onto your soulmate marks. Those words. Those words that caused you so much pain and made you fear for the moment you would meet your soulmate. Those words that he put there.

"Don't be sorry," Bakugou says. "Don't ever be sorry for feeling. Don't be sorry for crying. Got it?". You nod at him. He gently wipes the tears off your face with his thumb. "If you feel shitty, you come to me. You come to me and you do anything that helps.".

You pull away from Bakugou, now standing in front of him. It's only now that you notice his bare arms. He forgot to grab a jacket in his rush. You peel the blanket off your shoulder and hold it out to him. He shakes his head but you just push it closer to him. "Please," you say. He rolls his eyes before taking the plush material from you.

Bakugou wraps it over his shoulder. He was probably going to regret only wearing a tank top tomorrow but right now, he didn't care. "Idiot," he says as he snuggles further into the blanket. "You're going to catch a cold.". You just shake your head as you stuff your hands into the front pouch of your hoodie.

"No, you are," you say. The tears have stopped flowing down your cheeks and a smile adorns them now instead.

"Gonna tell me what's going on?" Bakugou asks. You nod, staring down at the ground. You start to fiddle with your hand. Bakugou lifts his hand and places two fingers on the underside of your chin. He lifts your head up to force you to look at him. "Come on.".

"I'm so sorry for making you wait," you say. Bakugou is taken aback by your words. "I'm your soulmate for fucks sake. And I just ignored you for weeks, that's such an asshole thing to do. I'm sorry.".

Bakugou cups your face. He shakes his head. You stare into his red eyes. There's a certain softness hidden behind the fire burning in them. "Don't. Be. Sorry," Bakugou says. The words are hard for him to say. He never opens himself up to people. Up until a few weeks ago, he did nothing but hurdle insults at people like it was nothing.

It was the only thing he knew how to do; be a bully. Yet here he is. Holding his soulmate like they're made of glass. Afraid to say anything because the has already fucked up the very second he met them. He has permanently marked them with the insults he uses.

"You aren't supposed to be sorry," he continues. "You're supposed to be fucking mad at me. You're supposed to hate me, not be sorry.". You shake your head at his words. You reach your hands up to runs them over his face. Your pointer fingers smooth out the furrow of his brow.

"I could never," you whisper. Bakugou's chin wobbles at your words. Vulnerability is new to him. Just saying these words feel like he's ripping his chest open and showing you his heart.

He's waiting for you to reach in and pull it out. For you to throw his heart on the ground and stomp on it. Instead, you gently stroke it. You say loving words to him while he did nothing to deserve them."How could I hate my soulmate?".

✨bonus✨

The bright sun shines into your skin. Crisp air bites into your nose yet the cold doesn't seem to phase you. Bakugou's hand is intertwined with yours.  You smile at him as he continues to talk about his day.

"So Kiri just came out of nowhere with five fucking bowls of noodles because that idiot order way too fucking much," Bakugou says. You nod at him. Months ago, Bakugou would have referred to his friend as 'shitty hair' or some other demeaning nickname. Now, Kirishima got the privilege of having a kinder nickname; Kiri.

Bakugou looks down at you while you keep on smiling at him. "What's up with the goofy look?" he asks. One of his brows is raised. You shake your head as a giggle escapes your lips. Bakugou's heart warms up at the sound. Even now, months after knowing you, the sounds still make him feel lovesick.

"Nothing," you say. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. You move your eyes from his handsome face to the birds flying out of the tree around you. "Just glad that you're here.".

A blush dusts over Bakugou's cheeks. Every cell in his body is set afire. All he can do is stop walking and pull you into a tight hug. You don't hesitate to return it. His body clings into your almost desperately.

"You always say such sappy shit," he mumbles into your hair. You just laugh as you wiggle yourself out of his grasp a bit. Your hand reaches up to gently stroke his cheek. Bakugou stares into your eyes with a passion you didn't know existed until that cold night outside of your dorms. "I love you," he whispers.

You stay silent for a second. Your mind is too busy with admiring his beauty to register his words. Did he just say that he loves you? Nervousness washes through Bakugou's body. Did he say it too soon? What if you don't love him? Did he fuck up?

"I love you too," you say. Those words shut up every doubt in his mind. A dorky smile spreads over his lips before he pulls you in for a kiss. His kisses are normally rough and hungry. This one is different. It's gently and filled to the brim with love. He pulls away after a few moments. "I love you too," you repeat.

[afictionalwhore]

A Mermaid’s Mate

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A/N: this was inspired by a long and beautiful conversation with @jadequeen88 about nasty Pirate!Dabi and a little Mermaid!Reader and poor first mate Tenko. I’m an absolute slut for mermaid AUs and Dabi just seemed like the natural choice for a scummy pirate.

Pirate!Dabi x Mermaid!Reader ; little bit of First mate!Tenko

Words: 4K

T/W: noncon, fingering, little bit of anal play, mermaid anatomy, cucking, Captain Dabi is unhygienic in his sex life.

⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽

Captain Dabi was to be, above all else, feared. He had developed quite the reputation for himself, covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings, a tuft of unruly black hair, and maniacal blue eyes that burned with something almost inhumane. Dabi quickly rose to be one of the most feared pirates of the sea. The rumors had spread like wildfire. He’ll steal your eldest daughter and eat her heart! had to be Dabi’s favorite. Combined with his love of pyrotechnics, the dirty captain found relative ease in pillaging unsuspecting coastal towns throughout the seas, leaving quite the impressive trail of broken hearts and devastated livelihoods.

Despite his fearsome reputation, Dabi found himself tossing and turning at night recently, unable to fall asleep. News, rumors, that his father’s navy fleet had been following his ship did not settle well with the captain. Sure, Dabi had stolen this ship from said fleet but that, amongst many other unmentionable crimes, was just a part of the territory of life as a pirate. What better way to start off a life of piracy than to change his name and steal a ship from the father he hated so much? Regardless of the rumors, as Dabi told himself they were, he had found himself unable to sleep that night. 

Dabi swung his legs up and over the hammock that swayed with the motions of the ship, hopping on the floor of his quarters with a small thud. He swaggered up to his cabinet before swinging the doors open, hoping to find some rum. None. That was fine. He’d just have to ask Tenko if he had some. That’s what a first mate was for anyways, right? Besides, a walk across the deck under the crisp ocean night air would do him some good, maybe clear his head and relax him a bit. That’s just what the doctor, him, prescribed: a night under the stars with his one true love, rum.

As he made his way towards Tenko’s quarters, he saw a light at the end of his ship. As Dabi crossed the deck, he could make out the skinny twig of a man hanging over the railing, pale blue hair shining under the light like a beacon.

Scurvy must have got the poor soul, Dabi thought as he creaked along the open deck, as though that would explain the man’s behavior, despite the fact that Tenko had always been, in Dabi’s eyes, a weird one.

When Dabi stole his father’s ship, he brought Tenko on as his first mate, since that backstabbing Keigo had joined the Navy with Dabi’s father. Dabi thought he’d have to drag Tenko on board, knowing the awkward man much preferred the indoors, always hunched over a pile of books. To Dabi’s surprise, it didn’t take the shy, blue-haired man much convincing at all to join. 

“Do you think we’ll see a mermaid?” Tenko had asked Dabi as they snuck away and sailed into their new life under the veil of stars. 

“Sure, kid.” Dabi shrugged, more focused on the rope work than whatever mythical creature prowled the ocean depths.

Ever since then, Tenko was always ranting and raving about mermaids. Dabi had already given the scrawny man lecture upon lecture after catching Tenko throwing their limited food supplies out into the ocean. It was only a matter of time before the man died trying  to fuck some poor, unknowing ocean creature in belief it was a living, breathing, genuine mermaid. 

That’ll just leave more rum for me. Dabi thoroughly believed, turning back towards Tenko’s quarters to retrieve the rum, head too full of worries about his father to bother with lecturing Tenko once again. Karma would deal with Tenko for wasting their food yet again.

Dabi had almost made it to Tenko’s quarters when he heard it: a soft, feminine giggle. Dabi wondered if he had already drunk the last of his rum that night and simply forgot. There was no way a woman could be on board, not without womanizer Captain Dabi knowing. It had been only Dabi and Tenko for weeks. He was simply hearing things. He had to have been.

Dabi decided to creep closer, just within earshot of Tenko and the mystery woman. He heard Tenko’s raspy voice—“fruit”—following by a lighter, almost airy voice— “foooot?”

“Try again,” said Tenko, leaning a little further over the railing. “Frrrruit.”

“Frrrrrrooooot. Frrrrrrrruit. Frrrruit. Fruit!”

“Good! That’s perfect!” Tenko exclaimed before tossing whatever fruit he had stolen from the kitchens into the water. “You’re learning so fast!”

Dabi expected a splash, prayed there would be a splash. Instead, his ears were greeted with more giggles. Dabi shook his head before turning around and slinking back to his quarters without the rum.

“I’m out of damn mind,” he mumbled as he tucked himself into his hammock, the swaying of the ship lulling him to sleep.

It didn’t stop there. The food kept disappearing. Tenko was just a little too eager to stay out at night for someone who usually didn’t enjoy the fresh air. Although Dabi felt his first mate could really use some refreshing ocean air. Dabi found himself sneaking out at night, stalking his first mate and listening in on his conversations with whatever the man was talking to. 

This had gone on for about a week. Dabi was growing more and more restless, finding himself inexplicably irate with his first mate. Conversations with Tenko usually were about some ocean myth, but they began to take a turn that left Dabi more irritated than uncomfortable or bored, especially combined with what Dabi was watching at night.

“Did you know mermaids can mate with humans?” Tenko said one clear day as he was cleaning the deck while Dabi charted their course.

Dabi stopped mid step and turned to face his friend. “Please don’t go and fuck the manatee.”

“I’m not going to fuck a manatee! I’m telling you! There’s genuine mermaids out there!” Tenko was working himself up into a fit.

“Fine, fine,” Dabi waved him off. “I believe ya.” I need to get this man laid. I need to get laid, fuckin’ Christ. 

“Unrelated, though,” he pointed an accusatory finger at his first mate. “Tenko, do you happen to know where the food has been goin’? I know mannin’ a ship with just us two fuckers is a lot, but we really can’t be out of apples already.”

“No, captain. No, sir,” Tenko fumbled with his fingers. “I can’t say I do know. Perhaps we have some rats?”

“Rats, yes, of course.” Dabi said, fearsome blue eyes never leaving Tenko’s red ones. “Rats. Tenko, make a note for when we’ve stopped in the next town. We need to pick up more apples and rat traps.”

“Yes, sir.” Tenko scurried away, and Dabi didn’t see his first mate for the rest of the evening.

The interaction had left Dabi more irritated than usual. Not only did he have to deal with a lunatic first mate, but he had to deal with the fact that said first mate wasn’t actually crazy. Add that to the stress of being out on the open sea for a week since he had heard the rumors of his father catching up with him and Dabi found himself on another sleepless night in need of a drink.

Knowing that he had already drank the supply he had stolen from Tenko a week ago and there would be nothing in the cabinet, Dabi once again heaved his body out of his hammock, boots hitting the hard wooden floor of his quarters, and found himself making his way across the deck under the moonlight to Tenko’s quarters.

Once again, there was Tenko, in his regular spot, hanging over the railing with his lamp beside him resting on said railing and illuminating his pale features.

“Tenko.” Dabi heard his first mate’s scratchy voice and watched as Tenko pointed a long finger towards himself. He heard the water move, splashing ever so softly, before the airy voice replied. “Teeeehnnnkooooooh. Teeeenko. Tenko!” Musical giggles floated into the night air.

“Yes!” Tenko moved his hand over the ship’s railing to point out into the water.

After a few moments, a soft voice answered back, telling Tenko your name.

Tenko sighed and repeated what you had told him. “That’s beautiful.”

Dabi scoffed. A burning feeling in his chest left him uncomfortable. That was enough foolery for him. God he needed a drink. He quickened his pace to Tenko’s quarters, nothing but rum on his mind.

Dabi made it to Tenko’s quarters, the blue-haired man too distracted to notice Dabi sneaking about. He fumbled around the room with the sway of the ship, throwing objects around until he had found what he was looking for. Rum in hand, Dabi left to return to his own quarters. As he made his way back, he overheard Tenko’s raspy voice once again.

“I love you.”

Dabi could feel the bile rising up. As he went to take a drink of the rum, bringing the bottle up to his lips, a gust of wind and a big wave caused the ship to rock, throwing the drunken captain off balance. He fell with a loud thud, disrupting Tenko. Dabi couldn’t believe his luck when the wave had also thrown Tenko’s lamp into the ocean below. He quickly scurried back to his room, going unnoticed by Tenko. Still, it was just the two of them on board. Tenko had to know Dabi had been spying on now.

The next night, Dabi found himself in a similar predicament as the first night he had caught you and Tenko, sleepless and drunk. Funds were running low. More importantly, the rum was running low, nearly out at the pace Dabi was drinking. He had been pacing the floor of his cabin, when it finally clicked.  Dabi heard the giggling once again, annoyed by the creature and his first mate’s consistent flirting. 

You. You were the answer. How much had Tenko taught you to speak? Surely Dabi could teach you a few new words, a few more tricks. Dirty sailors would run for miles for a chance with you. Hell, even some of the corrupt lords of the nearby islands would pay the big bucks to look at you. If Keigo was still the man he was when Dabi and him were friends, Dabi was sure Keigo would keep his mouth shut about his whereabouts to his father in exchange for letting his little mermaid suck him off. 

Further, Dabi convinced himself that he would be doing Tenko a great service by catching you. Dabi was a smart man. Growing up under his Navy officer father’s thumb, Dabi had heard a fair share of mermaid tales before meeting Tenko. What kind of friend would Dabi be to let poor, innocent, unsuspecting Tenko fall in the clutches of an evil mermaid?

Last night was too close for comfort for Dabi. He had to move fast. They would be docking soon. It would be the perfect chance for Dabi to see how much he could make off of you.  He swung open the door to quarters to see Tenko making his way towards your usual meeting spot.

“Tenko!” he barked.

The young man jumped and turned around, hiding whatever leftover food he had saved from dinner behind his back, hoping Dabi wouldn’t notice the disappearance if it were from his own plate.

“Yes, captain?” he asked.

“We’re docking at the next town. I need you to take inventory and make a list of what we need.”

“Yes, sir.” Tenko made his way to the storage below deck.

“No!” Dabi yelled. Tenko turned around, confused. “Start with the kitchens.”

“O-okay, sir.” Tenko turned to make his way to the kitchen, near his own quarters and across from Dabi’s.

Once Tenko was out of sight and well in the kitchens, Dabi ran below deck. He grabbed the net from the storage, and headed to the spot he always saw Tenko waiting for you at.

You had swam up to your usual spot, waiting for Tenko. Tonight, you were a bit more impatient. You had been practicing the phrase Tenko told you the night before and were excited to tell him. You felt the footsteps approaching, the vibrations rippling through the air and water. Something felt off. The footsteps were heavier than Tenko’s. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to swim away, but in your excitement to impress Tenko, you pushed the thought back. Perhaps Tenko just wasn’t feeling well.

Finally, a figure appeared over the edge of the railing. You popped your head up from below the surface, splashing water as you threw your arms up in the air to exclaim “Love you!” 

It happened too fast for you to comprehend. At a dizzying speed, a net was thrown over you, trapping you in and dragging you across the water before hoisting you up into the air. You struggled against the bindings, crying breathlessly, “Tenko! Tenko!” 

As the net containing you was swung around the ship to hold you over the deck, you heard a rough, dark voice. “Tenko? No, doll. The name’s Dabi.”

You were dropped unceremoniously on the deck floor, net still draped over you.

In the commotion, Tenko had returned from the kitchens. He ran towards Dabi and you, trapped under the heavy net on the hard flooring. Whatever he was holding in his hands fell to the floor.

“No!” Tenko cried, calling out your name, reaching for you.

“Please don’t!” Tenko sobbed, falling on his knees. “Please. You don’t understand. I love her. Mermaids mate for life! I’m sure she feels the same for me.”

An inexplicable anger rushed over Dabi at Tenko’s pleading. When had Tenko ever been with a woman? And he expects this mythical beauty to love him? Dabi felt that he could burn up his whole ship with his rage at his first mate’s stupidity. 

That at least, is what he told himself. Dabi would be the last to admit that he was actually jealous of Tenko and whatever relationship he had with you. You were beautiful beyond words. How a creature as breathtaking as you could love someone as shrimpy as Tenko was beyond Dabi, and it left him pissed. 

“Would you just shut up!” Dabi spat at him. “Are you stupid? I thought you were the expert here. You should know it doesn’t have any feelings. It doesn’t love you, it only wants to kill you.” 

Dabi’s cruel words ached in Tenko’s heart. He clutched at the thin fabric of his shirt over his chest.

“You’re a pitiful excuse of a man! If you love her so much, then just take her from me!” He dragged the net off your shaking frame. “Oh wait. I’d have ya tossed overboard for mutiny. What a piss situation for you then. Well! Go on! Watch your woman, your thing, get claimed as your captain’s!”

Tenko’s head dropped. His whole body dropped. His hands gripped his dirty pants so tight his knuckles turned white. Tears ran down his face, dripping off his chin and onto his dry, cracking knuckles and pants.

Dabi swung a leg over you to straddle you at your waist, knees pressing in on either side of your slippery fin.

“Let a real man show you some real fun. Okay, babe?” Dabi smiled down at your quivering form, shaking with fear and cold.

Dabi ran a long, cold finger up and down over your small slit, just below where your fin and waist merged. After it had gained enough wetness from your natural slick and the ocean water that was still dripping off you, Dabi pushed the rough finger into you, causing you to gasp and jump.

“She’s so tight, Tenko!” Dabi exclaimed as he curled a finger against your spongy walls. “Well, damn! If I’d have known she was this tight, I’d have caught her a long time ago. Why didn’t you tell me she’d be this tight? Holdin’ out on your captain now?” 

You thrashed around the deck, beating your tail against the wooden floor of the deck and gasping for air, reaching out for Tenko, as Dabi continued to finger fuck you. 

“Tenko! Tenko!” you sobbed.

“How many times do you have to tell you, bitch?” Dabi growled. “The word you’re looking for is Dabi.” He shoved two more fingers in your small slit, pumping a few times before spreading them. “Gotta make sure this little mer-cunt is nice and stretched out for me.” Dabi chuckled to himself.

Dabi continued to finger fuck you as you sobbed below him. Your clawing at the wood of the deck had stopped, little scratch marks left behind in the wake. The air was heavy with the sounds of you gasping for air between your sobs and hiccups and the squelching of Dabi’s fingers in you.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Dabi took the hand that wasn’t busy with your cunt and poked a finger around your tighter hole just above the slit he currently had three dirty fingers stuffed in. He basked in your widening eyes and shocked gasps as he continued to finger around.

“Tell me, Tenko,” Dabi mused. “Is this her tight little asshole?”

Tenko, still staring at the deck, answered bleakly. “Yes, captain.”

“Fascinating.” Dabi slid his thumb past the rim of muscle. A thrill ran down his spine as you jumped underneath him.

“You like that, baby?” Dabi applied more pressure with his thumb. You squirmed more beneath him and cried. 

“Shhhh” Dabi cooed. “You’ll feel good real soon.” He turned to Tenko, who could be mistaken for a statue with how still the man was. “Tenko, tell me where her clit is.”

“She doesn’t have one like a human girl, sir,” came the small, dry reply.

“Oh? Then how is she supposed to feel any pleasure?”

“You see the thin skin around her waist? Right by her fin and skin?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“That’s her skirt. Right at the base of her skirt, where it dips in that V shape, that’s essentially her clit.”

“Ah, right here?” Dabi took the thumb out of your ass and pressed against the small V where your fin and skin met.

You couldn’t contain the moan that spilled out of your mouth. Dabi smirked at your reaction. 

“Bingo,” he said, as he massaged small circular patterns in that spot. He curled the fingers inside you, pressing against your gummy walls, before dragging them out. As your moans increased in pitch, Dabi increased his speed. Soon, you were putty in his hands, on the brink of orgasm.

“Come for me, doll.” Dabi whispered as your walls clenched on his fingers. He pressed once more on your “clit” and the knot tightening within you broke. You threw your head back against the wood of the deck, eyes squeezing shut, and cried out.

“Good girl. Good girl.” Dabi praised. 

Once you had calmed down from your orgasm, Dabi raised up to his knees, still trapping you underneath him. Your previous orgasm in combination with the fight you had put up left you exhausted below him. You looked up at the clinking of Dabi undoing his belt. He pushed his ratty pants down just far enough to release his aching cock. Being with you had excited him in a way that no human girl he had slept with before ever had. He had never been so hard and just watching you writhe behind him was enough to turn his cock an angry purple, precum leaking from the tip. 

Your eyes widened in fear as you took in the sight of him. He was bigger, much much bigger than any merman your mated sisters had told you about. He was pierced too, a Jacob’s ladder crawling up the underside of his massive length. This was completely foreign to you, and only served to make you all the more scared. Your adrenaline kicked in once again, and you resumed your beating and clawing against the deck, screaming “Tenko! Tenko!”

Tenko sobs resumed as he heard your calls for him. He could do nothing but watch Dabi stroke himself with you fighting beneath him.

“Please,” he rasped, barely audible.

“Would you just shut the fuck up before you make me go soft?” Dabi shouted at the man.

Tenko bowed his head again, resembling a kicked puppy. He sobbed and hiccuped, only serving to turn Dabi on more despite what he had just yelled at the man.

Dabi gave himself a few languid pumps as he lined himself up with your sopping cunt. You stilled as you felt the tip against you, frozen in fear.

“This is going to hurt at first, but I promise you’ll feel good soon,” he whispered to you, placing a hand on either side of your head and dipping down to kiss you. You turned your face to avoid him, only causing the possessed man to laugh.

As Dabi pushed himself in, inch by agonizing inch, your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Your hands scratched at the floor of the deck, trying to find purchase as Dabi stretched you. Dabi let out a groan as he bottomed out, tip kissing your cervix. The initial stretch felt like it was burning you from the inside out. He was too big.

“God. You must be a virgin, huh? Ready for the real fun, doll?” Dabi smiled down at you before pulling out and slamming back in.

You gave a scream, and threw your arms around Dabi, desperately trying to hold on to something, causing him to chuckle. He repeated the motion, again and again. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. The pirate smelt awful, but you were too scared to let go of him. However, as he had promised you earlier, the pain had subsided into something much better. You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of Dabi’s piercing dragging along your walls, his cockhead hititng your cervix with each thrust.

“I’m not gonna last long.” Dabi grunted against your ear. Between your soft moans and warm, sticky cunt, Dabi was in ecstasy.

He lifted a hand to press back at your sensitive spot, causing you to squeal and tighten your grip on him. Your walls spasmed around him and clamped down on his cock. As he picked up his speed, Dabi’s thrusts became sloppy, beating against the barrier to your womb.

“Gonna cum,” Dabi panted. “Cum with me. Cum all over this too big cock.” He pressed on your spot, and your orgasm ripped through you, hot pleasure running through your body as Dabi painted your insides white.

As Dabi pulled himself out of your vise grip, cum dribbled out of your too small hole. Dabi marveled at your gaping cunt, whistling at the mess he had made of you. 

“Would you look at that,” he spread your hole, causing more cum to leak out. 

He stood up over you to fix his pants. Once he was fully dressed again, Dabi picked you up, cum still leaking out of your small slit, and dropped your lifeless, ragdoll form on the hard floor of the deck in front of Tenko, who lunged for you. 

Tenko cradled you in his arms. Your head lolled over his arm as his fell on your shoulder. His tears dripped down on your barely rising chest as sobbed racked through his small frame, the salty tears from the both of you mixing with the ocean water on the deck. 

Dabi scoffed at the scene in front of him.

“Better go get her some water and fast. How long can mermaids be out of water, again? Doesn’t look like she has a lot of time left,” He said to Tenko. Dabi wouldn’t be surprised if you were in shock.

He turned on the heel of his boot to retire for the night, but soft, broken sob stopped him in his tracks.

“Daaaah-beeee. Daaah-bee. Dabi. Dabi!” Despite being held safe in Tenko’s arms, you were reaching out for Dabi, crying for the man who had devastated you. Your pitiful state pierced his heart. 

Mermaids mate for life.

[elfyourmother]

Tokyo Disney ToT was great, never been to the OG ToT but I can't imagine losing that for crisp rat screen simulator (sorry I'm also a big fan of theme park rides but not.... Disney.... It's hard to find a fair review of the parks that isn't made through rose-painted opaque goggles)

Sorry I gotta soapbox because HS!Tower is one of my favorite rides anywhere of all time, to the point I got tower themed ears on Etsy and had a whole damn outfit around them that I wore to rope drop it last time I was at the parks and a Cast Member gave me a whole elevator all to myself (it was the most fun I have ever had there that didn’t involve Dandy). But like…Mission Breakout is one of those things that everyone hated and called sacrilege until they actually rode it. The irony is that many of those same people trashed the DCA Tower when it first opened as a half assed phoned in clone of the OG one, which is why I couldn’t and can’t take the frothing at the mouth over it seriously lol. I hate to say it but as much as I forgive the Tokyo version for at least going with an original storyline with the SEA (because most Japanese guests aren’t familiar with Twilight Zone like that) and isn’t trying to be the original, it’s still a vastly inferior version of the original. To put it bluntly if you’ve never been on the Florida Tower you have not been on Tower of Terror imo. You rode the Cliffs Notes version. None of the newer versions in other parks have the Fifth Dimension sequence (that goofy mirror scene replaces it), plus the drop sequences are way shorter and unlike Florida’s Tower they aren’t randomized.

It’s objectively a worse ride outside of FL because of these cost cutting design measures—in fairness the simplified design also helps on maintenance. When even 1 shaft goes down at Hollywood Studios wait times get obscene and it happened so often even leading up to the pandemic closures that they shut one down for extended refurb this year. But gutting the attraction to that degree seems so pointless to me that at that point it’s like why even bother. It’s the Great Value version of the ride. Nothing of value was lost in DCA imo and regardless of how you feel about crisp rat (I hate him too, despite otherwise loving GotG), Mission Breakout is just a better ride as its own unrelated thing. The Rocket animatronic alone is worth doing it at least once. Whenever me and Dandy finally get out to CA it’s at the top of my list tbh.

I mean I get it, as much as Florida’s Pirates ride is inferior to the original I would be mad if they replaced it with like, Frozen (I’m still salty about Maelstrom). But losing a really shitty version of a ride for something better designed with new, better tech and immersion is a win to me and always will be. It’s the same reason I’m not mad we lost Great Movie Ride for Mickey & Minnie’s Runaway Railway. GMR was long in the tooth and just embarrassing the last time I rode it in 2016. MMRR is just fun and I may have liked it better than Millennium Falcon Smugglers Run if I’m honest. I’m also not mad about IP in the parks either though so lol take that as you will

But that’s theme park nerds (and specifically Disney parks nerds) for you. IIRC Kevin Perjurer did a video on the actual design/engineering of the og tower if you want to see why it’s so unique.

[visionsdiary]

Professor

He was acting strange. The chores got down quicker than normal and he was almost a butler when it came to doing what was told. Something that his natural born mischief could not allow. 

It only all made sense when he brought a paper to Draco asking if he could sign in order to participate in the newest class that only fifth years and up are able to take. 

Spiritual Magic. 

It was talked about here and there. How a former Ravenclaw found a way to harness her magic without a wand. It was incredibly hard to master and dangerous to attempt - so much so that Draco didn’t want his son to attend such a class. It has only been too years since his beloved Astoria passed, the slight dullness in his eyes was noticeable and he has done everything to make sure his son is safe as well as happy. 

This could take a terrible toll on him that he might not come back from and will be damned if he signs his sons future away. 

“Scorpius we’ve talked about this.” 

“Father just listen, I passed the exam with flying colors to get into this class. I’ll be one of the first students in a revolutionary study. Please don’t take it away.” 

He begged for this. When he used words like that he couldn’t just say no. Still he rather not loose his son.

“You don’t know the outcome of this practice. I’m not going to send you to a class to be a test rat.” 

Draco set the signed document into the gradually rising stack of papers. He inherited his fathers business and is maintaining his own potions line. Still all of that important work didn’t compare to the importance of his son so he relaxed and leaned back in his office chair. 

“The trails were already ran prior to securing it as a class. It was 93.7% successful with no casualties.” 

“Yes because people left the trails when they woke up in a hospital bed.” 

“Well that’s just rubbish.” 

Draco almost laughed as his sons childish behavior. He hid his smile taking a moment to adore how handsome his son actually has become. He’s sport his platinum hair with his mothers sad yet determined eyes. The memory of Astoria begging him to come spend time with his son made his amusement fade. His mother had the same stare every time, sure that she would pull him out of work and into his family. Their son. He sighed knowing he’s lost. 

“Alright.” 

“Yes!” Scorpius thrust his fist in the air for his victory.

“But,”

Victory smile falls, “Dang it.” 

“I have to speak with this so called Professor.”

“Dad-”

“He has to understand the consequences of any potential harm to my son.”

“She is the one who request I join. I doubt she’ll allow harm befall me or anyone for that matter.”

“Your teacher is a women?” 

_______

She is a women. Its not unnatural of course and maybe it makes sense for it to be a women for Draco thought only a madman would research such a thing. Wands are essential to controlling a wizards powers, without them who knows what chaos could unfold.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

This is what played through his mind as he walked with his son to the classroom of this women professor. It was only a few days before school started so the hallways echoed with the clicks of Draco's shoes. His suit was clean cut and his usual black. His sleeves were rolled up a bit and he held his jacket in one hand the heat already getting to him. He was already in a rush and the fast walking did not help very much. 

“Father.”

“Not now Scorpius we have to hurry I have some business to attend to soon.” 

“But father.” Scorpius griped his wrist. Draco flinched for a moment, being back in these hallways with the memories he tried to keep at bay he wanted to get out of here and soon. He stops before looking to his son whom is almost as tall as himself. 

“We past the door.” 

His tense shoulders relax, “Oh.” 

They turn back walking just a few ways back down before knocking on the door. 

a muffled, “Come in” sounded through and in they went. The classroom was big, no tables but some chair laying about. There was stairs leading up to a stage with a chalk board, books, and a desk where a women stood over her back facing the two. 

A window was on the upper right wall shining perfectly down flooding the classroom with a crisp morning dew. 

“Are you Ms. Wells?” She turned around her soft material midnight blue blouse moving with her, It was neatly tucked into her black slacks and he heels clicked bouncing the sound off the walls. He hair was dark brown and thick curls but her eyes were an almost unnatural honey. She was absolutely breath taking. 

How did I not notice you? He thought, Perhaps I was just to caught up in my arrogance.

“Yes that’s me.” 

He cleared his throat. It’s not the first time He’s seen a beautiful women before and also won’t be the last but the way the sun seems to make her glow left his speechless. She walked down the steps with a smile. 

“Scorpius, Lovely to see you again.” She shook his sons hand before turning her attention to him. 

“Draco Malfoy. It’s been a while.” They shook hands. Her hand was soft but her grip was sure.  Her smile wasn’t helping his case as he fumbled with his words for a moment. 

“I’d say the same but I do not believe we’ve spoken before.” 

“I suppose not. What can I do for you?” 

“Scorpius, wait outside alright?” 

“But-”

“No buts Scorpius.” Draco gave him a look. One Scorpius was very much familiar with. Without another word he stalked off, closing the door behind him. Once the clang of the door sounded Draco turned back to face the Professor. 

“So I looked into your practice. I’m sure you can understand my concern.” They both took a seat, pulling up a chair. 

“I do. Trust me the process wasn’t easy on me either. I won’t lie to you Mr. Malfoy there are some potential dangers but not in an extreme way. He might feel tired at times since our bodies are so used to exerting power through our wands and not our actual bodies. He might have to take a rest day but I assure you that the process is slow. 

He wouldn’t have a paper if he couldn’t pass the exertion test.” 

“Your practice is interesting and my son has taking a liking to it. I would love for him to master any study, I was told you are the one who requested he’d join.” 

She nods, “I was. He is a extremely bright boy and his chances at mastering this is so high. I would be very disappointed if you wouldn’t allow him to at least try.” 

Draco nods thinking about this in his mind. 

“I’m willing to sign the paper. I trust though that you understand if any harm befalls my son consequences I deem worthy will be given.” 

His face was serious and part of her was to crawl in a corner in hide from his intense stare. He’s a Malfoy. He inherited riches and created triple the amount in a span of just a few years. He powerful in wealth, contacts and magic so despite her calm exterior she trembled on the inside. 

Same old Malfoy making threats, only this time he can actually back it up. She thought. 

“Of course.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as terrified as she was. 

She took in his stormy eyes and longer platinum hair, he had a after shave to match which only made him look more handsome. He grew up even better. The intense stare stayed for a moment. 

“Good.” He takes out the small packet that needs his signature. “I will be checking in on his progress every other week as well as his health. Take care of my son will you?” He signed the paper and handed it to Professor Wells. Her fingers only slightly brushing his warm ones. 

“I take care of all my students.” With that he shook her hand again holding on a little longer than needed before leaving. 

He was happy to tell the news to Scorpius, and the feeling only grew when his son hugged him with the biggest smile. It was something he wanted from his own father, and was glad that he had it with his son.

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 4 ~Revelations and Snogs~

Previously in A Christmas Request ...

"Claire?"

"Hmmm?" Her voice was like a breathless whisper, and he wasn't sure if he imagined the yearning look in her eyes. It took all his self-control to keep from kissing her right there and then. Instead, he locked down all his muscles and willed himself to think of animals that start with the letter D. And all his damn brain could summon was the word dragonfly.

"May I ask ye a favour?"

"I don't kiss on the first date," she said too quickly, but her words contradicted her manner as she stared at his lips.

"That wasn't what I was gonnae ask ye."

"Oh!" Her eyes flew to his, and she blushed profusely. "Oh, well, that depends on the favour then."

He swallowed hard and leaned forward, taking her hands in his. "Will ye spend the rest of yer holiday with me?" He cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to ask of ye is, will ye stay here until the Three Kings ...until it's time for ye to go back to London?"

She blinked thrice. 

"Alright."

"Alright?" A lungful of air whooshed out of him.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

   Alrighty Beauchamp, what have you just done?

Grabbed life by the balls? Isn't that the mantra?

Nope!

What do you mean nope?

Those are not your words. Not our words.

Yes, they are. You know, live in the moment and la-di-dah!?

Nope, definitely not.

Whose are they then?

Annalise's.

Ah, well ...

Claire mentally shrugged. 

"Sassenach?"

She snapped out of her tunnel vision, then looked at the big hands still holding hers. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of agreeing to spend the rest of her holiday with a total stranger. Who are you and what have you done with the ol' Beauchamp? "I'm sorry. I was thinking of Annalise. This is our holiday together, you see. I just agreed to spend the rest of my holiday here without consulting her." She shook her head and laughed despite the conflicting thoughts floating around her head. "I'm quite sure she'll be fine with it. She's the one who's always pushing me to be more spontaneous."

He squeezed her hands. "I'm flattered to be the reason for your spontaneity."

Her face heated. "I've never done this before ...just so you know."

He tried to catch her eye, and when she returned his gaze, he gave her a lop-sided smile. "Neither have I."

Oh, he's so good. Claire blew out a breath and stilled her heart. "That's comforting to know," she said, trying not to look too flustered. Knowing so little about him, she knew she should be wary, but for some reason, she felt safe. Everything about him was brand-new and familiar at the same time. It's as if there had been a melody playing in her head for her entire life, and he'd finally given it words.

"And Analise is welcome to stay too," Jamie quickly reassured her. "Ye said ye're booked at the Airbnb until Boxing day, but I dinnae think there'll be any guarantee ye'll be able to extend yer stay there with it being high season and all. But we have a family cottage that we rent out for the long term, and it was recently vacated. With all the Christmas fuss and work during the past few weeks, we never got around to letting it. Ye and Annalise are welcome to stay there for the rest of yer holiday." And then he grinned. "I'm quite certain my brother would be thrilled with the idea of yer friend staying too."

Claire laughed. "You're probably right. They seemed to have hit it off."

"Ye could say the same for us, don't ye agree?" he asked in a low voice.

She stared at him. How could he looked so calm and collected when she hadn't figured out how to articulate what she was feeling? On top of it all, it seemed he'd perfected the art of persuasion with finesse, so much so, she'd immediately jumped at his invitation to stay in Broch Mordha without a second thought, surprising herself. When it came to the dating game, she would have equated over-confidence to smugness which as a rule turned her immensely off. But there's a sincerity to Jamie's flirting that she found all too endearing and very charming.

She searched his face. Ready or not, she was curious to explore the unfamiliar emotions this beautiful man was drawing out of her. In her history of dating, no man had ever moved her to make her take the leap of faith. Deep down, something always seemed to be missing, and she'd simply put it down to her inability to know what she wanted. To say her hope of finding herself in a romantic relationship had taken a hit would be an understatement.

When her last date had ended in a blaze of abject embarrassment after she was accused of being a cock-tease, she'd decided she was done with men, at least for the foreseeable future. She had a concrete five-year plan, and getting involved with someone when her heart wasn't a hundred per cent into it, wasn't one of them. Annalise continued to hassle her to dive back in into the dating pool head first, but she'd been content to wade in the shallow end. It may have been frustrating to never take the plunge, but at least, there was a nil chance of her drowning in a sea of mistake. But now?

"Baby steps," she whispered.

"Sorry ...I didn't quite catch that."

She pulled her hands from his hold and drank the rest of her already cold Dutch coffee. When she finally placed the mug down, she looked up and smiled at him. "That rental cottage you were talking about, can I at least give you some money for it?"

He shook his head. "No way. In case ye've forgotten, I invited ye to stay."

"But you've been paying for everything all evening. Hardly seems fair."

"Spending my hard-earned quid for the pleasure of a gorgeous lass' company? Every penny spent is worth it if ye ask me." 

When he talked like that, she knew her blush wasn't going to fade anytime soon. "Annalise will disapprove, and I'm pretty sure she will want to have her say in the matter."

"And so will Willie."

"Are you always this stubborn?" she countered.

"Only if I want something badly."

They have a stare-off for a few heartbeats before Jamie tore his gaze away and cleared his throat. 

He glanced down at his watch. "So, the last horse carriage ride around the village is in about twenty minutes. We should probably get going." 

"Horse carriage ride?"

"Aye. Part of the Christmas night tour." He got up from his seat and gallantly offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

It's so old-fashioned and chivalrous, she laughed out loud. "Well, I guess we shall." As soon as she linked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he sucked in a quick breath. "Are you alright?"

He looked down at her hand on his arm and smiled. "Aye. I'm just concerned I might have trouble adhering to yer nae-kiss-on-first-date rule."

They headed out of the cafe and into the frosty air, and she was acutely aware of the low voltage electricity buzzing around them. "Would it help if I put my retainers on? I have them in my bag. I usually put them on at night."

"No, not really. I just have to remind myself of the promise I made to Annalise before we left the pub earlier."

"What promise was that?"

"I promised her I'd behave otherwise ..."

"Otherwise?"

"I have to face the consequences."

She laughed. She knew Annalise's threat so well and by heart as the same lines had been often used to warn her dates in the past. "Well, let me see ...did she say if you misbehave she's going to show you the end of the world up close. And she's going to let you see the kingdom come with your own eyes by sending you straight to the southern hemisphere and letting the ashes of death rain all over you."

He grinned at her. "Something like that. How she's going to achieve that, I have nae idea."

"Never mind how. If you keep on focusing on Annalise's threat, that should be deterrent enough."

He gave her a sceptical shrug. "If ye say so." And then he looked down at her and winked. "But then again, ye're worth tempting fate for."

..........

Claire found herself being hoisted into a festively decorated horse-drawn carriage with twinkling garlands, gold & white berries. To her amusement, even the shire horses were wearing faux antlers. As she sat down, she felt their buggy dipped low as Jamie followed and settled next to her, putting the gift bags on the floor and pulling the woollen blanket over them. As their transport rumbled and creaked into motion, he put an arm behind her, resting it the edge of their seat's backrest, leaving her no alternative but to lean against the curve of his body. His closeness and the motion of their carriage added another layer of tension to her already overworked adrenal glands.

"Comfy?" he whispered, leaning into her, his warm breath on her ear.

"Uh-huh," she managed, licking her lips that had gone suddenly dry. It was a challenging feat to ignore Jamie's presence when his sheer size encroached her space, his thigh brushing against hers and the motion of the ride, sinking her deeper under his arm.

She forced herself to focus on the sounds of the hooves and bells, and admire the trees wrapped in lights, wreaths adorning almost every window, and Santas or nutcrackers standing guard outside front doors. For once, Jamie didn't speak, and she allowed herself to relax, revelling the clean, crisp air of the Highlands. Although Broch Mordha was nothing like London, quieter and had a slower pace of life, the atmosphere in the village was electric. It was almost magical, more natural and everything seemed to make more sense, instead of the rat race that occurred daily and nightly in the big city.

Every year, at around Christmas time, she came back to the Highlands in search of some peace, and every time she returned to London, she always felt like a brand new person, invigorated, well-rested and ready to tackle the New Year. But there was something different about her visit in Broch Mordha compared to the other places she'd been to in the Highlands, and she had a feeling deep in her guts, she'd have trouble leaving this place once her holiday was over. 

"Ye dinnae look tired at all, Sassenach. Ye're used to staying up late?"

She glanced up at Jamie and smiled. "I sleep very little. I don't know, maybe I have insomnia."

"Really? Perhaps it's just a consequence of living in the city. I mean it's loud there, and I presume ye live in a flat where ye can hear the comings and goings of yer neighbours."

She sighed. "Yes, there's that. The flat Annalise and I live in is not really the most tranquil setting. It doesn't help that I am an overthinker."

"What do ye think mostly about when ye cannae sleep?"

"Mostly about work," she shrugged, glancing at the lights overhead that were hung above the streets. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy, and I'm grateful for the good life I have. It's just that sometimes I think about the day when I would stop searching for ..."

Jamie waited for her to finish her sentence, but she couldn't find the words. "For what?" he finally asked, his hand squeezing her shoulder, urging her on.

"More," she replied candidly, surprising herself with the unguarded utterance that came from her very soul, ragged with honesty and desire for something she didn't have a name for. Yet. Suddenly, the empty place inside her reared up, seeking company. "How about you? What do you think most of at night?" She paused, trying to tamp down the sudden curiosity that flared up, but it was out before she could stop herself. "A certain lass perchance?"

To her astonishment, she felt him tensed beside her, and after a few seconds, he let out a sigh. "I have nightmares," he confided.

Her head jerked up, and she twisted in her seat to look into his eyes. He was probably waiting for her to ask a torrent of questions, but she remained silent, allowing him to set the pace of their conversation. She nodded her head to continue.

"I used to be with the SAS. It's a special force unit for the British army. The unit I was in was responsible for a number of roles including covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, direct action, and hostage rescue. My best friend, Simon MacKimmie, was captured while spying behind the enemies' lines. He was a valuable informant for both sides, and my team were under direct orders to get him out of there alive and as swiftly as possible." She watched as his throat worked as if he saw the scene replaying in his mind. "We found him quickly enough and thought we were out of the woods. But the enemy fire broke out just as we were about to board the helicopter. Simon and I were hit, but my wound was superficial, whereas my friend's injury was fatal. I promised him everything would be alright and would make sure he stayed alive for his family. Before he slipped away, he made me promise to take care of his wife, Laoghaire, if he didn't make it. She was pregnant at the time. I didn't hesitate and made a vow to keep that promise."

"Oh, Jamie ..."

He pressed his lips into a determined line. "Months later, I was discharged from the army after I was diagnosed with PTSD. I resigned myself to a quiet life as the flashbacks from the horrors of the war and friend's death worsened. Laoghaire and I became close, as we talked a lot about Simon and I helped her with the things she needed. That was when I found my purpose in life again, and even though I wasn't in love with her, I loved her like I loved Simon so I asked her to marry me so that I could take care of their child. It was a sacrifice, aye, but it was a small price to pay, considering I get to live, and my mate will never get to see his unborn child. So we planned to marry after the child was born. So while we were waiting for the big day, I bought a house for us, and my brother helped me restore it."

"But Laoghaire didnae want to live here. She wanted us to move to Liverpool because she couldnae stand the quiet and the remoteness even though she was born and bred here. I told her we would talk about it after the baby was born. But I was worried that living in the city would make my PTSD worse. Meanwhile, rumours were going around that Laoghaire has been seeing another man when Simon was still alive and that she would often disappear to Liverpool weeks at a time. I ignored it as I didnae care for idle gossips and dismissed it as such. Ye see, she lived and worked in Liverpool before she married Simon; hence, I thought, that was where the rumours had stemmed from. She's a very ambitious lass and has this dream of making it big one day. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I later found out from a reliable source that not only had she cheated on Simon, but she cheated on me while were engaged. I began to wonder if the child she was carrying was even Simon's. While I was building her a house and funding her trips to Liverpool, she was seeing the same man she'd been meeting up with when Simon was still alive. When I confronted her, she admitted to it. So the wedding was cancelled, and she went to Liverpool to give birth to her child and to be with the other man ." 

He shook his head at the memory. "She reminded me of someone I used to pursue. She'd rather be with a man wearing a five grand suit than be with a labourer like me. I guess it's the lure of the city. Sometimes I feel like I failed Simon and his family. I made him all sorts of promises that I couldnae keep and the memory of the glimmer of hope he had in his eyes turning to death, keep recurring in my dreams."

Claire knew the last things Jamie needed were apologies and pities. He seemed like a proud man who didn't shy away from responsibilities and was unapologetically himself. "I guess we both have demons that keep us up at night," she finally said.

Jamie shrugged and waved his hand. "Dinnae fash. I didnae take ye out so ye could watch me wallow. I've done enough of that myself."

She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to pretend I wholly understand everything you've been through, but one thing I know is that you being part of the SAS means you were trained with the elite. You were drilled to save lives, and with that comes, precision and no room for error. So when something goes wrong, and someone dies during your watch, it becomes your fault."

He looked at her as furrows deepened on his brows.

She placed a hand over his. "You tried to absolve your guilt of not being able to save your mate's life by taking care of Laoghaire, who was so undeserving of your kindness and generosity. God or a higher power or the universe, or whatever you wish to call it, is trying to show you something important. You don't get to choose, Jamie. At the end of the day, you can only do your best, but you can't save everyone. No one can. Right now you're learning to live with that, and all you can do now is make sure you get to the other side. You can't take responsibility for everyone's action but yours."

Something lit up in Jamie's eyes. Emboldened by the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, she grinned at him. "No wonder you won at the caber toss and your team trashed the opponents at shinty today. You have so much pent up emotions dying to come out."

Jamie suddenly laughed out loud and pulled her against him. "I think I need to fire my therapist and hire ye, Sassenach. All this time, we'd circled around the realisation, always walking on eggshells. But ye ...ye just gave it to me straight. I think I'll need ye to stay longer past three kings."

She poked him on the ribs. "Be careful what you wish for!"

..........

A couple of hours and a glass of mulled cider each later, they walked in silence as Jamie guided her down the path that led to the bed and breakfast cottage. As it turned out, he lived three minutes walk away from where she and Annalise were staying.

After spending a whole night out with him, her body was still buzzing with so much energy. She'd never had such a powerful reaction to a man before. Nor enjoyed the company of one as much as she did tonight. She felt like she could uproot all the trees that stood on her path.

"I had a really grand time," he said.

"Me too. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

"And thank ye for the company."

As they neared bed and breakfast cottage, she realised they were exchanging lame small talk, but there's nothing lame about what's passing between them. Either way, she couldn't care less as she'd never laughed so hard in her life.

When they finally reached the small gate, she stopped and turned around to face him. "Well, here we are," she smiled, trying to conceal her reluctance to go.

He hooked the giftbags onto the wooden gate and nodded tensely, the tightness in his jaw quite evident. "Aye. Here we are at Mrs Fitz's place. I ken the ol' dear. She used to feed me and my brother jam piece and milk when we were bairns." He took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I ...um ...tonight was really special." 

"I think so too. Thank you again for everything."

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. "I'm no' tired yet, so I'm just going to take a walk some more until I'm ready for bed," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yes, you do that. Fresh air is good for you. And I ...ah ... I'll talk to Annalise about extending our stay here. Ah well ... that's if she's still awake." She rolled her eyes and let out a nervous laugh. "Or if she's home. So ... I'll see you around?"

"Aye, I'm just down the road if ye need anything."

"Yes. Got it. Down the road. A hop, skip and jump away."

He stared for a few heartbeats, then ran his hand behind his neck and gave her a crooked smile. "I meant it, Sassenach. If ye cannae sleep, ye can drop by anytime. I'm a light sleeper. Apart from personalised packaged-tours, I also specialise in making a mean toddy to help ye sleep. And a wicked mushroom omelette if its breakfast ye want. Oh, aye, I'm good at foot massage as well."

She stifled a giggle threatening to burst as a ball of warmth bloomed in her belly. "I have no doubt you're good at those things. I'll bear what you said in mind if I need anything or if I have trouble sleeping. And if I have a sudden urge for a foot massage, I'll pop by."

He shook his head. "Ye're not just saying that to spare my feelings are ye?"

"No. Of course not. I enjoy your company. So ..." Claire took a deep breath. "...this is it. Good night, Jamie. And thank you again for everything." Oh, dear God, I keep saying thank you! She stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on his cheek just as he offered his hand. Their sudden awkward movement made her lose her balance, bumping her nose on his jaw. They both took a step back and laughed. This time she held out her hand, and he shook it.

They continued to stand there and shake hands, neither of them letting go, their smile slowly ebbing away as they stared at each other.

Jamie was the first to speak. "Right, this is the part where I watch ye walk away."

"Yes. I'll go now. It's getting late." She smiled as she took a tentative step away from him, but he didn't let go of her hand.

Her bottom hit the wooden post behind her as Jamie took another step forward. His height and breadth blocked out the street light, and in the shadows, his expression looked almost pained. She'd had men looked at her with desire before, but nothing like the way Jamie was doing right now. The way his jaw and muscles tensed and his breathing shallowed, she knew it was taking him a lot of effort to hold himself back. Her eyes travelled down to his throat and watched his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Sassenach." His voice cut through the haze, and her eyes flew to his as he leaned down and cupped her face. "Maybe ye could stay for just a wee while more."

Her heart began to thump wildly against her ribs as the air between them charged. "I really should get going," she whispered, the blood roaring through her ears almost deafening. She willed herself to move, but she remained fixed on the spot.

"Or perhaps ye can just stand here for a few minutes more and let me do this."

She stopped breathing and time stood still as he softly brushed his lips across hers. Then he pulled away for a brief second waiting for her to object, and when she didn't, he kissed her again.

Her brain seized, and her eyes automatically closed. She'd never felt lips so soft nor been kissed with such gentleness. She once read an Oscar Wilde quote, and it said, "A kiss may ruin a human life." It had puzzled her then because up until now, she'd always thought, although some kisses were sweet it was nothing more than two people putting their faces together and exchanging spit. But Jamie's kiss? She knew it had ruined her for any future kisses. This was the type of kiss she never even knew existed. It was the kind of kiss that inspired stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

She waited with bated breaths for more, but nothing happened.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. "I've wanted to kiss ye from the moment I laid my eyes on ye," he whispered and grazed her lips once more. "Ye've nae idea how beautiful ye are."

Oh, sweet Jesus! He'd barely touched her. It was merely a light brushing of their lips and the slightest sensation of his breath on her face. But it was enough to cause the static crackling between them to be ignited, and she was left wanting more.

Before she could reassemble her thoughts and make sense of her emotions, he stepped away from her and tunnelled his fingers through his hair. "May I please have yer phone, Sassenach?"

"Oh! Wot for?"

He smiled at her. "I'm giving ye my number." 

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and handed her phone over. She watched him dial his own number on her screen, and after a few seconds later, his own phone rang. 

"There, now I have yers too." He pushed her phone into her back pocket and blew out a breath. "I'll see ye tomorrow?" 

"You want to see me again?" she teased, smiling.

"I dinnae even want to leave ye tonight."

She dropped her head down to hide the heat creeping up her face. "I'll see what's Annalise is up to and we'll take it from there. I'll either call you or send a message."

He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. "Ye're not mad I kissed ye? I havenae forgotten yer rules about first dates."

Claire picked up the gift bags, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. And then she smiled. "I'm starting to believe the rules don't apply to you. Good night, Jamie." And with that, she turned around and walked towards the cottage without looking back, knowing full well Jamie was still stood there waiting for her until she'd safely made it to the house.

Once inside, she allowed herself to slide down to the floor and relived the memory of their first kiss. And she sat there for a very long time.

Dear Readers,

Here's a little story about this chapter. I got stuck at the beginning of writing this one. So what did I do? I started writing from the middle, then the conclusion and finished the opening in the end. It's common to get stuck in writing, so I thought I'd share this wee tip with you. So just in case, the latest update lost some of its fluidity, you now know the reason why. 😀

Anyway, thank you for reading and your feedback from the previous chapter. It's something I truly appreciate. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to reading your thoughts. Meanwhile, sending you all best wishes and hope you're taking care of yourselves and your health. x

[willsimpforazula]

Sokkla Month Day 3: FMA:B AU

A/N: NGL i did toy with making sokka as mustang and azula as hawkeye but it be like it do. It was either this or Fate/Stay Night AU where someone needs a mana transfer (if you didn't know what a mana transfer is, good. pls stay pure) Anyways, without further ado-

Tunnels

Fifth Laboratory

Central City

As soon as Envy started to brag about how Ty Lee couldn't bring herself to shoot her wife in the face and the look of shock on her face, Sokka knew by the way her entire body was tensing up that this was not going to end well for both sides. While Envy was still oblivious, Sokka braced himself for the screams that were sure to follow the smug laughs.

"Congratu-fucking-lations Envy, you've just played yourself." Azula coldly smirked, her face in a sort of grin that reminded Sokka way too much of Kimblee that it sent a chill down his spine. Pocketing her gloves to reveal a transmutation circle etched into the top of her hand, she turned to look Envy in the eye before snapping her fingers.

Instantly, the room was filled with the agonizing screams of the homunculus as its tongue was set ablaze in a flash of turquoise. Glaring at Azula, she merely remarked "Remarkable, isn't it? After all, the human tongue has a rather high percentage of fat, which makes it oh so easy to burn."

Turning to the rest of the assembled group, Azula barked "Go find this Father guy, me and the lieutenant will deal with this sack of shit."

"You heard the man, let's go."

"But-"

"That's an order." Sokka barked to Aang.

"Look kid, we don't got much time." one of the Chimeras urged. Reluctantly, they started to move deeper and deeper into the tunnels. Before Envy could even move to block, it found itself on the receiving end of another sapphire barrage, scorching it from head to toe.

"So, you're the one who burnt Lust to a crisp." it huffed and puffed, as it spent the lives the Philosopher's stone contained to regenerate its health.

"Then you know just what kind of fate awaits you."

Enraged, it abandoned its human disguise and took on it's true form, a massive green hulking beast that had a host of faces stretching against it's very skin, their death masks an unnerving sight.

"I was just going easy on you, but now I'll make sure you and your pretty little boytoy there is going to- AHHH!FUCK!"

"You truly are a special kind of dumbfuck aren't you? First you openly brag about killing my closest friend, now you give me a bigger target to hit?" she laughed, before zapping him with rapid strikes that soon filled the air with smoke, soot and the ever familiar smell of burning flash that for a brief moment, transported Sokka back to that hot, blood-soaked sands of Ishval.

Sensing that it probably wasn't the best idea to hang around in the place where Lust got fried by her, it chose the only sensible option and ran on all fours into the labyrinth.

"Sokka, stay here. This one's mine to settle."

"She was my friend too!"

" Lieutenant Sokka Hawkeye , this is a direct order from your superior to stand down."

"Fine."

Turning to face the tunnels, she strode in with a singular purpose and aim. To avenge the death of Ty Lee.

-----

"Scar?"

"What is it?"

"I need to talk to you?"

"It's about the Colonel, isn't it?."

A nod. "I figured as much.", he sighed, "That face, the rage, I used to be like that long ago. The way I see it, she'll burn herself up long before she'll even get a chance to recover."

As if to emphasize his point, the sounds of Envy's tortured screams as it was relentlessly pursued echoed through the corridors. "Come, we need to keep moving." Reluctantly, Aang nodded and grit his teeth, steeling his heart to the blood curdling screams of someone getting burnt repeatedly.

-----

"Show yourself, you freak! Weren't you all high and mighty, boasting about your exploits, hmm? Too scared to pick on someone your own size?" she taunted, eyes peeled for any sign of movement.

"Come out come out wherever you are...or else I'll burn off your skin, bit by teensy bit, you worthless piece of crap." she continued, her voice raising by several octaves and taking on an almost sadistic tone.. Hearing the echoing cries and the almost  sing song taunts, Sokka could stand it no longer and headed down the tunnels, his pistol at the low ready.

------

Turning a corner, Azula heard an all too familiar voice call out "Hey there, Colonel." Snapping around, she saw Ty Lee standing in her uniform leaning nonchalantly against the wall, before she lunged at her. She won't dare to touch her, not if the-

Her thoughts were cut short as Azula's face, twisted with rage, blasted the lookalike with an unceasing torrent. For good measure, she even charred the cartilage in its left knee and burnt out the soles on the right foot in addition to singing its eyes.

"If you think I'm afraid of calling in fires danger close, need I give you a lesson in who I am?" her lips curling in a feral grin before blasting her once more. At this point, Envy knew better than to try and reason with her and ran. "So much for homunculi being the superior being."  she tutted, her face stained with traces of soot and ash that left black streaks on her  creamy white skin.

Taking respite in a mass of pipes, it spotted Sokka, who was looking for her, hoping against hope that she didn't completely lose herself. Even injured, it formed up a devious plan as it stalked him from the shadows.

"Fuck, this place is like a maze." he uttered, wandering through the tunnels. Hearing the sound of boots, he clung to the shadows. When the noise drew level, he aimed it at her face at the same time Azula pointed her fingers at him. For a brief moment, neither side let their guard down, before exhaling.

"Didn't I tell you to stay back?"

"I couldn't Colonel. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do something stupid."

"You're probably right. An extra set of eyes would be helpful."

Traveling a short distance, Sokka suddenly paused and leveled his gun at the back of her head.

"Do you know who your gun is pointed at?"

"Who? Don't make me laugh, when it's just us, the Colonel calls me by my first name." Turning to face her, Envy (who was disguised as Azula) smirked. "So you two really are that close huh." Letting out a small breath, Sokka executed a double tap to the chest and one to the head before replying "I lied."

Shrugging off his shots, Envy got back up and tried to rush him, but Sokka calmly slammed two rounds into the kneecaps, making it kneel on the ground as he leisurely holstered his dry gun and drew two more from his back, knocking out its arms and wrists before finally unslinging the rifle and giving the homunculus a dose of high speed lead poisoning.

Thoroughly pissed off, Envy lashed out and stabbed his shoulder, making him drop the rifle before it wrapped an appendage around him and smacked him upside the head. Before it could paint the walls with his grey matter, the real Colonel Azula arrived and toasted Envy, rendering its grip on him a pile of soot and ash.

"You truly are a glutton for punishment aren't you? First you kill my friend and boast about it, now you hurt my lieutenant? I swear I will burn you until you're nothing but a pile of ash and dust. And I've got all the time in the world, you miserable rat." Even as she spoke, her fingers snapped like a machine gun setting it ablaze over and over again.

"How many lives you've got left? Six? Sixty? Six hundred? No matter, it's all the same to me. Tell me, how does it feel to get your ass roasted by the very same person who killed Lust in the very same way?"

"Why you-GAH!!!"

"Stop, please!"

"What, not hot enough? I'll gladly crank up the heat. Stay back lieutenant, it's going to get a little toasty in here." Like a well oiled machine, her snap came almost naturally and any humanoid form of Envy was finally turned into cinders, whilst the tip of her gloves were starting to char and smoke. From the ashes, a green six legged slug-esque creature crawled away, it's squeaking voice lamenting at having been reduced to this form once again.

Without hesitation, Azula applied pressure on the offending creature, before commenting "So this is your true form. What a pathetic little being."

"P-Please-don't kill me!" it begged.

"Envy means jealousy, does it not? Well then, you won't have anything to be jealous of very shortly."

"Nooo please I don't want to die, not like this!!" it screeched.

Before Azula could turn the hapless homunculus into the next life, a sound of a hammer being cocked gave her paused.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"That's far enough. I'll handle it"

"What does it matter if it's me or you that deals the final blow? The fucker is going to die regardless, so lower your weapon."

"No. I cannot obey that."

"I will not ask again."

"Put your damn hands in the air, now!"

A burst of alchemically created earth wave soon took the decision making away from them as it launched it right into Aang's hand, who kept a vice like grip on it.

"Nice of you to drop by. Now hand it over."

"No."

"This is a direct order by a superior officer, hand it over."

"No."

"Are you asking for a fight and a court martial?"

"Bring it on by all means. But take a good look at yourself and ask, is this the face you want to lead Amestris with?!"

"Kill it if you wish, what right do I have as someone who has done the same. But I shudder to think what kind of world such a person held prisoner by their desire for vengeance would create." Scar added.

"Colonel, I have no intention of letting that slimeball live to see the next sunrise but please, this is not your fight anymore."

"No, you don't understand! I finally ran the bastard down, the bastard who killed Ty Lee! I-"

"But still, I cannot let you do something so reckless! Justice is what she needed, not this blind hatred for her killer. If this is how you act if one person wrongs you, what then will you do if a region or hell, another nation crosses you? Will you turn it into another Ishval? No, I will not let you."

"Please, let it go. I know you're better than that, Azula. I'm begging you, please!" "Go on, do what you need to. Then what?"

"Then it'll be the second last shot I'll ever take. After that, what else is there to live for?"

"No, that won't happen. That can never happen." Summoning her rage, she loosed off an intense jet that blackened the walls of a nearby tunnel, it's heat making everyone sweat like a hot August day.

Looking at the people around her, she remarked "Ironic, isn't it? Scolded by a child, lectured by a man who has all the right to seek vengeance against me for the crimes against his people and you, you-"

"-I've done it again." she ended mournfully. Clasping the hand that was still pointing at her, she gently lowered it down, saying "I've hurt you. Please, forgive me.", before kneeling at his feet, covering her face as the waterworks were out in full force. Holstering his derringer, he too dropped to his knees, and held her in his arms as she cried into his shoulders.

"Azula, I forgive you." he whispered in her ear, all caution and decorum thrown right out of the window as he rubbed her back in small circles.

"Really?" she looked up with red rimmed golden eyes.

"Really."

"Thank you, Sokka. For pulling me back from the abyss. I love you."

"I love you too, my little firecracker."

"Goddamnit Lieutenant, I can't believe you lied to me!" Envy squeaked.

"Shut up you pipsqueak, who gave you the right to speak!" Aang scolded, making it shrink back in fear.

"Hey Azula?"

"Yes?"

"We still got a transmutation circle to stop."

"Right."

"The usual place, 8 pm tomorrow evening?"

"As long as you're the one footing the bill."

"Deal. Now let's go."

[samikozume-todoroki]

Those bugs hc were amazing ( i was laughing so hard), what about some headcanons where the reader is now too small to reach something and the boys have to help her 👉👈

(Thank you so much! Glad it made you laugh🥺 as a smol bean; I am an inventor or spidermonkey no in between. And by boys I assume Shouto and Katsuki at the least, but I’m also doing Izuku and Kirishima!)

Characters: Shouto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku Midoriya, Eijirou Kirishima

Masterlist | Request rules | Gen. Taglist

Shouto Todoroki:

Mans walked into the pantry, fully intent on destroying the endeavor cereal that UA just stocked up

See you climbing on the shelves, hands losing their grip

Yoinks you so fast you don’t even realize he entered

(All I hear is the “STOOPID IM NOT GONNA LET YOU GET THE CHANCE” audio as I type this💀)

Actual photo of shouto yoinking you

Mans holds you by the collar of your shirt, staring at you with his beautiful eyes which are full of concern and worry

iTS NOT FAIR HES BOTH HOT AND A DECENT PERSON ITS NOT

“C-c-can you hel-help m-me?” Pouty and flustered the words are spit out

He puts you on the ground and goes behind you

!!! What r yO-

oh, okay

Mans picks you up by the armpits and you grab that yummy yummy Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the nasty bitch e*deavor cereal

He is so focused on how to destroy the cereal that when you lean up to give him a peck on the jaw, he stumbles

His heart just went DokiDoki!Precure

Scurrying out of the room like a rat (same😌💅✨) you don’t know that his left side flared up- destroying half the pantry

“Well at least the cereal got destroyed”

“YO! WHO DESTROYED THE MAC N CHEESE?! NOT COOL BRO”

“Half the pantry is burnt to a crisp and youRE comcerned about the Mac n cheese??”

“Ya??? Isn’t everyone??”

*everybody nods*

“Sigh”

Katsuki Bakugou:

Katsuki firmly believes in “fuck everyone, it’s every man for himself”

But there’s a secret clause hidden in page 101, paragraph 2, sentence 3, section FU-ck; 666

(I have no idea how shit like that works, so let’s roll with it🥰)

It states “it’s every man for himself unless the short stack can’t reach jack shit, then I could lend a hand if I want”

He enters the cleaning closet and sees you banging the broom on the bleach on the top shelf

“Thread the needle what the fuck broom fuck the handle sis it ain’t hard please-“ this close to tears and suddenly

Katsuki enters, grumbling about who knows what

“What? Did you see a speck of lint in the hallway that reminded you of Izuku?”

“No” (yes actually, damn nerds lint)

Now that a hot and more importantly tall boi was here

You banged on the bleach hoping it would annoy Katsuki enough to get it for you

✨backfired bitch✨

“You could just ask for help short stack”

😳😠🥺”pls help me”

He went to reach for the bleach, doing that “cage them in by getting super close” thing and

gETTING WAY TOO CLOSE LIKE SIR PLS BACK UP

I AM TRYING TO B R E A T H E

“I-I-I tha-thank y-you” 😳

“You’re welcome”

Said with such a cocky smirk, all embarassment is gone.

Pulling him down a bit by the collar of his shirt, and then

Kissing his cheek, you linger for a few seconds, releasing him skipping out the door

Mans blew up a shelf on accident

“Why is the shelf broken?”

“Bakugou”

“Ah, normal Tuesday then”

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku was going into the kitchen for a snack

When he stumbled upon a snacc😍

A snacc that was on their knees on the counter (no feet on the counter, nasty bitch 🤢) and tipping backwards

Full cowled over and caught you, bridal style

“Y/n be more careful! What if I didn’t catch you?! You could have cracked your head open, broken your neck, or-

“But that didn’t happen because you were here!”☺️

“gotten an concussion fall asleep and slip into a coma, got a stroke that we didn’t notice and di-“

Blushy boy becomes a tomato

Not only from your words

But your beautiful eyes that shine so warmly and a smile that always cheers him up and lips that he’s imagined kissing a couple of times-

And your voice which is so gentle and happy and holds no doubt. The way you said he was there like he would always be there and you’ll always count on him and trust him

He’s just 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

(TAKE MY KITHES IZUKU BABIE ILY)

He sets you gently on the counter

“Can you get something for me?”

Man full cowls and within a second all the items on the top shelves are taken down and out on the counter

“I-I just needed salt??”

“Oh”😳 full cowls everything back but the salt.

You offer him some food and ask him to eat with you and this blushy simp boy is in

✨heaven✨

God y’all ain’t even dating and make everyone feel so so so single

“Oh my god, somebody please make them kiss already”

“Izuku and y/n are in the kitchen?”

“The sexual tension and mutual pining is infuriating and disgusting”

“Retweet”

“Even bakugou agrees”💀

Eijirou Kirishima:

You regret throwing stuff on the top shelf of your closet

Why did you, oh right because “you’ll never need it, and you don’t use it”

Well you need it now

Fuck.

Normally you would be an

😌💅✨independant woman✨💅😌

And get a chair and do it yourself

But the only chair is the rolling chair,

and idk man it’s slightly cloudy and Mars is in retrograde so you don’t really think it’s a good day to snap your neck

So you go to the common area to steal a boy 🤩

Seeing Eijirou first, his freshly showered appearance (the hair!!!) blessed your eyes

😍

“Ei~ Ji~ Rou~”

“Slightly scared, but yes y/n?”

“I need a tall, muscly man to help me”

He never got up so fast in his life, eyes sparkling

Eijirou’s man ego and pride was stroked and he was t h r i v i n g

His grin was so big and eyes so happy and please please please praise him and stroke his ego more I beg

Going to your room

Eiji was in heaven, first time in your room and he loved it already everything screamed you and he loved you so he loved it

(Hi I love simp Eiji and ack, I’m actually crying I simp for him so so so hard i🥺😭)

After grabbing your stuff,

You flashed him the prettiest smile

Your eyes reflected back his and it was the most beautiful piece of artwork he had ever seen

And softly, “thank you”

GAJSGHAHS Y/N TAKE ALL MY LOVE AND MY HEART I DONT NEED IT ANYWAYS

(Give him kithes rn 😠 I swear)

you invited him to stay and chat

All throughout it you were like

“Sir??? You do not get to be so handsome and pretty and funny and nice and a super good person”

Omg you actually teared up a little bit when Eiji was smiling and laughing boisterously

It was so cute and you were so in love and🥺🥺🥺

You guys were first on the floor, then the bed and desk chair, then across from each other on the bed, then next to each other on the bed and

wow now you both are sleeping and cuddling.

Kiri is wrapped around you and if he woke up in the middle of the night and snuggled your small form closer it’s not anyone’s business but his

“I hate them”

“Kirishima and y/n?”

“Who else?”

“Good lord you would think they are newlyweds”

“Always rubbing it in our faces that they are soulmates”

A/n: Shouto is emotionally constipated 😠 he doesn’t know he’s crushing😠 all he knows is that he feels things😠 that are nice and warm and make his fire activate😠 this is the second version, the first got deleted because of my own stupidity. I think After fiddling with this version for around an hour, I like it more than V1. 🥺 if anyone wants anymore boys from BNHA, or some HQ boy versions send a request! I’d be happy to do it!

I am in the process of planning out a Kid Krow songfic collection for BNHA and Haikyuu (separately) and I want to hear suggestions for which character for which song! Drop an ask or find the post I talk about it (under Sami speaks) and comment!

General Taglist (open! Ask or comment on this post to be on it): @mssyprsn

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins

Chapter 1

This chapter is more descriptive heavy. I changed the layout of the upstairs area to include a bathroom and another bedroom. 

At first, all Nancy felt was dizziness. It was strange. It wasn’t the first time she’d been knocked out by someone. But it was the first time it was done by a masked skull figure, and they didn’t exactly knock her out so much as throw, something, towards her face. Whatever it was, it was potent. She still felt woozy and would have gone back to sleep if it weren’t for the thunder and a woman’s voice.

“Here, drink this”.

The sudden smell of something bitter filled Nancy’s nose.

“Don’t give her anything strange, then I really will have to take her to the hospital,” came another, lower, voice.

“Oh hush now. Just get back to your work,” the woman snapped back. She turned towards Nancy and urged the drink.

“It will make the dizziness go away, dear”.

Ignoring all warnings of caution, Nancy reached for the drink and drank. It was bitter, not that she expected it to be anything else, but it worked. She quickly found herself coming back to terms with her surroundings.

“There’s a dear,” the woman said. “I’m Renee. Mind I ask what you were doing unconscious in the Bolet manor?”

“Someone attacked me”.

“Someone, attacked you?” Renee repeated, not understanding.

“Someone dressed as a skeleton attacked me. I’m Nancy Drew. I’m looking for Henry Bolet”.

“Girl, you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard? Should we take you to the emergency?”

“No,” the lower voice broke in. “No emergency rooms! I’ve already got enough to deal with, and this power outage doesn’t help matters!”.

Renee sighed and shook her head. She turned towards Nancy.

“If you need me, I’ll be out in my garden”.

Saying so, she got up and left out through some double doors.

“I’ll call them and put them on hold and see how they like it!” the low voice grumbled after Renee left the room.

Slowly, Nancy got up and looked around. The room was dimly lit. Candles were everywhere, decorating bookshelf after bookshelf. One bookshelf was oddly decorated by teeth, with each book depicting a tooth on its spine. Another had a stuffed lizard on it. Trophies decorated the other side of the room, and in the left hand corner a desk sat with a young man on a swivel chair.

“Uh,” Nancy called weakly, then cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Are you Henry Bolet?”

The swivel chair turned and she came face-to-face with an oddity of a man. He dressed sharply and was very fit, but he leaned into the red chair and slouched a bit. His crisp looks were contrasted with features that Nancy recognized as a goth look. Not quite one or the other, she thought.

“I am”.

“Uh, well. I guess I’m the woman who fell unconscious at your house. Sorry about that. Bad way to introduce yourself, though, I guess it could be worse.”

Henry looked at her perplexed. “How so?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I could be all up in your face demanding why you kidnapped my friend”.

“Okay,” Henry drawled.

“Long story. I’m Nancy Drew. We have a mutual friend, Ned Nickerson?” She held out a hand towards him. “Pleased to meet you”.

Henry shook her hand firmly.

“Ah Ned,” he started but then dropped the sentence. He knew who Ned was, barely. They shared accounting courses. Ned Nickerson blended into the class and Henry would have never thought to approach him. But somehow Ned noticed him and stuck around to give a friendly wave and smile.

“He’s, persistent,” Henry concluded.

“Well, that’s Ned for you,” Nancy said, giving Henry a bright smile.

Ned was the only one to notice Henry being even more gloomy and withdrawn as usual. Perhaps he overheard the phone calls Henry had with Bruno Bolet’s doctor and solicitor. Henry didn’t know, but Ned asked him how he was coping with his uncle’s loss. When Henry said he was going to New Orleans, Ned insisted on having someone check in on him.

“I’m guessing he sent you here to check on me. I kind of come off as needy, but I’m fine, really. So you can just go on home and tell Ned I’m fine. Go out and enjoy New Orleans”.

Henry didn’t really understand why Ned would send some friend over. They barely knew each other, so this Nancy person would find things even more awkward. It was best to just get this over with. The sooner she left, the better it would be. The whispers were chattering amongst themselves. They weren’t loud, and they seemed at ease. It was a new sensation.

Skull… find… mask… skull… her…

“I can’t just leave! I don’t know how you’re doing. Plus,” Nancy started to shift her weight from one foot to another. “You see. I’m the type of person, well,” she sighed. “Look, I just can’t let go of what I saw”.

“What did you see?”

“The door was open so I stepped inside. When I entered the living room, there was a man dressed in all black with a skeleton mask. He threw something at me and I got knocked out”.

She’s really lost it.

“I have not lost it!” Nancy snapped, reading his face.

“Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”

“I know what I saw, and I’m determined to figure it out”.

Well, at least she’s not bothering him about his feelings.

“Can I at least look around for some clues. I promise not to break anything”.

Henry sighed.

“Alright. But I better warn you. Uncle Bruno was eccentric and into all sorts of exotic pets and things. So be careful. Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean they are”.

Way to sound ominous Bolet. He didn’t mean to scare her, but also didn’t want to deal with a bigger headache than the one his uncle left for him.

But Nancy just smiled, thanked him, and left the room.

 Nancy really didn’t understand why Ned asked her to go and visit some classmate of his. He even acknowledged that he barely knew this Henry Bolet, but she’d be damned if she let the Nickerson charm fail now on account of her. Everyone became enthralled by a Nickerson. So she came down to the French quarters of New Orleans with a friend, Bess Marvin, for a week of good sights and good food, only to have it pour down rain for two days. Trapped in their hotel room, she and Bess called their friends, Ned and Bess’s cousin, George Fayn. It was there that Ned requested her to check in on Henry, and seeing as the rain had no intention of stopping, Nancy went alone.

She was expecting it to be a simple check-in, nothing longer than an hour or two. When she knocked on the door, on one answered. She learned from the concierge that most folks kept their doors open in New Orleans. It wasn’t just on account of friendly neighbours It was also to allow ghosts to exit the house after accidentally entering it. Apparently, ghosts became cranky if they get trapped in a house. Twisting the knob, she entered the manor and went to the foyer. Towards her right was a room and she walked towards it. A person stood in a black tailcoat and boots with his back to her. She called out to them and as they turned, a shiver ran along her shoulders. The person had no face. Or rather, their face was obscured with a skull mask. Before she could ask who they were, what they were doing here, why even were they wearing a mask, the electricity went out. Rats, she thought. Trapped in an empty house with a skeleton person, well done Nancy. A flicker went off and a flash of lightning lighted the room. Within that brief time, the skeleton person managed to tramp up to her, close enough for her to see the eyes underneath the mask. They threw some powder in her face and between her stinging eyes and choked coughs, Nancy lost consciousness.

Had she not been an experienced detective, Nancy knew she probably would have become one today. She went back to the living room and started to investigate. The skeleton figure was inspecting the model cemetery when she entered, so she headed towards it. It was really beautiful and Nancy could see why it would have won an award. This Bruno person clearly appreciated cemeteries from the intricate figures of each burial ground. She read the names. Sleeping Meadows, Terra Siesta, Crowing Crypts, Sorrow Park, Withering Roots Memorial, Forty Winks Mausoleum, all clearly meant for a final resting place. Each burial ground was uniquely decorated and had crypts that indicated how a person was buried. She followed each paths around the cemetery, anticipating any indication of what the skeleton figure was looking at. There was a swamp with an alligator in it, surely a creative addition. There was also a large mausoleum separate from the other burial grounds. It seemed randomly placed and as Nancy peered closed, she saw that there were four engravings on it.

There were buttons that allowed her to change the engravings. Clearly this was some sort of locked box, but she didn’t know the combination that would open it. But she was confident that this was what the skeleton figure was looking at. Stepping away from the model, she looked around the room. There was a collection of portraits on the left wall. These must be the Bolets. They were quite unique in how their appearances overlapped. Guess, this must be where Henry gets his looks and style from. Each portrait revealed the personality of the subject. Oddly enough, they each held some object in their hand. One frame was empty and below it, Nancy saw a piece of paper. She picked it up. On it was an etching of a crow. It matched the engravings on the solitary mausoleum. Surrounding the crow was a detailed border. But Nancy remembered that only one of the engravings had this border. So, there must be three other pictures I need to find.

Nancy looked closely at the bird drawing. It looked like someone stenciled it from some surface. I wonder if this belonged to the Skeleton figure. The paper was slightly damp. So, that must mean the skeleton figure, must have stenciled this outside somewhere. I’ll have to take a look around outside.

Pocketing the paper in her trench coat she moved towards the fireplace. It was cold, but there were indications that it had been previously used. It’s too hot to be using a fireplace right now. She picked through the coals and found scraps of some paper. Most of it was too small and burnt off to be of any use, but she did find one piece with a name on it. Zeke. It looked to be the name of some business, but what?

Nancy stood up and went back to the study room. Henry was still typing away at his computer.

“Henry? I have some questions for you”.

The man swiveled around and raised an eyebrow.

Start small Nancy, you don’t want to scare him. He already thinks you’re seeing things.

“How well did you know your uncle?”

Henry shrugged. “Barely knew him at all”.

“Didn’t he raise you?”

“I guess. If you could call sending me to boarding school, summer school, military school as raising a child. He may have looked after me, but he never cared to spend any time with me”.

“Oh”. Great going Drew. She tried again. “Well, what about your parents?”

“They died in a car crash when I was eight. Then I got dumped onto my uncle. End of his bachelorhood I guess”.

Okay, that didn’t go so well either. She might as well rip the whole Band-Aid off.

“I think this skeleton figure was looking for something in this house. Is there some big object or hidden money or something that people might want to get their hands on?”

Henry looked at her, puzzled.

“Uh, maybe? There’s a lot of junk in this house, as you can see. Some of it might actually be worth something.”

“Well, I think they were after whatever is locked up in the mausoleum box in the cemetery model. It has a lock on it and this,” she took out the crow stencil. “This must have been left by the skeleton figure. If we can unlock the mausoleum, we can get whatever’s inside before the skeleton figure comes back. Do you know where the solitary mausoleum is located?”.

“Look,” Henry began and Nancy internally groaned. She knew that word and tone all too well. Distrust and disinterest. It was rare to ever find another person who had the same interest and excitement in uncovering mysteries. Most people didn’t care about the little odd threads that didn’t add up, only to cry when everything become unwound. It was times like these where she sometimes wished she had her friends and fellow detectives, Frank and Joe Hardy, to back her up. People were more willing to listen to a group than an individual.

“Why are you so concerned about this skeleton figure?” Henry asked.

“Why are you so calm?” Nancy countered. “Someone broke into your house and you’re calm about it? I clearly interrupted them which means they might come back, which means you’re in danger”.

“I got a lot of work to complete”.

Who doesn’t. Nancy sighed, “You don’t need to help me, just tell me a bit about the garden space. Is there a mausoleum that’s separate from other burial grounds?

Henry hesitated. There was such a mausoleum and he knew it very well. Too well.

“What do you need from that mausoleum? The door is completely locked. No one had been inside in years”.

“I don’t think I need to go inside. I just need to look at the building itself. There are engravings that could match the key for the model one”.

Henry nursed his head. “Alright. Once you enter the cemetery and go past the bent tree, the mausoleum should be to your left. Just keep heading that way. Hard to miss”.

Nancy beamed. “Great, thanks so much. She turned to go out towards the door, then turned back.

“Yes?” Henry drawled.

“Do you happen to have any paper?”

“Sorry. Ask Renee”.

Nancy nodded then headed out the door.

Henry watched her leave then turned back to his computer where an excel sheet filled with numerical data awaited him. God, I hope I don’t regret this.

 Outside the Louisiana heat infused into Nancy’s skin. She was not accustomed to the humidity and could already feel her back start to warm up and stick to her dress shirt. She turned to her left and saw a small alcove draped over by green vines. Tucked inside was Renee who was busy potting young plants.

“Hello,” Nancy called out.

Renee looked up sharply and Nancy wasn’t sure whether it was the heat or Renee’s grey eyes that initiated the sweat droplets down her back.

“Hello, dear. Welcome to my little lantern-lit corner of the world. Come in here where it’s dry”.

“What are you growing?” Nancy asked.

“Whatever I need dear”.

“Nothing like freshly grown herbs to add to your food, right?”

Renee looked hard at Nancy and her voice dropped.

“I don’t use these herbs for cooking, darling”.

Then what do you use them for? Nancy wanted to ask Renee this, but the older woman switched topics.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Henry yet?”

“Yes, I have. From your conversation earlier, am I correct in assuming you two are not on the best of terms?”

“My you’re forward aren’t you!” Renee laughed. “Henry is a very morose, very negative young man. Very cunning too”.

“How so?”

“I am almost certain he’s selling his uncle’s property on the sly. When he’s not supposed to, that is”.

“Doesn’t it all belong to Henry now?” Nancy asked.

“Absolutely not!” Renee exclaimed. “According to Dr. Bolet’s will, Henry is to receive thirty percent of the estate. Dr. Bolet’s physician, Gilbert Buford, is to get thirty percent. Our Lady of Route 57 Dentistry and Cosmetology gets thirty percent, and I am to receive ten percent”.

“Is the cemetery part of the estate?”

“Yes and no. It’s not legally part of the estate, but it technically belongs to the Bolet family. It all belongs to Henry now, along with his thirty percent”.

“Who is Gilbert Buford?”

“That’s Dr. Bolet’s heart doctor and best friend. Those two go long back. Thick as thieves”.

Nancy reflected on what Renee provided her with.

“Does Henry seem upset by only getting thirty percent?”

Renee drew her head up and stood tall. “Young lady,” she started. “The Bolet family is intrinsically connected to New Orleans. Henry is not only gaining assets, but also a name, title, and land. Thirty percent of the Dr. Bolet’s fortune is quite a tidy sum, never mind the Bolet family fortune and cemetery”.

“Oh”.

Renee looked towards her plants and slowly resumed her potting.

“I suppose I gave you the impression that Henry is greedy. While I cannot attest to it, Henry is nonetheless not someone you can trust. You best watch yourself around him”.

Renee potted some soil then paused.

“One more thing dear. That skeleton man, I’ve—I’ve seen him too. Now don’t ask me more questions, I don’t want to think about it. But just know, there is something in this house that’s just not right”.

Nancy nodded then switched the topic.

“Do you happen to have some paper?”

“Get the urge to draw something?”

“Yep!”

“Well, now. I know I have some paper in my room, but I won’t be able to go get it till after I’m done potting my plants”.

“I can help you pot the plants”

Renee laughed. “Impatient one you are! No. No. No need. Just take this key and go on up yourself. And while you’re at it. I’m feeling a bit hungry. In my cupboard there’s a stash of Koko Cringles. Be a dear and bring one down for me, and help yourself to one too”.

Nancy took the key and headed back inside. Henry didn’t acknowledge her entrance, so she continued out of the study and up the staircase. It was wonky and creaked a bit. There were four doors. One door was on a lower level and the other three were sequentially placed along the top most level.

She didn’t tell me which door was hers.

Nancy placed the key in the first door, but the handle had no lock. Curious, she pushed open the door and saw an empty room that was bare of anything save a drawer and bed. There was some clutter around the bed and she assumed it was Henry’s. Why would he sleep here though? It was so, lifeless. The rest of the house had character, but this room just looked sad. Nancy quickly shut the door and move up a floor.

The next door had a vase decoration near it, though Nancy didn’t recognize the plant resting within. This door had a lock and she tried the key. The door unlocked. She stepped inside.

 The room looked like a doll house. A creepy one at that. There was an elegant but simple bed with green bedsheets. The bedside cupboard. A vanity table was littered with all sorts of bottles and herbs, and a chest sat in one corner, opposite the bed. Nancy first went to the table.

A bottle with the label ‘hiccup powder’ sat at the forefront. Surely not, she thought as she picked up the bottle and opened it. But to her surprise the burst of powder caused a series of hiccups to come bursting out of her. She quickly put the bottle back, then began to rummage through the other bottles. There was nothing labelled sleeping powder or knock-out powder, though some of the bottles were unlabeled. She didn’t think it was wise to open them though. There was no paper on the table, so she went towards the cupboards.

Opening the top drawer, Nancy found the paper. She then opened the bottom drawer and found a stash of chocolate. Jackpot baby! She took one for Renee, and then ate one. The warmth of the melting chocolate felt good in the creepy room and Nancy couldn’t help but take one bar for the road. No telling when she would need to keep her fortitude up in this house. She got up and turned towards the door when something on the wall caught her eyes.

The wallpaper itself was old, faded and ripped in places, but clear as day in the centre were seven symbols surrounding a major rip. They contrasted a glaring red against the pale yellow wallpaper. Blood red. Nancy stepped towards the symbols and tentatively placed a finger on one sign. The colour was dry and odorless. Probably not blood. But she had no idea what those symbols meant.

Walking around the room, Nancy noticed a rocking chair and went towards it. Lightning flashed and as thunder rumbled, Nancy caught a glimpse of a doll. Not just any doll, but one she specifically saw with an old case of hers. A doll that belonged to a woman that died more than 200 years ago. Nancy had no idea how Renee could have gotten her hands on that doll seeing as the company closed a long time ago. She turned to her right and saw the chest.

Squatting down, she saw four abstract figures on each corner and a large blank circle at the centre. Surrounding the large circle were a multitude of buttons. Curious, she pressed one, and a line appeared on the centre circle. She pressed another and another line appeared. The centre image was now beginning to look like one of the corner figures. She pressed two more buttons but both failed to finish the image and the circle blanked out.  

Nancy looked back towards the wall symbols, then at the chest. Random symbol equals random symbol? She tried again to replicate one of the corner abstract figures. This time it worked and the figure turned blank. Curious lock, she thought as she solved the other three figures. Once all the figures turned blank she heard a click and the chest lifted a little.

Opening the chest, she saw all sorts of odds and ends and a book on hoodoo symbols. She opened the book up and skimmed through the pages. On one page she noticed that the symbols on the wall matched the one’s in the book. Beside each symbol a name was written. Bah? Boo? Dee? Mo? They didn’t spell anything, nor make any sense. Still, it was best to record it down. Nancy took out a notebook and pen from her trench coat and jotted down each symbol along with their associated name. She then packed everything up and headed out of the room and back towards the garden.