#uncle syrup

[farmer-juice]

Hobbies and jobs

Juice

hobbies:

Woodcarving

gardening

jam making

collecting mayo

tricking people

fishing

photography (she doesn’t do it much anymore)

Job:

Helping with the farm (she isn’t the owner)

collecting trash to sell

selling sea shells

foraging

and of course farming

Jam

hobbies:

Sewing

gardening (lore idk)

art

looking for rocks that are shiny

job:

Making and selling jewelry

polishing gems

Custom jewelry too

Sourdough

hobby:

Art

baking

soda can collecting

spray paint (graffiti)

job:

Baking

also occasional babysitter

Keg

hobbies:

Bird watching

wood working

job:

Carpenter

woodworker

he just likes wood, dude

Raisin

hobbies:

knitting

rock painting

watching people garden

jobs:

Retired glass blower

butcher (she debones meat at the market)

Wine

Hobbies:

Gossip

playing match maker

painting

Boxinh

jobs:

professional wine taster

unprofessional social media influencer

model

Syrup

hobbies:

Skiing

photography

ice carving

working out (that’s a hobby right?)

music making (hip hop or rap)

job:

personal trainer

failed musician

Vanilla

hobbies:

writing poems (to Syrup)

and other forms of creative writing

spray painting (permission given)

ice sculpture model

jobs:

Musician

Model

spreading snow and cold (he’s a winter sprite)

[farmer-juice]

I think I’ll go visit my family for Christmas. Jam is going to be with her boyfriend’s house for Christmas. But I’m sure it’ll be nice either way. My uncles are always nice to hang out with

How does a joke hits a wall. It is a form of hilarious sentence.

Purple cows are a dessert with grape juice and ice cream.

uh… what is red and hurts your teeth? A brick. Anyway, Starlight, how are you, I like that nickname. Do you like purple cow, because it is my favorite treats of all my favorite treats.

- @farmer-juice (juice, you say that about all sweet treats. Guess they’re all her favorites).

pfft!~~

i think i've heard that joke before, hehe~

i would tell another brick joke..

but i'm afraid it would just hit a wall~

anyway, heya, juicey!~

i think i'm doin' okay.

the colder season is always hard.. but i'm making it.

i think i'll even get to see my siblings later today, which is something pretty special.

how about you, though?

...

im gonna be honest with you, juicey...

i have no idea what a purple cow is.

but.. i'm sure it's nice!

i mean it is purple, after all!~

[remadra]

Spiderboy's summer and winter fur. Just a few headcanon things

[july-19th-club]

WHO! will go to crawford county fair with me either friday night or saturday . none of you live here so obviously nobody but if you did you'd go to the crawford county fair . right?

[nateconnolly]

What do you make of cheese tatertot waffles?

Like to use for sandwiches or just as they are?

I'm going to be so real with you, I've never even considered using waffles for sandwiches. I'll definitely try that!

I definitely like pancakes more, tho. I'm absolutely obsessed with caramelized green apple strips on pancakes. But you can't go wrong with whipped cream, chocolate chips, or sprinkles.

Tatertot waffles are amazing, but I've never tried making them on my own, I've only had them at a diner

[milo-is-rambling]

Made pancakes with someone else in the hostel and then made extra for the manager

[jontheredrc]

one thing I will miss about Twitter is its character limit

280 characters was basically the perfect length to storyboard out the dialogue for little 2000s webcomic sorts of scenarios for my OCs, which is something I did frequently to both introduce the characters and to brainstorm new facets of their personalities

it was a writing exercise for me to sort of brainstorm what my OCs are like and what they might be doing in between chapters of my books, but it was also just enough room for me to establish a scene, set up a joke, and deliver a punchline (provided you already know who, say, Lyla is)

I’m usually a verbose and over-explaining sort of person, which is fine by me, but that character limit had me thinking in a whole new way

[talkfastcal]

what the fuck that was so rude :)

[lovesick-syrup-selfships]

I've recently played the Origin Ending in Break In 2 and I've come to make an announcement; Scary Mary's a bitch ass motherfucker, She manipulated my fucking boyfriend. Thats right, she read his adorable and sweet love note and laughed at it, and then she lied and said she loved it so much and I said "You lying piece of shit", so I'm making a callout post on my Tumblr dot com. Scary Mary, you're a dirty liar, you're love for him is the size of this walnut except WAY smaller, and guess what? Here's what my love looks like: PFFFT, THAT'S RIGHT, BABY. ALL HEART, ALL KISSES, ALL FLIRTING. Look at that, it looks like two rings and a wedding. She lied to my boyfriend so guess what? I'm gonna fuck that old him. THAT'S RIGHT THIS IS WHAT YOU GET, MY SUPER OLD MAN LOVE! Except I'm not gonna just fuck him. I'm gonna go higher. I'M GONNA MARRY HIM TOO! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT SCARY BARRY? I MARRIED THE NERD YOU IDIOT! YOU HAVE 23 HOURS BEFORE WEDDING CERRRRREMONY TAKES PLACE, NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU ARE NOT FUCKING INVITED AND WILL KILL YOU ON SIGHTIFI SEE YOU THERE.

also hi I'm not dead I've just been busy with college and finding a job

[gunpowder-gemini]

This was actually a childhood treat of mine! Peanut butter and syrup in a bowl ❤️ it's still one of my go-to bad fatigue day meals! It gets ya protein and is pretty filling and takes practically no effort

Mix peanut butter and maple syrup. Trust me.

I put this into a cup and drink it

[thesummerestsolstice]

Notes on the Care and Keeping of the Peredhel, by Maglor Feanorian:

Need to eat three times a day, more if they can be persuaded (they do not seem to have the refined palettes elves do, and do not like my attempts at Valinorean fine dining)

They are very fond of maple syrup

One of the human healers told me they were "growing boys," unsure of the significance of this– a reference to their shapeshifting abilities, perhaps?

It does not appear that they will reach a full elvish height, though that may change

They can hear high tones that elves can, but humans can't

This bodes very well for their education in music theory

They do not appear to have the venom that some humans do, as evidenced by the fact that both Mae and I have been bitten several times with no ill effect

Still, I am thankful that Finrod warned me of this human feature, as it has served me well in many battles

They have not bitten anyone in months, which I appreciate, especially given how sharp their teeth are

Boys said that they could talk to shadows– unsure whether or not they were just attempting to scare me (ask later? Bribe with maple syrup??)

They like having their hair brushed, but do not like any of the scented hair oils we have at the fortress

They refuse to eat bird meat; unsure of why but I won't push

Elros prefers wooden toys, Elrond fabric ones, and neither of them is fond of metal

They grow faster than elves, but are still too young to begin intensive battle training, Maedhros

They are very sensitive to the cold, ensure that they have ample blankets and cloaks, especially in winter

Feel much better after spending time with them– those who spent time around Luthien reported similar effects

They appear to appreciate being pat on the head

Based on information by uncle Arfin (regarding Eonwe), this is common amongst Maiar

I've only had them two years, an incredibly small time in the face of the centuries I've lived, but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in this fortress and then myself

[farmer-juice]

Grandma Grape and Grandfather Vine. Then their daughters, Raisin and Wine, and their son Syrup. My mom was the only one to have kids, Juice and Jam. Jam has a biological kid named Toast. And Juice has two adopted kids named Emma and Eva, whom are @thesillyracoons. Jam is dating a fairy named Sourdough. Syrup is married to Vanilla Icecream.

[peachesofteal]

tw 18+ dubcon, breeding kink, brief daddy kink, baby trapping-ish - aka the whole purpose of the mating bond

Azriel who slips you a fertility tonic so he can give you a baby.

It starts as a fantasy.

He spends too much time watching you help with Nyx. Plays his dutiful uncle part, but all he's really focused on is how the baby sits so perfectly in your arms, how he's supported so easily by your hips.

How would you look, with his child cradled against your chest? How would you look, round with his baby?

It's maddening. Filling his dreams with ideas about a family of his own, a family with you. You who he loves beyond belief, you who he would die for, over and over again. You, who has become the reason he smiles, the reason he stands in the sun, the reason he looks forward to the future with hope, instead of looking back at the past with anger. You've changed him.

The bond isn't enough anymore, he craves it all. Needs to plant himself inside your womb until you're carrying a piece of him, but it likes that. It wants it, as much as he does, glows in his chest when he imagines it, purrs at the idea with satisfaction.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His cock swells when he thinks about fucking you deep, spilling inside of you again and again until it takes, giving you a piece of himself. Drives him insane, thinking about breeding you, putting his baby inside of you. Turns him inside out.

The shadows don't help. They find the tonic in Dawn Court and pull the emerald green glass bottle from a shelf, depositing it in his office. Thick like syrup, blood red like a candy apple, but completely void of scent. Helpful.

"What do you think about having a baby?" He breathes into your neck one night, still arched overtop of you, lips dragging along your jaw. You giggle. He swears it's the sweetest sound.

"I don't know, kind of soon, don't you think?" A lock of his hair falls onto his forehead, and you twist your fingers in it. "I know Madja said there'd be nothing to worry about but still... we've only been mated a few years, right?" He nips at your skin, slides his nose along yours.

"Right."

What started as a fantasy evolves into a plan. Wicked, and wild, it's all consuming, a parasite in his blood slowly taking over his body until he's disease ridden, obsessed.

"More?" He's perched on a stool, legs spread to accommodate where you stand between his knees, looking up at him with a lazy smile. You've already finished your first glass, the glass, the one with the tonic, and he's pleased to see you drank every drop.

"One more, I think." He taps your chin, tucks his fingers beneath it and tilts your face towards his before pressing his mouth against yours in a long kiss. When you pull away, you have that look in your eye. "Want to go home early?"

Yes.

He's high. Wound up, crazed. You're laid out on the bed, lax on your side, reaching for him. "Come here," you whine, wiggling your fingers, and he grips them before rolling you onto your back and pinning that wrist above your head.

"I love you," he sucks a mark against your collarbone, traces and plucks your nipple, enjoying your pants, the restless jolt of your hips.

"Az," you huff, and he smiles into your skin.

"Impatient." He releases his hold, teases down your belly to where you're already wet for him, soaked, and slips through your folds to find your clit, swollen, and waiting. Wanting. "So wet," there’s nectar between your legs, and he’s thirsty for it. Not tonight. Your clit throbs under his touch, back arching, tits pressing into his chest, "you're dripping."

"Yeah, ah- please," you paw at his shoulders and he pushes you down, lays you flat before grabbing your knees and flexing them towards your chest, your thighs framing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

"Keep them there." He warns. Your fingers dig into your flesh, and he taps the head of his cock against your clit, enjoying the way your hole twitches. "Look at you," he's lost in it already, stroking himself, slowly fucking the tip in and out, muscles coiled, ready to strike. It's a drug. You're a drug. His elixir of life, his faerie wine. The high of battle, the satisfaction of success, of killing. He's drunk on you, every day.

"Azriel," you hiss. His girl never likes to be kept waiting. He grins-

and then slams home.

"Fuck!" you scream it, head thrown back, abandoning the hold on your legs to fist the sheets. He pulls your ankles tall, and leans forward. Your eyes are as big as the moon, mouth open wide, perfect. Ready. Ripe.

"I know, I know," he soothes you, kisses you, aware that the pressure of his body over yours only shoves his cock harder against your cervix, and you gasp, pussy fluttering, warm and wet, better than a dream. He finds your clit, his touch turning you languid, helping you adjust to each stroke, "does that feel good, love? Nice and deep?" He catches your lip between his teeth, and then rests his forehead against yours.

"More," You twist in his grip, trying to move, and he swats your ass.

"Be good for me." Be good, be good-

be good for daddy so he can give you a baby, be good so he can plug you up, make it take-

"Yes..." You moan and your pussy quivers, already trying to suck him deeper, trying to pull him in. Your body knows what it wants, the bond knows what it wants, even though your mind isn't there yet.

You writhe, shudder. You're going to come soon.

He slows down, drags his cock almost all the way out, enjoying the way you pout, brows furrowed, before sliding back in, again and again, long strokes that drive you crazy, still flicking your clit. "I love you so much, pretty girl, need to fill you up."

"Yeah, p-please." You're chasing your orgasm, tightening like a fucking vice, trying to strangle him, hold him in, and he closes his eyes, relishing it, wishing he could die in it.

"Come on my cock, sweetheart, let me feel you." Your breath hitches and he fucks you harder, slamming his hips against yours, shoving his cock so deep he wonders if it's in your belly, and your eyes roll back, legs locking into planks, orgasm rocketing through you so violently you cry out.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, ah-"

"There it is," there's no stopping now, fucking you through the gush, the clench, "That's it, come for me," he coos, innocent poison, "good girl, such a good girl." His own end is building, fire in his blood, raw power surging up through his wings as they snap wide, and your toes curl as you tremble, pussy still squeezing, pulsing around his cock. "Stay still for me, gonna give you my cum- fuck- fuck it nice and deep." You mewl, half delirious, and he steadies himself before plunging as far as he can, exploding, shattering, flooding you with it all, his hopes, his wickedness, his dreams. His vision goes white, a shock radiating up through his toes, entire body rigid, and locked in, your pussy drenched with him. The bond sings for the true fulfillment of its purpose, the creation of children. It all comes together, him, you, the stars, the darkness, to give him what he wants, what he craves-

his baby inside you.

He tucks his fingers into your pussy as you fall asleep, shushing you back under easily when you blink at him in a daze. "Again?"

"In a bit." He kisses your temple. "Close your eyes sweet girl, you'll need your strength."

[fanficfanattic]

I don’t even have the words y’all!

Jamie canonic levels of superiority complex mixed with canonic levels of inferiority complex.

Roy remembering that his words have meaning. And that his friendship with Jamie has meaning too.

And cake. Maybe get yourself some cake before eating because you’re gonna want some. (I chose red velvet!)

Summary:

“So what’re you doin’ for your birthday, Coach?”

The question’s so unexpected, asked so abruptly, that it almost sends Roy sprawling out of the rhythmic jog he’s fallen into at Jamie’s side and straight to the gravel below.

As it is, he skids to a quick stop and faces his star player, arms held stiffly at his sides. Waits for Jamie to notice he’s gone and hurriedly circle back to stand in front of him before replying. Quick feet and a quicker smile; the professional-menace doesn’t seem to care that he’s brought Roy to a dead-stop with just his words.

“The fuck did you just say?”

In which Roy experiences the mortifying ordeal of being loved and Jamie bakes a cake.

AKA: Happy Birthday Roy! Get celebrated you silly man!

[atlaculture]

Favorite Foods: Zuko

Whereas everyone else's favorite foods required research and conjecture, Zuko's post mostly builds off what we see in the show. The foods Zuko likes are inspired by multiple real-life cultures. Links to recipes will be included.

Larou (臘肉) - Also called Lap Yuk in Cantonese, is cured pork belly aka bacon. According to the old Nickelodeon ATLA page, sizzle-crisps appear to be the Fire Nation's version of bacon bits. And, according to the official Avatar cookbook, sizzle-crisps are Zuko's favorite snack. He likes their long shelf-life and versatility, which are necessities for food meant to be stored on a ship. He not only eats them on their own as a snack, but uses them as seasoning for any dishes he considers under-seasoned and bland, which is most non-Fire Nation food. As such, he always carries around a bag of "sizzle crisps", like how some people always have hot sauce on their person. He likes his larou extra peppery.

Shaved Ice - A popular summer treat in many parts of the world, Asia included. In its most basic form, shaved ice is frozen water or milk, topped with a sweet syrup. Shaved ice brings back bittersweet memories for Zuko, reminding him of fun times spent at Ember Island with his family. Zuko's favorite flavors are guava and watermelon. He normally eats a pretty basic version in public, but will go all out with toppings when no one's watching.

Jook - Jook is the Cantonese name for rice porridge and the term Iroh uses when serving it to Zuko. Considering Zuko's tendency to push himself too hard, it's likely that the prince had a good number of bed-rest days during his banishment. As such, I think Iroh is quite used to preparing jook for his nephew. While Zuko initially didn't appreciate being "babied" (from his perspective), he comes to associate jook with his uncle's love for him. Rice porridge is eaten all over Asia.

Inihaw Na Bangus - Tagolog for "Grilled Milkfish", this is a popular fish dish in the Philippines. The milkfish is stuffed with flavorful ingredients, scored, and grilled over a fire. During the book 1 episode, "The Warriors of Kyoshi", Zuko is shown being served what looks to be this dish by his ship's cook. I feel that Zuko would have a love-hate relationship with this meal. He genuinely loves eating it, but it was also served to him very often, due to the availability of the fish while out at sea. Thus, Zuko went through cycles of eating it constantly, and then not even wanting to see it for months at a time. After the war, it became a meal he'd have about once a week.

Sea cucumber sashimi - As I mentioned in a previous post, "sea slug" is a more antiquated name for the sea cucumber. In ATLA, smoked sea slug is served as commoner's food, while parts of the sea slug are served raw to the wealthy. In real life, sea slug/cucumber is actually an expensive delicacy that's served raw in Japan and Korea. Considering Zuko's willingness to steal high quality food in Book 2, I always felt that he probably has a rather refined palette. "Sea slug" sashimi was probably the dish he missed most from the FN palace. He liked dipping it in soy sauce mixed with chili paste.

Tea - I'm sure we all saw this coming. Under Iroh's influence, Zuko comes to appreciate tea. While not the connoisseur that his uncle is, he does enjoy winding down with a mellow jasmine tea at the end of the day.

Also, I think we can all agree that Zuko would never eat a turtle-duck. ^_^

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Fight or fight." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

The Dixon brothers know there are only two options when faced with a problem: fight or fight, but maybe that lesson isn't such a bad one for Marley when she tries to defend her friend.

A/N: I'm not satisfied with this story but it's 4am in Peru and I didn't want to go to sleep without writing something. I hope you like it♥ (I'm sorry if anything Merle said was offensive, I really tried to think like him but I apologize anyway)

The smell of coffee and maple syrup fills the Dixon home.

There’s a faint scent of cigarettes too, permeating Daryl’s clothes as you pass him in the kitchen, (Something Daryl only did when he was very anxious) him grunting a good morning in response as his hands (experts at holding guns, making arrows, and killing walkers and people) clumsily attempt to make the best lion head pancake: scraps of strawberries for the fur and blueberries for the smiley face. When his mom was around and not drowning in alcohol and substances, she used to make Daryl and Merle these breakfasts, (a caress in the middle of the blows, or a show of peace to cushion the fact that there would be more pain) distant but never blurry stories from their childhood, good stories they could count on their fingers—but there’s something about Daryl’s frown, the way his concentration is about to pass the limit of fixation.

“Why are you so grumpy, huh?” You chuckle, playfully slapping his butt.

“I ain't grumpy.”

“Oh, no? Tell that to your brow. Are you like this because Marley’s leaving again?”

The thought makes Daryl’s heart clench.

“She ain't leavin' me. Ma baby’s goin' to preschool.”

You giggle, but you realize you’ve hit the nail on the head about his irritability because you never said leaving him, even though Daryl saw those 3 hours of classes, with a neighbor in the community who used to be a teacher, as she leaving her home, even though Marley was 5 years old and still had trouble tying her sneakers, which prevented her from running very far. But with breakfast ready, you and Daryl walk to the dining room table where Marley is sitting next to Uncle Merle, who, with his vast experience in street fighting and multiple arrests, shares with his niece some street smarts as he calls it.

“And listen, honey, if any of those uptight pricks try to mess with ya, ya clench yer fist and lean back to get some momentum 'fore ya hit 'em. Always go for the nose, ya hear me, lil' bunny?”

Marley smiles, oblivious to all kind of conflicts, the arguments, and the fights outside the walls because she grew up in a close–knit, loving, non–dysfunctional family—quite the opposite to the men’s previous lives in their house.

“Don’t tell her that, you ass—” You press your lips together, just to avoid the torrent of unfiltered words Merle easily earned. “It’s preschool, not a battlefield.”

Daryl shrugs, elbows on the table and chin on his hands.

“I had ma first fight at 6.”

“Me at 4.” Merle replies, not wasting a second to pick up the thread of the conversation, full of pride. “Marley is a Dixon, sweetheart, so s' only a matter of time 'fore she uses those knuckles. Ain't that right, bunny?”

Merle uses a finger to tickle her, and Marley lets out a giggle. With a mental slap, you ask your child to finish her breakfast, but as the minutes tick by, your daughter’s dormant curiosity awakens with every second, asking you if you ever did that, too.

“I’ve never fought anyone.” You try to defend yourself, to create a safe space for her, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes when they scoff, almost in sync like besties.

“Didn’t yer grandfather teach ya how to punch?” Daryl chuckles, one corner of his lip lifting into a smirk.

“And don’ even get me started on that girl who tried to hit on ma baby brother.” Merle lets out a laugh at the memory, tense seconds after that girl said she could handle you when Daryl told her he was married. “Poor soul. Those sugartits of hers must be rottin’ away now.”

He even makes the sign of the cross over his face, almost convincing you that Merle believes in God, even though Merle only believes in Merle. But the table falls into an almost tactile silence when the baby of the house’s gaze saddens, blue eyes turning cold like her world.

“What do we do when someone is bullying someone, mama? Daddy?”

The promise of physical or mental pain in Marley makes Daryl hold his breath, but when silent gazes meet wondering what to do, he manages to let out the air before speaking.

“Is someone bullyin' ya, angel?”

“S' that damn Chinese kid, isn’t it?” Merle leans in toward her, like he’s trying to get information out of her like the bad cop. "Tell me the truth, honey, Uncle Merle will take care of everythin'."

“Uncle Merle, Hersh is Korean!” Marley frowns in frustration, but she shakes her head to ease all your concerns. “No. Miss Elena teaches us about bullying and that it’s bad for self–esteem.”

An hour later, the sun is shining and fluffy clouds adorn the endless horizon when you open the door as Daryl kneels to tie his daughter's shoelaces at the entrance, and everything is painting in beautiful shades of blue like Marley’s eyes, as bright as the idea that awakens her heart, the promise of living a different life outside of home, learning from books like her mom, and enjoying games with other children her age like her dad and uncle when they were kids. Hershel is 6 and walking down the street, accompanied by Matty, a 5–year–old boy with caramel–colored hair like candy, sweet like his shy personality when he sat reading on his porch with his round–framed glasses, but he's a little gentleman, always saying hello and have a nice day.

“Hey, Auntie (Y/N)!” The eyes of Maggie and Glenn’s son narrow adorably as he smiles, happily taking in your greeting and the way Daryl waves back and nudges Merle to make him swallow his racist comments. “Are you ready, Marley?”

Marley smiles at them and takes a few steps toward the porch stairs, but then, she stops as her mind screams at her to do what she always does before she left home.

“Bye, Mommy, bye, Daddy, bye, Uncle.” She waves, turning on her heels then to head down the stairs.

Daryl watches her go with a heavy heart, her brown hair like his own blowing in the spring wind with her excited walk, almost jumping with every step, her brown capybara backpack following her movements. Colors have no gender, and neither did the clothes you two dressed Marley in, always neutral because she never liked dresses or tiaras for her unruly hair like her father's.

But the moment Matty and Hershel take his daughter’s hand, Daryl and Merle’s scowls become more prominent with the surprise and the overflowing anger that is born within them in a single second.

“What the fuck?” The brothers say, in unison.

“I knew that damn Chinese boy wanted somethin' with ma bunny.” Merle’s words sour his mouth, but he makes the monumental effort not to spit out.

“Hershel is Korean, you fuc— racist.” You grimace in disgust, free to blurt out those words on an empty street.

“Whatever.” He answers, without a drop of regret, his voice deepening with the confidence in his words. “We have to do somethin' 'fore one of those bandits steals our baby, lil' brother, that Chinese boy or the nerd one.”

You exhale, because your body can’t take any more of the stupidity you hear from him.

“Matty is sweet and he’s not a nerd just because he wears glasses. I wore reading glasses too.”

“Yeah, but ya looked cute, he looks stupid.” Merle scoffs, looking back at Daryl. “What are ya sayin', baby brother? Are we makin' it look like an accident or what?”

You want to roll your eyes at all the nonsense you hear, but alarm bells go off with a panicked expression from you, eyes slightly widened in response to Daryl's silence, who, you can see, is seriously considering the idea.

“You two are damaged, really.” You squint, but annoyance makes you shake your head in disbelief. “Although their names do in fact rhyme, Marley, Matty…”

Your laughter dies when Daryl narrows his eyes at you, because the bile by that confusing feeling in the pit of his stomach makes his mouth sour as well.

“Stop it, woman, I’m warnin' ya.”

You chuckle, tilting your head slightly to look at him sarcastically.

“Or what?”

“Or there is no sex for ya tonight.”

He says it so seriously, because he means it, normal words that cause a big laugh in Merle, so open because time had given Daryl the confidence to joke about your intimacy in front of his brother.

You scoff.

“You know what? It would be better if you slept in Marley's bed or with your dear brother tonight.” With your head, you point to the accused present, although Merle frowns in displeasure. “Leave those children alone, you assholes. And now go do something useful with your lives instead of killing Marley’s friends with your eyes. I have to go back to work so please wait for her for lunch. And I beg you, don’t do anything stupid.”

With a tired sigh, because life had rewarded you with 3 children and not just one, (a titanic task of raising them because the older ones were already programmed with wrong ideas) you go to work at the infirmary. But in the company of their primitive thoughts (although not wrong ones unfortunately), their eyes meet and they come to a revelation.

“We are doin it. Hell yeah.” Merle chuckles. “But if yer dear wife finds out, she’s gonna kick yer ugly ass and mine as well. And I ain't even married to that scary woman!”

Daryl wants to say no, but that sixth sense of fatherhood that awakened in him when Marley was born is sending too many signals to his body to ignore.

“Whatever, I’m sleepin' in ma kid's bed anyway whether this goes wrong or not.”

“That’s the attitude, brother!" Merle smiles. "Cause I ain't lettin' ya sleep with me, over ma dead body.”

An hour and a half later, the Dixon brothers are standing to one side of Elena’s house, in the shadows of the wall where the sunlight can't reach, while a small group of children are playing in the makeshift playground in the backyard. Marley runs around the place like a free soul, laughing in a world rising from the ashes. She loved to walk barefoot in the dirt outside Alexandria’s walls, exploring and discovering with her body what Mother Nature still had to offer.

But the picture in from of them darkens when a boy Marley’s size that Daryl recognizes well, (a ghost of the typical bully Merle used to be), pushes Matty to the ground to take away the toys he was sharing with his daughter.

Beside him, Merle laughs watching the scene.

“The lil’ prick can’t even protect himself.”

Daryl's choice is to intervene now or see the altercation unfold, but his fatherly instincts kick in hard when Marley steps in front of the boy to protect Matty, earning a shove to her fragile body that the green grass receives. As if the world were painted red, as if his little girl's life were in mortal danger, Daryl runs to defend Marley, but he stops short (Merle's body crashing into his) when Marley stands up alone cleaning her small hands on her brown pants, only to push the boy as well with a force that is more than physical, the adrenaline that shoots through and makes her stronger than her short 5 years.

“Eat dirt, asshole!” Above his body now, Marley pushes one side of his face with her hands towards the ground.

It’s crazy to Daryl, crazier than thinking the dead came back to life when he grabs his daughter by the waist to remove her from the boy, away from the confusion and blurry vision, though her eyes remain fixed on her target—I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Daryl thinks proudly.

But on the way back home, it’s still absurd to Daryl that he heard his little baby girl say a bad word after having protected her innocence from anything offensive.

“Marley…” Daryl looks down to meet his daughter’s curious eyes, blue ones that are as deep as her feelings at her young age. “Who taught ya to say asshole, sweetheart?”

Now that the word is free in the wind, Daryl didn’t see why he should not say it, or avoiding. But holding Uncle Merle’s hand, Marley’s innocence leads her to look at the eldest Dixon brother, only to then look at her daddy with a shrug, saying silently: I don't know.

��Ha! That's ma lil’ bunny.” Merle smiles, proud.

But when the men see you sitting on the couch on the porch of the house, Daryl looks down again.

“Good news, angel, daddy's sleepin' in yer room tonight.”

Oblivious to reality, Marley smiles.

@fluffy-dixon