#throw your body in a bog

[goaskalicepodcast]

The Creepiest thing found in a bog?

A path to no where. I shit you not-- archaeologists have found evidence for bog trails with no destination.

[sunraies]

Cupcakes and Rainstorms

Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings - fluff, enemies to something, kissing. Rafe has a crush.

Getting stuck on the side of the road in a rainstorm has an unexpected outcome

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The sudden downpour came out of nowhere. The joys of summer rainstorms. One minute, the sun is shining, and then suddenly, the sky becomes dark and grey.

It was just your luck that the heavens opened while you were making a delivery to the Figure Eight. You father's beat up, bakery van was never good in the rain.

The white van with a smiling cupcake tended not have the ability to break in the rain. You begged your father to upgrade it as the business grew but he insisted it worked perfectly fine. The rusted, cupcake smiling, piece of shit.

Sure, it had memories from the days when the bakery first opened but it wasn't worth your life. You should have just biked the five dozen white cupcakes to the obnoxious white themed party.

What 14 year old held a white themed party, anyway?

You had pulled over to check the directions and got stuck in a muddy puddle, which was more like a bog with a stupid little white dress on. No way could you risk trying to push the fucking, heap of junk in the rain.

You had phoned JJ for help but had no luck and it wasn't worth trying the others. If JJ didn't pick up, the others wouldn't. Whatever shit he was getting up to, they were definitely with him. You sent an SOS message to the group, but they could take hours.

Hitting your head on the stirring wheel, you groaned in tune with the horn. Stuck between Figure Eight and The Cut with your phone battery dead. Maybe you should have called a tow truck before JJ.

With the horn blaring you didn't hear the roar of the motorcycle. It was the sharp knocking on the driver window that caught your attention.

"Holy shit!" You yelled, jumping and holding a hand over your heart.

Stood outside your window in the pouring rain, white shirt soaked through was Rafe Cameron.

"What the hell, are you doing?" You rolled down the window as he frowned at you.

"Oh, that's a shame. I thought I found a dead Pogue"

You could have sworn he looked concerned for a moment before realising it was you.

"Sorry to ruin your fantasy" you grumbled, ready to roll the window up on him but his hand stopped you.

"It's pissing it down," He pointed out, like you couldn't tell.

"And?"

"Let me sit for a bit"

You raised an eyebrow at him, watching the rain drip from his hair as the fabric of his shirt, which made it more and more see-through. He noticed you looking, and a small smirk appeared.

"Come on, my bike is laying in the mud, and this shirt is expensive."

You glanced in the mirror, noticing the motor bike thrown down in the bog like puddle. Had he really been that concerned?

"Fine, but you're phoning for a tow truck." He was already running round to the passenger side.

He made a shivering noise as he slammed the passenger door shut and shook himself. "You didn't call a truck?"

"Dead battery" you held up, your battered and broken phone.

It had a cracked screen and worn-out case, but you loved it. The lock screen was of the gang on the beach, and tucked in the back was a post-it with a doodle from Kie.

It was your father's stupid cupcake, smoking a joint, and the knife stabbed into the icing.

"So we're stuck." Rafe tried not to smile at the doodle as you throw your phone upside down on the dashboard.

"We?" You looked over at him.

Taking in his appearance more. He really did have a body like a Greek god, clearly visible with his shirt clinging to his toned torso. He had a face like an angel when he wasn't scowling.

"Don't have my phone on me, sweetheart" He shrugged, patting his pockets to prove a point.

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Who the fuck, doesn't have their phone on them?"

"Didn't think I needed it"

After some silence and the annoyance of him huffing while playing with random things in the van. You snapped,

"Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Breathing so hard"

"I'm just breathing"

"Well, stop"

"I'm sure you and your little friends would love that"

"I wouldn't be complaining"

"Wow. Ouch" He scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Didn't know you could be so heartless"

"Guess we don't know a lot about each other"

"I do" He muttered, so quitely that you barely caught it.

"Oh really? Let's see what the Kook King, thinks of a Pogue 'peasant' like me"

The rain was still hammering down on the windscreen and making a tinny sound as it bounced of the roof of the van.

He scoffed at you again. "I wouldn't say peasant. What with your father's business and all"

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he wouldn't reject the idea of being called Kook King.

Your father's bakery had become so popular in Outerbanks that custom had even spread the main land. He had more than enough to move, upgrade, and even buy a house in the Figure Eight, but he didn't want the change. Everything he was gaining was going into a collage fund for you and your future.

"Thanks, I guess"

Uncomfortable silence fell again as the rain didn't ease.

"Why did you stop?"

"Stop what?" He asked again.

"At the van"

He shrugged "I knew it was your father's"

Rafe didn't look at you as he quickly added at the same time as you, before you even asked why.

"Fucking smiling cupcake"

You actually laughed at the timing. Little did you know, he hated the cupcake as every time he saw it around, he hoped it was you driving.

In the cute polo shirt with the cupcake logo and shorts that hugged your butt. The baseball cap with the same logo, worn backwards and your white, now grey, scuffed up converse.

You bounced around, smiling and wishing good day to people as you delivered the elite of the island. Music blaring out of the rust bucket or taping away on your phone, nodding as you picked the next track before hopping on your bike.

The first time he saw you around was about a year ago. Sure, he'd seen you with the Pogues, but he really noticed you when you had come to Tanneyhill.

It wasn't even an actual delivery. You had been popping by to pick Sarah up for John B bringing a small box of baked goods with you. Wheeze actually hugged you when she saw you at the door. She loved the cupcakes.

"You scared me, you know?" He played with the ring on his finger.

"How?"

"When I saw the van, and the horn. I thought

...." he sighed as you watched him. He looked so vulnerable as he swallowed.

"I was dead?" You frowned, you were going to snark back about how fucking morbid that was before he shook his head and ran his hand through his hair.

"So you throw your bike in the mud? Wow, dramatic much? " You chose a lighter topic, which actually made him laugh.

🧁

"Hey, hey," you hit his hand away from the box of perfectly iced cakes. "Don't eat those!"

"We have been sat here an hour." Rafe pointed out his watch.

Your eyes went wide, shit, shit, shit. An hour. You were an hour late. An hour of money lost. An hour of no one coming to rescue you. A hour of -

"I'm sure, Wheeze won't mind"

Wheeze? What the hell, did he mean Wheeze? His baby sister.

Oh, you were going to kill, Jeremy. The dipshit had put Tawney Hall on the delivery notice. No wonder you couldn't find it. If you known you were delivering for the Camerons you would have never pulled over in the first place.

"Wheezie, wanted a white theme party?" You found that hard to believe.

"Rose wanted" He corrected as he grabbed a cupcake from the box again.

You hit his hand a moment too slow, causing the cupcake to go flying and land on his drying, white shirt. You laughed and covered your mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry." You tried to be sincere, but the laughter didn't help.

"I told you this was expensive, baby"

He shook his head at you, he looked annoyed but there was a twinkle in his eye. God, had they always been so blue?

He dipped his finger into the icing before making you gasp as he ran it down your nose.

"Rafe, no, no" You laughed and put your hands up but was not use.

Soon, you both ended up covered in icing and crumbled cakes.

His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath fan over your lips. You had ended up with your back against the door as Rafe fitted perfectly between your legs. His hand cupped your neck as you held his shoulder.

His eyes darted from yours to your lips and back again. He swallowed a few times as your heart beat loudly in your chest.

"Kiss me"

It was a whisper, but he caught it and took only a moment before his lips collied with yours. He tasted of vanilla icing.

You broke suddenly apart as the familiar tune of The Twinkie's horn sounded so close by.

[frankcastlescumslut]

CARMY BERZATTO YOU SAY?

May I humbly request Carmy telling you how bad you've been after giving him attitude at dinner service?

*retreats back into bog*

Attitude Adjustment

warnings: SMUT (MDNI), fingering, squirting, lil orgasm denial, lil angst, lotsa brattiness, lotsa swearing

A/N: I know I strayed from the plot, but stay with me. I love you. Mwah.

“You’re pissin’ me off.”

“Me?” You scoffed. “You sent me to voicemail!”

“I had shit to do!”

He balanced against the entryway’s wall, untying his shoes while you stood crossed arm in the dimly lit kitchen.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal, you could admit that, but it was rude. Even if he didn’t care about himself enough to prioritize his general safety and wellbeing, you still did.

“Well fuck me then, I guess.” You let your arms dramatically drop to your side.

“Yeah?” He asked, straightening in his spine. “Fuck you then?”

“Yeah. Fuck me.”

You fought like this often, if you wanted to call it a fight. It was more of a “misunderstanding”, you’d coined it since the very first one. There was shouting and cursing, followed by a good ol’ fashioned attitude adjuster that ended with naked bodies underneath a pile of blankets and a post coital conversation.

The tension became palpable, almost electric, as he stood his ground, and you held your breath in anticipation.

“That what you want?” He asked, stalking towards you. “Huh? Want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you to say sorry for doing my fucking job?”

He was right there in front of you, arms crossed and nodding after each question as if answering for you.

“Maybe.”

“No no,” he smirked, knowing exactly what you were playing. “Don’t ‘maybe’ me, not when you’ve been actin’ like a spoiled brat all night. Tell me what you want.”

It was a game of cat and mouse. Give in, or don’t. Make it fun, or make it easy. You chewed your tongue while weighing the options.

He decided to help you out, brushing the pads of his fingers experimentally against your clothed core.

You gasped at the sensation, subconsciously opening yourself up to him. “I want,” you swallowed, accidentally stumbling backwards. “I want you to say you’re sorry for not answering my calls.”

“Yeah?” He coos, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. ”Anything else?”

“I want you to say sorry for-for yelling at me,” you scrunch your eyes closed and balance your weight against the small table while his fingers rub circles against your clit.

“What else?” He enjoys the way your facade fades with each routine circle.

“I-I want you to,” you inhale sharply as he expertly bypasses your underwear and easily slips a finger into your cunt. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Want me to fuck you?” He goads, already knowing how worked up you get while you’re fighting. “Like this?” He curls a second finger into your velvet heat, relishing in the way you become pliable.

“Mhm,” you moan, grinding your hips into his hand, enjoying the way his palm presses into your clit. “Please.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he teases, placing slow, wet kisses against your throat. “You knew I was gonna be late tonight.”

“Forgot,” you moaned, craning your neck, giving him access to every inch of you.

“Forgot,” he huffed into your skin, ignoring the way his pants grew tighter with each buck of your hips.

“God, Carm,” you whine.

“Feels good?”

“So good,” you throw your arm around his neck, pulling him in closer to you. “Kiss me,” you breathe.

“First you want me to say sorry,” he chuckles, “now you want me to kiss you?” He watches the way you contort your face, attempting to look as if he wasn’t seconds away from pulling an orgasm out of you.

“Please?” you whine, giving your best half-lidded puppy dog eyes.

Fuck it.

Give in.

Make it easy.

He lifts you up without a struggle, allowing you to plant yourself on the edge of the small table, collecting your body into his own as he holds you by the back of your neck. Your lips lazily crash against his, unable to stay connected for long as your jaw trembles from the budding orgasm.

It was embarrassing how quickly you were to losing this fight, but that’s usually how it goes.

“I’m gonna,”

“Don’t do it,” he warns but doesn’t stop his rhythmic pumping.

“Can’t help it Carmy,” you bite your lip in hopes it would deter you.

“You better try.”

You do. You do try, but it’s a weak attempt.

There was no way of stopping it from happening. He was knuckle deep massaging your gspot and sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck while your fingers circled your clit, it was impossible to stop, but he knew that.

“Fuck!”

Your body goes rigid just before you gush all over his hand. He’s quick to kneel down, suctioning his lips against your swollen bundle of nerves while pulling the pleasure from your core.

Your thighs instinctively wrap around his head, his unruly curls rick tickling your soft skin. You attempt to push him away, but he’s diligent. Skilled. Determined to make sure you knew how sorry he was.

“Carmy, fuck! I can’t!” Your limbs go limp and you all but fall back onto the table top.

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he rose from his position, studying the way you were sprawled out on the way-too-small table like a rag doll that had been thrown to the the side.

You couldn’t make yourself open your eyes, especially as he caressed the side of your face. You hummed, purred, at the feeling, enjoying the tenderness that always followed.

“You okay?” He asked gently, stroking a thumb against your cheek.

“Mhm,” you sighed, unable to contain your smile.

Your eyes eventually adjusted to the distant warm glow, and you finally got a good look at him. He was beautiful, even if he smelled like oil and cigarettes. Even with the bloodshot eyes and sleepy smile. He was beautiful, even with the stain…

“Oh my god,” you were mortified at the damp discoloration of his shirt, evidence of your own doings just minutes prior.

“What? What’s wrong?” He was timid as you sat up too quickly, afraid that the moment of softness was too much.

“Your shirt,” you panicked, embarrassment washing over you completely.

He had to look down to discover the issue. It wasn’t an issue at all, really, and he almost laughed at how unserious it truly was until realizing you were completely serious.

“It’s nothing, honey. Don’t worry about it. See,” he removed it effortlessly, throwing it in a pile of his dirty laundry that had already been collecting. “Nothin.”

You can’t help but avoid his gaze, studying the goosebumps on your thighs. “I’m sorry about your shirt,” you mumble.

“And I’m sorry about the voicemails.”

You perk up at that, only allowing a fraction of a smile to grow.

“Can we call it even?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours.

Give in, or don’t. Make it fun, or make it easy.

“Maybe.”

[thatgirlonstage]

I am seeing a bad and annoying take about all books for adults being boring circulating again so here is my plea to 1) remember that adult fiction written by people other than Ernest Hemingway and F Scott Fitzgerald exists, 2) remember that genre fiction exists and is in fact frequently written for adults, and 3) realize it is counterproductive to the goal of encouraging people to read things they enjoy to throw a different set of books under the bus

Anyway whenever people have book takes that make me mad I’ve decided the healthy response is for me to just make a rec list so here’s some books for adults that I don’t think are boring at all.

Superluminal by Vonda McIntyre. I’m going to keep banging this drum forever. Sci-fi future setting with space travel and a lot of themes of body transformation and there’s magic whales and an overwhelming love for the beauty of the universe as it stretches beyond our comprehension.

The Perilous Courts series by Tavia Lark (first book: Prince and Assassin). Six M/M romance novels set in a high fantasy world. Do you like dragons? Magic? Themes of family and loyalty and betrayal and devotion? Just enough fantasy politics to ratchet up the stakes without bogging you down in the nitty gritty? Want some sweet sweet smut scenes as the cherry on top? Check out these books they’re fucking great.

The Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli. A family takes a road trip across the US, the father researching the Apache tribe, the mother looking into the disappearance of her friend’s two immigrant children who have gone missing in federal custody. I will not lie, this book is heavy, but it is also beautifully written and a really gutting exploration of the parallels and connections between historic and current struggles for survival and the atrocities that struggle is often met with.

We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian. 1950s M/M romance. Quieter and slower-paced than the other things on this list but if that’s your jam, this book is incredibly gentle. And I can’t speak for anyone else but my bisexual ass felt INCREDIBLY seen.

The Green Bone Saga by Fonda Lee (first book: Jade City). What if The Godfather was a wuxia novel.

The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez. A young girl escapes slavery and is rescued by vampires. The book is composed of a series of vignettes of her life as a vampire over the centuries. It’s a really different take on vampire lore than any other book or show I know about and I really can’t recommend it enough especially if you like deconstructions of classic monsters.

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 23 - Evading Sunrise.

Summary: Who better to know what a human needs than one who used to be human themselves?

[I'm still alive! Woo! Just overwrought! I'm playing in a sold-out show from Jan 16th and rehearsals have been 1900 to 2300 every night, bar the weekend, so my writing time is greatly diminished. I've also recently come into the family business, which isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but hey-ho, I haven't got any other option, so I'm also bogged down with learning that whole setup. These little moments where I can write and read all your kind, encouraging comments are becoming more and more precious to me. xxx]

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There is a kindness that the Universe could easily grant you, were it so inclined. Just a small thing, effortless even, hardly a difficult feat for the Powers that be, if They had so much as a shred of empathy.

The Universe has taken much from you, and were it a little kinder, it would take one last thing.

… It would take your ability to dream.

Death knows all too well that for as long as humans have been unwitting players on the cosmic chess board, they’ve been left to stand utterly alone, un-helped and unacknowledged by an indifferent Creator.

Why should you be the exception?

Why should you be granted a tiny mercy by the very Being who gave you a mind to dream with in the first place?

It just seems an unnecessary cruelty, the Horseman supposes, that your own biology should stand in the way of your respite.

It’s been several, long hours since you rolled over and eloped into the un-waking world, and Death has only moved as far as the door, leaning his weight back against the bone-dry wood with an air of resignation that his journey is to be paused until sunrise, at the very earliest. No matter… There’s little sense facing the Chancellor’s dreaded ‘Champion’ in the dark, after all.

You might have smirked and called him paranoid about the rigid stance he’s taken in front of the room’s only entrance, but the soft yet not-so-silent footfalls that keep approaching the door reaffirm his decision.

He doesn’t know if it’s the Blademaster sniffing about or some other undead who has come to gawk at the living, breathing human in their midst, but there’s something undoubtedly amusing about feeling wood push against his spine for a few seconds before the presence on the other side meets the resistance of a Horseman’s immoveable body weight.

What follows is the distinct sound of those same footsteps hurrying off down the corridor, making every attempt to be stealthy, but failing miserably.

It would be less amusing if any of their attempts were to wake you up. In fact, the only reason Death hasn’t ripped the door open and threatened to skewer the nosy stranger is currently sound asleep just a few feet away from whatever ruckus that would cause.

Or you were sound asleep. At least until a few minutes ago.

Death’s forefingers tap aimlessly against his bicep as he frowns down at your face. You’ve scrunched your features up into a tight grimace, nose wrinkling and the corners of your mouth twisted south towards your chin.

You’re still asleep. Just not soundly.

The pitiable whimpers you’ve been uttering for a while now indicate a troubled mind, though the Horseman can’t say he’s surprised. It’s disappointing, to be sure. He’d have thought you’d be far too exhausted to be plagued by dreams tonight, yet evidently, you’re not that fortunate. Which is a crying shame, because while Death doesn’t believe in luck per-se, he thinks that if such a thing were to exist, you’re more than overdue.

“Hmm, mnn,” you murmur through closed lips, tossing your head to the right.

Above you on the headboard, Dust retrieves his beak from under an ebony wing and cocks a gaze at you, crooning out a soft, inquiring noise from his throat.

“Shhh,” Death breathes, earning a sleepy glare from the crow, though he does at least fall silent, contenting himself to simply watch as you throw a hand out to one side and clench your fist around an invisible force.

“….Mmn, eye…,” you mutter through slightly parted lips.

‘Eye?’ Death’s brow knots under his mask, yet he isn’t left wondering for long.

“… Eideard?” you suddenly croak, “… C’m’back!”

Ah… So that’s where your head is at.

Lowering his eyes to the ratty blanket, Death releases a sigh that’s been building in his chest for a few minutes now.

Your legs have been steadily working to kick the covers off the bed, never settling, as if you’re trying to run from something.

The clack of a beak draws the Horseman’s gaze once again to Dust, who now has a rather expectant look aimed his way.

Death can’t help but be reminded of that night in Tri Stone, when he’d remained stolidly outside on the bench whilst you stifled your sobs in the Makers’ Forge.

He recalls that Dust had been rather scathing about his inaction. The Horseman hadn’t cared for the bird’s judgement then, and he’s even less appreciative now.

What is he supposed to do? Wake you? At least if you’re dreaming, you’re getting some rest.

Sleep, he’s learned, is something that’s essential to a human’s sustained survival.

Not for the first time, he considers the benefits of having an empty chest, hardened and calcified through centuries of existing in an indifferent universe.

It means he has nothing to steel when you suddenly fling yourself over onto your side with your mouth hanging open, releasing a short, hitching sob that catches in your throat, and an arm that stretches out towards something unseen by the Horseman, your fingers spreading rigidly until they quake with the strain.

… The gentling of Death’s expression goes unnoticed, even by him.

He’s nearly shocked when his boot slides forwards ever so slightly, scraping across the floorboards as if to carry him away from the door and towards you.

Pausing, he cocks a brow down at his own leg, half expecting it to explain itself.

What he doesn’t expect – but perhaps should have – is the loud and jarring gasp that suddenly floods into the little human on the bed with the frantic desperation of one who’s been underwater for far too long, and you’ve only just managed to reach the surface to take a breath before your lungs collapse.

Death’s eyes flick towards you just in time to witness your silhouette lurching up off the mattress, a garbled shout tumbling from your lips as you clutch feverishly at your chest.

“Karn!?” you blurt out, whipping your head back and forth to search through the darkness of Draven’s quarters for a maker who isn’t there.

It would be easy for Death to remain still and silent, to wait until whatever grasp your nightmare still has on you to finally slip loose on its own… He needn’t step in.

It would be easy…

“…Hhh…” Grousing silently to himself, the Horseman pushes away from the door and takes a decisive step towards you before he can begin to overthink his actions.

“Y/n,” he mutters, not loud enough to be startling, but just loud enough to catch your attention.

Even still, you flinch, whirling your torso in his direction and letting your hazy eyes land on the pale, ghostly mask looming above you in the dark.

For several seconds, you merely stare up at Death, the hand on your chest crumpling your shirt as you gather the flimsy fabric into a tight fist.

Death doesn’t elect to break the silence again. After another moment or two of watching you gulp down another lungful of stale air, his patience pays off, and you swallow thickly, croaking, “Death?”

The Horseman’s chin dips down. “Yes.”

“Is… Karn here?” Your voice sounds so fragile, poisoned by a grain of hope.

Going very still, Death allows a beat to pass, giving himself time to think of an answer.

Perhaps… you think you’re still in a dream.

Quietly, he offers a concise response, one that hopefully doesn’t cause you any more distress whilst bringing you further out of the idea that this isn’t real. “Karn…” he begins, “…remained in the Forge Lands.”

He watches you physically deflate. Not from relief though. Relief doesn’t douse the sleepy kindling of hope that had momentarily lit the contours of your face.

Solemn, a little more awake, you slowly ask, “Is… Eideard…. Is he…?”

“… Gone,” is Death’s only reply.

A breath shudders out of you as you let your gaze drift down to your fingers, twining over themselves in twists and knots. “Oh…” you breathe, “I… thought I…” But your sentence trails off before you can finish it.

So, Death says it for you. “You thought you saw him,” he ventures, “In a dream.”

And with that, whatever strings have been holding you taut are promptly cut, sending you flopping back onto Draven’s mattress with a sorrowful ‘whump,’ still very much awake and positively quaking hard enough to cause the wooden bed frame to shudder in tandem.

That’s the thing about dreams, Death supposes, after a point, they’re the perfect nesting ground for ghosts.

His brother, Strife, would confide in him, many eons ago, that he could still see the faces of their fallen brethren behind his eyelids whenever he tried to rest. Death had only told him that it would pass, if given the time to. He hadn’t the gall to tell Strife that he too could see those same, hateful eyes and blood-filled mouths just as clearly.  

Eideard isn’t the only person you’ve lost. He’s said it before, but it bears repeating; you’ve also lost your family, your friends and every other human on Earth.

Your dreams, much like Death’s, are full of ghosts.

Drawing your hands up towards your face, you press the heel of each palm to your eyelids and grind down hard until a kaleidoscope of colour sparks to life across your vision, not unlike fireworks blooming across a cold, November sky.

Shakily, you blow out a dry, unsteady whoosh of air and groan, “Fuck…”

Death purses his lips, privately concurring with your brief assessment of the situation.

Then, in a motion that’s steeped in tiredness, you drag your focus back over to the Horseman, rolling your head to the side and adding, “You’re still here…”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he utters, quiet as a breath, only to balk at the dulcet quality in his tone. Clearing his throat to rid it of the uninvited tenderness, he promptly tacks on, “I told you; someone has to keep an eye on Dust.”

Damp-cheeked, you crane your neck back to send an upside-down glance at the crow roosting on the headboard above you.

A single, glossy eyeball stares back.

You’re fairly confident that Dust hasn’t done a damn thing to warrant any of Death’s baseless assumptions.

With your gaze still locked on the bird, you sigh, “You two can go, if you want to…”

At that, the Horseman knows he’s going to refuse before he even gives you a verbal response.

This isn’t the first time you’ve offered him an ‘out,’ a convenient excuse for him to duck from the room and escape the burden of bearing witness to your downward spiral.

You’re asking, in as quiet a hint as you can manage, for the privacy to cry without an audience.

… If it weren’t for the mysterious footsteps padding about outside…

“It would be in your best interest for me to stay,” he offers, earning a weary sigh from your side of the room, as if you’ve by now figured it would never be that easy to get rid of him.

Already, his keen eyes have picked out the slightest gleam of tears gathering behind your lashes. The next breath you try to draw in sticks to the back of your throat, yet before your face can crumple completely, you roll yourself over onto your opposite side, facing the wall – deliberately angling your body away from the Horseman, who watches on in silence as you hike your shoulders up towards your ears.

Drawing his brows together underneath the mask, Death glides silently closer to your bed and peers down at the human-shaped lump quivering under the covers.

 All is quiet for a time, until at last…

“… I’m sorry.” Your words seep out of you in a thick, watery whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

‘You didn’t sign up for me,’ goes unspoken, but somehow the idea still hangs between you both like cold, falling snow.

It seems an odd thing to say, Death muses, considering that in a sense, he did sign up for this. Hell, he all but stamped his signature on that contract when he carried you through the portal to the Crowfather’s realm.

“Well… Neither did you…” he returns truthfully as he turns around and sinks onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, draping each forearm over a knee. The old wood doesn’t even creak as he settles down, nor does the straw bend beneath his illogical weight, much like the desert sand hadn’t swallowed him up to his calves as it had yours.

He hears the blanket rustle behind him as you twist your neck around to spare him a glance over your shoulder. If you’re at all shocked to find him suddenly sitting so close to you, you’re either too tired or too polite to say a word about it.

So, you turn back to the wall without comment, and although you attempt to bring a hand up to press a sweat-slicked palm across your mouth, such a meagre covering of skin isn’t enough to contain the grief that starts to pour out of you.

But just as you’d offered Death the unquestioned freedom to seek vicinity to you, the Horseman doesn’t try to interrupt or diminish this sombre moment with talk or awkward attempts at comfort.

It stirs a memory in him, of a much younger Nephilim, trudging through a silent, windswept battlefield alongside the only other three who had escaped the Battle for Eden. Not a word was said between them as they left the dead behind, but Death had offered them proximity as well. They said nothing of it, they hadn’t even accused him of hovering. There was an unspoken understanding, in that instant, one that passed silently between all four of them; Death would be there if they needed him.

With a slow blink, the memory fades, and he’s left frowning gently at the dull, rotten wood of the wall adjacent to your bed.

You’re an intelligent human… He wonders if you’ll be able to infer what he’s doing by sitting at the edge of your bed. Death may be many things, but he is not cheerful by nature, and cannot thusly cause cheer in others. He can only sit. And wait. Listening, watching, offering freedom from interference, both from himself and others who would seek to disturb you now when you need to grieve.

Dust, predictably, affords your need for privacy about as much consideration as could be expected from a bird. That is, none whatsoever.

A sleepy caw is all the warning both you and Death receive before the crow hops down off the headboard and lands on your pillow with a soft rustle of feathers.

Of course, you flinch, but Dust – undeterred – simply invites himself into the space between you and the wall, strutting surefootedly over the rumpled blankets until he reaches your chest.

Exasperated, Death opens his mouth and is about to openly scold the crow when Dust turns himself about until the tip of his sharp, grey beak is pointed down at your sombre face.

If you’re at all worried about having it so close to your eyeballs, you don’t show it, though Death knows the corvid well enough to recognise that Dust would never hurt his new human friend who coddles and praises him like it’s going out of fashion.

Birds…

“H-hey,” you warble miserably, swiping at your eyes with the back of a wrist and trying to pluck up the willpower to give a tear-blurred Dust your most convincing smile, “Hey, boy. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

In response, the crow cocks his head at you, and follows up with a gentle croon that raises the small, downy feathers on his throat. Then, without bothering to give any sort of warning as to his intentions, Dust gives his beak a single clack and stretches out his neck, gathering up a few strands of hair around your forehead and dragging them through his beak as if to smooth them into place.

Death almost slaps a palm to his mask.

You can’t help yourself. A wet giggle blurts out of you, momentarily disrupting Dust’s ministrations. He croaks down at you flatly before returning to his task of taking your hair and grooming it with a gentle beak.

“Dust!” you blubber out another laugh, reaching up to try and dissuade the crow by pushing your hand into his feathered breast. For your trouble, he pulls away and administers a soft nip to your knuckle, barely strong enough for you to feel it.

Offering him a watery smile, you prop yourself up onto an elbow, and in one, smooth motion, you raise your free arm and scoop the bird against your chest, burying your nose into the ebony plumage right between his wings. He’s large, far larger than any crow you’ve ever seen on Earth, so it’s more akin to hugging a small dog than any kind of corvid….

Wow… You miss dogs…

As if he can sense your sudden spike of anguish for a species who was likely wiped out alongside your own, the crow nuzzles his head under your chin, tailfeathers flicking back and forth several times as he contents himself with his new position.

Death’s brows shoot up his forehead at the display, wondering how he could have missed the moment you and his crow forged this bond without him even noticing. Was it during the brief few hours when Absalom pulled him into the Tree of Life?

Or perhaps it was always there, and he just hasn’t been paying attention.

“Of all the crows I could have been saddled with,” he gripes under his breath, aiming a half-hearted scowl at the little he can see of Dust’s beak poking out over your shoulder, “It would be the one without a single ounce of pride.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” you sniff, your voice muffled by sleek, black feathers, “He’s trying to cheer me up.”

The Horseman grumbles something to himself, then raises his voice to huff, “He has to be good for something, I suppose.”

When you don’t reply beyond giving a click of your tongue, Death hesitates, his eyes roaming in every direction except for your face as he clears his throat and asks, “Is it… ah, working?”

There’s a speculative pause, interspersed with the odd sniffle as you take a moment to calm yourself down and recover from the embarrassment of once again crying in front of the sepulchral Death.

At last, you take in a deep, weary breath and pull your nose from Dust’s back, gazing warmly down at the crow. “Yeah,” you decide with a small nod as he pulls his beak from under your chin and peers back at you, “Yeah, it’s working.”

If only a little, but sometimes a little is just enough.

Dust’s head swings around to peer at Death over your shoulder, smugger than a bird has any business being.

The heartache of waking up to a world without Eideard in it is just as fresh as the heartache you feel when you open your eyes and remember your world is gone. That sort of grief, unquantifiable, is hard to shift by the efforts of one, friendly crow, no matter how noble his intentions.

But for Dust’s sake, you try to shoulder the sorrow a touch more easily, even going so far as to sit up properly, still holding the bird to your chest and giving him a gentle squeeze. It’s a word of thanks, silent but poignant. Slowly, you place the crow down on the mattress beside you.

This time it’s your turn to clear your throat. Scrubbing tiredly at your eyes, you untuck your legs from the scratchy blanket and roll them over the side of the bed, pulling yourself forwards until you’re sitting beside Death, hands clasped daintily in your lap.

Amber eyes flick sideways and find in the gloom that your cheeks are still damp and blotchy from shedding so many tears.

Behind you, Dust flutters back up onto the headboard, head held high and proud, pleased with himself for a job well-done, and feeling he’s absolutely deserved another nap.

You breathe a sigh, holding it in your lungs and then blowing it all out again, glad to hear that it’s devoid of further tremors. “So… I don’t suppose we can pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

Death half turns his torso towards you and replies, “Any of what?”

Without thought, you smile appreciatively and lean across the bed, giving the Horseman’s thigh a companionable pat. “Good man.”

It seems as soon as you touch him, you’re pulling away again, the moment passing too quickly for you to feel the way his leg jumps underneath your palm.

Death’s eyes are wide beneath his mask and affixed to the spot on his thigh you’d just touched without ceremony, without a single remark, like it was an entirely normal thing to do.

Certainly, you’ve touched Death before, and he’s touched you out of necessity, mostly. But here, in this dingy room belonging to an undead, the Nephilim takes particular note of the casual gesture, and he’s once again reminded of who and what he is, and what an outlier you are to touch the Reaper without fear.

Is that all it takes? Pretending he hadn’t heard you pour your grief out onto a stranger’s pillow makes him a good man?

Is that… how you see him…?

No. It was just another throwaway comment, meant to lighten the solemn mood that had taken hold of the room.

For a distracted moment, Death wonders if he can really feel the warmth of your skin through the leather of his trousers, or if it’s just a figment of his imagination. Whatever it is, it robs him of any witty remarks that might slip out to disrupt this tender moment.

A good man…

“You should try going back to sleep,” he offers absently, tearing his eyes off his leg to look down at you. The imagined warmth in his thigh has travelled to his chest, which is odd, given that you didn’t lay your hand anywhere near it.

Heaving a sigh, you ask, “How long do you think until sunrise?”

“Mm, at least another several Earth hours,” he says, “Plenty of time still to rest.”

Your fingers clench into fists around the blanket beneath you. “Plenty of time to dream…”

The old Nephilim’s mask turns to face you properly, eyes of liquid gold and sunset orange illuminating the darkness of his sockets. “Dreams cannot hurt you,” he says with conviction, partly because he knows they can’t, and partly because nothing, not even a nightmare could hurt you with a Horseman keeping watch.

“But they can make you sad…” you point out.

Hesitating, he has to take a second to remember that sadness can be potent enough to hurt a human. “I suppose they can,” he concedes reluctantly.

“That hurts, sometimes,” you whisper, drawing your knees up onto the bed and folding your arms around them, clinging tightly, eyes downcast to the floor, “Waking up and realising the people in them aren’t here anymore.”

Shifting his weight to prop a hand on one knee, he leans forwards so that he can meet your faraway gaze. “That pain will fade, given time,” he offers, echoing a conversation eons past.

After a second, your eyes slide sideways and align with his, and he can’t deny the glimmer of triumph that raises his chin at the sight of your gentle smile.

“I hope you’re right, Death,” you reply, “I really do.”

“You’ll find I’m not often wrong twice in as many days.” He’s referring to his… miscalculation with the heart stones and the Guardian, of course.

Did that really only happen yesterday?

“Cocky,” you snort, swiping a finger under the still damp corner of your eye, “Nice to know great, big Horsemen can make mistakes too though.”

“Is it?” he scoffs. He’d have thought it’d be daunting that the Nephilim whose charge you find yourself under isn’t actually as infallible as he’d like to claim.

“Yeah,” you hum, giving him a thoughtful look, “I guess to err isn’t just human, after all.”

Death waits, bracing himself to balk, to feel a spike of offence run through his veins at being told he shares a – rather undesirable – quality with humans. He waits, and feels-

… Nothing. No contempt. No disdain or disappointment. Maybe just a touch of surprise.

“I’m gonna miss them,” you murmur, derailing the Horseman’s train of thought.

“The makers?”

“Everyone,” you stress, “The makers, Blackroot, Warden…”

Coughing lightly into a fist, Death has to peel his eyes away to avoid looking at you when he says, “I’m sure they’ll be…. of a similar mindset.” Honesty, vulnerability, words that have real significance don’t come so easily to the Horseman. If they did, he’d tell you that those makers are going to miss you more than you could possibly know.

Chewing on your lip, you idly kick an ankle against the side of the bed and ask, “Do you think I’ll ever see them again?”

In response, Death huffs out a short, soft laugh, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Do I think you’ll see them again?” he echoes, “Y/n, I’m almost certain of it.”

“… Wait. Seriously?”

“Don’t I seem serious?” he blinks languidly.

“Yeah, it’s just… that sounded like optimism. And coming from you, that’s… I mean…” Squinting through the dark at him, you fold your hands in your lap and ask, “Are you feeling all right?”

The Horseman’s lips quirk up, though his voice retains a gruff and unimpressed melody as his shoulders jump with a brusque harrumph. “You must be feeling better if you’re already poking fun,” he grouses, assessing the miniscule glow of humour tucked around the corners of your mouth.

“I am, actually,” you shrug, flicking a glance over his mask and tipping your head with a knowing smile, “Maybe Dust isn’t the only one who’s good at cheering me-“

Three, gentle knocks on a nearby surface of wood break through your sentence like hammer blows ringing off an anvil.

From one blink to the next, the Horseman is inexplicably on his feet, flinging a strong, sinewy arm out in front of you, all at once alert and suspicious, whilst behind him, you scramble off the bed with far less grace, fighting to find stability for a moment before you square your feet and send a wary glance over his appendage at the room’s entrance.

“Hello?” you call, swiping furiously at your cheeks to rid them of what little trace of tears might still cling to your skin.

Death doesn’t turn to face you, but you’d be hard-pressed to miss the disgruntled sigh that slips out from under his mask at your tactical blunder.

You’ve all but announced that you – a human, need you be reminded – are in here.

A voice from outside calls out, muffled behind the thick layer of wood. “… Lady - Ah, I mean, Y/n?”

The tension doesn’t seem to drain out of Death nearly as fast as it drains out of you.

Draven.

Before the Horseman can stop you, you’ve already ducked underneath his arm, reaching up to distractedly smooth down your bedhead as you call out, “Oh, Draven, uh, coming!”

You hear your name uttered in a growl behind you, but you wave off the ornery Nephilim with a flap of your hand, twisting about to face him as you make for the door, hissing, “It’s his room, Death. If he wants to come in here, he has every right to.”

Realising your hand is reaching to pull the door open, Death surges forward, intent on getting to it before you – ‘just in case,’ a voice at the back of his head whispers – but he doesn’t make it halfway to you when you grab the brass handle and tug the rotting wood towards you, letting dull, green light spill into the quarters and creep up the opposite wall.

A familiar silhouette looms in the doorway, framing the space with broad shoulders and a tattered shroud that’s been pulled low to half cover a skeletal, ghoulish face. From your angle, standing at least a foot and a half shorter than the figure, you can see up underneath his hood.

You regret your haste to open the door, simply because you aren’t at all ready to witness the grim and ghastly visage of the Blademaster this early in the morning, but you stamp down on the temptation to reel back, and instead school your expression into a friendly smile. “Hi, uh, again.”

Draven’s luminous, blue eyes flare brightly as soon as they land on your face. There’s something held between each of his hands, though you hardly spare them a glance because, ever the gentleman, he’s already halfway into a low, sweeping bow when he suddenly stops short, bent so that he’s staring you directly in the eye.

It’s decidedly unnerving to have so much scrutiny on you, especially when the undead’s jaw suddenly locks up tight and his browbone snaps together as if you’ve offended him somehow without even saying a word.

“Uh-“ you start to say, only to find yourself interrupted when Draven rises to his full height again, unfolding at the waist and aiming a frigid glare over the top of your head. Coincidentally, an icy presence appears at your spine, pressing in close enough that you notice the hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle.

 A growl rolls out through the gaps in the undead’s hollow cheeks. “Y/n,” he addresses you, his voice hard as stone, “Has this devil done you a discourtesy?”

“W…What?” you blurt.

Ferocity bleeds from his lipless mouth as he glares at the Horseman who drapes you in shadow, pale blue eyes aiming to douse the liquid fire hanging ominously in the darkness behind you.

“Her eyes are scarlet with salt,” he accuses.

Raising a hand to your face, you prod tenderly at the raw skin beneath your eyes and realise with a sinking sense of shame that you must still look like even more of a mess than you did when the Blademaster first saw you. “Oh, no. No, Draven, it’s fine,” you sigh, dragging a hand down your face, “Just… Look, it’s just been a rough night.”

The undead’s glower lifts the moment he rips his eyes off Death and returns it to you, his forehead puckering with concern. “But, you’re-“

“- I’m all right,” you reiterate, crooking one corner of your lips into a tight smile that all but pleads for him to drop the matter. You’re mortified enough.

The look on your face must be adequately pitiable, for Draven’s stance relaxes by a fraction, and as his arms slump from their guarded poise, you hear something clunk woodenly by his waist, rousing your curiosity and tempting you to lower your gaze to his hands.

If you thought you weren’t ready to see the Blademaster at your door, you’re doubly unprepared to see what he’s carrying.

Clearing your throat, you bob your chin at his hands and ask, “What’ve you got there?”

“Hmm?” Begrudgingly peeling away from the Horseman, Draven follows your line of sight, blinking down at a little wooden bowl and cup he’s clutching in each hand. Suddenly very sheepish, the undead ducks further into his green hood, “Forgive me, I was going to leave these by the door, but… then I heard voices.”

“And what were you doing skulking about so close to the door that you could hear us talk?” Death asks, hardly bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

You turn to give him a quick, pointed glare over your shoulder, one that he ignores.

“Just as I said, Horseman,” Draven retorts, “I thought the lady might be hungry, so…” He offers out the cup and bowl for you to see, giving you an apologetic look. “I’d have left it outside for you to find when you emerged, I… didn’t want to disturb you while you slept.”

Before you can reply, a voice at your back pipes up.

“You were going to leave it outside?” Death scoffs, “Where anyone could have tampered with it?”

Ignoring the Horseman, you peer down into the proffered crockery, your stomach gurgling eagerly as a waft of steam drifts from the bowl and rises into your nostrils. Never before would you have thought you’d be so excited about something so beige.

A simple, brown stew is balanced on one of Draven’s large palms, lumps of what you presume is meat bob about near the surface, and a single slice of fluffy, white bread floats at the centre, drawing a rather embarrassing flood of saliva to the front of your mouth. In his other hand, the small wooden cup is clasped like a chalice of ambrosia, though the only thing that wets its interior is crisp, clear water.

In your eyes, he may as well be holding out a gourmet dish that only the wealthiest of men would deign to touch.

“Draven,” you breathe in awe, reluctantly dragging your gaze off the food and peering up into the undead’s hollow face, “What’s all this for?”

Puzzled, he tilts his head at you, as thought the answer should be entirely obvious.

“It’s… for you,” he says, pressing the bowl and cup closer to your wringing hands, “I assumed you’d want to eat when you awoke. It’s not much, just some pottage I scrounged up.”

You begin to reach out, unfurling your fingers to take the unexpected gift when all of a sudden, chilly fingers wrap around your wrist, and before you can utter a sound, Death tugs you tidily back into the room, taking your place in the doorway, and peering down at the undead. “Where did you get it?” he asks, ignoring the disgruntled huff you aim at the back of his head, “Is this safe for human consumption?”

Draven’s lipless mouth pulls into a sneer. “Do you think me a fool?” he accuses.

“I think you an undead who we’ve only just met,” the Horseman replies coolly.

The Blademaster leans back on a heel, appraising Death with an expression that borders on impressed. “A fair point,” he concedes. Seconds later, Draven yields a nod. “It’s safe, Death. Believe it or not, the King entertains more than just the dead in his court, some of whom still rely on sustenance to get them through the day. Supplies are not as scarce as they would seem at first glance, and I may be far-removed from humanity, but I still remember my way around a cooking pot.”

Then, wordlessly, he holds the bowl and cup out towards the Horseman, tipping his head to one side with an expectant gleam in his fearsome, blue eyes.

Death’s attention flits between Draven and his handful several times, squinting dubiously at the dull, brown slop. For a few uncomfortable seconds, the Horseman subjects your potential meal to a good, long glare, and then at last, to your relief, you watch him raise his hands and grasp the edge of the bowl between his thumb and forefinger, doing the same with the cup.

He doesn’t take them immediately, too busy giving the undead a threatening growl. “If she eats this and something happens-“

“-I’ll be meeting the business end of your scythe?” Draven guesses, quirking a brow bone as he relinquishes the crockery and drops his arms to his sides again.

Death’s eyes narrow to thin lines of fire, prompting the undead to let out a chuckle and raise his hands up in mock defeat. “I understand, Horseman, I understand. I’d be overprotective as well if I had a lady like her under my care.”

Half hidden behind the Nephilim, you suck a breath in through your teeth as your grim companion bristles like a cornered cat, almost doubling in size with the amount of indignation that swells his shoulders. You’ve only known him a week or so, but in that time, you’ve already learned that being accused of caring is pretty low on the list of Things Death likes to Hear.

And sure enough…

“I am not overprotective,” the Horseman seethes, but with such an air of petulance that whatever threat his tone might have been trying to imply is completely undermined. Not to mention there’s something curiously un-threatening about the sight of him clutching a bowl of stew that - not thirty seconds ago - he was giving the stink-eye.

Even Draven doesn’t seem all that worried as he casts a knowing look at you around Death’s shoulder, his ghoulish features scrunching into a wink.

“No?” he asks, cocking his head to one side and sliding his gaze back to the wall of Nephilim standing before him, “Well, in that case, when the sun rises, I’m sure you won’t mind if I treat the lady to that tour I offered her.”

He’s chancing his arm, and he damn well knows it. And because he knows it, he’s already watching for the precise moment when Death recognises that he’s just stepped right into a verbal trap.

Unseen by the human in their midst, Death’s narrow eyes are now almost indiscernible within the congealing darkness of his sockets, and it’s only thanks to their preternatural, fiery glow that Draven can tell they’re open at all. They float inside the pitch-black pits that have been carved out of an ivory mask, unnatural and eerie, like two strips of flame streaking through the night sky.

If someone were to strike a match in the air between he and Death, Draven is almost certain the spark would set off an explosion that could blow the Eternal Throne clear through the stratosphere.

Two options lay out before the ancient Nephilim: Allow yo u to go with Draven in the morning, proving the smug undead wrong in his judgement of Death’s character. Or refuse the offer on your behalf and prove him right.

Begrudgingly, Death concedes that the undead’s tactics have successfully tripped him up. Rare as it is, it’s somewhat refreshing to be kept on his toes. Not that he’s in any way pleased to be cornered like this… Not least because he has a reputation he’d like to keep intact.

“She’ll consider it,” he says shortly.

There. It’s neither a yes or a no, and vague enough that Draven’s expectant gaze darkens with disappointment. Death is tempted to smirk triumphantly. Just because he stepped into the trap doesn’t mean he won’t know how to get out of it. He’s almost offended that the undead thought it would be so easy.

But the acquiescing look on Draven’s face doesn’t linger for more than a blink before it’s gone.

“I hope she does,” he hums, leaning sideways once more so that he can send you another secretive smile around the Horseman’s bulk, a smile that you find yourself readily reflecting. It feels like there’s a connection there somehow, between you and Draven. Human and ex-human. It’s something that Death isn’t privy to because he isn’t and never was human.

You wonder… Hell, you dare to hope that Draven might just… get you. There’s common ground in your humanity. The soul that sits lonely in your heart reaches out for the tiniest promise of companionship, softening you to the undead in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Right now, as you share amusement at the Grim Reaper’s expense, you find Draven just that bit more bearable to look at. Even the swords and broken blades that jut from his person like morbid adornments don’t seem so gruesome.

“I will consider it,” you promise, prompting Death to heave a disgruntled sigh whilst you breeze over his complaint, “Thank you, Draven. Really. This…” This act of immense kindness, though it might have seemed so mundane if it happened on Earth, has done wonders to warm your heart after feeling your very soul freeze over after your nightmare. But how could you possibly put into words the comfort he’s brought you? Rather than overthink it, you merely give your head a tiny shake of disbelief and let out a soft laugh, “This means… so much to me.”

Laying a hand across his concave chest, the undead dips his torso into a shallow bow and replies, “For you, it was no trouble at all.”

To your own surprise, the chivalrous little display turns you shy, and you start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, avoiding his searching eyes as you smile down at the floor near Death’s boots.

Clicking his tongue, the Horseman shifts to stand sideways in the entrance, sweeping an unimpressed glance between you and Draven.

You may have averted your gaze, but the undead certainly hasn’t.

From head to toe, you’re all but poured over like a scroll of parchment in an angel’s library. Shameless in his observation, Draven’s cadaverous eyes carve tracks across your face and roam down the length of your body, whilst Death goes mostly ignored.

The Horseman is no fool. Though the very notions of romance and attraction have forever eluded him, he’s old and worldly enough to have at least encountered both in some way, shape or form. Besides, even a dunce would have to be trying exceptionally hard to miss what’s right in front of his nose.

You’ve caught the Blademaster’s eye.

And there’s the rub. Demons, he can put his scythe to, corrupted constructs and bloodthirsty bugs can be slain to keep you out of their gullets. Even Karn and his, at times, glaring attachment to you were innocent enough, as if the youngling was more starved for meaningful friendship than companionship. But an amorous undead? Death doesn’t have any protocol for manoeuvring around that particular minefield.

Once again, if there is such a thing as luck, the Horseman would be cursing his own. Isn’t it just typical that in such a vast and limitless Universe, his path would somehow carry you right to the Blademaster – the only other sod in Creation who shares your origins? Musing on that, Death can’t help but wonder if there truly is some unseen, omniscient hand guiding you along your journey.

Whoever the puppet master is, they’ve got a sick sense of humour.

Draven was Human – famously unpredictable species, a stereotype you continue to substantiate – but more to the point, he’s an unknown, and Death doesn’t especially like dealing with unknowns.

“Well then,” he announces abruptly, causing you to jump and reminding him that he’s allowed the undead to linger for a few moments too long, “If there’s nothing else…”

The skin around Draven’s jaw stretches as he opens it until the holes in his cheeks are thin and long, but before he can utter a word, Death says, “Wonderful,” and with a deft swing of his elbow, he bumps the door closed, giving the bottom of the wood a kick on its way to make sure it slams firmly shut. The room is once more plunged into that grimy, too-green gloom.

“Oh, that’s real nice, Death,” you snap, “The poor guy gives me a meal and lets me sleep in his bed, and you slam his own door shut in his face.”

“… That’s it,” he grumbles, turning to face you and pressing the bowl and cup into your hands, careful not to spill its contents as you splutter out a weak protest and fumble awkwardly with the woodware, “Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to the Champion’s arena. Not-!” he quickly snaps when you open your mouth to speak, “- to fight. You’re to watch from the sidelines.”

Looking down at you through the dark, he can tell you’re torn between continuing to berate him and diving into your newly acquired meal. Your eyes flit back and forth between him, the bowl, and the door, through which you can already hear the fading footfalls of your gracious host.

You’ve bulled yourself up at Draven’s expense, lips twisting into an unhappy frown, but it isn’t to last. Not with how desperate you are to fill your belly with something warm and cooked. Venting out a huff, you begrudgingly expel all the hot air from your lungs and lower yourself down onto the edge of the bed, lifting the stew to your lips to blow at the steam that drifts from it. “How do you know I’m not considering Draven’s tour?” you challenge.

It’s a good thing you’re pointedly ignoring the Horseman in favour of tipping back the bowl, because the look he shoots you is venomous enough that it would have stung had you caught it head-on.

“Just... Just eat the damn stew,” is all he bites out.

Well… You’re only too happy to oblige to that request.

You try not to wolf down the whole thing in one go, but as soon as the thin, watery gravy touches your lips and washes onto your tongue, you’re almost bowled over by the sheer influx of taste. At this point, after surviving on little else but water and the strange jerky Thane gave you, you could have eaten a rice cracker and called it filet mignon. Several bursts of flavour warm the inside of your cheeks and seep over and under your tongue. A piece of meat slides between your teeth as you slurp it up and you bite down on it hard, finding the strip tough and chewy, but oh so mouth-watering.

You spare the briefest of thoughts to its creature of origin, though the moment soon passes when you swallow, letting out a groan that might have been embarrassing if you weren’t so sure you’re justified in making such a sound. Privately, you make a mental note to thank Draven profusely in the morning, though whether that’s before or after you apologise to him for Death’s behaviour, you haven’t yet decided.

“Holy-“ Pausing, you lower the bowl and sweep a finger over the corners of your mouth, delicately removing the gravy gathered there, “-Shit, this is good.”

He almost asks if it tastes strange or off in any way, but with the Blademaster's words still ringing in his ears, Death stuffs them down with the rest of his wounded ego and begins to grumble nonsensically to himself. In fact, he's so busy muttering under his breath and glowering at the door that he doesn’t even pause to throw a withering glare at Dust when the crow hops onto the bed again and struts up to you with the confidence of a bird who knows you’re a pushover.

Only too happy to reinforce that confidence, you deftly scoop a chunk of meat into your palm and offer it out for the bird to peck at.

“Overprotective…” Death scoffs heatedly, “The nerve of that…” His mask abruptly whips around towards you, giving you pause with your cheeks full of stew. “Do you feel I’ve been overprotective?”

Putting aside the fact that you’ve never seen Death get this riled about a jibe before…

Swallowing thickly, you draw out an unconvincing, “No?”

The strange glow of his irises flicker for a second – a twitch of an eyelid? “Well, if I seem that way, it’s only because you’re so damnably adept at getting yourself into trouble,” he complains, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall with a decisive thump, “And frankly, I’d rather avoid having an angry group of makers hunt me to the ends of the Universe if something were to happen to you under my watch.”

It’s not just a lie meant to preserve his pride. Not entirely…

“They wouldn’t do that,” you tut, bemused, tilting the bowl and taking another, long slurp of the stew, manners be damned. You never thought you’d eat a cooked meal again.

His chest rumbles moodily. “They would.”

A wordless peace lingers in the air between you then, disturbed only by the sound of you chewing through toughened meat and the gentle sloshing of stew as your fingers chase the pieces around their bowl. You pretend not to notice the quick, attentive glances being sent your way.

Dust throws his feathered head up towards the ceiling, his beak wide open around the hunk of meat you offered him. In a rather unappetising display, the crow gulps it down with a few bobs of his neck.

“Nice,” you grunt, pulling a face.

You don’t put your bowl down until every last piece of the stew is gone, and even then you have to fight back an urge to lick the interior clean, mindful that present company might find that habit a bit too uncivilised not to comment on. Even with the Earth and its civilisation far behind you, you can’t let go of table-manners. It would be laughable if the reminder of your lonely humanness didn’t carry so many undertones of despair.

Breathing a soft, satisfied sigh, you bend down and drop the bowl on the floor with a clunk, instantly exchanging it for the cup of water before you sit up again to watch Death glower at the doorway as though he hopes it’ll burst into flames.

There’s a rigidity to him that doesn’t suit the late hour and the warmth in your belly.

Casting your mind about for a way to free him from whatever monologue he must have rattling away in that enigmatic head of his, you take a swig of the water, regarding the Horseman ponderously over the rim of the cup.

“So,” you say, smacking your lips as the lukewarm liquid slides down your throat, “What do you think the chances are that Vulgrim’s delivered my message?”

Luminous eyes blink slowly, roving from the door to land on your face.

He visibly hesitates, then asks, “What would help you go back to sleep faster?”

Your deadpan stare is ruined by an unseemly snort and flutter of your lips. “Just humour me, wise guy.”

“Very well…” Death grunts, “Chances are slim.”

“… Don’t know why I bother.”

Despite your tone, you’re secretly pleased when his broad shoulders slacken as he chuckles, unfolding his arms and resting each hand casually on his hips instead. “Given how often you’ve surprised me so far,” he sighs with an air of begrudging acceptance, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so shocking to learn you’ve actually convinced the demon to go through with your favour.”

“I surprise you?” you smile.

 “At every turn.”

“Aw~”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh.”

It is. It absolutely is. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know what a luxury surprises are for a being who was confident the Universe had nothing new to throw at him. He’s already far too soft on you as it is. Paying you compliments paves a slippery slope towards irrefutable fondness.

Dust would be insufferable.

“Now then,” he coughs gruffly, more to disrupt his own thoughts than to get your attention, “You should… try and get some more rest. I’ll wake you at sunrise.”

All at once, what little levity had been draped around your shoulders sloughs away. He’s right. You should try and sleep a little longer. Moments like these, moments where you can stop to catch your breath, could well be few and far between in the coming days.

“Death? Will you…?” Your voice catches and you don’t finish your sentence aloud, working your jaw up and down wordlessly as a sudden but subtle wave of shame washes over you like an ebbing tide. ‘Stay’ is on the tip of your tongue. But you realise it’s a silly question to ask, even if a very small, very vulnerable part of you desperately wants to seek reassurance from the dour Horseman sharing this space with you. Death has given no indication that he plans to stray far from your side.

Bottom line? You’re afraid to fall asleep again, much as your overwrought mind craves a few more hours of unconscious bliss, and your arms feel heavy as lead when you lower the cup to the floor, setting it down beside the bowl.

If you sleep, you might dream, after all.

And your dreams are full of ghosts.

Fingers twist searchingly into the blanket you’re sitting on, squeezing and clenching until they ache. It grounds you, at least a bit.

You don’t really notice that Death’s mask is tilted to one side, watching your hands closely until he shifts, easing himself through the gloom until he’s only a step away from the bed. It’s sometimes convenient to forget what he is, when your heart misses home so badly that it wants to find humanity in everything around you, including Death. It’s easy to forget that he’s older than you could probably comprehend, that he’s wise enough to hear a human’s unfinished plea and be able to predict how it ends.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures you.

Relief unwinds your hands from the fists you’ve curled them into, like roses blooming from the bud.

Soon, you’ll be awake, and the tragedies of yesterday will be saddled to your back alongside all the rest, but you’ll carry them with you as best you can. You don’t have a choice, after all. You followed Death to the Land of the Dead.

When the sun rises, you’ll rise with it and face the consequences of your choice.

[cheralith]

hi i went on a boat today after rewatching atsv for the third time and all i could think abt was hobie and his canal boat instead of enjoying the view of the city 🧍

like just constant thoughts of him mindlessly steering the thing around the hudson river and just finding the contrast between his very decorated, very outlandish boat and the sleek and modern ones rather amusing considering it harbors rather some attention—both good and bad.

also the consistent thought of him showing it off to you like the coolswagmaster69 he is, and you marveling at all its details just fuels his ego. i’d imagine he’d let you add on your own graffiti onto the hull of it or essentially anywhere that it can be seen—just somewhere that shows off your special place in his life.

“you can use the tires as floaties,” he’d say and gesture to the two massive tires just hanging lazily on the side of it. “all i ask o’ ya is that you don’t use ‘em on the hudson, yeah? don’t want your pretty l’il head gettin’ toxic shock and allat junk. pretty sure i saw a dead body floatin’ there the other day.”

it never stays in one place for too long, much like himself. hobie often switches from place to place to give himself good environment changes so he doesn’t grow bored, though his favorite spot is in the bogs of the bronx river because of how soothing it gets at night.

he threatened to throw you overboard one time because you jokingly call it the “hoboat” in the same manner you tease him about being “spider-punk,” both titles making him wrinkle his nose in evident disgust because of their corniness.

what he won’t tell you though is that to others, he’ll secretly reference his abode as the “hoboat” as an homage to you huhu

[that-house]

Hey so what are the magical girls like in your setting? Are their powers radiation based? What's their aesthetic?

this gets a little into spoiler territory but it's impossible to adequately describe the full extent of their deal without doing so, so:

magical girls get their power from their godhead shards, pieces of a dead goddess (the first magical girl) that are grafted onto their souls

the main benefit this confers is ontological invincibility: while in combat they automatically and unconsciously eliminate timelines in which their primary goal isn't achieved. the catch is that it can only do one thing at once: like, they can guarantee an attack will hit, guarantee their own safety, or protect bystanders with this power, but not all three at the same time. (i could go into more detail about this but i don't want to get bogged down in the metaphysics involved because there's still more to talk about)

they usually don't need to focus on staying safe, because they're almost entirely immortal. they don't age and can regenerate from damn near anything. for a magical girl, being atomized is at most an annoyance. they do, however, feel pain, which is their primary weakness: when winnowing away timelines with that ontological invincibility, the "path of least resistance" is whatever hurts them the most

the only real threat to a magical girl are other magical girls (given that the magical girls as an organization keep splintering off into opposing groups, that comes up decently often). besides that, a lot of the series is just concerned with how our protagonists cope with the horrors of suffering in humanity's stead (9 times out of 10 the answer is toxic lesbian sex dynamics)

the Generic Magical Girl Powers are strength, speed, durability, regeneration, and flight, but each one also gets their own Soul Weapon which grants a unique power. for example:

Heather's huge fucking ōdachi, Unyielding Dawn, lets her create invulnerable force fields

Lucy ends up with Perfect Serpent, a set of throwing knives that she hates, because the only thing they do is let her turn invisible and she wanted a fucking beam attack

meanwhile Lena, the leader of the Maniac Girls (one of those hostile splinter groups) has a mace called Death Halo that lets her control fire, turn into fire, and teleport between any two flames

VENUS II CAELESTIS: THE EVERFLAME (one of the Venus Bodies, more on them later some time) wields Fusion Chrysalis which summons a "small" and "dim" sun that warps space and gets bigger and brighter the closer you get to it, until it's just a real-ass copy of Earth's sun within 100 feet and then you die

aesthetically speaking, their magical girl outfits and Soul Weapons are made of the bones of that dead goddess projecting themselves into reality. the outfits have all those tropey frills and such that you'd expect but in a bleached monochrome.

the magical girls of Viscera Star are locked into a nightmare war that never ends, and for all their power they're still deeply and horribly human, with all that that entails.

[squad-724]

Vampire au? Hello 👀👀

The call was a surprise. Commander Rex just began his one week leave on Coruscant with the rest of 501st, planning on catching up on sleep and food. The last siege took everything out of Torrent, leading to total exhaustion of all the troopers. Frozen bog was now in the top three of Rex’s worst terrains he fought on. It took three water shower rations to get the mud out of every crook of his body, many troopers refusing to even try and get it out of their hair and just shaving it. Unfortunately, the planet's day and night cycle made the latter last over four weeks, making 501st the best battalion to take the mission. Now, finally able to sleep for more that four hours, Rex had to open his puffed up eyes to look who the kark was calling him three in the morning on his first leave day in over three months. “C’mmnd’r Fox” he greeted, not even bothering to open his eyes. He did not care that the leader of Coruscant Guard was looking at his bare chest, three layers of blankets and a black Jedi robe used as a pillow. “Wut can I do for ye?” Fox was never close to him, even if he was from the same batch as his ori’vod Cody. They naver talked after the war started, any information they had of eachother coming from Cody. Being honest, most of Coruscant Guard rarely contacted their brothers, saying they were too busy or just forgot. “I’m sorry about the time of this call, but could I ask you for a private meeting as soon as possible?” There was a weird urgency in the commander's voice. “If Hardcase blew up anything in the city then he can spend the night in your custody, I'm not leaving my bunk tonight” Rex was already reaching out to end the call. “It's about your general!” Fox blurted out, making Rex immediately sober up, opening his eyes and rising up from his bed “He didn't die saving the chancellor!” °°°° It took Rex less than five minutes to run out of the barracks, only throwing a jacket on his sleeping attire, bare feet shoved into the armor boots. Fox sent him a quick ping in lower levels of Coruscant, saying he couldn't share any more information in case their equipment was bugged. None of the passerbys cared about the clone rushing through the streets as if the death itself was chasing him. Anakin was alive! He reached the meeting point in just ten minutes, the clone in red armor already waiting. Fox was acting skittishly, looking over his shoulder, one hand constantly hovering over his blaster. He didn't have time to register Rex's face before he was shoved into the wall, the blonde clone wrapping his hands on the blacks of his neck to raise him in the air slightly. “You better start talking what you know, and it better be true!” He growled. Fox seemed dazed for a second before raising his hands to take his bucket off. He looked awful, dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sticking from hollow cheeks and dried skin. “It is! It is true, I swear! I was ordered not to say anything, and it was eating me alive! I'll will show you everything if you just let me down for a second” Rex searched in the other clone’s eyes any sign of lie, but those were wide open. Scared but determined. “Show me.”

Part two

[deadbydangit]

Dead by Daylight: Adventures in Texting

I wrote this a while back because I thought it was funny. I hope someone enjoys it.

[The Entity] has started a group: Killers

The Entity: I’ve given you all a phone. We can all keep in contact with each other.

Nightmare: The Hell is this shit?!?

Legion (Frank): looks like a chat room old man

[Legion (Frank)] has changed their name to [Frankie]

Nightmare: Hold up.

[Nightmare] has changed their name to [Freddy]

Freddy: Better.

Trapper: No, we aren’t doing this again.

Nurse: Bloody Hell, again?

Ghostface: Again?

Wraith: We’ve done this before, a long time ago.

Legion (Susie): why did it stop???

[Legion (Susie)] has changed their name to [Sus]

[Ghostface] has changed their name to [BIGDENERGY]

[Trapper]: That answer your question?

Legion (Julie): oh FUCK yeah, this looks fun

[Legion (Julie)] has changed their name to [Jules]

Legion (Joey): wait so, if Danny wasn’t there when the first group chat started, who made it stop them?

[Legion (Joey)] changed their name to [Joey]

Wraith: Herman.

Nurse: He kept trying to experiment on us by sending private messages from other’s phones. He wanted to see us all fight.

Doctor: It worked, didn’t it?

[Doctor] changed their name to [Herman]

Pig: And you wonder why no one likes you

[Pig] has changed their name to [Amanda]

Herman: That’s not what you said last night.

BDENERGY: WHAT?!?!

Amanda: He’s lying.

Freddy: Is Herman a troll?

Frankie: you’re a troll lol

Cannibal: don’t want this…

Trapper: If we’re stuck doing this.

[Trapper] has changed their name to [Evan]

[Nurse] has changed their name to [Sally]

[Wraith] has changed their name to [Philip]

BIGDENERGY: I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS! HA, POSERS!

Spirit: I already have a bad feeling about this.

[Spirit] has changed their name to [Rin]

Oni: Rin, what is this contraption?

Plague: Why is it beeping incessantly?

Deathslinger: And how can I make the damned thing stop?

Blight: This device is known as a phone. This instrument allows for communication of voice via electromagnetic radio waves from one end point, being a single beings phone, to another, the other individuals phone. Radio waves are used because they cause significantly less damaging to the body than gamma or X-rays.

[Trickster] has changed their name to [Ji-Woon]

Ji-Woon: Wow! Way to ruin phones freak.

Shape:…

Clown: Is he going to say anything?

Artist: It’s Michael. Probably not.

Pyramid Head: I cannn comuunnicate noww.

Sally: His hands are too big for the buttons. And he probably can’t see what he’s writing.

[Shape] has changed their name to [Michael]

Michael:…

Pyramid Head: Butt Iii can taallllk noow

Twins: Frère and I will be sharing this device. If anyone needs anything from Victor, you have to contact this.

Deathslinger: Is no one gonna tell me how ta’ turn this off?

Hag: You can’t Entity made it so you can’t. I already tried throwing it in the bog.

[Hag] has changed their name to [Lisa]

Lisa: Maybe it will work this time?

Philip: I want to say yes, but I know that isn’t the case.

Rin: Oh, I was messaged by the Entity. Sadako’s phone keeps shorting out, so we’re sharing.

Evan: That makes sense.

Nemesis: mmmyy hands aarree tooo biiigg toooo.

[Hillbilly] has changed their name to [Max]

Max: its back the fun thing is back

Huntress: what happens if the face of this thing gets cracked? i threw it at Dwight.

Sus: OMG you broke it already?!?

Max: why anna why break phone

Oni: What does this OMG mean?

Jules: oh my god

Plague: Do not take the name of the Gods in vain!

Joey: no, that’s what OMG means

Frankie: ugghh old people

[Cenobite] has changed their name to [Pinhead]

Pinhead: I opened the box and found this phone inside. Why and how can I rid myself of it?

Huntress: have i broken this thing?

Pinhead: No Anna, it will still function. You’ll just have a difficult time seeing it.

Joey: Wait, how do you know about phones?

Pinhead: I’m a God, I know all.

Dredge: Speaking of God. Hello everyone. 😉

BIGDENERGY: Did it just use an emoji?

Artist: It knows human language?

Clown: It has hands?

Dredge: No silly. I can type using my powers 😊

Sally: I guess Demogorgon can’t have a phone either. Seems he ate it.

Twins: Did the Entity think it wouldn’t?

The Entity: I do not think it would eat the phone, no.

Max: aww puppy sick?

BIGDENERGY: That isn’t a dog.

Pinhead: In your world maybe.

Sus: WTF do dogs look like in your world!!!

Oni: What does this WTF mean?

Evan: Oh my God.

Oni: Isn’t that OMG?

[starry-night-author]

*pathetically crawls out of a bog or something covered in muck* hi hello I'm an idiot and accidentally deleted a whole finished prompt -_- so here we go again rewriting it :) I'm so mad :)

Anyway an anon asked for something like a poly hero x supervillain x villain story where the villains won forever ago but kept Hero around as a captive, and eventually grew fond of them and they're together now. Which 👀 I have to say that's a fantastically interesting idea 👀

Prompt #24

A bishop was slid across the board. "Aaaaand checkmate!"

Hero groaned, falling forward until their forehead rested on the table. "Of course it is. Your third one today."

"Mm-hm." On the other side of the table, Superhero made a big show of knocking Hero's king off the board.

"This is truly my lowest point," Hero sighed. "Beaten every time we've played today."

"Every time we've played this week," Superhero reminded them with a smug smile. They were teasing, they knew Hero didn't really care if they won or not. "Want to go again?"

Hero let out another loud groan, and Superhero laughed.

They moved to pick up the pieces for another game, always wanting Hero to stay longer. They'd even let them win a few times if it meant they didn't have to go.

A ding echoed throughout the mostly empty room, and Hero immediately sat up, pulling out their phone. "Sorry, hold on one second."

The cheery playful mood in was quick to fade as Superhero watched Hero's face, Superhero's own grin slipping from their features as Hero's smile grew. The hero began typing, thumbs flying across the keyboard as they chuckled at something on the screen.

This happened every time.

Hero got distracted, forgot all about Superhero in a snap.

They wouldn't be playing another round.

"Sorry, just a second, Supervillain's asking about dinner plans and stuff."

"Hm." Superhero picked up Hero's king that they'd knocked off the board, gazing at it for a moment. Then they set it down and began picking up the rest of the pieces, putting them away rather than setting them up for another game. There was no point.

"I don't know if I can do another game," Hero said distractedly, still not looking up at them. They hadn't seen that Superhero was already putting it all away. "Villain just got done for today, they said they're coming to pick me up."

"Hm." It really didn't matter what Superhero said to that, they could've told Hero they were pregnant and that Hero was the other parent and Hero wouldn't have reacted. They'd almost entirely forgotten Superhero already.

Despite this, oddly enough, the first sign that things had changed had started when Hero started visiting Superhero more and more often. Superhero had been confused as to why they'd been allowed to, before things had finally clicked when Hero's prison outfit had disappeared in favor of more expensive clothes. It was finally when the electric manacles that Superhero wore on their wrists and ankles had disappeared from Hero's body that Superhero finally realized what was going on.

"Yeah, because things are getting settled in more they get to work less hours! Supervillain still has to work for the rest of the day, though."

"Shame." Superhero really didn't care.

Hero weren't a prisoner anymore. Somehow, Hero was free.

They'd never told Superhero this, but it'd been obvious months ago. By now, Superhero would've been delusional if they thought Hero was still meant to be in a cell like them.

As that shift happened they began to drift apart from Superhero, visiting them not quite as often and never actually focusing on them. They were there, but they didn't really see Superhero, never really heard them. Only paying attention when they were trying not to lose at chess, only ever talking about how great their partners were.

Hero was free, and they were comfortable. They weren't going to throw that all away to try and help out Superhero and the countless other heroes imprisoned in cells similar to theirs.

Superhero watched as Hero chuckled at something one of their partners had probably texted them, their fingers moving quickly to respond. Their smile sent a pang through Superhero's heart.

The first feeling was of the utter sadness of being left out. Even if they still came to visit them, Hero had an entire life outside of them, outside of the white walls and bright lights that were all Superhero had known for the last two years. They got to go home to their partners and a fancy dinner, while Superhero was stuck here, forgotten.

They weren't sure why Hero kept visiting them, even when they made it so obvious that they didn't care about them. They'd engage for a little bit, but then Superhero could actually watch the moment Hero stopped paying attention.

Part of them wondered if Hero wasn't really coming back for them, but rather just trying to cling onto something from their old life.

Superhero wasn't quite sure how they felt about that.

The second feeling was one of anger. Hero was just fine with walking out of here, leaving Superhero and all the other heroes behind and going home. They'd done nothing so far to try and help Superhero out of here, not wanting to disrupt their new life. They walked free, free of the manacles, free of guilt. And Superhero didn't understand how.

The third realization was that even though Hero was here, Superhero had lost them.

Somehow that feeling was worse than the first two.

There came a loud blaring horn that blasted throughout the room, Hero jumped and nearly dropped their phone. Superhero, who was used to the sound, raised an eyebrow at them.

"Sorry," they smiled apologetically. "Not used to that."

Which was only a further sign that Hero was no longer a prisoner.

The sound indicated the opening of the outer cell door, and sure enough, Superhero looked up to see the huge vault-like door sliding smoothly open.

Villain stepped inside, dark clothes buffeting out behind them, the heels of their shoes clicking loudly on the white tiled floor.

Hero jumped up. "Villain!" They exclaimed, rushing over to their partner. "I didn't know you were here already- and I didn't think you'd come all the way in here!"

"Yeah, well, I wanted to walk you out." Villain slid a hand around Hero's waist, kissing their cheek before looking around the cell. "Besides, I haven't been here in a while, I thought I'd check in on the security of the cells."

"It's working fine, like usual," Superhero grumbled.

They sat on the other side of a wall of laser bars, the bars had previously split in front of them to allow the table that they'd been using to play chess to fit between them. Now that the cell door had been open the bars had slid closed, and Superhero was more closed off from the two of them. Another sign that they weren't really a part of Hero's new life.

Villain glowered at them, but otherwise didn't respond. They made sure Superhero knew their attention was now entirely focused on Hero. "We should probably get back now, Supervillain volunteered for me to make dinner and I want to have it finished by the time we get home."

"Yes!" Hero pumped their fist. "Your cooking is always the best!"

Villain smiled, already pulling them out of the cell.

While it was obvious that the way Hero immediately forgot about them was genuine, Villain was purposefully trying their hardest to show to Superhero that they weren't important here.

Superhero wasn't standing for that. "See you later, Hero!"

Hero blinked, glancing back as if they were just remembering Superhero was still there. Perhaps they were. "Oh, yeah, see you!"

In that moment, Superhero had never been able to empathize more with a discarded used tissue.

There came another blaring horn as Villain opened the cell door again, and the next thing Superhero knew Hero was completely out of sight.

Superhero was alone now in the bright white empty room.

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo a thousand time.

Hero stared at the door for a long while, taking deep breaths. They were not going to cry over someone who wouldn't have even spared them a second thought.

Letting out one more sigh they stood, moving over to their small bed in the corner of the cell.

They knew it would only be a matter of time before Hero stopped visiting them completely, before Hero's partners managed to completely drag them away from Superhero.

And they knew that their feeling of being forgotten now would be nothing in comparison to what it would feel like when they were left behind for good.

[evolutionsvoid]

I think a thing that needs to be said about ecosystems is that no matter how pretty they are, they are still the wilds. I know this sounds painfully obvious, but I feel like it is something that is still widely ignored. When it comes to dark jungles or eerie bogs, sure, people worry about dangerous monsters and hidden perils. But if it were some picturesque mesa or lush meadow, where the scenery is absolutely captivating, I feel people kind of get lost in the majesty of it all. They think themselves in some magical land, or a painting come to life! They cease to be aware of the fact that they are still in the wilds, and that the same rules apply. People will stand there dumbfounded, or blindly walk across dangerous terrain, or just ignore the fact that wild animals are afoot. Why do I bring this up? Because some of you people are way too casual about coastal areas! Particularly the places one would call "beaches!" You see a sunny sandy beach next to a gentle ocean and just throw all cares away! Start acting like you're on a resort, where there are fancy drinks and hunky lifeguards a plenty! Riptide? What's that? Say, what are these colorful birds with the weird club arms? How pretty! It never ceases to baffle me how quickly one's guard drops the second they see a nice stretch of beach far from civilization. Just rip off all your clothes and throw yourself into the waters without a second thought! One good thought to have would be "hey, does anything live there?!" That might be good to figure out before you dive headfirst into the water, or throw a towel down onto the sand, or just start grabbing random shells with your bare hands are you serious!? Sorry if I am getting a little ranty here, but oh how it drives me mad! Not only are you spoiling a good spot to do some wildlife watching, but you are also throwing yourself blindly into danger!

I bring this all up because it was meant to be a short little lead in to the species I wanted to talk about, but look where that got us. What I was meaning to do was say that I have seen this behavior all over the world, the sheer stupidity that befalls people when they see a sunny beach. And while in most cases things end up being just fine, there are a few times where fools wind up getting bitten. Literally. In one region, there is a telltale sign of when someone succumbs to this spell. When they come stumbling back into town with a nasty bloody bite on an arm or leg, you know full well someone tried to have a beach day on Nure-onna territory.

The Nure-onna are a species of reptile that is found out on the coast in subtropical regions. I know sharp eyed readers may note my vague description of calling it "a reptile." Why do I say that? Shouldn't I just say it is a snake? I mean, just look at it! Well, the reason why I chose "reptile" is because we aren't fully sure yet what the Nure-onna is, be it snake or lizard. Yes, it has a long serpentine body that it slithers with, but there are species of legless lizards out there. Sure, it has very small forearms, which would rule out snakes, but does it really? And then some people cite the prominent fangs as a snake feature, while others point out the strong muscly jaws as something more lizard-like. I find it hard to say, because I get swayed back and forth whenever people start piling on arguments, but currently I feel the Nure-onna is some kind of primitive snake. Perhaps a relic of when ancient snakes started losing their limbs, but the Nure-onna hung onto theirs.

Regardless if it be a legless lizard or a faintly legged snake, the Nure-onna is a reptilian creature with a greatly elongated body, bright splotchy patterns and a pretty distinct look. Their serpentine bodies have bright red patches of color over top white scales, making them pretty eye-catching! They possess tiny, nearly atrophied forearms, which still have claws, but they do very little. At times, they can help give traction over smooth stone, and some say that males use them during mating to better grip the females. Going to the head is where things get more interesting, as they possess very strong, brutish jaws, and a surprising shock of hair! In truth, this black mane of "hair" is actually made up of long, thin scales, which cascade off the body and bunch up together to create this illusion. Some folk compare them to very crude feathers, as if the Nure-onna tried to make feathers but gave up nearly instantly into the process. So what is the reason for having this odd collection of scales? Well, it appears that it helps them soak up the heat of the sun more, on days where simple basking isn't enough. They can be seen curled up beneath this mane during colder days, helping trap in what little heat they have, while also using the black scales to better absorb sunlight. Some also think this curling up helps disguise them from prey and predators, hiding in the shadow of rocks with this tactic. It should be pointed out that this hair is also useful for creating the illusion that makes them so infamous. Because Nure-onna have a particular shape to their heads, and curious markings too! Add in this hair, and their threatening pose of holding their upper bodies high, and the snake (or lizard) suddenly becomes a human woman!

Okay, well, not entirely a human woman, but you can see where the mistake can be made at a glance. Scary stories like to say that this is meant to lure in human prey, or disarm them with their seductive feminine appearance, but in truth, it seems more like a coincidence. People seeing similarities in certain patterns. One of the reasons I say this is because these facial markings vary slightly between individuals, and greatly between regional species. Some have patterns that are strikingly human, while others look like they were trying to apply makeup during an earthquake. So this variation suggests that this is not a particularly important appearance that they must uphold exactly. Nature doesn't seem to think it is worth anything, but that doesn't mean there wasn't some kind of selection to be had here! Some theories claim that locals long ago selectively bred certain populations to get that distinct face look to their patterns. Certain nobles and warlords liked having these human mimicking serpents around, and kept them as pets. To be clear, there was no domestication to be had here, more so having a serpent that looks like it has a face but also one that is down for taking a chunk out of intruders and people you don't like.

With a toothy maw like that, the Nure-onna is obviously a predator. They scour the beaches for prey, hunting the sands, shallows and rocky areas. They use their long bodies to slip into tight spaces and burrows, while also using quick bursts of speed to chase down prey. Their strong jaws are good for grabbing on and never letting go. They are also pretty decent at cracking open shells of crabs and other coastal invertebrates, and if their teeth don't do the trick, bashing them against rocks also helps. Nure-onna use the tactic of "bite down hard and don't let go til it stops moving." They coil around prey and chomp down, waiting to the fight drains out of their meal. If prey is larger or more feisty, they may twist and thrash their bodies around while latched on to do some real damage and maybe tear off a chunk of meat. If they can't down their food, at least they get a free mouthful!

While their typical menu is usually crustaceans, fish, small reptiles and the occasional washed up carcass, Nure-onna are known for attacking larger things. More so, they are known for being very aggressive and territorial. They are an ill-tempered lot, always perceiving others around them as potential threats or competition. While other critters may flee at the sight of a human, the Nure-onna would stand its ground til they got too close, and then the fight is on. Their way of dealing with predators is to essentially be so aggressive and bitey that they give up and find something that doesn't fight so much. Due to this nature of theirs, Nure-onna territory is marked and avoided, as people trespassing on a day the Nure-onna are out and about results in getting chased down and bitten. Obviously, not everyone listens to these warnings. They will see an isolated beach with no one else around and think they found paradise, only to find serpents pouring from the rocks and racing across the sand with teeth bared. This aggression results in the Nure-onna being labeled a "maneater," with the belief that they happily hunt and consume humans. But it actually is more that they chomp onto oblivious tourists and then consume the corpse if they succumb to the squeezing and biting. They don't specifically target people, but they won't say no to a human carcass after they have bitten their throat out.

Though Nure-onna are feared and avoided due to their strong bite and anger issues, people do hunt them from time to time. Typically, if someone wants to settle upon a coastal stretch of land, the Nure-onna are going to have to go, as you can't make a beach town with these things around. And even for villages that are already established, lone Nure-onna may travel here and try to setup shop, which thus leads to culling. Their meat is said to be quite good (though very bony) and their hides and hairs enjoyed in fashion and ceremonial garb. As mentioned before, some folk a long time ago tried keeping Nure-onna as pets, or more so punishment for others. They weren't exactly lap dogs, more so creatures that knew who fed them and who didn't have food. You would keep them in pools or moats, and let them chew on intruders who tried to sneak in. Thus, this is why it is believed these face patterns appeared, as owners selectively bred them before the trend was given up on and they were released into the wilds. In stories, people like to play up the feminine appearance of Nure-onna, pretending that they can perfectly mimic woman. They also like to use this species as minions for evil-doers and sorcerers, who unleash these faced serpents upon foes. One story claims a sorcerer used some Nure-onna to kill and rob people who walked the beach. He would cast a curse on a pretty looking stone and then leave it in the sand, so someone would see it and pick it up. Once touched, the cursed rock would bind them to the spot, weighing down on them as if it was a boulder. The serpents would emerge from their hiding place and devour the poor soul, and the evil fellow would gather what coin and jewels were left on the shredded carcass. Neat tactic, though a bit convoluted for simple banditry. I guess points for creativity?

Though the attempts at keeping Nure-onna as pets has fallen away for humans, I will say another species has formed a bond with these savage serpents, seeing that they indeed make good guards! But that is a story for another entry!

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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

"Nure-onna"

May of went too face-like for this thing, but ah well.

[saltsicklover]

Open Windows - BRB - Broken House

Title: Open Windows

Series: Broken House

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2500+

Rating: R

Warnings: Drinking, Alcohol, Swearing, Low key bad talk of Navy men, Insecurity, job interviews.

The breeze blowing in through the open windows is almost cold. No one has ever said that California is cold. Sure, the nickname The Golden State comes from the gold rush and not the rays of sun that beat down heavily on the state, but it's California. 

The O Club is dingier than Honey remembers, full of ancient Officers and their wives who still enjoy smoking inside and beer from lines that haven't been cleaned in so long that Honey actually grimaces when she thinks about it. 

The floor is sticky. So is the chair she is sitting in. The tabletop is covered in peanut shells and damn, this place is gross. Honey puts on her best smile for the manager as she slides her resume though the peanut shells. The paper absorbs a droplet of undetermined liquid when it reaches his side of the table. Honey fights back a shudder. 

The man who sits across from her seems completely disinterested in not only Honey, but his job in general. The only thing that seems to hold his attention at all is the baseball game on the television behind the bar. His eyes are trained just over Honey's shoulder. She watches as his eyes glide over the screen, taking in the way he almost mouths, his lips stopping himself halfway through his lack luster word of encouragement for the team up to bat. His tongue snakes out of his lips before he flicks it around to wet the chapped skin. Honey grits her teeth. 

"Mr. Spencer," Honey leans over right into his line of sight, a kind but annoyed smile on her face, "Thank you for taking the time to see me. Please hold onto my resume and give me a call once you've looked it over. I need to head to my next appointment. Thank you again for your time." 

The man waves a hand and gives her a noncommittal grunt as she stands up. She manages a tight lipped smile before heading for the front door. It's not worth it, she reminds herself as she pushes out into the chilled evening air. 

The dejected feeling she has been pushing down for the last three weeks seems to engross her, bogging her down like wet boots. It should weigh heavy on her shoulders but the only thing she can seem to feel is a broody sense of determination. The O Club is the fourth place she has been since nine am, and her luck doesn't seem to be improving. She is slowly exhausting all the locations that came up on her navigation app under the "BAR" tab. She scrolls back up to the top of the list, clicking on the first hit to come up. The Hard Deck. It is just a bit too close to the Air Base, but desperate times and all that. So, she throws her car into drive and heads towards base, and unknowingly towards her future. 

---

The warmth that overtakes Honey as she walks into the Hard Deck makes her skin tingle. The cold evaporates from her skin, her goosebumps easing with each step she takes towards the bar top. 

The Hard Deck is busy, bodies bumping bodies as they make their way through the crowd. Honey pulls her blazer from her shoulders, letting the fabric slide down her arms as she scootches herself around a large man in a Marines uniform. He mutters an apology to her as his forearm grazes against her shoulder, the beer in his hand sloshing around in the glass. She offers a tight lipped smile. 

The folks behind the bar are busy, a flurry of hands and glasses, liquor and tap. They each have sweat droplets peppered across their brows, their forearms coming up to dry them off. The effort is fruitless as the sweat returns. 

Honey slides herself up onto an open bar seat between a woman who is unsuccessfully flirting with a man who has a tragically overgrown undercut and a man who is engrosses in the baseball game that is playing from his phone. Honey throws her blazer across the back of her chair, hanging her purse up along with it. 

The dejected feeling begins to crawl back in. 

"You're a little overdressed, aren't you, Babe?" The woman on the other side of the bar notes as she shakes a shaker near her ear. Her voice is a tad louder than necessary but her words are kind, so Honey manages a smile, genuinely. 

"Can't seem to win today it seems," Honey shoots back with a shrug of her shoulders, "Not a damn bar in this city is hiring," 

"What's your name, Babe?" The woman asks, brushing her bright red bangs from her eyes with one hand as she pours a drink with the other. 

"Y/N, but everyone calls me Honey," The bartender nods back, sending a drink down the bar. 

"Penny! We've got a live one!" The redhead calls down the bar before nodding back towards Honey. An older woman glances towards the redhead before her eyes land on Honey. 

"You're looking for a job? Bartender?" The woman, Penny, asks, pulling down on the Budweiser tap. The honey liquid flows into the glass, foamy and cold. 

"Sure am!" Her voice is slightly too giddy for the expression on her face. She pulls a folded up resume from her pocket, the paper now crinkled and less than presentable. Honey slides it across the bar with one manicured hand. It slides across the clean bar top with ease. The redhead takes a look at it before giving Penny a quick thumbs up just below the bar near her hip. She thinks Honey doesn't see it, but she catches it. 

Penny shuffles over and trades places with the redhead. She places a bottle of house vodka and an empty glass in front of Honey with a small smirk on her face. 

"Alright then, Honey Girl, can you pour me two ounces of this, no jigger?" Penny asks sweetly, before she is back to pouring another glass of beer on tap. 

Honey stands up on the bar of the stool, allowing herself to lean over the edge of the bar to grab a rag that has been abandoned on the other side. She steals a pump of hand sanitizer from next to the register before she wipes the bottle down with the towel. Then, Honey moves to the floor, pushing the stool back behind her. She takes the house vodka by the neck of the bottle, label facing Penny. Turning it over, Honey counts out two ounces. She then places the bottle on the rubber mat on the serving side of the bar, offering the double shot in the whiskey glass to Penny. 

Penny takes it and pours the contents into a jigger, measuring out the liquid. It comes out right at two ounces and Penny tries her best to hide the smile that is beginning to stretch across her lips. She isn't ready to give Honey the job just yet...

"Can you tell me what is in a Tequila Sunrise?" Penny quirks an eyebrow before throwing back the Vodka that Honey poured just moments before. 

"Two ounces tequila, four ounces fresh orange juice, a quarter ounce grenadine, garnishes with an orange slice and a cherry," Honey raddles off the recipe, counting the ingredients out on her fingers. The counting makes Penny chuckles a bit, and Honey just smirks at her, "Hard to do it without actually pouring the drink. It's basically muscle memory," 

The women behind the bar share a devious smile. Penny shoots Honey a look laced with scheme. 

"Come on back here and make me a Cosmopolitan, would you Honey Girl?" 

Honey places her hands on the bar, leaning forward to turn her head right then left, surveying the drinks in everyone's hands with furrowed brows. Then, she turns around, standing up on her tiptoes, looking around the room. She turns back to Penny with a smirk.

"Do these military folks even drink stuff like that?" There is a glimmer in her eye, one that Penny can't help but love already. 

"Nope," She pops the 'P'. 

"Okay Penny, I'll make you your drink," Honey winks before winding though the crowd to make her way behind the bar. She rolls the sleeves of her crisp white button up all the way up above her elbows before making a pitstop at the sink to scrub her hands. Then, Honey gets to pouring. First the juices, then the liquors, shaking then straining, the drink coming out pretty pink in a martini glass. 

Honey steps back, revealing the drink to Penny like a magician might reveal a woman sawed in half. There is a flick of the wrist and a dramatic bow that makes Penny laugh out loud. The older woman steps forward and takes a drink of the pretty pink cocktail, an instant smile on her lips the moment the drink hits her tongue. 

"Are you Military officiated?" Honey shakes her head no, a slight purse to her lips. She knows it isn't quite true, but she doesn't need to air her dirty laundry in the middle of this makeshift job interview. 

Her hands are clasped in front of her as she rocks on her feet. Heel toe, heel toe. Honey wants nothing more than to spill her guts to the seemingly friendly staff at the Hard Deck. She wants to tell about her father, and what a shitty man he is for abandoning her and her mother. She wants to explain how she ended up in this little bar anyway, and everything she has left behind over the years, chasing his ghost. But most of all, Honey wants to talk about Bradley. She wants to talk about the storm in his eyes and the way he spoke so angrily to her. She wants to lament to these women in the way she couldn't with Bradley. She wants nothing more than to speak of the life she left behind, but she doesn't. Instead, she bounces on her feet. Heel toe, heel toe. 

"Are you dating anyone in the Military?" There is a bit of humor to her voice but Honey can't help the drop her stomach takes- it falls so far she feel for a moment that she might never see it again, but then the nausea hits. 

Honey can still hear the door slamming. She can still feel the way her fingertips used to gently adjust the frame next to the door. She can still see Bradley coming in drunk, over the shoulder of one of his friends. Bradley, Jake Seresin, and Natasha Trace all got sent to Pensacola and their little trio could drink that town dry if they really wanted to, and they did just that a time or two. 

The photograph of Nick and Bradley has faded to the back of her mind now, but she swears she can still see Nick's eyes when she closes her eyes. She can hear the words Bradley screamed at her, and the tightness of his throat as he did. Her own words haunt her harder, deeper, like they are melting away her insides. 

Bradley Bradshaw is the furthest thing from Pete Mitchell in her mind. He would never abandon his family, that much she knows. Honey has seen him with Jake and Natasha, knows how he cares for them, and how much love he has for not only them but his team. She has watched him pour from his cup more times than anyone else, making sur that those he cares for are loved and that they know it. 

Maybe that's why it hurt so much; having thing end the way that they did leaves Honey feeling the furthest thing from okay. 

"No," Honey answers simply. 

"Good on you, Honey Girl," Penny sends her a wink, "I can't say the same for me, but I have seen so many relationships between these guys and their significant other's go sideways-"

Honey stops listening to Penny, too focused on the glinting diamond on her left hand. The diamond is large, and absolutely sparkling even under the amber lights of the bar. Honey blinks back tears as she looks at it, memories of Bradley flashing through her mind. 

Honey wants to ask Penny if she had ever had a fight quite so bad with her own husband. If being with a Navy man is always so hard or if Bradley just decided to make it that way. Is it all circumstance or does it come with time in? Maybe the it's issued to them with their gear, but it doesn't quite matter how it got there, the matter of the fact is that it's there. 

Somehow, Honey thinks maybe Penny knows exactly what she is feeling, and though Honey was the one to walk out the door, it feels like Bradley was the one to walk away. 

When her eyes make their way back up to Penny, she is standing there expectantly, eyebrows raised. 

"I'm sorry Penny, what was that?" 

"I said, the job is yours if you want it! We have a big welcome back party scheduled for a week from Friday, and I want you here and ready for it. My husband's team is getting recalled and they are going to be very excited to see each other. Can you start tomorrow?" 

Penny has already begun digging through a cupboard below the bar, her hands working just as fast as her lips. 

"I'll be here, Penny, thank you so much!" Honey's gratitude is met with a balled up shirt straight to the chest. She catches it before it drops to the floor, and Penny chuckles at the rapid movement. 

"Great, then I will see you tomorrow, now get on the other side of my bar!" She shoos the younger woman with her hands, offering her a smile, "And Honey Girl, welcome to the team," 

Honey leaves the bar with a sense of accomplishment she didn't know she could feel. The wet boot feeling in her soul is gone, now relaced with a sense of excitement for what's to come. There is still a part of her brain replaying all of the times the door slammed and the way Bradley would stumble into her arms. Nestled next to those memories is the image of Pete Mitchell with his arm wrapped tightly around Bradley, and Honey blames the nausea that swims deep within her body on that memory. 

There is so much going on in Honey's mind that she walks straight to her vehicle, not bothering to spare a glance away from her path. Once she climbs inside her car she takes a look at the t-shirt in her hand, the Hard Deck logo on the left chest, the word, "Bartender" is printed across the shoulders. Honey smiles, so distracted from the joy and excitement that she doesn't even notice the familiar blue Bronco parked just a few spaces away. 

Honey drives back to her shitty new rental with the windows of her car down. The chilled breeze blows in, messing her hair, causing gooseflesh to break out over her skin. No one ever said that California is cold, but it's about as far away from Bradley Bradshaw that Honey can get, so she shivers and enjoys it. 

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i love opening your blog every few days like i’m unboxing really good packages that were just delivered, absolutely love all of your works. if you’re not too bogged down with life could we have more circus!reader? take care of yourself ❤️

When Dick bolted through the crowd, weaving through adults deftly, only to stop and practically pounce on a girl about his age, throwing his arms around her and lifting her off her feet. Ignoring looks and the fact that she was just a little taller, Bruce followed.

More curious than concerned. The body language of the lanky guy next to the girl went from combative to relaxed when he realized the shouts he heard were children playing and not danger.

He stepped closer and the guy glanced up from where it was now apparently his turn to hug Dick, "I-uh-"

"This is Bruce," Dick blurted out, running his fingers through his hair.

"Finn," the guy said holding out a hand.

"Nice to meet you-"

"They work in a different circus," Dick said, breaking in. "Y/N does tricks-"

"There was a kind of co-op for the kids to do school," Finn explained, "So they got to be pretty good friends."

Bruce nodded, smiling a little. The girl looked clean and cared for. Healthy. Bright eyes and dewy complexion. Maybe a little dehydrated but- He broke off and ruffled Dick's hair. "Are you in town long?"

"There's a show tonight in Bludhaven," Finn explained, "We actually came to look for Dick. Y/N has been worried."

"I knew you liked me," Dick gloated.

"Like you better when you're not talking," you shoot back. The bravado not quite covering the relief in your face that he was safe.

[mdhwrites]

Going back through TOH's episodes, it strikes me how boring they are. Part of the problem seems to be how criminally unfunny the show is, generally speaking. I can count how many times I've laughed on one hand. In fact I can list them:

There was the "It's been my dream since I was a boy" guy pushing kids off cliffs (Moving Hassle), Luz's "He'll be fine" after throwing Hunter overboard - and then his subsequent re-entry (Hunting Palismen) - and lastly Luz tumbling offscreen in front of Amity after a spider crawls on her face (Grom). That's 3 scenes, 4 jokes if we're being charitable. And sure, maybe my sense of humour is just incompatible with TOH's and I'm being harsh.

But I can't deny that I just feel like there's no rewatch value in TOH? Like it's just... the jokes are so bad to the point it's not fun, it's not entertaining, it's a slog, I see no value in retreading the same ground. And I am a SERIAL rewatcher! This is coming from someone who spends maybe 85% of their time experiencing the same stories! I love seeing well-done media all over again, because even if I know what's going to happen or what they will say, a well-structured joke or a skillfully delivered line is still gonna engage me.

I can't even recommend the show to anyone because I HAVE in the past... and what ends up happening is they watch the first couple episodes, get bored, go "I recognize that you like this, but it's not my thing" and drop it. And I CAN'T BLAME THAT! Because that's how I reacted too when I got into the show! I only stuck with it because it seemed like it was going really interesting places. And it tried to, I think, and failed.

I'm also a very fandom-heavy person so TOH's boring episodes have made it increasingly harder for me to stay within it. Because I'm not rewatching anything, I can see myself in real time as I forget more and more of the plotlines, and even a lot of the characters. It's just... kind of disappointing. It's like I just had a gradual fizzling out of interest. I don't even hate the show, which might be better in some ways - instead I just can't muster enough shits to feel any type of way towards it.

I rambled a bit but I guess my ultimate ask here was: what are your thoughts on whether or not TOH manages to entertain new/old viewers?

So I like S1. I think the characters are what carry it and that they are at their most interesting, EASILY, in S1.

The vast majority of S1, in terms of concepts and executions for plots, is OKAY AT BEST.

This actually just comes down to a simple tonal decision of TOH and also just the fact that a boring world with boring magic creates little to do with bog standard plots and TOH actually has a LOT of bog standard plotting. It is a pretty classic story structurally and takes genuinely very few risks in the structure... Which is okay in theory.

There is nothing wrong with not reinventing the wheel and TOH talks a big game about subverting tropes but no. As a fantasy fan, I can tell you this is EXCEPTIONALLY normal. Like... Insultingly from how much it talks a big game. Especially because if you're going to do classic, you have three options: Shoot the moon, lean into the unique elements of your concept or do it VERY. VERY. WELL.

And remember: They did a body swap episode and it is one of the most hated episodes of the entire show. That's not a good sign.

But this touches on the second problem I brought up: This is a boring world with boring magic. Because TOH's fantasy world is so basic, has little magic and little flair with its magic, it inherently limits what it can do. Now, it doesn't have to be this way but the show made it this way with how little we see of it, how limited it is (like how plant magic is 99% vines), and how often it just blatantly makes one to one comparisons between it and our world with effectively NOTHING altered like how the covens are just jobs, right down to them being introduced through a job fair and a boring one at that.

So when we look at a classic episode concept like the body swap episode, the three plots are... Easily replicated elsewhere. One person gets in trouble in the swap's job because they don't know what they're doing (with the most unique twist of this actually landing them in prison), a classic animal plot where they're taken in by a place that seems cozy and then isn't with literally no changes, and finally... Teenager pisses off bullies and agrees to jump DEAD MAN'S GORGE! But instead of skateboards and people really building it up, its rat beasts.

None of these plots are actually bad, they're go tos for a reason, but... No one is bringing anything special to this. Luz is entirely ignored so her character may as well not matter, Eda is doing NOTHING to add to her plot and King... King is fun for about two minutes leading the bullies and otherwise is just any other character in this situation. It's not bad, I personally enjoy parts of the episode... But it's nothing special. From the second the thing that X character is going to do is revealed, you can guess every step of the plot and they don't even really throw in good jokes in the process. A couple jokes but nothing memorable because everything is weirdly subdued compared to how other shows would be, even in an episode that is definitely trying to be more over the top.

And this runs into the inherent tonal issue of TOH: It doesn't want to be an adventure comedy. Those are genres that are commonly really over the top. They hear jump the shark and go "How about a shark jumping ten other sharks in order to finish making a can of tuna for their fire giant overlord?" And the face of this fact, in that the genres it pitches itself as for the first two episodes!

TOH flatly refuses to be silly and over the top. It's characters are very... 'realistic'. I don't mean real, just that they're meant to feel more mature by being more in control. They don't let them interrupt each other for a joke, they don't let a character be potentially OOC for a one off gag like Hop Pop screaming "EAT THE RICH!" or Sprig asking "Have you ever killed a a man, Hop Pop," and I can only think of one time Luz got mad for the sake of a joke and honestly, yelling about the Rusty Smidge barely comes across as a joke because of how genuine the anger feels after a point. Otherwise, stuff that would normally get exaggerated frustration or the like to at least let you laugh at the reaction just... doesn't get one, like how Luz yells about Luzura being killed off but then... Just walks off and is passive aggressive mostly instead of even exasperated. For a drama or romance, this is not a bad approach but for even just an adventure kid's show... It's not great to put it mildly because people meet odd situations with weird levels of nonchalance. Not quite irony poisoned levels but getting there.

It's why TOH is mostly remembered for the romance and drama episodes. Not only do they allow some of the romance scenes to actually include melodrama, they also just fit how the characters act better. It's why Amity has some of the biggest emotions of the series and why Lumity have such great lines between each other because they're actually willing to lean into the sort of genre fiction that they're doing. This is also why S2 works better than S1 because a lot of the pretense of being a comedy adventure gets dropped but like... There's still plenty of boring in S2 with stuff like how Elsewhere Elsewhen takes time travel and includes a couple jokes at the beginning and then is just... horribly bland and barely qualifies as an adventure.

This lack of allowing people to be emotional and jokey also leads to the reliance on comic relief characters. People like Gus, King or Hooty, or S2 Lilith, who the characters can mock in someway, including the writers. Characters who can be the punchline even if it means a lot of people come off a lot meaner than they should, i.e. Luz absolutely rejecting Hooty for the vast majority of the series despite supposedly liking the weird and rejected. That also means that most of the time they're not on screen, either the scene starts getting pretty dry or you have a character suddenly warp to be comic relief, like how Eda gets in some S2 episodes like Elsewhere Elsewhen or Eclipse Lake where suddenly she's MUCH more of a joke than she normally is and also REALLY bad at it too and seeming potentially brain dead for it. Thanks to Them even does this to Amity even though she is probably the last person in the cast to make sense as a sudden clutz.

All of this stuff makes it so that if you go in wanting a kid's show, a fantasy show, ANYTHING that is pitched in the first episode... S1 is going to be just okay to you. I enjoyed it... But I also fell off when I first watched it. I thought the characters were good but none of it stuck with me as actually memorable and I watched until I think Adventure in the Elements. I never was never compelled to come back until Lumity animations (literally THE Little Miss Perfect animatic that is nowadays probably hard to find actually) made me go "I remember this show being neat." And Lumity was what kept me, not because I was generally laughing or calling these episodes something special. In fact, that sense of unsatisfaction is probably why I watched through it faster than Amphibia. No one episode of TOH is really great to watch on its own because... It's just kind of boring, or like half of it is boring because the B plots across the board are SO BLAND. S1 or 2 for that matter since Lumity starts getting boring B plots like with the archives or finding out the author of Azura. Both concepts btw that could have been really interesting setups and instead... If you're not into blushing Amity, get FUUUUUCKED.

That's without getting into REPETITION. Repetition kills comedy so King having one joke for S1 and also taking up like half of the B plots for the first ten episodes means you are going to be in agony eventually anytime someone talks to him because you know where it's going and you have DEFINITELY heard this joke before. And you know, he also gets three repetitive B plots which just hurts the joke even more, even as they try to make twists on it, and hurts the feeling that the show is doing... Anything..

It's just not good. Which is probably why once the characters and the 'subversive/unique' elements of the show both weakened, more and more people left because... Why would you keep watching this then? Those elements are what made up for boring plots with boring execution in a world that didn't allow for more interesting storytelling because it had few ideas and expanded on NONE OF THEM. So of course people pitch it using the elements that say "this isn't like other kids shows/fantasy shows" because if you pitch it to people who like those... They'll just be disappointed eventually and bored quickly. Like i think a lot of people did to be quite honest.

And a lack of creativity, and a lack of genre understanding, isn't something time could have ever fixed.

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The short version of proving this point btw is going "Compare Bumi's introductory episode, which is a character giving three trials to prove another's worth, versus when the Bat Queen challenges Luz. One is exceptionally funny, interesting and has genuinely interesting twists while the other is... There. So very there. Painfully just... there. Not even bad, just... There.

Also, yes, comedy is extremely subjective which is why I tried to talk more about how a lot of these premises are boring because that can be a bit more objective.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past.

I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead.

If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[secretly-a-puca]

@four-leafed-pagan-gal if you want a bit of Irish folklore...

@ms-macintosh you might enjoy this short.

@maryland-officially OC lore drop for you?

---++-------------------------++---

I, The creature, the monster, ghost of the Bog.

I, the Trickster, shapeshifter, vengeful Fae.

I, the damned, the outcast, exiled from hell.

"I, the Pookah."

I guard my home, the dark waters and clay-mud. The silver fins and lantern bugs. I peer into the pearlescent film, and gaze at my own chromatic reflection. My black-furred body, long, long arms. The red-coal eyes that solder in my pointed face and antlered head. My last mortal trait is.my human hands, and even they are tainted by Lupine claws.

All my strength, all my magic, all my powers and infinite forms. And I cannot claim my one desire. To be human again.

I turn away.

The people of the village leave me tribute. Buy my peace. The top cream, the chicken's bones. The pig's heart. They come with their rowan wands and trade brights cloth for bog iron. And once a year they sing me a lullaby, then bind me with salt.

They fear me. Seek to control me. Use me and deprive me all in one. I am alone.

Well.

There is the Hag.

The human woman, the sage. They fear her as they fear me. But they respect her too. And she respects me. When the fires come, I will protect her.

The hag has come. She disturbs my melancholia to share with me her meal, a simple chicken broth, and the rriasted marrow on the side. Not like the leavings I share with the village dogs.

She tells me of her week. As she always does. "A girl in the village," she tells me, come to her for a potion. "Too young", the hag is disgusted, I do not understand until she tells me the girl did not choose it. "Her father."

I know the family. The mother kept the old ways, until a spring fever claimed her. Now their wards are failing. My blood boils in my veins. I whisper to the hag. When the girl comes again, the hag will tell her what to do.

---++----------------------++---

When the time comes I feel it in my bones. I walk abroad. I take the form of a black stallion, with burning eyes and human hands, the two things that never change.

I find the gate, the hole in the salt ward that lets me leave my dark home, and I ride through the skies in a rumble of terrible thunder. When I reach the distant farmhouse i land with a final peel, my warning shot across the heavy sky. Fit fettle for the nights work.

The girl has done her work well. She broke the salt ward, and She has left her offering. The morning cream upon her own sil. not the back stoop. Good girl. And the cross of chicken bone. All as described, the old law has been observed, and now I must uphold it.

I stamp my hooves and snort and shake out my mane. The fire in my eyes glows a little brighter. In human tongue I bellow out "The blood O'Biern, I call to you! Come down and face me!"

There is no answer.

"then you will burn, O'Biern. And the Others take you!" I stamp my hooves and turn to go, and then the call comes

"halt! Come back. Who calls me?" The voice is high and timid from fear. He knows me, though he doesn't believe his eyes and ears.

"I do, O'Biern. And I am kinder than my kin to the likes of you."

"Aye? Name yourself, and I'll come down."

"I am Dubhghall O'Móin. I know you of old, boy." The dark stranger from the bog. They all know me.

The man comes down as promised. Tremulous. He puts on a brave front. for my sake, I presume. "what'll you have of me tonight Doyle?"

I stamp my hoof and throw my head, and bring my burning eye down to his. "A challenge, O'Biern. You know the game. A soul for a soul, mine for yours."

"and if I win you'll serve me?"

I lift my chin "for your mortal span."

"And if I should loose?"

"you'll be mine, O'Biern. For my mortal span."

"and never know the peace of heaven..."

He looks pained, and I laugh. "Nor the other place either. Accept the challenge, or take your lumps O'Biern. By the old ways."

---++------------------------++---

[twigg96]

Even If Death Do Us Part

Daryl X Reader

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, SADNESS AHHH, MAJOR Cannon Divergence, Slow Burn, Greif, Loss, Acceptance, Hope Rekindled, Blood, Walkers, Torture,

Whumptober Prompts: No.2) I'll Call out Your Name, but you won't call back. / Delirium

Era(s): Post-Prison, Post-Alexiandria and Saviors War, (New alternate route taken from here)

Pronouns: She/Her, You/[Y/N]

Summery: When the prison fell and Daryl felt your hand slip from his own he was so sure you'd be ok... that you'd meet him at the meeting place you both agreed on. But as hours turned to days and he and Beth were pushed into the woods Daryl lost his hope in everything. When weeks turned to months and his wife never showed up on the railroad to Terminus, the Church where he prayed for the first time in his life, or Alexandria where a new life began to bloom for everyone... except him. Daryl couldn't accept she simply disappeared. You simply had to be out there somewhere. When months fazed into years and Daryl aged and so much had changed... he didn't know how he managed with out you, but when Negan drops a lead to where you might be... alive Daryl can't pass up on the opportunity to go with him and Rick to investigate despite knowing that time might have changed everything he knew about you.

When the prison fell and all descended into chaos. Amidst the gunshots blaring and the bombs exploding, Daryl had lost sight of you in the dust and mist. He had been so certain you had taken off into the woods after your hand had slipped from his own. But maybe you had boarded the bus that was to carry those unable to defend themselves to safety but was doomed to fail in it's efforts. You always did tend to throw yourself into the line of fire to protect others... Whatever the case may be, he trusted that if you did happen to end up alone, you’d know your way around the camp well enough and be fine… you would find your way back to him. He just knew it. You’d be sure to meet up at the normal place in a day or so. Just as you always did. But as he and Beth wandered ever farther away from the prison, checking the meet up spot just as they did on that first fateful day and the three that followed only to find nothing but an empty field of flowers. Daryl’s hope dimmed just as the light in the sky. Especially as Beth pushed him to keep moving, to keep surviving without you. Even after he refused having spent a full day sat on a log where you two used to sit and talk about nothing, his fingers worrying the metal of the wedding ring he wore. He knew she would never have insisted if it weren't for the herd of walkers coming their way, that Beth would have waited until the end of time if he only asked and circumstances had been different. She had been such a sweet girl. But the herd pushed them ever farther away from what they knew as home, farther from where he knew you might be, and away from hope.

As time seemed to move without him, Daryl seemed to live in a haze. Forced through the trials, tribulations of the coming weeks without you by his side. Daryl’s hope in everything wavered. The light in his eyes that once was so bright went out. He’d lost too much. The prison, where you both felt so safe as to swear to protect each other as man and wife, even though neither of you knew what that meant for the future. Sophia, whose little broken body was still burned in his mind all these months later. Merle, whose ultimate sacrifice meant survival for him and everyone of his friends standing beside him now. Beth, who's death was so fresh that haunted his every nightmare. The guilt of which bogged him down until he could no longer stand the silence which drove him mad. You, and although he didn't want to believe you were dead the lingering doubt leaked in into his brain and ate at the last remains of his sanity making him sick to his stomach with images of what could have happened. Daryl shut himself down emotionally. Locking out everyone he loved and all the friends he made along the way. It only got worse once they found Alexandria. No one could understand why he refused to stay behind the walls. Even though Rick and Carol had a hunch they didn’t want to corner him about it. He was always hunting for his Doe. Searching for you every chance he had. When the opportunity arose to scout with Aaron, to look for more trust worthy people, Daryl immediately accepted the offer. If he sat and thought on it long enough he'd have to admit to himself that his intentions were purely selfish. His only motivation driven by finding you, alive or... well that was all his brain could truly rationalize. He told himself that once he found you, the two of you would leave Alexandria. Find a nice place to stay outside of the walls that let him breath fresh air and escape suburbia. But until then he accepted his fate inside the walls.

As weeks inside the walls slowly but surely morphed into months, Daryl's fears, his sickening anxiety became all encompassing. Judith had turned two. You had missed her second birthday... and while you were there for the first, the celebration felt hollow without you there. Despite the months that went by Daryl refused to believe that you just disappeared into nothingness. That you simply didn’t exist anymore. His searching never ceased, only broadened and expanded. His runs became longer and more expansive. Slowly he began to bring less and less home. Focused solely on locating you in your entirety. Instead of simply screaming your name into an abandoned building and recklessly killing the walkers that came out, Daryl found himself searching the faces of each and every walker he took down. Taking more risks in hope of never having to see you at the end of his blade. Anxiety was constantly coursing his veins as he went out anymore. The thoughts of: What if this was the herd you got caught up in? What if this is the building he finds you in? What if you were alone when it happened and he could have stopped it? Circulated in his head on an endless loop. One night while the two were alone, Rick had offhandedly suggested gutting the walkers Daryl took down... just to be certain. When he told Daryl why... Daryl threw up before breaking down in ugly heavy sobs that wracked his entire body and brought no solace back to his broken soul.

A full year passed since the prison. Daryl never stopped wondering or worrying. But within his little cell he couldn't help but wonder if at this second. In this moment, if it was comforting or maybe a curse that you wouldn't know about his imprisonment and torture (though he'd never admit as such) at the hands of the Saviors. While that dreaded song played on loop over and over drilling itself so deep into his subconscious, he had to wonder... if you had known would you have come riding in on a white horse like his knight in shining armor and saved him by now? Would you have had the lady balls and attacked Negan too ending up in this hell hole with him? Or would you have gotten yourself killed doing something stupid but so unequivocally you? Maybe he would he have killed you like he did Glenn. Daryl hung his head in shame, letting horrible heartbroken sobs escape his throat. How the fuck did any of this end up this way? One moment they were all so happy. Glenn was going to be a fucking father... how does that just happen? How does someone just take someone like Glenn away like that? Hours passed before Daryl felt himself go numb. Glancing down at the "food" he had thrown to the floor he felt his stomach turn before a growl erupted from within. "Eat." Through everything, Daryl was certain he could still hear your voice chastising him. "Daryl, please... you need to eat. Keep your strength up." Reaching down and grabbing the food he took a reluctant bite, allowing his mind to wander to vivid images of you. His imagination keeping his sanity afloat amidst the pain.

Five years had passed since the Prison. The Saviors war was over. Daryl's only solace was knowing that Negan was behind bars with no chance of an escape. However he still didn't feel entirely comfortable knowing the bastard was still alive. Rick was now managing more communities than Daryl ever could have imagined. This also meant as his right hand man he was tasked in helping to manage these communities. Daryl would honestly have rather have eaten raw glass than get himself into politics, but if he learned anything from his time with Rick and from observing the Saviors it was better to have these areas under their control than let them do whatever they wanted. As Daryl ended back at the Sanctuary watching the sky turn dark with a moonless sky, his mind traveled with it to the darkest depths. He wondered briefly if there were a chance that you had died back at the prison and if all his searching had been in vain. But these thoughts could only stay as long as the smoke from his cigarette could linger before he dismissed them and stood to finish his rounds.

Ten years had passed since the prison, Daryl was surprised to still be alive. Alexandria had fallen more than once. And Daryl was certain that it would end in the same fate as the prison. There were more times than not that he was sure he was going to die... but your voice in the back of his head had driven him forward. Always reminding him of the good in life. Even as the passage of time grew so long that he was sure that he'd had forgotten the sweet tone of your voice it still rang clear as if you were standing right beside him. Even whenever he had attempted to busy himself with another woman for a time. To try to move on. He couldn't bring himself to do so. Not truly. He couldn't keep your face from his mind as he closed his eyes at night. Nor the smell of your hair or the sound of your voice calling out for him. And so he quickly gave up on the endeavor coming away with only Dog as proof of his efforts. However if Daryl admitted it he was surprised most by the little community that was not only growing but thriving under Rick's supervision. Negan, once an enemy turned out to be a friend in extreme circumstances. And although Daryl didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, he would fight beside him in a heartbeat.

So on the day that Negan approached Rick, Daryl, Maggie and Carol asking for help, to say they were skeptical was an understatement. Welcoming the leather clad man into his house for the council meeting, Rick watched as Negan sat at the dining room table. "What is it ya want?" Rick asked, eyeing Negan skeptically. Negan sat silently for a few moments glaring daggers into the wood of the table. It seemed to Daryl at least, that the man was contemplating. What exactly? He didn't know... nor did he care if he was being honest... "Just need a few people to come with me to come check in on something." Negan muttered lowly, his voice already sounding nearly defeated as if he knew he was about to be turned inside out despite only having said a single sentence. Rick shifted his weight on his legs. His hips swaying as he thought, his head hanging as he sighed. "Checking in on what, exactly?" He growled his expression guarded as he scanned Negan carefully. Negan rolled his dark eyes, resting an elbow on the table with a loud thunk he groaned. "Now... do you really need me to go into every detail here, Ricky. Or do you want me tell you what the core issue is?" Negan drawled sarcastically meeting Rick's intense gaze. Running his hands through his hair Rick sighed, pulling a chair out and gesturing for the others to do the same. "Alright, Negan... what is is this core issue?" Rick hissed threading his fingers together. If Daryl paid enough attention, he could see Rick's nails biting into the skin on the webbing on his other hand. Negan nodded a audacious grin crossing his lips. "The issue is, I seemed to have lost a community the Saviors used to service. Seems like the years haven't exactly been kind to these people and when we stopped coming around they went feral... Just ran into a bunch of them clothed in animal skins. They were using hand made weapons. Carved bows and arrows, knives made of bone, and spears made of sharpened branches. The group I was with could have easily handled the situation... if you get my drift. But I figured, Rick the Prick might have a bit of an issue if I just cleared out a whole community without his knowledge... besides I got some history with these folks. So here I am." Daryl couldn't say he was surprised at Negan's callousness, not anymore. But to hear him openly admit that he was thinking and debating on taking down a community single handed was a stark reminder of exactly who they were dealing with. "Stop looking at me that way." Negan growled seriously, glaring around the room. The silence was all encompassing and Daryl was quick to realize he wasn't the only one who was staring. Carol was the first to clear her throat rubbing her wrists anxiously. "So what do you want us to do about it, Negan?" Maggie asked seriously, shifting in her chair to sit up straighter. Negan rested his head in his hand smiling gently at Maggie. "You didn't hear a word I just said, did ya princess?" He whispered mockingly, his face morphing into a hateful glare when his arm whipped to point to the door, his fingers just missing Daryl's nose. "I need at least two people to come with me and see what the hell is goin' on there! I would like to hope you'd understand I'm tryin' to get this done all democratic like but if you make me play my hand I'll be glad to!" He yelled, slapping the palm of his hand down on the table once more in frustration.

Rick grunted glaring at Negan's outburst. "Alright... Daryl and I will go with ya." Rick muttered looking to the archer, checking to see if he was in. With a small nod, Daryl sat straighter, never really taking his eyes off of Negan. Rick took a breath sitting up and placing his own elbows on the table. "But we need to know what we're walking into... I don't feel comfortable going in blind." He muttered. Negan hummed, nodding as he ran a hand through his hair. "Fair enough, though don't know what good it'll do ya it's been about seven or eight years now since I've been there..." He muttered really emphasizing the time he spent in prison. "I wasn't originally gonna fuck with these people when I first crossed them..." Negan hummed lowly once he started, rubbing the stubble on his chin as he thought about the memory. "We had spotted their community from a distance and were planning on leaving them alone... they weren't fucking with anyone else... we had enough food with the trade deals we had in place. And the Saviors weren't as big as they had been when we met so we didn't have the people to patrol the area. We didn't want to risk it. But..." Negan hummed his eyes growing far away and distant in thought. "A woman came from the community... I have to admit she was fine as all Hell..." An audible groan escaped Rick's throat and Daryl couldn't help but feel a little sick thinking about the wives he met while in the Sanctuary wondering if one of them came from this community Negan was talking about. Negan's eyes flicked to Rick's for a moment before a shit eating grin graced his lips. "Don't worry, Ricky. She just wasn't my type. Besides, she was already pregnant when we found her." He muttered, his grin falling at the thought. "She was extremely dehydrated and malnourished when she practically ran up to our trucks begging for help. We gave her what we could and she pointed us in the direction of the community she was living in. Turns out the leader had been taking a select few women for himself... something I can get behind." Negan muttered chuckling at everyone's visible disgust. "However... what I couldn't get with was the fact he was beatin' on and starvin' these girls he got knocked up. The woman told me that at one point he had five wives... he was down to two when I got there 'cause he beat the other three to death. His newest one was his favorite to torture because... as she put it... the girl just appeared out of thin air one day. That woman... That woman was my type all over. Spitfire of a woman but feral as hell." Negan hummed rubbing his chin. "If have to guess. She's the one that took over now. Well her and her kids. They both were wild as hell and off the rails when they wanted to be. They complied with me when I was there as long as we kept her "husband"... and I use that term lightly... in check for her. But she always did good by her people while we were around and brought us what we asked for. When we tried asking for more she was the first to raise a fuss... never got far but she was one hell of a fighter." Negan blinked seemingly coming back to reality and the present. "What are the women's names?" Carol asked, picking at her nails half heartedly. Negan hummed a concentrated look crossing his face. "Think the girl that came by our trucks was Delila. If not it definitely started with a D of some sort. The other woman's name was [Y/N]." He hummed. Daryl tried not to show it on his face as his heart skipped a beat before dropping into his asshole. His mind raced a mile a minute with questions of: How could I have missed her? How couldn’t I have known? How could I have given up so easily? Trying to focus on the wall straight ahead of himself, Daryl chewed his nails trying to force himself to focus on the conversation. But as the taste of blood filled his mouth and the feeling of Carol's eyes burned into him unhelpfully he could feel himself spiral further. The only thread of rationalism he could seem to cling to was that [Y/N] was not an uncommon name before the turn.

The rest of the meeting seemed to move by in a blur for Daryl. He knew he should have been paying closer attention. That he should have been able to control the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. But as Rick's voice became murmurs and Negan's replies became mumbled fog. Daryl simply hoped that Rick was taking in the important information as he stood abruptly making the chair he was sitting in clatter to the floor. Eyes. There were so many eyes on him it was suffocating. Daryl's grip on the table tightened to the point it made his old joints pop as he glared into the silence caused by his interruption. "Need air." was all he could get out as he stormed out of the room. Pushing open the door he found himself out on the streets of Alexandria, pacing back and forth from the front step to the garage, debating if it was wise to climb on his bike and take off into the woods now or to wait it out and hear what Rick and the others had to say. It wasn't long before Carol came chasing after him. Their endless game of cat and mouse in full effect as she simply stood on the stairs watching him pace. "Daryl..." She said so lowly it was hardly a whisper and in that moment Daryl wanted to collapse and break down. He wanted to allow himself to overanalyze everything Negan told him. But he couldn't. Not when he needed his wits about him for the mission. Not when he couldn't be certain what he heard wasn't just his over active imagination again. Not whenever your name was just thrown into the conversation so casually. "Rick will understand if you choose not to go... there are so many others that can go with." She said it so surely. And for a moment Daryl felt... an ease of calm wash over him that was indescribable. He'd think after so long after not knowing he'd be itching to get to you but now faced with the uncertainty of it all... all he felt was nauseated like he couldn't take a full breath or else he'd hurl all over the pavement. The option to not go was unacceptable and not even an option he knew that. He wouldn't let himself accept it. But knowing there was always a chance, a choice to turn away and keep from hurting himself more was comforting. "But..." She started more confidently this time. "I understand if you need to go... And you know we'll all support you through it. Even if it ends up not being her." Carol said calmly, walking down slowly and catching Daryl mid-pace standing directly in his path forcing him to stand stiffly in front of her. Reaching her hand out carefully she brushed the hair from his face before pulling him down to her level allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder. "But, no matter what happens. Even if it is her. You have to promise me that you will please... just come back home in one piece." She whispered, kissing his forehead. For the first time in so long he couldn't remember, Daryl cried real tears that left him feeling better instead of feeling hollow when he could breathe again.

Rick had decided that it was better to leave sooner rather than later. Whether it was for Daryl's peace of mind or his own, the archer couldn't truly tell. Hours had passed since they had left the gates of Alexandria. The trio marched quietly on over the dirt and leaves of the forest. Daryl couldn’t seem to quell the anxiety that bubbled and boiled in his stomach. Taking down the odd walker along their trail seemed to take the edge off. It helped to do something so familiar, something he knew was good at. Maybe the only thing he was capable of anymore. For a short while Daryl thoughts were empty. He let his body move on auto pilot. Circling the trail just like a shark before coming back to round on the others. It wasn't long before he was pulled back into his sick and twisted reality. Rick sent him the odd glance he assumed were supposed to be reassuring but after everything the man had gone through in life it only managed to look constipated. As the pavement they were walking turned to a well worn dirt path carved into the forest Negan sighed glancing to Daryl. “Do I get to be let in on whatever the fuck is going on? Or do I have to ask?” The tightness of anxiety exploded inside of Daryl's chest not letting him breath let alone speak. Swallowing hard he shrugged. Negan hummed. "Well something ya heard set ya off. Or ya wouldn't be acting so damned strange." Negan remarked. Daryl simply glanced at Negan. How could he explain ten years of grief in a way that sounded reasonable? Did he even want to try given Negan's past? He knew whatever hope was brewing in his mind was a long shot but then again if it was false hope would Negan be able to answer those questions? Daryl sighed looking to the ground. It was better not knowing than relying on a snake in the grass. Rick's concerned eyes said it all. He was thinking the same thing. And it killed Daryl to think that he might not have grown stronger at all in the ten years... or worse he he'd grown to the point of being so weak that the disappointment of loosing your trail would no longer phase him and he'd have accepted your loss without blinking an eye. Daryl feared himself the most out of all of this and it drove him nuts. Glaring at the ground he shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the intense stares his friends were sending his way. "I'll take that as a fuck you then..." Negan sighed.

Reality faded into a blurry void as the dead leaves and gravel crunched under feet. Focused solely on his senses Daryl took down every walker in a twenty foot radius of the trio, despite there not really being a need to. His nervous energy would allow him to do nothing else. Time after time he came back onto the path to reconnect with the others to reassure them he was still following covered with dirt, sweat, and walker blood. It was on one such silent check in that Negan suddenly grabbed him by the crossbow strap and Rick by the wrist. Negan's face was twisted into a horrific glare as he stared up at the branches of the trees. "Heard something in the tree." He whispered softly, gesturing to the slow moving shadow in the canopy above them. Taking slow and precise steps Daryl became all the more aware of the crackling of the branches over head. Pulling his crossbow over his shoulder he quietly cocked it, loading it with a single bolt as they walked on the dirt trail. Doing their best to make as little noise as humanly possible. Taking aim the smell of the dead assaulted the senses much faster than the sounds of their groans. Daryl frowned at the dead dancing at the end of a rope lining the path not far ahead of them. Makeshift stakes surrounded the tree in which they hung kept people away from ending their suffering. Wooden plaques with the names and crimes of the dead were nailed into the ground. They simply read: Here Hangs: John Headberry - Treason. Kaden Patenson - Murder. Grace Freelance - Arson and Murder. Peyton Freelance - Conspiracy. Jason Greenwater - Kiddnapping May they forever pay. Eyeing the tree Daryl felt a chill run down his spine as he shook his head. He would never understand the cruelty of mankind. "They were damned good people..." Negan muttered, looking to the ground a pained look on his face. "Damned right they were." An unfamiliar voice called from behind the trio. Whipping around to face the voice, Daryl drew his crossbow aiming directly for... a child. The boy who could be no older than fifteen had windswept shoulder length blonde hair that covered his grey eyes. Black soot like dust was smeared across his eyes and face in what looked to be a purposeful pattern. He was thin, not only from malnutrition, although if Daryl had to guess he would assume that had a lot to do with it. The skin he could see from underneath the black panther's pelt he wore as a cloak was pale and horrifically marred and scarred. How they got there, Daryl didn't know... nor want to know if he was being honest with himself. In a brief second of indecision Daryl found himself lowering the bow and unable to fire on the boy that looked all too much like Rick's eldest son. Rick must have felt the same way as the pistol he had pulled in self defense shivered in the air and lowered despite the teen pointing what looked to be a very sharp stick at the three of them. Negan however... he never wavered. "Fuckin' brat. You tryin' to get yerself killed, Lee?" He growled, grabbing the end of the makeshift spear and pushing it away from their chests inadvertently making the boy stumble a few steps back as he tried to hold firm in his resolve. The kid, Lee growled glaring at the ground before turning his gaze onto Negan. "No! No, you don't get to just call me Lee! Like nothin' happened at all! Fuck you!" He growled defiantly, tossing his spear to the ground in a huff. Negan frowned but stayed silent. "You up and disappeared when we needed you most!" He hissed, his voice cracking showing his age jabbing a finger at Negan's chest. "Look. Look at all those faces! They died because of you, Negan! They died cause you left. And, they ain't the half of those who sacrificed their lives for the greater good of the community. And what's fuckin' worse!" The boy's voice wavered and broke as a sob ripped through him. "Momma... she was so sure... so certain you'd come back riding in on your trucks to save her like you did the first time... but ya never did." The boy finished, mere inches from Negan's face.

At first Daryl wasn't sure how to react. He was stunned. Of course he had heard other communities talk about how their deals with Negan actually benefited them in the long haul but he never really believed them at all. He thought that maybe it was a fear tactic Negan had on them. All part of the torture and profit plan. But as this boy glared daggers into Negan, and Negan simply looked... apologetic and slightly heartbroken. Daryl was reminded that Negan, despite all the shit he put them all through, was in fact human too. "Your momma?.. You mean Delila's gone?" Negan asked softly. The boy huffed swiping fat tears from his face but he nodded all the same suddenly looking so young and fragile. Negan reached his hand out gently gripping the boy's shoulder, squeezing it for as long as the boy allowed before he shook it off. "She was a hell of a woman Levi." Negan whispered. Levi nodded swiping his face more, taking deep calming breaths to try and soothe himself. "Why are you here Negan? If you're here to get your shit you're several years too late..." Levi finally whispered out, glancing around Negan himself to warily judge Rick and Daryl. Negan shook his head with a sigh. Looking at the ground than to Levi. If Daryl guessed Negan was trying to find the right words to explain things to the kid... but instead Negan just pushed back his hair. "Look kid," He started solemnly. "I don't do that extortion racket anymore. We're just here to figure out what the fuck happened here." Levi frowned deeply rubbing his arm self consciously. "So what your tellin' me is you don't protect people no more... You just let 'em suffer?" He asked seriously. Negan sighed scrubbing his face. "Look, kid." Rick chimed in stepping forward. "Negan's just been real... tied up recently. Quite literally. Now he's tryin' ta make this right. So you can either tell us what the hell is going on and take us to the other's to make sure everything's ok... or we can find out for ourselves." Rick's voice became venomous as he glared at the boy, readjusting his grip on his pistol for good measure. Levi, seemingly sized Rick up before turning his gaze to Daryl. "They your new shit kickers?" He asked Negan. The leather clad man laughed elbowing Rick hard in the ribs. "Fuck I wish... but nah. These are just some... concerned friends of mine. Rick," He said jutting his chin out at the greying man. "and Daryl." Negan finished gesturing towards the archer. Levi seemed to think on this for a moment looking up to the tree full of walkers. "It wasn't long after the last time you checked in before Giedion started acting a fool again..." Levi muttered. "He started preaching to the community that if we simply believed in his word than the people the community would be kept safe from the walkers. If they got bit they wouldn't turn because his grace would heal them... It was all a crock of shit and all lies he spun before you came along accordin' to momma." Levi took a shaky breath leaning down to pick up his discarded spear. "Dangerous fuckin' lies." Daryl found himself saying before he could catch himself. Levi nodded meeting his eyes. "It got more people killed than the bastard would ever admit... I remember the horror of loved ones turned into walkers roaming out of the clinic. Giedion would always claim it was because they didn't believe hard enough. Their faith wavered and so they turned and they deserved it." Levi shook his head in disappointment. Negan looked pale and sick. "He started getting harsh with the women in the community a few years after you disappeared. He started punishing women around the community for not making dinner fast enough. He burnt all the women with hot coals as punishment one night for it. Although we never saw it I'm sure he started beating on momma and [Y/N] again. Put momma in the clinic more times than I can count. That's what finally killed her." Levi said. "What about [Y/N]? What happened to her?" Negan asked before Daryl could formulate the words.

Levi smirked a bright light filling his eyes and filling them with life and vigor. "[Y/N] stayed strong through it all. It was as if she was born to exist in adversity. If it wasn't for her we wouldn't be here today." Levi said confidently. "She met with a select few of us and started a rebellion against Giedion. She trained us to fight walkers, how to avoid walker bites more regularly. That and she actively tried to save bite victims by amputating when she could instead of simply letting them turn. I think that's why Giedion started beating on her more. He got suspicious when less and less town's folk died of bites. When momma died a few weeks ago [Y/N] appointed her kids and me as heads of divisions to the rebellion. Together we struck down four of the five head leaders who were mind controlling the community. We currently have Giedion incarcerated right now but that's only because the few that are still brain washed by him refuse to let us properly deal with him. However..." Levi shuffled his feet looking down uncertainly. "last night, [Y/N] went missing after she and Giedion went for a walk together. They were supposed to be discussing peaceful negotiations, figuring out how to move forward in a community that relies on them both. And as much as I hate to say it there is too big of a population in the community that clings to Giedion's belief system for there not to be an uprising if [Y/N] took over forcefully. So I get why she wanted to try and talk shit out... we thought she should have been safe. She was armed. He wasn't. But when he said he shoved her into the heard to escape it... When he said that he just stood and watched her get devoured until there was nothing left and that it somehow proved that she was the least worthy to be saved and blessed by whatever he fucking believed in... we all collectively lost our shit. His believers riled up to save him from us and had to be detained until further notice. Some of his followers that liked [Y/N] changed to the rebellion including my grandmother. [Y/N]'s kids had to be held back from outright killing him until we get more information... and I came out here to distract myself from doing the same... the bastard... my own father took not only my momma from me but a woman I see as a second mother as well." Daryl's heart beat in his ears and his skin flushed. [Y/N] had been here just mere days ago... now she was missing and feared dead... again. What a fucking world. Biting the side of his thumb Levi watched in interest for a moment. A small smile forming on his face as he watched. "I'll take you back to camp with me for now... it's getting dark. You three can decide what to do in the morning... Just let me finish what I came to do." Levi muttered gesturing to the walkers hanging from the tree.

The walk to the community was much longer than Daryl had expected. Maybe that was because his mind was preoccupied with other things. He wasn't focused on the path ahead. He wasn't focused on the walkers that threatened them at every turn. Rick and Levi took up the task of taking down the dead. Negan walked side by side with Daryl, sometimes guiding the archer with gentle nudges, gestures to stay on the winding path as they walked. "Ya finally gonna tell me?" Negan asked breaking the silence, watching Rick and Levi take off ahead to take care of a small but manageable hoard of walkers that were headed their way. Daryl took a shaky breath coming to a complete standstill on the path. The hot tears that fell felt so much more painful than the hopeful ones he allowed himself to have back at Alexandria with Carol. Quiet heart wrenching sobs ripped through him as he paced back and forth across the path where they were stopped. The look on Negan's face, understanding and concerned was not what he expected but he accepted it all the same. "I-I..." he tried to say shaking his head. "I think... she's my wife... [Y/N]." Daryl finally got it out. He said it out loud for the first time. And it fucking hurt like hell. Negan didn't say a word but the way his eyes shimmered in the dying light was proof enough to Daryl that there were a million questions formulating on the tip of his tongue. "Well, fuck, Daryl." Negan finally said reaching out to grasp the archer's arm firmly. "We better get up there so we can have a good old fashioned family reunion."

Daryl was grateful that Negan didn't make a fuss out of his breakdown. Instead taking up for him claiming that the archer had a bug in his eye. It wasn't much longer before the lights of a tiny town caught their eyes. The smell of wood smoke familiar to their noses by now, however the murmuring of people outside their makeshift homes did nothing to ease Daryl's anxiety. The community was small. There were maybe 12 cabins in total with one large sturdy one everyone was currently gathered around. A fire was set in the yard of this cabin, meat cooking over the flames and several elderly people warmed their hands against the heat it produced. The place looked like it used to be an old boy scout's camp ground with various weathered flags hanging around and totems sticking out from the ground. Animal skins hung from each home that matched the pelts that the people wore around their bodies. Walking up to the crowd gathered around the fire Daryl cringed away from the intense overwhelming silence that fell over the crowd when they stepped into the light. "Levi... What have you done?" A woman within the crowd gasped. "Are you trying to get us all fucking killed?!" A man screamed out. Daryl could see a father usher his young children behind him. A teenaged boy stepped between Negan and his family, his mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder keeping him from stepping any closer. An elderly woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd a wide smile on her face, white wispy hair falling out of the braids that careened down her sides. "There's my boy. Welcome home." She mused, her accent thick and heavy, with her arms wide. Levi smiled softly at the woman, kneeling down to place his gear down before hugging her tightly. "Hola, abuela. ¿Cómo va todo?" Levi asked softly. The older woman laughed looking towards the travelers Levi had brought with him. "No es tan interesante como lo que trajiste a casa." She whispered, pinching Levi's cheek hard. "So, Negan..." She said firmly walking over the leather clad man. Negan stood straight smiling down at the small woman. "Are you here to help? Or to take?" The woman muttered seriously eyeing Negan. The greying man stayed quiet for a moment shuffling his feet. "Help." Rick finally answered stepping forward. But he was ignored completely by the woman who glared at Negan. "There is nothing left to take. The storage lockers were all emptied after you stopped showing up. The food supply started to dwindle. Now with the rebellion we are in dire straights. We have nothing but the clothes on our backs and enough to make it through the winter should you allow it." She muttered earnestly. Negan sighed and scrubbed his face. A tense silent moment passed over the crowd before he nodded. "We're here to help Gabriela... just like Ricky said." He chuckled smirking as Rick smacked him on the arm. "Then you should come inside. There is much to discuss before the next sun." She said nodding to the large cabin. But as her eyes met Daryl's she stopped staring at him for a moment gauging and judging him. Her stare burned into Daryl's skin like hot coals, instinctively making him flinch away. "He's here to help too ma'am." Rick said trying to reassure her, but instead the woman took a step closer to the archer. "You look so familiar..." She whispered. "Maybe it is nothing... but I believe we may have met before. If not in this life, surely in another." She says softly. Daryl shuffled his feet not entirely sure of how to respond. His eyes drilling holes into the ground and yet he could still feel hers staring hot into him. Chewing the side of his thumb to distract himself from the feeling he caught a glimpse of her smile. It was so similar to the smile her grandson had sent him in the forest not too long ago that it rattled Daryl slightly but he tried not to think too hard on it. "Now I know... come there is something you need to see."

Leading the men through the crowd the woman parted the people with an air of authority that Daryl knew Rick envied. The murmurs of the crowd never ceased but dimmed as they passed. Climbing the stairs to the cabin Daryl could hear glass shattering. Levi jogged to the door and swung it open just in time to watch a glass vase fly past his face. "It's 'bout God damned time you got back!" A male voice screamed from inside the cabin. Crossing the threshold into the cabin, Daryl was shocked to see two teenagers. Daryl felt his heart squeeze and his stomach flip. The girl looked so much like [Y/N] did when she was sixteen it was uncanny. Daryl had to pinch himself to be certain he wasn't dreaming. But as the girl turned to look at him with piecing blue eyes Daryl's heart sang. There were four adults placing themselves protectively between her and a teen boy who paced the entire length of the room. His hair was cut in a short crew cut. Physically it was like looking into a mirror that reverted him to his sixteen year old self. The boy was a spitting image of himself with the temper to match. The only glaring exceptions were [Y/N]'s soft eyes and the small glimpse of Merle he could make out in this boy. Daryl felt nauseous. He didn't want to get his hopes up. Didn't want to get his heart broken again but... what if they were his? The feeling of a cool soft hand in his own brought him back to reality. Looking down he met the elderly woman's eyes once more who smiled almost reassuringly. "Who the fuck-" The boy screamed pulling Daryl's attention once more. With one movement the kid flipped an end table and smashed whatever was sitting on top. Feeling the hand slip out of his own Daryl watched as the woman walk up to the teen, anxiety tightening his chest. "Abuela." Levi urged from somewhere beside the archer. Reaching out a hand the woman touched the boy's arm. "Destroying what you own will achieve nothing." She said softly. It was like a switch was flipped and Daryl could visibly see the teenager physically relaxing. "Negan, Rick and Daryl are here to help." She said introducing the trio, gesturing to them all. The boy eyed them warily. The girl nodded. “Hi.” She said so softly Daryl barely heard her. The woman smiled gesturing for the girl to come closer. “This is Fawn and her twin brother River." She said kindly, wrapping her arm around Fawn's shoulders. "Damn have you two grown." Negan said fondly a smile pulling his lips shaking his head in disbelief he stepped forward. "Ya'll probably don't remember me much." He muttered lowly. Fawn eyed Negan warily. River's head dropped staring at the ground staring at the carpeted floor in silence as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. "Don't think too highly of yourself Negan." Fawn hissed taking a step forward to jab her finger into his chest. "How could we possibly forget a good for nothing, two timing, piece of shit like you?" She growled glaring at him hatefully. Daryl watched Negan carefully. So sure he was going to retaliate. But the leather clad man never moved. Never even flinched. Just frowned down at the girl as she huffed and began to pace across the room. "Ya know Momma actually kinda respected you in a weird way." She growled glaring at Negan. The graying man nodded silently. "Good... then you're gonna help us find her. Got it?" She ordered so defiantly that a chill rolled down the trio's backs. "Do I need to fuckin' be here?" River asked looking to Gabriela. The elderly woman looked up to him with kind eyes but nodded her head. "Just stay until we finish talking... Then you can take a walk." River nodded once before pushing past Negan and Daryl to stand in the nearest corner watching the others like a hawk.

Gabriela flipped a few chairs back over and placed the cushions back in the couch that River had tossed around. "Come sit." She urged to the circle of chairs that now sat in the center of the lodge. The crackling of the fire place and soft murmuring of people's voices outside the cabin were all that broke the silence as the group found their seats. But Daryl found it too difficult to sit for long. Anxiety coursing hot through his veins. But if Gabriela minded him standing and pacing she never seemed to say it out loud. The elderly woman picked at her nails, taking a deep shaky breath as she seemed to think about what she wanted to say carefully. "I am willing let you and these men stay here with all the amenities you need." She paused, taking another shaky breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she closed her eyes preparing herself for the words needed to be said, her bottom lip quivered and finally she spoke. "But... I need you to get my son to tell the truth... and then-" She stopped once more covering her mouth as a silent sob wracked her body. Levi wrapped an arm around her delicate shoulders squeezing her lovingly. "I need you to kill him. He's caused too much hurt and suffering to this community. It needs to end now." Silence once again gripped the room. Daryl could hardly imagine the pain Gabriela was feeling. Glancing around the room he took in the expressions of the others. Fawn who sat stoic next to Negan had pulled a knife from her sheath and using it to dig dirt from under her nails. River leaned up against the walls chewing on the side of his thumb. Nether twin seemed especially phased by this news. "Ok. Done. We already promised Levi we would help." Negan agreed easily. Too easily for Rick. "Wait... ma'am I apricate the amenities I do. But... ta just kill him? Is there anything else-" But Gabriela shook her head. "Just find [Y/N] that's all we ask." Daryl nodded. "We will. I promise." He muttered meeting Gabriela's gaze. "Daryl... we need to talk about this." Rick whispered shaking his head. "Nah... It's settled. I'm doin' this." Daryl growled turning to glare at Rick. "Now you can either come with me... or you can leave in the morning without me but I ain't leavin' without her... not this time." He muttered.

"Wait..." Fawn whispered sitting straighter in her seat as she turned to face Daryl. "What do you mean this time?" She hissed. Watching as River pushed himself away from the wall and take a few inquisitive steps forward Daryl cursed under his breath. "Awe c'mon kiddos." Negan started an insidious smirk gracing his lips. "I'd think you both were smart enough to figure it out by now..." He teased, standing up to wrap an arm around Daryl's shoulders. But when the twins only stared at him more confused Negan rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "This here... is your Dad." He stated, patting Daryl on the chest for effect. The archer growled pushing Negan's arms away trying desperately to ignore the strange looks the twins were giving him. "God Damn it... Why'd ya have ta say that?!" Daryl hissed, backing away a few steps. Fawn stared at the archer stunned and shocked white while River was clearly pissed. "Oh yeah?!" River growled sarcastically. "Well where the hell were you all our lives and why do you give a fuck about Momma now that she's-" River cut himself off, turning away from the group. With baited breath Daryl watched as tiny tears prickled the corners of River's eyes as he huffed and lifted a delicate blown glass vase that rested on the end table next to him. Flipping it over in his palm River watched as the water and flowers inside poured out of the vessel poured out before whipping the glass at the wall past Daryl's head. "Ya know what... I don't give a fuck!" River screamed walking towards the oaken door. "Fuck this... I gotta take a fuckin' walk." River huffed grabbing his coat from the hanger before throwing open the door. "River!" Fawn screamed out trying to keep her brother from leaving. But he was already gone the door slamming hard behind him as he left. "Let him go." Gabriela urged reaching down to pick up a stray broken piece of glass. "There are more pressing matters at hand right now. You three can discuss this later."

The silence that encompassed the hall after River walked out was palpable. Rick was still staring at Daryl and Negan who had sat back down. Fawn fidgeted restlessly in her seat and Daryl could only assume what thoughts plagued her mind in this harrowing moment. Levi and Gabriela seemed to be the only two who had their wits about them as they spoke in Spanish to each other. About what? Daryl had no idea and at this moment he had wished he had taken those Spanish lessons from Rosita. "My grandma says that Gabriel is incarcerated in the basement of this cabin. He is chained up and should pose no threat to you... however you have every right to end his life should he act against you." Levi stated rubbing the old woman's shoulders as heavy sobs ripped through her. Negan nodded looking to Daryl and Rick. "Thank you... We'll go get on it." Negan muttered standing without a second thought despite the way Rick grumbled and opposed. "I'll take you to the basement." Fawn said standing a little too quickly, looking a little too excited. But Negan shook his head a gentle smile gracing his lips as he walked past her. The boards under his feet creaking with every step he took. He patted her on the shoulder turning to her only slightly as he passed. "Fawn, darlin'." He started softly, the teenager huffed and turned on her heel to follow the ex-warlord looking mildly annoyed. "I apricate the offer. But why don't you just wait at the top of the steps?" He hummed trudging towards the basement door. "I want to help! I want to be the one that kills him!" She growled chasing him. Negan rolled his eyes and stopped at the door, grasping the brass handle tightly he turned to Fawn, followed closely by Daryl and Rick. "Look, princess." Negan hissed, pointing at the girl. "This isn't going to be some walk in the park easy sunshine shit I think you think it will be... so tell you what... if you really want you can sit on the bottom stair and watch but if you interfere at all. You and I are gonna have major problems. Do I make myself clear?" Accepting a pitiful nod from Fawn, Negan swung his hand over to Rick, glaring at the bearded man. "Ricky... you need to quit your bitching." Negan ordered curtly before pointing at Daryl last. "And you get to keep an eye on that daughter of yours. Or I'm gonna get real pissed and you know how I get when I'm pissed." Negan threatened swinging the basement door open released the helpless cries of a desperate man. Negan stood straighter fixing his leather jacket and twirling his bat in his hand in a way that only brought horrific flashbacks to Daryl's mind. "Do I make myself fuckin' clear?" Negan asked seriously. Daryl found himself nodding without realizing it, Rick only glaring in response. But Fawn crossed her arms over her chest staring back at Negan defiantly. "I'm going to kill him..." She said authoritatively.

Negan scowled at the girl but didn't say a word about her outburst. Instead he gestured for the others to follow him down the stairs. The wooden boards creek and whined under the weight of the group as they thundered down them. Nails poke precariously from the sides of each boards, swaying like the waves of the sea as each person placed their weight on each stair. The moans and cries of the man held captive in the basement down below was accompanied by the rattling of the chains. Mumbled screams of a man broken comes from the basement below. Coming to a stop Negan turned allowing Rick to squeeze past, stopping Fawn and Daryl on the wooden steps with a look that would kill if he let it. "I'm damned serious." He growled looking to them both pointedly. "Piss me off and see what happens..." Pointing to the last step with Lucile he glared at Fawn. "Sit." He ordered. The teen glared at Negan, simply staring at him, refusing to move for a long moment until finally she plopped onto the bottom stair crossing her arms over her chest. "Happy?" She asked sarcastically. Negan hummed looking to Rick. "Hold that door open." He muttered pointing to the splintered wooden door keeping them from the man on the other side. "She wants to watch... Let them watch." He muttered lowly. "'sides we might need Daryl's brand of..." glancing back at the archer he eyed the leather clad man. "Persuasion." He muttered and although his voice was lilted into it's old uncanny expressions Daryl could see in Negan's eyes. The greying man was truly not enjoying this one bit. It was a job. It needed to be done.

Rick sighed and nodded that scowl from before permanently plastered to his face as he jostled the door before giving it a good push and opening it. The man inside was chained directly to the floor by his hands and his feet. Keeling on mud covered knees the man looked up to the people he believed to be his saviors through two large black eyes. His light brown hair was matted with blood and his plaid shirt was coated in the same dark substance. "Who-" He cried wincing away from the door. But when he noticed Negan at the entrance his skin went pale white. "Fuck... Fuck... FUCK!" He screamed out scrambling to get as far away from the man as physically possible by pulling and ripping at the chains making blood ooze from his wrists. Negan took a deep breath giving the man his signature smirk as he walked into the room, twirling Lucile with each step. "Gideon... Gideon... Gideon." He muttered, circling the quaking man like a shark. "What the hell have you been up too while I was away?" Negan asked kneeling down in front of Gideon, placing Lucile down with her blunt end on the ground twisting her so that the man could get a good look at her. Daryl knew he was fucking with him. Knew from personal experience... but if anyone was going to find where [Y/N] was... it was him.

The man shook his head, his eyes flicking from Negan to Rick fearfully before they landed on Daryl and Fawn. A sudden wave of rage washed over his face. "What lies did those fucking twins tell you?!" He hissed, glaring at Fawn. Negan however did not seem to like his change in attitude. Grasping a fistful of brunette hair, he forced Gideon to look at him. "Don't look at her." He growled. "Matter of fact. Keep your eyes on me. If you don't I can help it so you never look at another person ever again... Got it?" Negan hissed, pulling his knife from his belt holding the blade dangerously close to Gideon's eyes. "Now... tell me." Negan said twisting the man's hair painfully. "What the fuck did you do to [Y/N]?" Gideon whined but as Negan brought up your name he stiffened and glared at Negan. "Why do you-" He cut himself off, blinking and suddenly bursting into a fit of manic laughter. "Oh! I get it now." He nearly yelled. "I always knew those bastards weren't mine..." He muttered through a fitful chuckle. Negan, Rick, and Daryl stared at the man as if he'd finally lost his mind. "You just put that together..." Negan muttered smirking and nodding along, backing off a bit, still holding tightly to his knife. "Nah... I knew from the moment that bitch showed up... but when you did... all high and mighty with your trucks and your guns..." Gideon became quiet glaring at the ground. "Shoulda figured the kids were yours." He muttered meeting Daryl's eyes. "Ya look jest like them... wonder if yer that guy she talked about in her sleep. The archer?" He sighed shaking his head slowly with a rumble of his chest. "Bet that means Levi's actually yours then?" He asked Negan smirking up at him. Negan scowled down at him, shaking his head as he stood. "God you are fucking pathetic." Negan sneered. "Just answer the fucking question before I have to hurt you..." But Gideon just smirked up at him silently . "I killed her." He laughed.

Ice ran through Daryl's veins and the world around him faded as if he had tunnel vision staring at Gideon. It was silent for a long moment before Rick spoke. "What do ya mean?" He asked. He always did have the most level head of the three of them. He could handle a lot that the others would explode at. Gideon turned to smile at Rick with an evil and soulless glint in his eyes. "Took her out back and shot her like the bitch she was." He mumbled out through manic laughter. "Tied her to a tree and everything-" Before Gideon could finish Negan's fist had connected with his skull bringing the man down to the ground. "Tell me where she's at! Now!" He screamed emitting all the rage that Daryl was feeling but using all of his strength to simply pace the small space in front of the stairs like a caged animal. "Why so you can see her all turned like a-" Gideon sneered once again cut off by the arrow that nearly missed this time. Daryl had had enough. Storming into the room, Rick held him back as best he could. "Daryl!" Rick tried to reason through the fog of red he was seeing. If Negan cared about his outburst, he never said anything, simply lifting Gideon by the hair to look at Daryl. "Want me to let him have you? Then tell me!" He growled, kicking the leader while he was down. Spitting blood onto the dirt below Gideon was silent for a long time... too long. "Bout a mile outside the compound. You might find her tied out there... then again how long has it been?" He didn't get a chance to finish his own thought as a deafening shot pierced the air and blood poured from his mouth as he gasped for his very breath. Negan, Rick, and Daryl turned to the stairs wide eyed and shocked staring at Fawn sitting just as she was told. Glaring hatefully at Gideon she had a small pistol drawn, smoke still rolling from the barrel. Fawn stood slowly, shaking with rage as she approached Negan holding her pistol out for him and pointing to Lucile with her other hand. "Now." She muttered. Dropping Gideon to the floor, Negan sighed, taking Fawn's gun and ruefully handing her Lucile before taking a few steps back. Meeting Rick and Daryl's stunned gazes he shrugged as Fawn took the first swing. "She didn't move."

Emerging from the cellar blood splattered and with a new understanding of the girl, Daryl stood out in the grass smoking a cigarette. Rick stood close by, giving him the space he needed but he knew deep down, his friend was keeping an eye on him. Fawn had gone to wash off before their track in the morning. Which from what Daryl could tell by looking to the sky wasn't too long now. The fire illuminated the empty courtyard. An old overgrown sand pit that once was used as a outdoor volleyball pit was swarmed with traps for the undead. The Tiki Tower that he could only assume boy scouts had to climb for some asinine game of get the flag or something he never experienced as a child, glared down at him in the dim light judging him for his sins. Taking a long drag he held the smoke in his lungs looking at all the cabins he could see in the darkness. Two forms, one tall the other a bit shorter ducked behind the nearest one. Cocking a brow Daryl tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground stamping it out, batting the cloud of smoke that circled his head. "I'll be back." He called to Rick, gesturing to the cabin with his chin. Rick, silhouetted by the fire, tilted his head to the left and nodded silently. Taking the first steps Daryl felt like every noise his footsteps made were amplified. But maybe that's what Rick meant by overwhelmed, over stimulated. He tried not to get jumpy. Tried not to take every noise as an afront to his senses. But the sound of the leaves rustling ahead of him from behind the cabin put him on edge after everything. Rounding the corner he flicked on his flashlight, holding his knife out, ready to defend himself and the others if he needed to. But as River knelt awestruck in the beam of light. His lips red and plump, spit still dripping from his lips and chin as the other young man leaning against the wall scrambled to fix himself, Daryl knew he fucked up. "Uh..." Daryl muttered, his face burning bright red taking a step back. The young man with long black hair glanced between the two looking almost sick. "Dude!" He huffed stumbling away from River shaking his head as he rounded the other side of the cabin. River growled, glaring to the ground, covering himself helplessly with one hand. Reaching around himself with the other he grasped a small rock shit-whipping it past Daryl's head. "Get the fuck out of here, old man!" He screamed, doubled over on himself. Daryl wanted to fix it. To say he was sorry... but he knew better, backing away he walked back to stand next to Rick. "Go well?" Rick asked, a small smirk playing at his voice. "Shut up."

As the morning sun filtered through the leaves, Daryl paced at the entrance of the path they were all to take. Negan watched him carefully. Rick however was trying to reason with Levi, Fawn, and River and was failing miserably. "Look... you all should just stay here... who knows what we'll find." He muttered, going full cop mode. Fawn blinked unimpressed however. "You could find our Momma." She muttered. "Yeah... but-" Rick drawled. "Even if she's dead it's better knowin' than nothing." River growled, kicking a pebble off the little path they stood on. This was a waist of time... Daryl thought rolling his eyes. "River." Levi sighed, patting his shoulder. "What River is trying to say is..." Glancing past Rick to the path he sighed. "We know this area better. You need us if you want to have a chance to find [Y/N] alive. And they deserve to know her fate... it's their right as her children." He finished crossing his arms over his chest. "If ya don't want me to come... fine. I'll stay. But take the twins at least." Rick sighed, glancing over his shoulder to the others. Daryl felt like he was literally about to implode. Throwing his arms up in the air he shook his head taking a step towards the ex-cop. "I don't know what your waitin' for Rick! We're wasting daylight!" He hissed. Negan rolled his eyes and gestured to the kids. "They wanna come. Let them." He muttered, gesturing with his chin to the path. "Now lets go."

Spreading wide across the forest the group started to search for any sign of you. Rope or chain wrapped around trees. Knives or weapons discarded. Clothing. Anything. Suddenly Daryl felt all too raw. Felt like it was the first day all over again. I'll call out your name, but you won't call back. Daryl thought a dreadful terror washing over his entire being remembering every time he searched before. Clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides he tried desperately to make your name come to his throat when the others called out. Rick's concerned looks along with Negan's sideways glances were all becoming far too much for him... his chest felt tight. Like even though he was at a walking pace on flat land he was climbing that cliff back at the farm again. Drenched in what he thought was sweat he swiped his face, soon realizing that it was tears he was wiping away. He couldn't seem to catch his breath no matter what he did. So he slowed down, leaning against a tree to try and regain his composure. The crunching of leaves and breaking of twigs rang in his ears. As the footsteps grew farther away he slowly could feel the breath returning to his chest. "Givin' up?" A voice called out and at first Daryl thought he was loosing it. But as he looked into Fawn's eyes he sighed frowning. "Nah. Just-" before he could finish the girl's hand jutted out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him along beside her as she walked. "Shut up." She ordered. "If ya ain't giving up then look! Do your best no matter what happens! That's what Momma would do." Her voice cracked slightly at her mother's name and a sadness filled her eyes that broke Daryl's heart. Clearing her throat and shaking her head it was like nothing ever happened and the girl was stoic and strong once more. Pulling her to a stop once more Daryl ruffled her hair. "Thanks Fawn." He whispered a small smile playing at his lips as the pair rejoined the others.

Hours passed. More walkers went down than Daryl had expected. You were not one of them that any of the group could tell. Each one of the group went through the downed walkers one by one to be extra certain. Stopping at a small creek to wash off and rest the group tried to devise a new plan. "We've been circling the camp all day." Fawn nearly whined, stretching out her calves. "It's the best we can do if we want to search the most space." Rick argued. "What if we we start raking the area in straight lines?" Negan asked looking at the shoddily drawn map that Rick put together. "We could go back, start here and fan out as we get farther from the starting point." He suggested, shrugging slightly when Rick looked to him. "We could but that means we'll be alone out here... I don't like that." Rick muttered. "And we already looked from here to here." Fawn pointed out. Daryl sighed scrubbing his face. His ears began to ring again as he turned away walking down the creek. Levi sat not to far away from the group wildling at a piece of wood. Giving the blonde a small nod Daryl stepped into the water feeling the coolness of the water wrap around his feet as he walked. Small fish and trout swam up stream along side him as he walked. Kneeling down he scooped some water into his hands watching as it slowly began to run a ruddy rust color as the blood was washed from his hands. Wiping his hands on his shirt he stood, his knees popping painfully. Walking a bit farther away from the group, Daryl froze when a clod of dirt rolled down the hill into the water. "Ya followin' me now?" River growled from where he stood on the hill. His back was to Daryl pissing into the trees. "What is it, old man?" River hissed, turning to look at the archer as he yanked his zipper up. "You get curious after last night? Well too fuckin' bad... I ain't into older guys." River growled, storming over the bank splashing loudly into the water. Daryl winced and couldn't help but feel the hot flush of guilt wash over him as River glared at him. "Ain't like that." Daryl muttered. "No?!" River yelled, reaching down to grab a long stick. "Cause that's what it looks like to me, ya old pervert!" He screamed, pitching the stick at Daryl. Sadness and sorrow filled Daryl's heart as the branch hit his chest painlessly snapping into several pieces, rejoining the water it was retrieved from. "River-" He tried, whispering lowly taking a step forward. "Wha'?!" River screamed beginning to pace the small space between the two banks. "What do ya want from us, huh?! If ya don't want our shit... and ya don't want-" He cut himself off grasping at the short hair on his head desperately a small whine escaped his throat. Daryl didn't dare say another word. Stepping closer to the frail boy he had been too scared to call son he reached out hesitantly. Touching his shoulder as if he'd burn the boy he gentled him closer. "Hey." He whispered. "It's alrigh'." But River just shook his head, trying to push away at first. "We'll find her." Daryl whispered. Suddenly River stopped, frozen as if by time. "How can you know that?" He whispered brokenly through heavy sobs. Daryl hummed, looking past River's shoulder to Fawn, Rick, Levi, and Negan who all came running as soon as they heard his son's first shout. "Because we're not alone in this."

Daryl walked side by side to his kids listening to them bicker back and forth as the group trudged forward. They had decided that the best course of action was to travel to the areas they hadn't checked yet, not back track. And so they continued on their circle path around the compound. The sun was just starting to lower when River came tumbling into his path... laughing. "God damn it Fawn get yer own path!" He muttered, attempting to shover her back over to the other side but only managing to shove her a few inches. "River, you know better than to-" Levi called out from somewhere beside Rick and Negan before Fawn launched the scrawny boy back into the brush and over the hill. "Bitch!" River laughed after the crashing stopped. Daryl couldn't help the amused huff that escaped his nose as he walked to the edge of the ridge. "Ya, ok?" He called looking down on River. The boy nodded already working his way back up the steep incline. A small glimmer in the distance of the trees behind River caught Daryl's eyes. There, chained to a tree, surrounded by the dead was a woman slumped against a large oak tree. "Fuck..." Daryl whispered fear crashing over him. "River stay down there." He ordered, turning to face the others. "Got somethin'! Come on!" He yelled, mentally marking where the tree was before moving to slide down the bank with River. One by one the others joined the father and son at the bottom of the ravine. "Where at Daryl?" Rick asked, tapping the dirt from the back of his heels. Daryl glared into the forest in front of him. "There." He pointed to the largest of the shadows. "Saw her on the largest tree." He mumbled, taking off without further explanation. "You sure?" Rick asked as the others followed dutifully along. "Ricky," Negan hummed, clapping the sheriff on the back, "you can either stay here or follow and find out... those seem to be your choices about now..." He mumbled taking his first step to follow along. "Ya sure it's her?" River asked, jogging to keep up with Daryl. Pushing past branches and leaves Daryl wanted to guarantee it. Even if it was for his own selfish reasons. But time after time he was proven wrong so instead he stayed quiet.

As the tree came into view and the stench of death assaulted their senses Daryl stood staring in awe. The walkers were piled three or four high around the woman chained to the tree. Some had slumped off of the pile and fallen to the forest floor creating a fifteen foot radius of rotting dead bodies around this woman, chained to the grand oak tree. Her unconscious form was slumped over, head hanging low. Her hair had shimmers of silver in it from age. The shirt she had been wearing was torn in several places and was pulled out of shape, from the walkers grabbing at her, Daryl assumed. Blood pooled beneath her from a wound in her side and her skin was gray and ashen. "No, Momma!" Fawn screamed at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sprinting forward to get to her, Levi caught her by the middle, gently lowering her down he held her close as she sobbed helplessly. River stood stock still, pale as a ghost staring at the woman. He didn't say a word but shivered helplessly as sobs wrecked his thin form. Negan sighed walking in front of the boy, trying to get him to snap out of the shock he entered into. Daryl... Daryl felt like he'd been hit in the chest with a brick. Staring at [Y/N] he felt old emotions rising. He'd come so god damned far for it all to end... here. Little too late. Stepping forward, wading into the sea of the dead, he felt Rick grasp his wrist. A familiar but kind firm look in his eyes told him all he needed to know. He'd do it... he'd do it so Daryl didn't have to. But Daryl shook his head trying so damned hard to fight the urge to wrap himself around Rick and cry. "Just make sure the kids don't see." He muttered, so lowly that he wasn't sure he said it aloud. But as Rick nodded, moving away towards Levi and Fawn he knew he'd stay good to his word.

The dead squished beneath his shoes, skin slicking off of bone as he stepped. He tried not to step in any chests, not wanting to smell the rest of the day. Not wanting the reminder of what he had to do lingering on him long after his third or fourth bath. Step by step Daryl trekked ever closer. Images of you standing at the farm an arm full of flowers as you checked his temperature after he had fallen and had gotten hurt flashed before his mind. Step. Drinking hard whiskey together at the CDC like it was your last day alive he remembered pulling you into his chest, the smell of the pine shampoo you barrowed from the scientist wafting from your hair as your laughter rang through the metal walls and your skin warm from drink. Step. Laying side by side desperately trying to quietly catch your breath after laughing your asses off in the cramped tent outside of the farmhouse your fingers intertwined in a not so secret romance. Step. Looking into your eyes in the dim moonlight from the balcony you both shared back at the prison, that feeling of pure blissful domestic romance you both believed could last forever. Step. The moment you "married" without rings or papers, promising to take his name and love him forever atop the guard tower. Step. "Until death do us part." you whispered cheekily, kissing him deeply. Stepping into the bare grass between you and the bodies he froze staring down at you, hands shaking at his sides. He could feel his friends eyes boring into his back. Fawn's distant wails were muddled as the ringing in his ears only grew with the passing seconds. Pulling his knife from it's place on his hip Daryl knelt down. Tears streamed down his face as he stared. You looked so peaceful almost as if you were asleep. If there was some peace he could hold in his chest... you hadn't turned... he was too late... but barely. Reaching out his hand he gently brushed your hair away one last time. "I-I'm sorry..." He whispered.

But as your eyes flew open and a loud fitful gasp filled your lungs, Daryl couldn't help but jump away landing on his ass. You looked around, your eyes glossed over but the heaving breaths you took didn't sound raspy like that of the dead. Meeting Daryl's eyes your concerned expression melted into one of acceptance. "I-Is this heaven? Or did I fall straight into hell?" You asked, your voice raspy from screaming. It's silent for a long moment. Only the sound of the forest around you all. But before Daryl can even begin to formulate a sentence on his tongue that isn't heavy ugly heart wrenching sobs, Fawn flew over his shoulder, splattered in the blood of the undead she clambered over before instantly clinging to her mother. "Momma..." She sobbed, nuzzling her head into [Y/N]'s neck. "Hey... what are you doing here baby girl?" You whispered, your voice shaking in delirious confusion. "We came to save you, Momma." Fawn whimpered.

Everything seemed to be moving so fast and Daryl felt stuck. Like a statue. He could only watch as River rounded him, glancing worriedly at him before hugging his mother tight along side his sister. You looked so lost. Your hair a tangled, matted mess. But still so beautiful to him. Rick and Negan were quietly bickering back and forth as they tried to break the lock that held the chains keeping [Y/N] bound to the tree. Moving slowly, as if encapselated in the molassas jar his own momma kept high on the shelf when he was kid, Daryl sat up on his knees. Truly unsure of what to do... after so long he was so sure he'd have been searching the rest of his life... But here you were. inches from his face. Breathing. Living. Alive. "Daryl..." You gasped as the chains finally fell from your body. Falling forward you were too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. Fawn, River, and Daryl moved to catch you. Your laugh. Something so sweet, so musical that he was sure he'd never hear again rang like bells in his heart as you placed your hands on his shoulders. Pushing yourself up enough to see him you smiled. "Long time no see." You whispered meeting his eyes. "Until death do us part... right?"