#power of friendship? nah. this bastard uses the power of determination

[plugnuts]

Started a new game in shadows of almia and oh my god why is every character so nice and pure and whatever at the start? Due to spite my ranger is just gonna be a dick and I'm gonna make him into an oc when I can be assed

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hi there! If you're feeling it for mermay, I would like to request #9: folklore with OT4? No preference on rating: go with whatever feels best! Thank you so much and I hope you have a nice day!

Here you go! I went SFW on this one.

“You did what??” Dani stares at Barclay, shocked.

“I offered him a job. He needed work while he was here in town for his research, and he seemed nice, and, uh, and-”

“And attractive.” Indrid adds, turning to a new page in his sketchbook.

“Branchin out a little from your usual type, sugar.” Duck kisses his cheek.

“Barclay, he’s a folklorist. A folklorist who specifically studies selkies.”

“Yeah he, uh, he said so. I figured if he’s working for me, or even if he wants me to show him around, I can steer him away from all the selkies.”

“Except for the one showing him around.” Dani gives him a look only an older sister could give.

“It’s not like he’s gonna see me transform.” Barclay mutters.

The meeting ends much as it began; with everyone agreeing that the new guy in town was a potential threat and should be given absolutely no information whatsoever. It’s not that Barclay doesn’t see the man, who introduced himself as Joseph Stern, as someone after Keplers secrets. It’s more that the guy uprooted his entire life to come to an obscure, Alaskan bay in hopes of finding the thing he wants most in the world. Barclay sympathizes. 

Kepler is notorious among selkies; a safe haven, a place where there are humans who will protect them, help them, even love them. More than one enterprising selkie, trapped in a loveless marriage or unending servitude, has tricked the human who betrayed them into going north. It’s rare that a human who committed such a breach of trust remains there long; and they always give the pelt back, usually while packing their things in a desperate rush.

It’s a pity, then, that Barclay never got the man who tricked him up here.

He finishes the dinner rush at Amnesty Lodge, located on the edge of the bay and a welcome stop for travelers from land and water alike. As he usually does this time of night, he heads to a dock, far from the lights of town or the ships out at sea, and sits with his feet in the water, solitary and solemn. Tonight, he’s not alone for long. 

Silvery hair emerges from the water as Indrid, now sporting a lovely grey tail, swims over to him. They met when Barclay first came here, Indrid more than a little odd but appreciative of Barclays skill in the kitchen and bedroom in ways he’d been without for years. The gift of future vision meant Indrid was nomadic, in that he was determined to use his powers to prevent tragedy whenever he could, and so one day he swam away from Kepler.

Barclay didn’t see him for years. No one did. Until a ranger by the name of Duck Newton was helping tag seals that kept swimming too far up the salmon runs and got the shock of his life when the one he caught turned into a man as he was holding him. Indrid pointed out that his ear was already pierced and if they needed him to hunt somewhere else they could just ask. Duck who, in spite of living in Kepler for years, did not believe in the supernatural until he was holding it, offered the first apology that came to mind, which included inviting Indrid to dinner.

They’ve been dating for two years now.

Indrid rises from the water enough to rest his head in Barclay’s lap, “Come stay with us tonight.”

“I...do you really want me to?”

“If you do not, you spend all night brooding and unable to sleep, thus making for a miserable morning. Too, I am rather fond of your company.” Indrid tilts his chin up with a grin and Barclay leans down to kiss him, “and before you ask, yes, Duck remains fine with this. He says, and I quote ‘Barclay’s my friend and also if you’re hugging him I can escape bed long enough to get ready for work.”

He chuckles, “Okay, I’ll be over soon. I, uh, is there any chance-”

“No” Indrid shakes his head with a sigh, rubs his cheek against Barclays leg, “there are still no futures where we find your coat. Wherever that bastard sent it, he hid it well.”

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

Barclay’is in trouble; not only is Joseph a good cook, he’s good company too. He finishes his shifts sweaty and exhausted, same as Barclay, and the selkie wonders what it would be like to see him breathless and red faced in other contexts. He suspects he’s not the only one.

Joseph’s research regularly takes him into the national forest or the adjoining state park on the beach, meaning he’s routinely running into Duck. The ranger initially worried his inability to lie convincingly would be a problem. But after some cursory questions that Indrid saw coming and coached him through technically true responses to, he and Joseph have struck up a passing friendship. 

“Joseph is also very interested in his love life” Indrid reveals while swimming circles around Barclay as he stands in the cold water, “not that I blame him. He has excellent taste in men. Present company included.”

“He’s just being nice to me. And I’m practically his boss.”

Indrid pauses his swimming to stare at him, “Dearest, when he’s not working, what does he do?”

“Uh, crosswords? Or he reads, and he likes trying new restaurants and going to movies.”

“And you know all this how?”

“Because he does it near me or asks me to go with him. Oh, uh, huh. Maybe he does have a thing for me.”

Indrid floats into his arms, kisses him, “invite him to dinner. The others at the Lodge are, understandably, still wary of him and don’t want him around. But there’s no harm in him having over for a meal.”

Barclay pulls Indrid closer, tickles his cheek with his beard as he teases, “Seems like I’m not the only one with a crush on him.”

“Not in the slightest.” Indrid grins, “Our lives have not been easy. I don’t know about you, but I intend to embrace affection and love whenever the opportunity presents itself. “

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

There’s no way Joseph is passing up this opportunity. 

He’d been refilling his travel mug at the complementary coffee kiosk in the Lodge and asked if anyone happened to know which rivers had the most reported selkie sightings. After each blurting out a different answer, his fellow guests (tenants, really) decided on the Bluff Creek river as the best option.

He wonders if they know just how obvious it is that they’re hiding something. 

Joseph is well aware that folklorists are seen as credulous and gullible. He uses that to his advantage. There’s no reason for anyone to know about his seven years in the FBI prior to this. No reason for them to know he knows that Dani will propose to Aubrey soon, that Jake is sneaking out every night, that Barclay is searching for something as intensely as Joseph is. 

Most nights, he falls asleep under a burnt orange bedspread dreaming that he’s what the cook is looking for. 

Barclays feelings for him are one of the few things at Amnesty he can’t decipher. He offers him a job, takes a personal interest in his welfare, and makes him coffee just how he likes it. Every single morning. But he gets jittery when Joseph asks him about himself, and some days he outright hides from him until they’re in the kitchen. 

The dinners with Indrid and Duck aren’t helping his confusion. Barclay practically holds his hand during them, but turns pink whenever Indrid winks at him. And Duck…well, Joseph knows he’s good looking, and he’s never had a hard time hooking up while traveling. The rangers attention just makes him so hot under the collar he wants to strip down at the table. Which is why he can’t decide if Duck agreeing to be his guide on the river is a stroke of luck or a brilliant plan to keep him from noticing things they don’t want him to see. 

When Duck meets him at the dock, his casual outdoor clothes unfairly flattering (Indrid likes the uniform better, but Joseph finds it hides too much of Duck’s arms and chest), he decides there’s no point in looking a gift hunk in the mouth. 

They paddle upriver, trading bad, pun-based jokes until the wind picks up and drowns their voices out. It’s slow going, and there’s no sign of a selkie, but Duck remains excellent company. They make camp an hour before sunset, in a two man tent that leaves them smushed shoulder to shoulder. 

As they’re comparing notes on growing up trans in a small town, Joseph shares the story of the time he nearly broke his tailbone after slipping on a packer he left on the floor. Duck guffaws, shaking the tent as he does, and ends up giggling into Joseph’s shoulder as they both wipe tears from their eyes.

“You have a great laugh, you know that?”

“Sound like a bird of paradise gettin hit by an accordion.” Duck isn’t moving his head.

“That’s a remarkably accurate description, but my point stands.”

He feels Duck turn his head, “Joe? Would, uh, would it be okay if I kissed you? You can say no, swear I won’t abandon you or leave you for the bears so some shit. Just, uh, been thinkin about it all day and figured I’d ask.”

“It won’t upset Indrid?” He slides his hand from his sleeping bag to hold Duck’s own. 

“Nah. He and I talked about it. And, uh, his uh, his social circles ain’t super invested in monogamy.”

“Oh. Um” He wants to roll over, wants to pin Duck and kiss him until dawn. But if he does, it might mean he never gets a chance to do the same to a certain someone else, someone who he wishes would just tell him how he felt-

“If it, uh, helps any, happen to know Barclay sees things the same way ‘Drid does.” 

“In that case…” he crawls from the sleeping bag, Duck unzipping his own and kicking it open so there’s nothing to stop Joseph’s hands as they stroke and grope their way across his body, “I have a proposal for you.”

Unsurprisingly, they get a late start the next day. As Joseph is paddling, he spots a tail flipping out of the water, far too large to be an otter. Before he can say anything, the roar of the river changes, turning rougher and deeper.

“Fuck, the snowmelt must’ve started earlier than usual, these rapids normally ain’t this big.”

“Should we try to reverse?”

“Maybe we can, nope, fuck, okay we’re goin through whether we like it or not, try’n stay low and hold on.”

Duck’s excellent advice goes out the window at the same instant Joseph goes out of the boat, a swell catching him off guard. He hits a rock at just the wrong angle, pain shooting up his wrist as he releases his paddle. He’s not panicking, but the more he fights to keep his head up, the closer he gets. 

Then an arm is around his waist, pulling him to shore. He has just enough time to see his rescuer has a grey tail before they disappear under the water. There’s no sign of the boat or of Duck. A tremendous splash resolves one of those problems. 

“Duck!” He hurries to where the ranger coughs water onto the pebbles, “thank the lord.”

“Nah” he coughs again, “thank him.” He gestures weakly to the familiar face and torso now attached to a tail coated in silver-grey fur. 

“You’re a selkie.” Joseph scoots across the rocky ground. 

“Indeed.” Indrid taps his fingers together, “I, ah, I am sorry my love. I know we agreed he could not know, but when the timelines showed the rapids most of them involved you both going into the river and in, in many of them one or both of you was knocked unconscious on the stones and did not resurface. I could not let that happen to you. Either of you.”

Joseph reaches out reverently with his uninjured hand, and Indrid guides his tail to meet him. It’s exquisite to touch, and as he smooths his fingers along it, Indrid purrs and rolls onto his back. 

“Mmmm, already you are proving why it was worth it to save you.” Indrid grins, wiggling closer. 

“You, uh, you ain’t angry at us for hidin it from you?” Duck guides Indrid’s head into his lap, petting his hair, looking warily at Joseph.

“Duck, I’ve known you and the rest of the people at the Lodge were hiding things from me, and that given the towns reputation those things were probably related to selkies. It’s not like there aren’t dangers to people learning about selkies and where they live, and I never made it clear whether my research would lead to that. It hurts not to be trusted but, well, I’m used to it.” He looks down at where Indrid is nuzzling Duck’s belly, “I promise, I won’t put you or any of the others in danger.”

“Mmmm” Indrid’s tail relaxes under his hands, “apologies, I am listening, but it took a great deal of energy to reach you in time and pull you from the water. I think I shall nap until our ride comes.”

“Uh, think you’re gonna nap in the car.” Duck tilts his head towards the treeline, where the rumble of an engine rattles up the abandoned logging road. A minute later, a door slams and Barclay appears from the trees. 

“Fuck, he wasn’t kidding that you had rough time.” Barclay helps Joseph into the back seat while Indrid, now sporting legs, climbs into the front, “Duck, med kit is behind the drivers seat.”

“Great. Joe, c’mere, I can secure your wrist and get you some painkillers.”

“Right. Thanks.” He turns back to Barclay, eyebrow raised.

“Guess, uh, guess we have a lot to talk about later. I, uh, I should probably just tell you the big thing now. I’m uh, I’m like Indrid.”

Joseph smiles, “I guessed as much the moment Indrid revealed himself.”

“Oh.”

“Is there, um, anything else you want to tell me sooner rather than later?”

Barclay’s honey-rich baritone comes out as shy as a first kiss, “If you said you’d go out with me, it’d make my whole fucking year.”

Joseph murmurs in his ear, “The instant I’m out of the hospital, you’re taking me to dinner.”

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

There’s a sturdy hammock at the edge of Duck’s yard, overlooking the river. Joseph had no interest in it until he discovered it was the perfect size to have Barclay lay in so he could then lay on his chest. They’re in that configuration when he asks the question he’s been putting off for fear of upsetting his boyfriend. 

“How did you end up in Kepler? Were you born here?”

“No.” Barclay’s hands settle on his back, “I grew up off the coast of California. There was a guy, a human, we’d been friends since we were teenagers. As we got older he got, uh, he got it into his head that we could go on the road as like a, uh, a sideshow act. That people would pay big money to see a real selkie. I hated the fucking idea, told him to drop it, and he did, went back to being the considerate, cool guy he’d been when we met. He made a big dinner for my birthday, invited me over and…” his fists tighten in Joseph’s shirt, “and when I was there, he stole my coat.”

“Oh, Barclay” Joseph pets his chest, “I’m so sorry.”

“I agreed to work with him because I didn’t have a choice. I hated every goddamn minute of planning, of knowing he saw me as a fucking meal ticket. One night I snapped, told him to give me back my coat and let me go or I’d make him regret it. He locked me in the fucking basement, and when I got out, he told me he’d shipped my coat far, far away, and if I ever wanted to find it, I’d better stay with him. Asshole didn’t realize getting rid of the coat meant he didn’t have a hold on me anymore. I left, looked for it for years, then basically gave up and moved to Kepler because I knew there were other selkies here. Indrid’s convinced the pelt is here somewhere, keeps saying our finding it is just on the edges of his visions. But I dunno. I think it’s gone for good.”

Fear clings to his heart, “Will you get sick if you never find it? Are, are you sick now, or in pain?”

“No. Selkies don’t die or get sick without their pelts. It’s more like...like a part of you is missing, with this ache where it’s supposed to be. Mine’s been gone so long I barely notice it anymore.”

Joseph sits up, frowning, “You’re lying.”

“...Yeah. Yeah I am. But what else can I do?”

“Let me help. I’m an investigative professional, I have been for years, and I can’t think of a better use for those skills than finding your coat. Than, than making you happy and whole.”

Barclay studies him a moment, then yanks him down into a kiss, whimpering when Joseph nips his lips and licks between them. 

“Now, big guy,” he brushes their noses together, “what does it look like?”

“It’s the same color as my hair, with a crescent scar at the base of the tail from where a shark bit me. God, Joseph, I hope you see it some day, if you think Indrid’s tail is beautiful, and it is, mine is fucking gorgeous…”

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

“Joseph! How is my favorite connoisseur of cryptozoology today?”

“ I’m fine, Ned. And since I can see the dollar signs in your eyes from here yes, if you have new merchandise I would like to see it.”

Stationed on the highway at the edge of Kepler, the Cryptonomica is the kind of tourist trap Joseph can’t help but love. Even if the informational plaques contain miles of misinformation, it’s nice to be somewhere that doesn’t scoff at the supernatural or strange. 

As Ned rummages in the back, Joseph circles the room to arrive at his favorite display; Bigfoot, complete with a supposed “stuffed bigfoot” whose fur is so many different colors it looks like a patchwork quilt his grandmother kept on the couch. Not for the first time, he amuses himself with the observation that the back portion resembles Barclay’s hair. 

“Wait.” He says, loud enough that Ned’s assistant, Kirby, looks up from his desk.

“Something you need, Mr. Stern?” 

He kneels down, pulling his penlight from his jacket and peering at the creatures lower back.

“Yes. I need a knife, and I need it now.”

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

“Goodness!” Indrid yelps a moment before Joseph bursts through the door. 

“Barclay, Barclay look!” The researcher spins in a circle, searching for the cook.

“What is it, is everything okay?” He hurries out of the kitchen, then drops to his knees in shock, “it, it can’t be.”

“It is. Or, um, there’s a very strong chance it is. Look” He holds out the chestnut cloak, “the scar matches.”

“I, I, I-” Barclay grabs the pelt, holding it to his chest, “I must be dreaming.”

“There’s only one way to find out” Indrid grins as he pulls Duck up along with him, then tugs Barclay to his feet, “to the water!”

They’re moving so fast that Barclay only has a moment to swing the coat over his shoulders as he dives into the water, Joseph calling out to be careful. 

And then is heart thrums, whole for the first time in decades, as warm fur envelopes him. His second skin sings into his nerves, reunited with it’s home, and he let’s the transformation take it’s full form. When he leaps for joy out of the water, there’s not a human feature to be seen. 

Joseph cries out in triumph, Duck whooping out cheers along with him. There’s no sign of Indrid until he returns to the waves, at which point the most stunning silver seal twirls around him. The next time he rises from the water, he reverts to his half-form, savoring the sensation of moving it through the depths as Joseph and Duck wade in to join them. 

He pulls Joseph into a kiss, dipping him so his black hair fans out in the water, “You did it, babe.”

“I, I may as well quit all my other jobs, nothing else I accomplish in my life will compare to the look on your face right now.”

“Oh pet” Indrid smiles, “you’ve not seen anything yet. Did I say that right?”

“Close enough, sugar.”

“Come, dearest, I’ve been waiting for years to see if you can out-swim me.”

“You’re fucking on” Barclay kisses Joseph once more for good measure, “be right back.”

As he speeds through the water, Indrid keeping pace with him, he just makes out the conversation behind them. 

“You, uh, you know givin a selkie their pelt back is a marriage proposal, right?”

“Yes. But we can talk about that later, all four of us.”

[storytime-hoe]

Tough Love Ch.16

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: I really like this chapter so I hope all you amazing people do too. Also, I am thinking this might go to about 23 chapters. Maybe? That is not a definite number yet but somewhere around there. The way I am ending it leaves room for a sequel too if people would want that by the time it is over and of course if I have time and want to keep writing, which I probably will. 

Previously: Ch.1    Ch.2       Ch.3       Ch.4     Ch.5      Ch.6     Ch.7       Ch.8       Ch.9       Ch.10          Ch.11        Ch.12        Ch.13       Ch.14       Ch.15

Once you’ve spent a night sleeping next to someone you care about so much, it leaves you with an empty feeling when you have to sleep alone again. Take my word for it, it fucking sucks. 

I stirred through the entire night, not staying asleep for more than twenty minutes at a time before a nightmare or a tremor woke me up. And when I was awake, all I could think about was Daryl wanting me to stop looking for the Governor. Then, eventually, my mind went over the all of the events up in the guard tower like how fucking incredible he felt against me while we dance, and then the memories always ended with the sound of me slapping him and the stupid hurt look on his face right before I left him. 

I shouldn’t have hit him. That wasn’t right of me, but I was so fucking angry and I can’t contain my emotions well, especially if I had just downed a bottle of vodka. 

I wanted him to know that I didn’t mean to do it, but then again, he deserved it. He couldn’t ask me to give up on something as big as the Governor. I had practically dedicated my life to revenge on that man. Daryl knew that. 

So fuck ‘em both. 

I gave up on sleep just before the sun started rising. I got ready in a few minutes and started to head out like I had every mouthing for months. This time I wasn’t in a perky mood. I wasn’t going to turn the corner and see a shinning Daryl waiting to go out with me. 

No, today I was determined. Everything about me screamed “fuck off” from my resting bitch face to the power in each of my steps. 

Outside of the gates I started down the trail that I had taken a dozen times, going to pick up right where I had left off the previous morning. I thought Daryl might actually leave me alone out here after I had slapped him last night, but that was stupid of me to think, because his heavy footsteps were pounding up behind me ini minutes. He obviously wasn’t trying to conceal his presence here with me. 

"I told you. Trail went cold." His voice dripped attitude already; he was out here for a fight and I was ready to fucking give him one. 

"Yeah, well that's not good enough for me," I spat, keeping to my trail and not bothering to stop and look at him. 

"Ya can't come out here by yerself. S'not safe."

I gritted my teeth and spun around to face him. He was closer than I thought he was to me. We both straightened up dominantly, trying to win over the other. 

"I don't know what part of you isn't understanding,” I hissed at him, letting the venom roll off my words. “But I don't give a fuck. I'm not stopping and you can't fucking make me."

He grabbed my arm as I tried to storm away from him. Bastard didn’t learn from what happened last time? 

"Let me go," I growled lowly at him. 

"Nah."

I turned and slammed the palm of my hand against his chest. "Let me go," I screamed at him and tried to twist out of his grasp. "Daryl fucking Dixon I will break your arm if you don't let me go."

"Go ahead," he yelled back in my face, his breath blowing over me. He was inches away and I smelled the cigarettes on his breath. "Break my damn arm. But I ain't lettin’ ya get yerself killed."

My next move was definitely the reckless part of me taking over. It made the slap last night look like a kind gesture actually. 

In a rushed and frantic impulse I pulled the gun from my belt and pointed it out in front of me, leveled at his head. 

He stared down the barrel of the gun without a sliver of fear in his eyes. "Ya ain't gonna kill me." He sounded so sure of himself that I was tempted to shoot him out of spite. "Ya couldn't kill me if ya tried."

I felt my lip quivering and I rapidly blinked away my tears. Why did he have to be right all the fucking time? Of course I couldn't kill him. He was the only damn person that was keeping me living right now. I could never make myself pull that trigger on him. He was fucking everything to me, without him there was nothing. 

His fingers, still wrapped around my wrist, tightened immensely, and he pressed his forehead directly on the gun, daring me with his piercing eyes to blow his brains out. 

"Go ahead," he growled out so low it send a shudder through my body. "Add another ghost to haunt you."

I held his gaze through it all and almost couldn't choke back my tears. Every face of the people in my life who were torn out of it flashed across my mind, making me feel guilty about being alive. The squeezing in my chest was almost too much to bare, breathing was becoming considerably harder by the second. 

"Can't you just stop caring about me so much?" Desperation. That’s how I would describe how I felt and sounded, how every moment with Daryl was breaking me because I wanted him so fucking back, but I wanted to prioritize other things before him. Other impossible things like finding the Governor.

He stared down the gun at me forever, his eyes searching mine wildly. I could see him deciding what to do in his head. He was debating his next action and let me be the first to say, he made the right choice in the end.

I didn't register what he was doing at first. I only heard him growl out a simple "no" as his crossbow clanged to the ground and he yanked on my arm, causing me to crash into his chest. Simultaneously, his other hand came up to hold my face to his in the most desperate and hungry kiss I'd ever had, my arm holding the gun to him moving aside to give him access. He pulled back quickly, thinking he had just made a life changing mistake with risking the kiss. But I wasn't letting him get away that easily.

I toss my gun aside and grabbed onto his vest before he could take a step back and roughly pulled him back into me. The kiss was sloppy from neither of us having done this in a long time, but that’s what made it perfect. 

His hand finally let go of the death grip on my wrist and went to my waist. I drank him in thirstily, unable to control the groans that escaped my lips. This only encouraged him more, and I lost my breath when his hands snaked up under my shirt.

I stumbled backwards as he walked me up against the trunk of a tree. He pinned me against it, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, which I welcomed with another moan. My hands trailed up his arms and up under his vest so I could slide it off of him. 

He must not have realized I was unbuttoning his shirt until it was off and accompanying his vest on the ground because once it was, he broke away from me in a hurry. All those times I had struggled to read him, he was like an open book now. I saw the insecurity written all over his face as my fingers roamed over his scarred back. 

I had seen his back only once, he even always slept in a shirt to keep me from seeing him. It was a complete accident when I had, but he had thrown a hissy fit that ended in me showing him my own scars. The only difference between us was that his were old and from his father, while mine were more recent looking and from his brother. Weren't Dixon's just charming? At least I got lucky with this one.

I cupped his face in my hands and made him look up at me. The shame didn't waver from his eyes as I held them with my own. My mouth quirked up at the corner and in one swift motion, I stripped out of my shirt and discarded it onto the ground too, letting the crisp morning air hit my own scarred back. 

"There,” I breathed out at him, “Now we're even."

He scanned my own scars adoringly and when his lips met mine again it was with a new passion. I was consumed with the adoration he felt with every kiss that he trailed down my jaw. I tangled my hands into his long hair, thinking back to how many times I had dreamed of this. His arms held me tighter against him as he kissed down my jaw and to the sensitive skin on my neck where he sucked at my pulse. His low growl only enlightened me more and I tipped my head back in pleasure, the heat rushing between my legs as I held his head to me.

God, he was everything I never knew I needed. I couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t drink him all in fast enough. Daryl Dixon was a drug and I was now an addict. 

The moment ended when a gunshot rang out through the air, and we flew apart from each other just as fast as we had come together. 

I stared in the direction of the prison with wide glazed over eyes, still breathing hard. Daryl had his wits back much sooner than I, already having his shirt back on and partially buttoned up, scooping up his crossbow from where he had dropped it.

"Came from the prison," he said without another glance back at me. "Come on."

I watched him run off as I rubbed my hand over my mouth and sighed. What the hell had just happened? My mind couldn’t comprehend why or how any of that had come about, but I didn’t fucking care as long as it happened again.  

I shook out of my stupor and yanked my shirt back over my head, snatching up Daryl’s forgotten vest as well, throwing it on over my shirt to free my hands up for whatever the hell was going on at the prison. 

I ran in the direction Daryl had gone, my heart still fluttering in my chest. But all the giddy good feelings in me were gone when we reached the gates with Michonne on our heels. More gunfire came from the prison, Rick sprinting up the yard from his crops as Carl came to open up the gate for us. 

Walkers swarmed around all sides of the three of us, drawn to the noise coming from inside the solid walls. 

Michonne jumped from her horse and started chopping down the fuckers beside me. Carl had retrieved a gun, the first time he had held one since Rick had confiscated his so long ago, and fired a direct hit. Maggie was frantically running from the guard tower, coming to our aid as well. 

But this was nothing compared to the pure chaos we faced once inside. 

“Block D,” was all I caught in the frantic conversation that was being shouted around me, but I followed Sasha and Rick into the block, Daryl hot on my heels. 

Inside Block D the horrific screams of people dying, of people mourning, of people scared, and all of the fucking above echoed around the cement. 

We went to work immediately. Daryl snatched a gun from someones hands and pushed them out of the cell block, handing me the rifle, which I didn’t hesitate to put to use. 

I ushered what few living people there were in the block out and to safety while picking off any Walker that was on their heels. I spun around at the sound of a crying kid just in time to see Daryl use his crossbow to put down a Walker and scoop the kid up effortlessly. 

My mind was on autopilot, adrenaline coursing through me in a much different way than if previously was in the woods with Daryl. That had been a dream, but this was a literal nightmare. How had this even fucking started? It wasn’t a breech, it was someone from the inside. 

Once everyone was out of danger, I followed Rick and Daryl up the steps to the second level of cells in the block. Glenn was already up here, looking out over all the bodies that were now littering the place when another Walker, one we must have missed, came from the room closest to Glenn and nabbed him. 

“Get down,” was the guttural command from Daryl as his arrow released, taking down the final threat. 

I swiped a hand down my face as I looked around me, I could feel the blood mixed with sweat that coated me from head to toe. “Well, time for cleanup,” I muttered and went to start on the downstairs. 

We all dragged bodies out and cleaned away blood and killed any straggling Walkers. This was the most haunting part about this shit, the aftermath. I kept to myself, listening to a girl sobbing over a body that had been covered up with a sheet. 

Damn, there was so much loss all the fucking time. I was getting so sick of all the grave digging. For once, I’d like people to die of old age and natural causes, not from war or fucking getting bit. It was all a load of bullshit. 

My eyes tore from the sobbing girl as Karen stood at the doorway. I didn’t know her well, but she was one of the first from Woodbury. Tyreese too, and here he was coming up beside her to offer some kind of comfort. The look they gave each other said it all, said how terrible everything was but yet how grateful they were that they still had each other. 

That’s when my stomach dropped. That could have been Daryl lying dead on the floor with me sobbing over him. We could have ended up on the bad end of this shit. 

I gulped and watched  where he was standing upstairs over a body with Rick, Hershel, and a few others. They were talking about the cause of death. It wasn’t a bite or anything, there were no wounds, it was a sickness. It was caused by internal lung pressure building up and when it was to the top it came out of everywhere, ears, eyes, nose, mouth... It was horrifying. 

“All of us in here,” I heard Hershel say, “We’ve all been exposed.”

I involuntarily flicked my eyes to Daryl, only to find that he was already looking at me. 

I couldn’t imagine if he got sick. I didn’t want to believe he could get sick, but it wasn’t something he could shoot and fight off, this was something he had no control over protecting himself from. 

I shuddered at the thought and had to look away from his piercing eyes. I couldn’t let myself think about that. I had more important things to do than worry my head about something that was out of my hands. I couldn’t dwell on what had already happened as I dragged body after body out of the cell block. I couldn’t worry about whatever the hell had happened between me and Daryl in the woods just moments before this. 

And like Daryl tried to tell me, I couldn’t worry about the Governor anymore either. 

***

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[davedimartino]

NEW THIS WEEK 02.16.09

As you may have surmised, part of my job in compiling this much-loved weekly blog comes in anticipating which new releases are the ones most likely to excite the entire world, sell the most copies, and/or have the best covers!

Just a few weeks ago, I scratched my head, looked at a then-current release list, and determined that--in the absence of any surefire blockbusters by Mariah Carey, Bruce Springsteen, or Alicia Keys--new albums by Animal Collective, Andrew Bird and even Antony & the Johnsons would likely be among the week's biggest winners! And as a special bonus, they all started with "A"!

Heck--I was right! And even Antony & the Johnsons entered the charts at No. 65! Who could have imagined this three years ago?

Some would say it's an indicator that good ol' independent music is finally taking its rightful place as a sales leader! Others would say it's an indicator that sales have gone so far down the tubes that only indie artists with loyal followings--which is to say not Hoobastank--actually sell records anymore!

All I know is, any week where Morrissey has the biggest new release is OK by me!

  Morrissey: Years Of Refusal (Attack/Lost Highway) When it comes to contemporary pop albums featuring infants and toddlers with facial decorations, it's Morrissey and Lil Wayne all the way! Arriving with his best album in several years, a fine cover illustration and title, and more than a few songs that suggest the glories reached in his former band the Smiths, I'm inclined to point out that after all these years, he simply hasn't lost it! Best track to these ears--the ones that my thumbs are now pointing to--is "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore," which aside from bearing a catchy tune features the snazzy lyric, "there's no need to be kind to you," a sentiment that in contemporary songcraft is rarely expressed and, when you come right down to it, encapsulates all that is unique about the man. That and the fact that he once featured cows mooing on an album!

 Annie Lennox: The Annie Lennox Collection (CD/DVD) (Sony) Well, if you haven't figured it out, here's what's happening. Record companies introduced CDs back in the '80s and a generation of vinyl buyers started buying their collections all over again on CD! Then they got old! Meanwhile, a younger generation of cassette and CD buyers--who watched a lot of MTV--started getting old, sloppy, and sentimental! And now that their elders have stopped buying music entirely, it's their turn to step up to the plate and relive their past! So why not pick up this package, which features a worldwide superstar admittedly past her commercial peak, an entire batch of great video clips, and two brand new recordings as well? And it is a quality package, any way you look at it--but it's also a reminder that the next generation coming up probably won't be able to be serviced with a similar package in a few years because nobody has distinguished careers anymore--just short term peaks! Then they vanish into oblivion! Nah--just kidding!

 Various Artists: Dark Was The Night (4AD) A stellar and comprehensive collection of exclusive tracks put together by Aaron & Bryce Dessner of the National to benefit the Red Hot Organization--a charity devoted to raising AIDS awareness--this 2 CD set features 31 tracks by what would appear to be the hippest artists imaginable. Not to bore you with a simple list, but featured here among many others are Bon Iver, Iron & Wine, Feist, Arcade Fire, Spoon, My Morning Jacket, Andrew Bird, and just about every indie-rock senstion of note emerging in the past few years. Plus Yo La Tengo! Now more than ever, in a playlist-driven world, this set seems made to order in terms of quality content, a great cause, and offering  a way to figure out if Yeasayer and Beirut are as hip as they're supposed to be! Buy this and it'll be OK to be mean for a few minutes--you've earned it!

Al Kooper: 50/50 (Sony Legacy) Al Kooper is an extremely skilled musician who's had a hand in some of the biggest and best albums in pop history--Highway 61 Revisited, Let It Bleed, The Who Sell Out--but more importantly has a vastly impressive recording catalog of his own. A former member of New York's Blues Project and the founder of Blood, Sweat & Tears--whose Child Is Father To The Man album, the only one featuring Kooper, is one of the finest pop records ever--Kooper released a string of excellent albums beginning with 1968's I Stand Alone, and most of them can be sampled here. A 50-track digital only release, the set is artfully sequenced and without a single moment of filler. I would suggest you find all his albums--especially 1969's You Never Know Who Your Friends Are, which approaches the BS&T album in its greatness--but in the meantime, check out this collection of a taste of this artist's fab greatness.

 Charlie Wilson: Uncle Charlie (Jive) It would be the height of crassness to actually use another human's opinion as the basis for one's one review, but as one consumer review on Amazon astutely asked, "Is Charlie still a funkateer or a modern day R&B mackdaddy?" And that indeed appears to be the question with this new release by former Gap Band dude Wilson, who oozes charisma, class, and at times, the mackdaddiness of which that reviewer spoke! Featuring guest appearances by T-Pain and Jamie Foxx, a fine single in "There Goes My Baby," and some welcome flashes of funk, this collection is healthy, positive in spirit, and in its way, quite classy. Perhaps you'd like it!

 Robyn Hitchcock & The Venus 3: Goodnight Oslo (Yep Roc) The highly credible, long-lived and still pretty good career of Robyn Hitchcock proceeds according to plan here: His combo the Venus 3 includes Peter Buck, Scott McCaughey and Bill Rieflin, guests include the Decemberists' Colin Meloy, and the batch of songs he's assembled are even sturdier than usual. His friendship with director Jonathan Demme, documented in the latter's excellent concert film a while back, has continued and resulted in the appearance of "Up To Our Nex," heard here, popping up in the soundtrack to Demme's well-reviewed Rachel Getting Married film. Hey, considering how long the dude has been around, he's quite good!

 Steve Kilbey: Painkiller (Second Motion)  In a week in which some of the hottest new releases are by such '80s notables as Morrissey, Annie Lennox and Robyn Hitchcock, it's worth mentioning that the latest album by the Church's Steve Kilbey--his first solo set in seven years--is out and surprisingly groovy. Mind you, he's rarely been less than groovy, but as career trajectories go, he came from the fringes with the Church, entered the mainstream in one blinding flash in the '80s with "Under Thee Milky Way," then gradually, methodically, headed toward the fringes once more. The music here swirls, as you might expect if you're familiar with his work, but there are melodies that catch your attentions, rhythms that pulsate, and some fairly biting lyrics popping up that will remind you of his artistic worthiness, if that's slipped your mind. Do check this out.

 Soft Machine: Drop (Moonjune) Fans of this pioneering, much-loved British band will be thrilled with the unexpected release of this disc, a live set recorded in Germany in 1971, as it captured that brief sliver in the band's history when departed drummer Robert Wyatt's replacement, Australian Phil Howard, joined the band and raised its overall energy level absurdly high. A continuous slab of cacophonous playing--10 tracks running together consecutively--the music is powerful and at times oddly nerve-racking, as Howard's free-jazzy drum pounding is an odd complement to that portion of Soft Machine's music which dwelled in soothing drones and precise song structures. Familiarity with this material, which surfaced in the band's third, fourth and fifth albums--Howard played on only half of the latter--will make this fascinating listening for fans of the band regardless. Highly recommended.  

 N.A.S.A.: Spirit Of Apollo (Anti) In the same manner that the Dark Was The Night compilation brings together just about anybody who is anybody, this fascinating set has a guest list like you wouldn't believe: Tom Waits, Karen O, the ghost of Ol' Dirty Bastard, Kool Keith, David Byrne, Chuck D, Kanye West, Santogold and countless others. But the 17 tracks here have been put together by the pair that call themselves N.A.S.A.--Squeak E. Clean and DJ Zegon--and the overall effect is less a personality circus and more a complete, multi-rhythmic work that oozes personality on a track-by-track level. Intricate but always surprisingly accessible, this is a "wave of the future" kind of thing, if you're keeping track. I am!

 Thursday: Common Existence (Epitath)  That pretty much sums it up!