#this is a crime equal to stepping on your cats tail accidently

[ihavenoideahowtodream]

I committed the highest of book crimes today!

I forgot to check the weather before walking to the library!

I had my books in my bag when a HUGH and sudden down pour happened AND NOW MY LIBRARY BOOKS ARE WET

I called my library and I'm like how do I make sure they don't get hurt????????

She walked me through the steps of drying out books and told me how to return them so the librarians will know how to care for them when they get home.

Update: they dried as they needed to and they are healthy enough to be read now ❤️

[mudwingpropaganda]

gimme your take on skywings bc 1) your take on mudwings is excellent 2) im writing a story that focuses on the skywing military and their employment of child soldiers and bread-and-circuses style of rule and 3) the skywings are so poorly designed and worldbuilt in canon

I LOOOOOVE the SkyWings. I’ve only recently fully understood the appeal of the tribe and after working on a few headcanons for them and Prince Cliff (pre-blog) I realized just how much sustenance they were lacking and how much they were deserving! I’d love to talk your ear off about what I have in mind.

SkyWings were once a tribe focused on music, theater, storytelling, and the arts. They prided themselves on their bards. They were known around the world as one of the most artistic tribes whose bands you simply HAD to have at your events, the sculptors you HAD to commission for your bust, the tribe you HAD to come to the parties of or else you simply haven’t lived. They were a tribe of merriment, festivals, games, and more. And don’t even get me started on their impressive air stunts and light displays, the fire dancers, and more. 

The SkyWings were close friends of the SeaWings, who loved to share this passion for the arts and exchange techniques, styles, and inspiration. It wasn’t until the SeaWing Massacre that this friendship became unsteady and nerve wracking, until they cut each other off - officially, sans a few independent artists - completely. 

In the grand scheme of things, the militarized SkyWings are a very new idea. It wasn’t until a few queens before Scarlet that the tribe aimed to display strength and firepower as opposed to inspiration and joy. And perhaps this is why these dragons are seen as more grumpy nowadays. They’re simply not in touch with their personal side and under Scarlet’s reign, they simply stagnated in creativity and individuality.  

Scarlet’s reign used her dragons as pawns for her master plans, instead of individuals who could improve their tribe. She was inspired by the elite theater productions her mother had taken her and her sisters to when she was young. So much so that she thought the drama, the fights, the bloodshed, oh, it simply HAD to be brought to reality. She relished in the emotional turmoil of pitting her citizens together, watching reality television in real life as her servants turned against each other for fear that they’d push each other onto Scarlet’s bad side. She threw dragons in her arena for the pettiest of crimes to watch them duel, with her daughter by her side, and her sons preparing and pleasing the crowds. 

This only ceased, somewhat, when the war struck. Oh, a war would simply bring so much entertainment for the arena. Scarlet organized the breeding program to further strengthen her dragons for war, children raised for battle, with more armored scales than the elder’s flexible scales made simply for flying. Dragonets without parents. Simply a duty to their tribe and to their throne. 

Ruby’s reign is going much better, to say the least. She’s trying to bring back the theater, music, and arts, with Vermillion taking lead in things such as opera and theatrics. Her son, Cliff, is taking massive steps in bringing back individuality, so much so, he rejected his responsibilities as Prince but uses their wealth for a plethora of creatively inspired organizations.

But Ruby’s rule still isn’t perfect. She’s trying hard to inspire the youth to take the steps to be individuals. But they were born soldiers. They were born to fight and survive for the throne, but there’s no more war to fight, and with no families to turn to and very little stability to take them in, the tribe is trying to rebuild to accommodate these dragonets with lost childhoods. 

As for appearances, SkyWings are comedically long, lanky dragons. They struggle participating in other tribes’ social spaces due to how long their spines, tails, and wings are, in comparison to their quite stumpy legs. They often walk like arched up cats or perpetually bent inchworms in order to get around on land. No wonder they prefer flying. SkyWings typically have beaks, talons, vents for their internal fire, and feathers. Though most dragons often burn their feathers by accident, those in higher positions such as royalty, merchants, or artists tend to have the cleaner, more elegant ruffs of feathers behind their ears. 

An important part of the SkyWings’ cultures are their horns. Their horns never stop growing as long as they’re alive and can bend in a number of intricate patterns, remain somewhat straight, or loop like rams until they’re stabbed by their own bones. But it’s gravely looked down upon to shave your horns or trim them down, regardless of how much they might irritate your scales or may weigh your head down. Elder SkyWings struggle to get through doors because of their pride in their heavy rack. Taking care of your horns is a priority in SkyWing culture. While women are always bigger than males, there is no discernable dimorphism between their horns. 

True SkyWings lacked armored scales. They were often very thinly protected by their soft scales with the texture of feathers, but as of the war, armored scales are more common, alongside inflated firepower. Firescales, in the reigns leading up to the war, were becoming more frequent due to the steady escalation of dragons with more intense fire. 

Speaking of firescales, I like to take this idea more literally and say that firescale SkyWings literally look like they are on fire. All SkyWings are capable of venting smoke from their scales if they feel a bit too intensely, but can control their internal fire. Firescales are incapable of this, and burst into flames with every heartbeat, every sense of emotion, and every feeling. To kill firescales dragonets was seen as a mercy. They could never be loved properly, they claimed, and their only destiny was destruction and death. 

In a similar idea, SkyWings killed animus dragons and firescales because they had a deep sense of self accomplishment. Being born with special powers was something they looked down upon, whether literally or socially. Everyone had to earn things equally, and no one could simply earn magic or the ability to set themselves on fire. These dragonets were killed on the mountain side, in the hopes they would be reborn anew. While recent queens forbade those who bore animus or firescale SkyWings, the parents were often encouraged to lay new clutches in hopes that their children would be reborn in their families. 

One other idea I’d like to add is the subset of SkyWings I’ve been playing around with. Mountain SkyWings are SkyWings who are essentially hermits, recluses, and loners of the dragon world. Derogatorily deemed “feral,” mountain SkyWings are individuals who live in the cave systems of their queendom, horde the treasures they find, and enjoy their territory in their lonesome. They chase off other dragons and grow so old that they frequently die in their own caves, unable to find their ways out due to their size, deteriorating vision, or simple exhaustion. 

Queen Scarlet prioritized reacquiring mountain SkyWings to “reintroduce them with a sense of nationalism,” but mostly because she simply wanted their hordes. Osprey was one of these dragons, an individual who had lived in the mountains his whole life, his scales rocky, spiked, and brittle, and was forced to join society as a standoffish, snappy SkyWing with a love of literature and law, looking for loopholes to get his treasures back. He unfortunately died before he could find a loophole from Scarlet’s “because I say so” judicial system, but found joy in giving Peril, a terrifying dragonet, someone to look up to, confide in, and talk to without going into full body trembles. 

[jossambird]

This Soul of Mine Pt 2

Main Incubus Otto x Reader (Incubus Axel and Oscar x Reader in later parts!)

18+ (also in later parts)

(Mentions of Rape but only passing, as Incubus are Male Demons who feed off sex, most of them are NOT kind Swedes.)

PART 3

-

You ran your hands over your hair once more, trying to hide a yawn as you listened to Father James’ sermon.

Fuck was this boring. Of course you had to be shipped to this honky tonk town, and attend mass with your beloved aunt. There was nothing wrong with your aunt of course, you loved her to death, but you would have preferred not to be involved in any of this-

“Oh, what a beautiful passage, don’t you find Y/N?” Your aunt whispered to you, smiling a tired old smile. You loved her.

“Yes, it was very beautiful.” You acquiesced, accepting the hand she put on your knee.

It was only when your aunt stood to go greet Father James did you notice the woman sitting beside you, jumping out of your skin.

Her eyes wrinkled, sharp blue eyes surrounded by black Kohl watching you as she pushed her white hair back.

“Am I that ugly, child? I thought I looked half decent today when I stepped out.” She laughed, elegantly hiding her teeth as she laughed. You had never seen her in your life, eyes taking in as much detail as you could.

“Oh god no, Im so sorry ma’am, you surprised me is all. You look great today.” You said, hoping she wouldn’t mention any of this to your aunt, or possibly even to Father James.

Her gaze was steady and unblinking. It was terrifying, if you could honestly say so. She looked like she was reading your thoughts, or more like, not being able to with how badly she frowned.

“My, I must say, I dont recall ever meeting you here, Miss..?”

“Y/N!” You supplied, shaking the hand she offered-

Her grip on your hand turned harsh, visibly not the strength of a old lady like her-

“My, nothing? Oh what fun. Tell me child, have you met any... beings, as of late, that haven’t gotten out of your head?” She asked quietly, releasing your hand from her crushing grip, patting her dress as if she needed it.

Her words were smooth, but they cut you deep, as if she could-

“Read minds? Yes, you’ve mentioned that already, but that seems to be all.” She whispered, huffing loudly as if she was angry, sitting too close all of a sudden. You had to escape, you had to get out-

“Dear, I think you should sit down and breath. I am not going to harm you, I am only here to... guide you, we shall say.” The old woman continued, smiling as you did as told and sat back beside her, listening as Father James started his sermon again. Your aunt sat at the front, the traitor, unaware of what was happening.

“You smell like him, you know. He imprinted on you, by accident mind you, but still, it is quite dangerous for your kind.” She was smiling so widely that you were sure now that she wasn’t human, eyes brightening a bit more.

“W-what do you mean?” You tried, voice too weak to summon anything other than the whisper that escaped you. It didn’t matter though it seemed, she had heard you perfectly well, brushing back her white curls, pretending to listen to the sermon, nodding.

“Oh darling, the man you met the other night. Tall, equally white hair, most likely drop dead gorgeous?” She suddenly looked 50 years younger as she turned to look at you, red lipstick clashing with her paling white skin.

“He touched you, didn’t he?” It came out from between her lips sounding cold, but her wide fluorescent blue eyes said different, curiosity shining brightly in them. Nothing felt right. You felt like you couldn’t breath, feeling as if nothing of this was real-

“I touched him. I bumped into him and he picked me up.” You shot back, surprising her as you tried to regain a semblance of power, remembering the dazed man’s surprised and kind eyes.

“What an interesting turn of events! I must say, I am impressed. Not only have you made his brothers and the Incubi world turn upside down, your also partly invulnerable to Succubi powers.” She seriously noted, scooting closer as if she could see the answer in your eyes. Something brushed against your ankle, but you ignored it, captivated by her gaze.

Nothing of what she was saying made sense, Incubi? Succubi? Childrens tales, nothing more than a silly tale told by the church to children... right? No, it was surely the Host wafer that your aunt had given you that was rotten and poisoned you. Yeah, that was surely it.

God, if only-

“Honestly, a rotten Host wafer.” She huffed as she turned her gaze away, rolling her eyes.

“Look darling, Incubi are exactly like mortal men; stupid, handsome, and driven by sex.” She looked mentally exhausted all of a sudden, rubbing at her temples, revealing a scar on her forehead in the shape of a round. The elder woman rose gracefully, her eyes back to the now dull blue they had been at the start, combing over your form one last time.

“If you truly wish to summon him, do so through your desire for him, either for protection or for... assistance, in personal matters.. He will most likely find his way to you within the following hour. You will need him just as much as he needs you.” She finished, turning as if to leave, lingering as you watched her.

“What is that saying again? ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace’? Spit it out.”

“I- ma’am, I appreciate all of this advice.. but if I may ask... who are you?” You asked, knowing deep down what the answer was. You had felt it, felt it between your ribs, in your beating heart. Her fluorescent blue eyes and never-ending knowledge of your inner thoughts were far from normal, and so was the cigarette she magicked before your eyes, watching you as if she had just struck gold.

“I am.. The Handler. I am the Succubus Ruler of all Incubi and Succubi.” She walked away from you then, looking confidently forward as she exited the church, lighting the cigarette between the final pews.

-

-

Finally elated to be done with Father James’ sermon, you stepped out of the Church to await your aunt-

“Y/N L/N?” Came the voice of a man, smooth, young but deep, accent reminding you of-

You turned hurriedly in excitement, heart racing until your eyes met with a platinum blond haired man, resembling the man who had occupied your mind ever since. Mild disappointment floored you until the old woman’s words came to mind:

He had imprinted on you, it was dangerous for humans, this was most likely another being of his kind.

“Ouh, that hurts cutie, I can smell the disappointment from here! I simply wanted to come meet my brother’s- Hey!” Said the man, grinning like a cat until you turned and sprinted with all of your might away, away, away.

-

Otto found himself looking down at the box of homemade cookies, cringing at the Church’s name. It shouldn’t be anywhere near your name, defiling such a beautiful name like yours was a crime.

He felt petty, reaching out and dragging a long sharp nail against the sticker, careful to not cross out your own name by accident-

“Your acting ridiculous Otto.” Came Axel’s teasing voice, surprised as he watched Otto jump out of his skin for what seemed to be the 70th time this week. What was going on?

“Are you.. okay, brother? You dont seem to be well.” Axel asked after a beat, knowing he had to confront him about it. For the first time in all of their lives, Otto seemed unfocused, out of it, mind drifting and constantly asking them to repeat themselves. They didn’t mind it much, but something was wrong. It had to be-

“Im sorry Axel. I...I keep feeling this... tug, of sorts.” Otto quietly muttered as he stared down once again at the sticker, entranced. It unnerved Axel for a moment before realizing this was serious, this was important. He walked over to his brother slowly, tail swishing out of anxiousness, feeling entirely out of his depths.

“Otto?” Axel asked softly as his clawed fingers met his brothers skin, receiving no answer for a long moment.

“Go see her, maybe after you do, youll stop feeling it. Maybe shes calling for you.” Axel said after a beat, deciding to comfort him brother instead of further pushing him into despair. Even if nothing would amount from an Incubus pining for a mortal. He smirked as he watched Otto turn to him, disbelief written all over his face.

“You dont understand brother-“ Otto tried before Axel waved his hand, not wanting to listen to the ‘why’.

“No, you’re right, I really dont, but if you really think you are her soulmate, shouldn’t you be going to see her?” Axel asked his brother, smelling his despair turn into agitated excitement. He smirked, watching and listening as Otto ran out of the house.

No matter how Oscar or he felt, and no matter what happened, Axel came to a conclusion as the distinct lingering scent of Otto’s desperate yearning met his nose:

He would support his brother in his ridiculous endeavour to win your favour, no matter what.

Where was Oscar anyways?

[shimmershae]

Waltzing might have stalled (for the moment), but all the words and worlds crowding my brain haven't.  Wanna have a look-see at some of the other little Caryl drabble-verses I'm considering turning into their own full-fledged stories (eventually)?  Here you go.  Tell me which one(s) you'd most like to revisit.

First up, the AU Caryl married fic where they raise Sophia.  And a puppy. 

 1. 

 “Please, Mom.” 

 “Sophia,” Carol warned. 

 “But it was an accident, Mom.  He didn’t mean to.” 

 “Tell that to my begonias.” 

 She heard a snort behind her, and she whirled around to glare at her husband.  He was just as complicit in the laundry list of crimes as her twelve-year-old.  He didn’t know it yet, but he would pay.  “Daryl, don’t even.” 

 “Didn’t say nothing.”  He grinned, edged a little closer, penned her in against the counter.  “You know you want it, Sweetheart.”   

 “Mommy,” Sophia pleaded. 

 Three pairs of puppy dog eyes stared at her until she folded, completely melted. 

 “Okay.” 

***

“Daryl, have you seen my favorite…” 

 Daryl tried to hide the chewed-up shoe behind his back, but it was too late.  She’d already spotted it. 

 “Where is he?”

 “Sweetheart, just remember.  Harvey’s still a puppy.  He don’t know no better.”

 “Harvey Dent Dixon!” 

 Sophia appeared behind her mother, their happily slobbering new addition cradled in her arms. 

 Daryl tried to warn her away with his eyebrows, but he didn’t marry no fool.  His wife whirled around and angrily wagged her finger beneath the puppy’s nose.  

 “How do I even put up with you?”

 “Mom!”

 “We should have named you Wreck-It-Ralph.” 

 ***

 “Harvey, you know you’re not supposed to be in the bed.”

 The puppy responded to her half-hearted scolding with a sweetly pathetic whine and a broad swipe of his pink tongue across her chin, burrowing beneath the blankets with her and flopping down in an exhausted heap. 

 Caught between a giggle and a sigh, Carol merely smiled and opened her eyes, thankful her husband and daughter were at soccer practice and not bearing witness to her utter failure disciplining the little obedience school dropout.  “Oh, you.”

 Harvey’s tail thumped lazily. 

 “I have a secret.  Two, actually.  Promise not to tell?”    

 ***

“You can’t just hug me and think everything’s okay.” 

 Daryl peeled back, let his arms fall to his sides.  His blue eyes darted over to Sophia, but the preteen was looking elsewhere, anywhere but at them. 

 Harvey was flopped down between her daughter’s bare feet, his tongue lolling, mouth panting as he tilted his head this way and that, happily, tiredly unrepentant for the latest episode of chaos.

 “Help me out here, Soph.” 

 “It looked dead.” 

 “Weren’t, though.  How’s I s’posed to know Mama and Pa would go all Commando on us?  Fucking squirrels.” 

 Carol snorted out a laugh.  “Daryl!” 

 ***

“No more dogs.  How hard is it to understand?” 

 “Really?” Carol sighed as her husband mimicked her oft-repeated words.  Twisting in her seat to face him, at least as much as the seatbelt cinched snug across her hips would allow, she challenged, “C’mon.  You can do better than that, Pookie.” 

 Behind them, Sophia giggled. 

 Catching his stepdaughter’s eyes in the reflection of the rear-view mirror, Daryl narrowed his eyes.  “Traitor.” 

 Sophia grinned, stretching out her legs and wiggling her socked feet between them, her smelly socked feet. 

 “Sophia!  Shoes back on!” 

 “What your mom said.” 

 “Technically, it’s a kitten.” 

 “Pfft.” 

 ***

 “You fell asleep in the tub?”

 “Third time this week,” Sophia piped up oh-so-helpfully, fingers tightening in Harvey’s collar when he made another playful lunge at their newest family member.    

 Coined Poison Ivy by her feline-averse husband, the kitten squeaked.  Blue eyes huge, just as wet and bedraggled as Carol thanks to this latest disastrous romp, it shivered and snuggled itself into the open vee of her robe. 

 “Third time, huh?”

 “Not now,” Carol frowned.  “Sophia.  Take Harvey outside.  Let him chase some real squirrels.” 

 “But Mom…” 

 “Please?”

 Once alone, Daryl reached for her.   “Something you wanna tell me, Sweetheart?” 

 ***

 Eyeing her husband’s pale face warily, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, Carol murmured, “Did you hear…” 

 Daryl staggered a little on his feet, hands fumbling to find the edge of their mattress, just flopped there like a fish out of water.  Still looking a little stunned, he nodded at her when she made her careful approach. 

 Smiling hopefully when his hands found her waist, Carol tenderly brushed his hair back from his forehead.  “Use your words.” 

 “A baby?  You’re…” 

 “I’m...” 

 “Holy shit, Sweetheart.  We’re living in a sitcom.”    

 “Daryl!” 

 Frightened from her doze, Ivy mewed plaintively. 

 “Cat agrees.” 

 **************************************************

 Second, the AU where Carol and Daryl are partners.  Purely platonic.  Or are they?

2. 

 “Bed, Soph.  Now.” 

 “Fine.” 

 “Love you.” 

 “Sure.” 

 “Teenagers,” Carol muttered, falling back against her bedroom door.  Kicking her heels off, she bent to peel the stockings from her legs, made short work of her blouse and skirt.  She was down to her underwear and thigh holster before she realized she wasn’t alone. 

 “Keep going, Partner.” 

 “Fuck!  Dixon!  Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” 

 “Exterminators, remember?”    

 She took off her gun, turned on the bedside lamp, rolled her eyes at the erection tenting the sheet pooled around his waist.  “Seriously?” 

 He shrugged, grinned.  “Happens.”    

 “Stay on your side." 

  ***

Thing about Mason was, she was fun to fuck with.  And Daryl?  He loved fucking around.  Both in the bedroom, and…well.  Barring the field, everywhere really. 

 She’d left her bra on.  Sexy little number.  Just a lacy shadow against her pale, freckled skin. 

 His hands, body burned with the need to touch that skin, touch her.  He didn’t.  Didn’t trust himself not to take them both down a long, dark road that would consume them both.  Didn’t want to put their partnership on the line that way, but fuck.  She was right there.  He groaned. 

 “My name isn’t Leslie…who’s Leslie?” 

 ***

Carol rolled over, glared at her uninvited bedmate.  “Answer me, Dixon.  Who the fuck is Leslie?” 

 His smirk was slow.  Sly.  “Why?  You jealous?”  He deftly avoided her attempt to knee him in the nuts, pulled her leg over his hip instead. 

 “Dixon.” 

 Heeding her warning, he let her go.  “Relax.  Been watching tv with your ball-busting daughter.” 

 Carol softened.  “She loves that show.” 

 “Yeah, well.  Didn’t do much for me.” 

 “Your taste is questionable at best.” 

 “Mine?  What about yours?” 

 “Excuse me?” 

 “Your UPS man wear his little shorts on your date?” 

 “Dixon.” 

 “…” 

 “Scoot over a little bit, please.” 

  ***

“Quit moving.  I’m trying to sleep.  Wait.  Are you…what?!” 

 Daryl’s hand stilled under the sheet just long enough for him to hiss, groan.  “Jesus, Mason.  Think you can stop screaming in my ear?”  That was absofuckinglutely the wrong thing to say because those blue eyes flashed and caught fire, and shit.  Shit.  His hand quickly went from tugging his dick to shielding it as his partner’s small hands balled into fists, and she growled.  She fucking growled.  He was equal parts terrified and turned on.  Alright.  More like 60% terrified, 40%...

 “My kid’s…” 

 “14 going on 40 and not here.” 

  **************************

Third, teen besties Caryl AU where they both grew up with absent parents and found each other early on. 

 3. 

 “We really doing this silent treatment shit?  S’not my fault they only had one room.” 

 Carol heaved her duffel on top of the bed with a roll of her eyes, started digging through it like it held the secrets of the fuckin’ universe. 

 He wished.  Some last hurrah this was turning out to be.  Stuck in Bumfuck, Nowheresville in this Bates Motel wannabe.  With a best friend who’d sooner rip his nuts off than utter a civil word.  “Got a beer in there?” 

 “…” 

  “Shit.  Sorry.  Jesus.”

 “…”

 “Is that…That’s my shirt.  So is that…wait.”   

 “…” 

 “S’Walsh, right?  You crushin’ on me, Sweetheart?" 

 ***

 He was almost asleep, first decent forty winks he’d managed since they’d started this trash-fire trip when he heard it:  a blood-curdling scream worthy of this place’s whole Psycho ambience. 

 “Daryl!”

 The bathroom door bounced against the wall when he burst through it, practically broke his nose on the rebound, but that was all beside the point.  Two steps inside, and Carol was in his arms.  Shaking, still squealing, naked as the day she was fuckin’ born.  “Shh.  Got ya.  S’alright.  Somebody…shit.” 

 “Kill it.” 

 “A roach?  Seriously?  Thought you were bein’ murdered.” 

 “It’s prehistoric…what?” 

 “You’re so clingy.  I love it.” 

 ***

 They checked out, ended up at some Waffle House knock-off a half mile down the road that smelled like grease and maple syrup. 

 Daryl had already demolished his burger, was on the second refill of his shake before he addressed the huge fuckin’ pink elephant in the room.  “So, I saw you naked.  No big deal.” 

 Carol tugged at one of her wet curls.   “Great.  What every girl wants to hear.” 

 “Yeah, well.  Waxing poetic or some shit ���bout your world class tits would only make things weird.” 

 “World class, huh?” 

 “Fuck.” 

 “Sharing is caring.  Now, give me your fries.” 

 ***

 “Oh.  Did I scare you, big boy?” 

 His fingers still fumbling with his half-zipped fly, Daryl scowled.  “Fuck off.” 

 Carol sighed, gathered her loose curls in one hand, lifted them from her sweaty neck.  “Would you relax?  I didn’t even see anything.” 

 Daryl remained skeptical.  “Sure?”

 This time, Carol rolled her eyes.  “Yes, I’m sure.   Want me to tear the hinges off a bathroom door next time?” 

 Daryl’s ears burned with the pointed reminder, and he joined her on the truck’s old tailgate, cast his eyes to the evening sky, their surroundings.  It was too…

 “Children of the Corn.” 

 “Stop.” 

 ***

 Fourth, Sophia finds herself in a spot of trouble. 

 4. 

“Quit stalling.  Where’s your father?” 

 Beside her, Sophia moaned into the cover of her hands.  “Mom, please.  It’s not Cade’s fault.” 

 Feeling her blood pressure tick up another notch, Carol wryly reminded her teen daughter, “Of course not.  I paid attention in health class.  It takes two.” 

 “Which makes it both their faults.” 

 The screen door slammed shut behind the man as he belatedly joined the fray, and Carol did a double take.  “Daryl?” 

 The boy’s shoulders lifted defiantly, but his blue eyes still looked just as worried. 

 “You’re Cade’s father?” 

 “Uncle,” Daryl clarified. 

 “This keeps getting better and better.” 

  ***

 Finally, because this post is too long and I'm going to have to do another one, AU.  Carol and Daryl are two neighbors not-so-secretly pining over each other, and the waiting game for one of them to make a move is killing Carol’s visiting friend Aaron.  He decides to help things along. 

  5.   

  “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” 

 “What?  But you’re, well.”  Her cheeks almost as red in that moment as her hair, Carol couldn’t even sputter out the word. 

 Aaron, as always, was quick to bail her out of the awkward moment.  Hiding his smirk in her mad cap of curls, he took her hand in his own and pulled her against his side, ushering her quickly down the hallway to her apartment door while her neighbor—her hot, adorably awkward, single, and undeniably interested neighbor—watched.  “What Dixon doesn’t know…” 

 “But…” 

 “No buts.  Just play along.” 

 “He watching?” 

 “Definitely.”