#( next gen: daryl )

[suekreandtheidiots]

I updated this monster. 😂👏✨

I added Cal and the Foster Boys, because they won't stop screaming for more attention. 🙄🤣

Here are the other close ups again, just because.

[barrowsteeth]

Daryl McCormack - Hollywood Reporter Next Gen Talent 2022

[superblysubpar]

<- part one | part three -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: The week of the bet begins with a bang.

the song: Bodybag by chloe moriondo

also for your listening pleasure: Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran / The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney / I Can't Go For That by Daryl Hall & John Oates

4,024 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / underage alcohol consumption & mentions / slut shaming from idiot/asshole teens | my blog is 18+

A house on Cornwallis Street - the past

The beat from the drums in the Duran Duran song playing throbbed, the speakers physically pulsing as you passed them. Your heels stuck to the kitchen tiles as you entered the room that had been your sanctuary for the past hour. Once the beer had been moved to the living room and the chip bowls thoroughly destroyed, the sticky vodka bottles and punch that looked like something died in it weren’t visited as frequently as they had been at the start of the night. 

So it was there, forearms pressed to the edge of the sink as you lifted a foot and rolled your ankle, then the next, with a soft and maybe too sensual sigh of relief, that Steve Harrington finally caught you alone. 

“New shoes?”

You spun, forgetting the teeny tiny sticks beneath your heels didn’t really care for quick movements or aiding in the process of balancing. 

He caught your forearm, fingers curled around your wrist as you settled. Like he was reminded he wasn’t supposed to like you, he dropped it, fingers running through the darkening hair he was keeping longer now instead as you lied. 

“No.”

Steve squinted at you, taking a sip out of red cup, mumbling into the plastic with a snort, “Sure.”

Your arms crossed, now acutely aware of the fact that the entire outfit you’d been in all night was much more revealing than anything you’d worn around him before. Eyes focused on the denim cut off a little too high on your thighs and the sliver of skin between the top of the mini skirt and your borrowed pink top as you accused, “What are you doing here?”

Steve took a step closer, white Adidas kicking a forgotten red solo cup as he did. 

“Funny,” he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “Was just about to ask you the same thing.”

As you glanced up, you couldn’t help but notice the dark blue of his polo was starting to get tight around his shoulders and biceps.

Couldn’t help but look at his eyes that were unwavering in their gaze on you. Which all only made your skin hot, made you need to look away and pretend you were looking for something on the counter littered in trash. 

“Where else would I be, Harrington?” 

Steve was right behind you as he hummed, “Anywhere else. Literally, anywhere but a house party.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You spun with the biting accusation, the little black heels now your arch nemesis as they wobbled beneath unsteady ankles again. Steve caught your waist that time, bodies closer together as you fell back against the counter. 

He didn’t let go, his finger resting just above the denim, right against your skin. 

“It means,” he swallowed, exhaling a shaky breath as he leaned in and explained, voice taking on a tone that seemed like he was quoting something. Or someone. “That I thought you were better than stale beer and shitty conversation with idiots.”

A flash of an argument with your friend Robin in the hallway ghosted across your memory, making your lips part, but only a small noise escaped them. 

The movement and sound had Steve’s eyes glancing down, his adams apple bobbing. It had him squeeze at your hip involuntarily, had you wondering if it was possible for skin to spontaneously catch on fire. 

“I love beer,” you finally managed to sputter out while wondering if he always had those two freckles on his cheek and if he did, why could you suddenly not look away from them as they lifted with his smirk. 

“Yeah?” He offered his cup out to you, “Have at it, honey.”

Maybe it was the challenge in his eyes. Or that word, honey, that made you do it - made you aware of how close you were to the boy you’d always hated and how he wasn’t the one you came with. 

You took the cup and kept eye contact as the rim met your lips, kept it while the bitter liquid washed over your tongue. You kept it still, as you wondered if it was the color of his eyes or the alcohol that had your stomach warm and fizzing with something abnormal. 

“For the record,” you whispered after your fingers swiped at your lips, “I do hate shitty conversation with idiots. I came in here for a drink for my boyfriend.”

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t heard anything you’d said since you took the cup from him and that wonderful pride swelled in your chest with the thought that you’d successfully gotten the ball back to your side of the court. 

You cocked your head and blinked innocent eyes up at him, “Brenden Peterson? Junior? I think you’re on the basketball team with him…or well…” you winced, “You’re on the bench of the team he plays for…”

Steve’s hand dropped from your waist as boisterous calls came from the other room, shouting about spin the bottle. Tina’s voice carried over the music that dulled to something quieter, Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney singing about loving the same girl. Your name called in her shrill squeal, asking if you were playing. 

“Absolutely!” You yelled, still too close to Steve, “I love spin the bottle!”

You were sure it was the beer on your tongue that made the words slip over it, then out of cherry glossed lips so easily. 

Not the way Steve Harrington was looking at you. That had nothing to do with it. 

Nothing at all. 

Steve finally made a noise, scoffing as you shimmied out from his spot keeping you against the counter, wandering closer to the rowdy boys cheering at your agreeability to the suggested game. 

His jaw pulsed as you sipped out of the solo cup and made eye contact with him over the rim. He hated that something deep in his biology or wherever it came from had him suddenly panicked he’d pop a boner when your tongue darted out to catch amber liquid and foam from a pouted bottom lip. 

He hated that he followed you into that room. 

That he sat across from you in that circle. 

He hated what happened next. 

You were looking around the room, eyebrows furrowed together as a girl named Carol patted the carpet next to her and told you to sit. Brendan wasn’t in the room and as you looked around the circle, you caught Steve looking right at you with a challenge in his eyes not unsimilar to the one you just had in the kitchen. 

So you leaned forward and yelled, “Me first!” 

The circle ooh’ed, Steve looked anywhere but your chest as you crawled to the center and your fingers spun the green bottle. 

You were settled on your knees, blinking down at the slowing bottle and silently screaming for it to keep spinning, keep spinning, keep…

Carol yelled out an “Oh La La!” and boys snickered as the green bottle finally stopped right between Steve Harrington and Tommy H. 

“I-I just spin again, right?” You went to do so, panicking as Tina laughed from somewhere on your right. 

“Nope! Gotta kiss both boys!” 

“But I-“

“Oh, come on!” Carol moaned, snickering, “It’s just a kiss! Or two!”

You hesitated, hating the way Tommy grinned at you and Steve continued to stare at the carpet. 

“Wait,” someone in the circle laughed, “You’ve kissed a guy before, right?”

Another person whispered, “Dude, that’s Brendan’s latest conquest. The one who…in the back of his…”

Your vision got a little blurry, the room suddenly too warm.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” Tommy shrugged, lifting his eyebrows up and smirking. “Unless you want me to.”

Steve’s fingers clenched into fists on his knees, he finally looked up at you and whispered, “You don’t have to-“

His words were cut off as you grabbed Tommy’s collar and pulled him towards you. Lips colliding in a kiss that made the circle cheer, wet lips and tongue and you pulled away with a gasp. Grabbing at Steve who looked shocked but his hand landed on your waist as your noses bumped. 

You took a deep breath, your eyelids started to flutter closed when you heard, “What do we have here?”

Brendan stood to the side of the circle, a tilted head of mussed blond hair. He laughed as he gestured to the circle, “Wow, you really will just do whatever guys ask you to, huh?”

Looking around the circle, everyone snickered into drinks or looked at you then Brendan, waiting for more of the show. 

“I-“

“You what?” Brendan interrupted, eliciting more laughs and your eyes started to burn, cheeks too hot when Brendan nodded at Steve and scoffed,

“Enjoy my sloppy seconds.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and when Tommy started to laugh, “Oh no, she’s cry-“

Steve elbowed him and whispered your name.

You shoved at him and stood, ready to bolt, when you saw the girl standing just behind Brendan with the purple mark blossoming on her neck.

Your jaw clenched as you took a step, then another, Brendan too focused on laughing at you with his buddies to care until he was doused in beer. 

The music stopped, the circle fell silent, and Brendan blinked through foam, swiping at his eyes as he growled, “What the fu-“

“Enjoy continuing to fail freshman level biology, getting kicked off the basketball team, and going absolutely fucking nowhere in your life, Brendan.”

You threw the crumpled red solo cup at his face as you tried to leave the room with some ounce of grace on the stupid heels you couldn’t wait to never see again. 

The slam of the front door behind you rattled the framed photos inside as much as the sob in your lungs did to your breath. Your fingers pressed to your lips as you blinked back the hot tears that wanted to pour out of you. 

“Hey,” a quiet voice from your left called, “You okay?”

A boy was leaning on his elbows in the grass, curly brown hair that was a little too long catching in the breeze, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked familiar, like you’d seen him in the back of the band room or somewhere in the first few months at Hawkins High. 

He looked you over and shook his head with a grimace, “Yeah, no, that’s not an okay face.”

“I’m fi-fine,” you managed to hiccup out. 

“Well, fine,” he groaned like a person much older than the boy he was as he stood, “I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

A laugh left you, despite the tears still trailing down your cheeks. You swiped at them and told him your actual name. 

Eddie nodded and twisted the toe of a black boot into the cigarette now on the ground. “Still nice to meet you, but far less cool and interesting of a name than ‘Fine’ if you ask me.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Eddie,” you waved a little, hugged your arms around yourself and started down the driveway, only stopping to kick off your black heels and leave them in the grass. As you began again, now barefoot, his voice carried on the early autumn breeze. 

“Hey, Fine!” 

He grinned when you turned, and he held up his hands in surrender as he spoke. “Tell me to fuck off, but whatever just happened inside is not worth your time or energy, but you know what is?”

You sighed, and waved your hand towards him, “I suppose you’re gonna tell me yourself?”

He beamed and held a hand to his chest covered in some sort of skull and snake design, “Well, that probably remains to be seen. I do have a whole presentation on the value of having a Munson for a friend, but, nah, I was gonna say cherry pie.”

That laugh left you again, and Eddie only smiled wider at the sound, a dimple poking out on his cheek. 

You looked at him, then the house behind him, then down at the heels in the grass. 

“Can we stop and get me new shoes?”

“Can we…?” Eddie looked at you incredulously, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t think of bringing you to get cherry pie without sneakers on your feet.”

He waved to a van a few cars down the street, bowing, “Your chariot awaits, ma’lady.”

By the time Steve got outside, bruised and bloody knuckles hung limply at his sides as he watched a van round the corner of his street, then disappear. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - the present

His fingers press the top of the alarm clock at precisely five fifty-nine am on Monday morning, the red glow of clock telling him he’s up too early yet again. 

He doesn’t drive Robin to school anymore, he doesn’t have to be at work till nine thirty, but he’s kind of used to his routine now.

And it’s not like he was sleeping anyways. 

His old Hawkins High swim team t-shirt slips over his head as he sighs, hands rubbing and slapping at his cheeks as he thinks about how he hasn’t really slept all weekend. He’s lacing his sneakers up as he thinks about how he definitely didn’t sleep on Friday. 

Not after he let you inside, and you smiled at him like that. After he yelled about how this wasn’t a fair bet and how Eddie upped the stakes to three hundred dollars then, the ‘arch nemesis’ clause as he put it. 

He holds his ankle in the driveway, pulling his leg up and stretching it, then the other, glaring at the red sign on the front lawn in the hazy morning sun beginning to rise. He starts down the sidewalk, but sees the house on the corner and decides that after an entire weekend of revisiting memory lane, he doesn’t need to physically go down the literal lane of his past mistakes and regrets. 

His feet thump on the ground in time with the Duran Duran song playing in his walkman. 

Family Video - the present

Daryl Hall and John Oates voices abruptly stop when you slam the stop button on your walkman due to the sight in front of you. 

Your feet straddle the baby blue bike, docs pressed to the pavement as you glare at the maroon car idling in the parking lot. 

He has his head leaned back against the head rest, eyes closed. His arms are crossed over the green vest while Tears for Fears plays out the open window quietly. 

Pulling your headphones down around your neck, you slam your hand on the hood of his car and Steve jumps in his seat, blinking profusely and swiping at his eyes before he glares at you.

“What are you doing here?” You accuse, fingers gripping your handlebars.

Steve rolls his eyes then his window up. He yanks his keys from the ignition, the sudden loss of the vehicles noises making the cicadas and frogs in the pond across the street louder. 

He gets out and squints at you as he slams the door. 

“Cute helmet.”

You quickly snap it off, cheeks warming as you shove your bike lock into a wheel and glare at him from your new crouched position. 

“Again,” you snap the lock closed, “Why are you here?”

Steve sighs, leaning against the storefront’s window. “We open at ten, do we not?”

“We,” you laughed, sticking your key into the front door with the shake of your head, “Don’t do anything. You work in the afternoon all week. With Robin. I’m alone in the mornings until we-“

“Find a replacement for Tracy. Yeah,” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, pointing his finger like he’s just remembered something, “Keith said something about that. But, well, I volunteered for extra shifts, to help out while we’re short staffed for summer.”

You pull the key from the lock and narrow your eyes. “You what?”

Steve smiles at you, freckles on his cheek lifting as he shows off perfect teeth. “What can I say, I’m just a nice guy.”

You actually yell out a, “Ha!” with your head thrown back as you open the front door, not caring to hold it open for him. 

“You…you…” you stomp towards the back room as you search for the right words, “Slimy, sneaky…”

“Sexy?” Steve provides, following you.

“No.” You spin with the word, not expecting him to be so close behind you.

He stops just as abruptly as you, face mere centimeters from yours, both of you having the cover of the slow to buzz on overhead lights to steal breaths and find your composure once more. 

Steve sighs, walking past you towards the wall where time cards are kept. “Listen, if it’s actually that terrible to work with me, I can call Keith again. But I really would appreciate the extra shifts.”

You hang your helmet on a hook and push your own card into the machine, skepticism evident in your voice as you ask, “You need the extra shifts?”

Steve faces your profile, and you feel his gaze lingering on your cheek as he whispers, “Well, yeah. I’m about to be out three hundred dollars in a week.”

Turning to face him, you finally take in his appearance. The sincere look in his eyes is almost overshadowed by the circles under them, the frown of his pink lips almost forgotten due to the stubble surrounding them that’s not normally there. 

Your silence seems to mean something to him though, because the frown becomes a smirk, and his head tilts as he asks, “Or am I not?”

“Not what?” 

His smirk becomes a full smile, “Not gonna be out three hundred bucks. See something you like, babe?”

And just like that, it’s gone. 

Your eyes roll as your shoulder bumps his on the way to the coffee pot.

“In your dreams, Harrington.”

He watches you press start on the coffee, sitting on top of the break rooms table with crossed arms over a plain blue t-shirt. 

“Bet you’d like that.”

You fiddle with the cream you’ve pulled out of the fridge, the clipboard of tasks Keith left for the week. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, keeping your tone bored, willing the minutes of this day to go by faster. 

Steve’s voice is quieter, and closer to you as he says, “If I dreamt about you.”

Spinning at his words, cream canister in one hand, coffee mug in the other almost colliding with his chest. You blink at him as he continues, “Bet you’d like it even more if I told you what we did in those dreams.”

Your back hits the counter, not realizing Steve took a step closer as he spoke and there was nowhere for you to avoid how good he smelled or how what he was saying was making you sure there was something wrong with your stomach. Nowhere to avoid the eyes that look at you unashamed, and you could swear dare to seem hopeful. 

Until he’s grinning, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

And doesn’t he?

Steve taps the counter behind you twice with two of his fingers and hums. 

“On second thought, maybe you should take my afternoon shifts. Looks like I’m not the one who’s gonna be needing the extra cash after all.”

He leaves, whistling a song you can’t quite place, but it itches at your skin, demanding to be felt like the burn of his words left on your cheeks. 

You shake your head, and fix your coffee. This is not happening. Despite Robin and Eddie vouching for the new and improved Harrington, you will never, ever, believe it. 

You will never let him win. 

Especially after the first morning shift with him. 

When the store opens at ten, there are three cars in the lot already, families stocking up on weekly rentals. Kids are in and out, shouting about candy and horror movie marathons. Steve and you are both behind the counter for most of the shift dealing with returns and large purchases, arms bumping too many times to count. It’s when his hands land on your hips as you threaten to topple over with the stack of tapes you were desperate to get out on the shelves in the lull, that you both notice you’re finally alone again for the first time in four hours. 

Steve’s breath hits your neck, making you even warmer with a murmured, “You’re welcome,” when you gasp out a thanks. He drops his hands quickly and squints up at the ceiling, then out the front doors. 

The sky has turned darker, gray and gloomy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a typical summer thunderstorm was rolling in. 

Steve leans against the counter, the back of his hand swiping through his hair as the other fiddles with the TV remote. He turns off The Breakfast Club, switching to a cable station. You keep your back to him as he’s surely staring at the news anchor’s chest that most men in Hawkins want to suffocate in, until he mutters, “Knew it.”

“That Lucy Lebrock’s boobs were fake?” You mumble, stacking tapes.

Steve snorts out a laugh and then he gasps, standing up straighter, “Holy shit. Are they really?”

“Honestly, Harrington, look at them.” You spin and gesture to the TV and whisper, “Oh, fuck.”

“I know,” Steve nods, biting the inside of his lip as he glances out the store windows again. 

Lucy points to a map showing a massive storm inching closer to Hawkins, red banner announcing a tornado watch for surrounding areas. 

Steve and you continue to watch, leaning against the counter next to each other in silence as Lucy tells everyone about tornado safety. 

“I cannot believe they’re not real. You’re right. I really am an idiot.” Steve’s whisper finally breaks the silence. 

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand, hiding your laugh but your eyes sparkle when he looks at you. 

And then a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, like the universe itself is warning you of what’s happening, of the danger just around the corner. 

Then the power goes out. 

It all happens quickly after that, and yet, each moment lingers, like it’s making sure you’re committing it all to memory. 

There’s a moment where you grab Steve’s arm and he grabs your hip. 

One where you both jump a part, shouting sorry too loud.

There’s another, that threatens to steal your breath when Steve holds his vest over your head as you squint through rain streaming down your face as you lock the front door, the ‘Sorry we’re closed’ sign swinging behind the glass erratically as you inhale cedar and mint.

Then one, that grabs something inside of your chest and squeezes, when you start towards your bike and Steve slips his fingers between yours and tugs, shouting over the rain, “Don’t be stupid!”

There’s several filled with the splashes of your feet in puddles as he tugs you towards the BMW’s passenger side, unlocking it and racing around the hood himself. 

One that’s silent, save for rain pelting the metal roof, and both of your heavy breaths fogging up the glass. 

Then the sirens start going off, Steve’s fingers shake as he starts the car, swiping water from his eyes with the other. 

“My…my apartment. It’s on the other side of…”

Steve shakes his head, backing out carefully as the wipers work faster than what seems possible, and yet they do nothing to aid in his ability to see out the windshield. 

“Honey, you’re crazy if you think I’m taking you anywhere other than my house that has a full basement and an emergency storm kit Robin made me make with her last summer.”

Honey. 

The word lingers, swooshed away with the sound of the wipers and the Duran Duran song that scratches the itch that lingered all morning spilling out of the car’s speakers. It disappears with the spin of tires on the wet pavement as they take you to Cornwallis Street. 

Tag List - thanks for your endless patience and excitement for this and sorry for the delay in posting today 💛

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf

[jsinfulhate]

Stars around my scars- Daryl Dixon

The prison had settled into an uneasy quiet. Night cloaked the yard in a shroud of stillness, the sounds of crickets and distant, mournful groans from the undead forming a strange symphony of survival. High in one of the guard towers, Daryl Dixon stood watch, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the perimeter with a practiced intensity.

Beside him, Gen leaned against the cold metal railing, her gaze shifting between the dark expanse outside the fence and the man standing next to her. The silence between them was comfortable, but tonight, Daryl seemed more restless than usual, his shoulders tense, his jaw set tight.

“Dar?” Gen’s voice was soft, almost tentative. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm. “You okay?”

Daryl didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I got somethin’ I wanna show ya,” he finally muttered, his voice rough around the edges.

Gen watched him closely, concern flickering in her eyes. “Alright,” she said, stepping closer, her hand slipping into his. “You can tell me anything.”

With a deep breath, Daryl pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing the scars that marred his back and sides. They were an ugly, jagged testament to his past—raised welts and faded lines that told a story of pain and survival. Gen’s breath hitched at the sight, her heart breaking for the boy he must have been, the man he had become.

“Dar…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out, then hesitated, her fingers hovering inches from his skin. “May I?”

Daryl nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “Yeah… yeah, go ahead.”

Gen’s touch was feather-light as she traced one of the longer scars. She felt him flinch under her fingers, his muscles tensing as he adjusted to the unfamiliar gentleness. She took her time, allowing him to grow accustomed to her touch, to the sensation of being cared for.

Minutes passed in silence. Then, with a soft sigh, Gen moved closer, wrapping her arms around him, pulling his back against her chest. She held him there, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered words of comfort and love, her voice a soothing balm against the harsh memories etched into his skin.

Daryl closed his eyes, leaning into her warmth, his breath coming in slow, measured waves. For the first time in a long while, he felt the tension in his body begin to ease, the tight coil of anxiety loosening its grip.

“Do you trust me?” Gen asked after a while, her voice barely more than a breath in the quiet of the tower.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he replied, the word slipping out before he could second-guess himself.

Gen smiled against his shoulder. “Lie down for me?” she asked gently, guiding him to lie on his stomach. He complied, stretching out on the floor, his face turned to the side, eyes half-closed.

“Is it okay if I do something?” Her hands hovered over his scars, waiting for his permission.

Daryl took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Yeah… it’s okay.”

With infinite care, Gen began to place gentle kisses along the lines of his scars, her lips brushing over the damaged skin with a tenderness that made Daryl’s heart ache. She took her time, tracing each mark, her affection a silent promise that he was more than the sum of his past.

When she had finished, she pulled him back into her lap, cradling his head against her lower waist. Her fingers threaded through his hair, a constant, soothing motion. “You’re still my everything, Dar,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “This changes nothing between us.”

Daryl’s eyes stung, a wetness gathering at the corners. He had spent so much of his life hiding, hardening himself against the world. To feel such softness, such unwavering love—it was overwhelming.

A tear slipped free, then another, until he couldn’t hold them back any longer. Gen watched, her heart aching for him, and then she lay down beside him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her lips against his temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Daryl didn’t have words for what he felt in that moment, so he simply held onto her, letting her presence soothe the wounds that no scar could ever show.

[glennrheesdaughter]

Dwight: When I'm done with you. You won't be able to see straight out of both your eyes.

Y/n: Congratulations, you're as effective as pollen

Negan: I mean I'm going to make you feel pain!

Y/n: Daryls humor already does that! NEXT!

Negan: pffhhh... You won't be able to think straight

Y/n: HA! Try having ADHD!

Negan: I'm going to bash Daryls head with Lucille!

Y/n: You've already killed my friends that way. C'mon, be creative!

Negan: I'm going to make you two want to die!

Y/n: I'm a part of Gen Z! You're late to the party!

Negan: WHAT INTIMIDATES YOU!

Y/n: DARYL WHEN HE'S HORNY!

[nematanthus]

First Impression: POST HUMAN: NeX GEn- Bring Me The Horizon

In special collaboration with @arfarfblegh

Guide:

Interlude

Favorite so far

Least favorite so far

Single

Tracklist:

[ost] dreamseeker

YOUtopia

Kool-Aid

Top 10 staTues tHat CriEd bloOd

liMOusIne (feat. AURORA)

DArkSide

a bulleT w/ my namE On (feat. Underoath)

[ost] (spi)ritual

n/A

LosT

sTraNgeRs

R.i.p. (duskCOre RemIx)

AmEN! (feat. Lil Uzi Vert and Daryl Palumbo of Glassjaw)

[ost] p.u.s.s.-e

DiE4u

DIg It

First Thoughts:

With the surprise release of POST HUMAN: NeX GEn, Bring Me The Horizon is once again, here to change their sound, have fun, and make purists mad. Each song seems to bleed into the next without losing its sense of identity, near seamless transitions between tracks that have wildly varying vibes and sounds makes for quite the musical feat. Lead vocalist Oli Sykes seems to have grown incredibly comfortable with his singing voice, doing some vocal gymnastics on this album, from high notes we've never heard from him to the screams we are all familiar with. His vocals are also played with in editing, something we've seen from the band before but not to this extent, dipping into hyperpop territory, especially with "LosT" and "R.i.p. (duskCOre RemIx)". The vocal work blending with the glitchy instrumentals that truly delivers on the "POST HUMAN" vibe.

[haruhey]

chronological thoughts of 11x21

safe to say i am… EXCITED….

@imagine-thewalkingdead, this one’s for u 😚😚

- OK EXCITED IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT

- OUTPOST 22 LETS GOOOOOOOO

- IM SO EXCITED I CANT STOP SMILING

- omg lance my precious pathetic baby boy 🫶🫶

- rip to a real one

- RICK GRIMESSSSSSSS

- no taking hershel away from maggie is sick and twisted hasn’t she been through enough 😭😭😭

- why is this show so dark guys please

- omg she got out of those ropes so quick

- omg the girlies look so tired free them

- OH MY GOD MAGGIE

- oh my god their face thats so awesome what a win

- RAGDOLLED AGAINST THE TREE omg

- just taking a nice lil nap 🫶

- who tf are these people

- omg girlie going through it

- omg exiles

- WHWRE ARE CAROL AND DARYL GUYS COME ON THIS IS THE ONLY REASON IM WATCHING RN???

- damn rosita going through it fr

- THEYRE ALL GONNA MEET AT THE END OF THE TRAIN TRACKS ARENT THEY

- terminus tease

- CAROL AND DARYLLLLLL

- OMG CONNIE

- LET HER GO LET HER GOOOOOO SHE AINT DONE NOTHING WRONG !!!!

- NOOO NOT THE CAVE

- carol’s sordid past 😔

- THE HANDHOLDING 🫶🫶🫶

- such a slay on maggie’s part

- i honestly dont think i could ever kill a kid walker thats like too much emotionally but also fuck them kids

- DARYL AND CAROLLLLLL

- season one girlies iktr iktr

- this is so caryl coded goodbye

- “they had to come at us when we were seperated. what does that say to you?” “that we scare the shit out of pamela.” SLAY GIRLIES SLAYYYYYYY

- I KNEW THE THE TRAIN WOULD SLAY

- DARYL????

- omg gabe pulling his religious

- omg they kill them we all know what that’s code for

- HE JUST HAS A BIBLE IN HIS POCKET PLEASE THATS SO FUNNY

- carol the problem solver as always 🫶 (ignore all the times shes caused problems thanks)

- kelly giving area 51 how gen z of her

- lmao negan getting a taste of what working for the Saviours community was like

- outpost 22 really is that girlie huh

- carol and daryl are truly so sexy

- CAROL AND CONNIE MY GIRLIES 🫶🫶

- hell yeah daryl chase him down kill him

- OH MY GOD THIS IS THE STUPID MOTORCYCLE SLIDE EPISODE THATS AWESOME

- ayyye the gang’s all back ♥️

- this train conductor is giving very math for science majors energy

- daryl and connie are so cute 🫶🫶😭♥️

- damn thats

- rip to a real one

- KILL HIM EZEKIEL!!!

- SLAY EZEKIEL SO TRUE EZEKIEL

- shut up negan !!!

- shut up negan i hate u!!!

- kelly looks so fucking sad omg my sweet girl please 😭

- NEGAN MARTYR ERA??

- SHUT UP NEGAN I DONT WANT TO THINK OF YOU AS A HERO SHUT UP !!!!

- omg music building up

- OH MY GOD THEYRE GOING TO ALEXANDRIA

- on a mission !! on a mission !! on a mission !!!

- they are all so slay it’s unbelievable

- wait why am i so excited for the next three episodes 😭😭

[drsteggy]

top 5 fictional characters, top 5 songs from the Zelda series?

Hmmm

Fictional character

1. Fox Mulder

2. Data from Star Trek: Next Gen

3. Daryl Dixon from the first 3 seasons of The Walking Dead. When he was funny.

4. Arya Stark (novel version)

5. Sawyer from Lost

Top 5 songs

1. Ballad of the goddess - I’d like to renew my vows and walk down the aisle to this or Romance in the air

2. Song of Storms- it just kicks ass

3 Hyrule Field theme from Ocarina of Time

4 Hyrule Field theme from Twilight Princess

5 Main Theme from Breath of the Wild

[placerdiario]

HTX Tech X Summit 2024 Opening Video ( AI Generated Content ) from HOLOGRIX™ on Vimeo.

From the creators and team that produced the Holographic Opening Performance for the launch of Home Team Science and Technology Agency (HTX) back in 2019 ( vimeo.com/hologrix/htx ) … After five years , HTX is back and this time round, we produced an opening video using Generative AI which was something that never seen done before in Singapore as of this date of posting.

The Official Launch of the Inaugural Milipol Asia Pacific 2024, as part of HTX’s TechX Summit on 3 April 2024, we melded traditional filmmaking techniques with Generative AI content and using Gen AI tools to create an opening video that highlighted the synchronous relationship that humans and AI could have in the future.

The fruit of our labour, working with Gen AI tools was both an eye opening and frustrating experience as we while just at the tip of the ice berg. Every week some new features were updated or new apps were developed but not release yet. Therefore, there were a lot of trial and errors. We had resolution issues - our screen size was 7600 x 1600 pixel and then consistency character issues etc. Of course with over 20 years of post production and visual effect experiences, we were able to trouble shoot along the way. And I got to say … we truly experienced how advanced AI has become and also how far it has yet to go. AI is already all around us, and it will continue to machine learn FOREVER. ( Can you imagine how smart it will be in future ??? ).

A HOLOGRIX Productions

Conceptualised and Directed by Kenny Yek

CREATIVE TEAM : Executive Director : Daniel See Creative Director : Kenny Yek Assistant Producers: Ian Pereira, Jonathan Shi AI Lead Artist / Supervisor : Chawanan Inkumnoi AI Storyboard Artist : Kenny Yek / Chawanan Inkumnoi 3D VFX animator : Raymond Teo Motion Graphic VFX: Nick Teo Motion Graphic animator : Azhar T. Pangesti Junior VFX animator : Manfred Soh Video Post Productions : Kenny Yek Color Grading : Kenny Yek Gen Ai Specialist : HLAB Thailand Chawanan Inkumnoi / Trirat Homchantra / Pakkinan Weladee / Phattara Chattuphattarakul / Kenny Yek Sound Design : Homeground Studios Tan Ming Jie / Daryl Hor Music Direction : Kenny Yek

PRODUCTION TEAM : Line Producer : Foo XiuQi Production assistance : Chloe Chow, Manfred Soh, Kevin Chong Director of Photography : Jaye Neo Camera Assistant: Shawn Fonseka Data Wrangler / Live Key Operator: Kat Midori Gaffer: JT Grip/Teleprompter Support: Tai Huan Ting Location Sound Recordist: Daniel Koh Hair & Makeup Artist: Shireen Lim Filming Equipment support by JT productions

CASTS : Either face swapped or footage use for machine learning Allan Wu Fish Chaar Chun Kong Candice Tan William Tan Mathilda Chua

Commissioned by Ministry of Home Affairs, HTX ( 2024 )

We are always looking for new ways to collaborate, let us bring your next event to life! Contact us today at info@hologrix.com or visit our website hologrix.com to learn more. Let’s work together now.

[sterlingpiner]

Walking dead bridge constructor

WALKING DEAD BRIDGE CONSTRUCTOR HOW TO

WALKING DEAD BRIDGE CONSTRUCTOR SERIES

Otherwise, change the angles of the ramps slightly if required. The single piece of steel supporting it can be filled in to increase surviving Walkers if less than ten make it into the trailer. You also need to keep the trailer clear for the characters, so build a smaller bridge over it. Play around as the angle of this throw can drastically change the Walkers movements and yield much different results. These ramps also allow the Walkers on the higher platforms to survive the inevitable fall as they follow it. Probably the hardest part of this mission is getting Eugene’s toy to bounce off the ramps, back into the truck. There are fourteen on this side of the screen, so ideally you can build so the other four will not survive. Over to the right, you need to get ten Walkers into the truck. It’s fine as long as the whole thing doesn’t collapse as a result. The truck may collide with the bottom of the bridge so don't build too low. Instead, place it wherever you can and drag it into the vertical position shown. Certain struts will need to be replaced with steel as shown to sustain the pressure.įor some reason, the vertical steel strut on the very right side of the bridge may not be able to be placed as shown. No release date, obviously, but it's for next generation consoles as well as current gen and PC, so that gives us a broad window of at some point in the great unknown that is the future.For the large bridge spanning the gap in the building on the left, try to construct with as much wood as possible, although you should be well under the resource cap.

WALKING DEAD BRIDGE CONSTRUCTOR SERIES

So, room for optimism, even though they probably jumped the gun a bit on the reveal. About this game AMC’s The Walking Dead meets Bridge Constructor Create elaborate constructions and lethal traps A captivating plot featuring new faces as well as iconic characters and vehicles from the series Numerous brainteasing levels and countless brain-eating walkers Make use of.

WALKING DEAD BRIDGE CONSTRUCTOR HOW TO

It seems that actually ClockStone know how to integrate signature doo-dads from an existing series into a bridge constructing environment, and make it work. TBA TBA TBA TBA TBA TBA TBA TBA This list shows the victims Kyra has killed: Numerous counts of zombies. Not much is known about Kyra's life before the apocalypse began. The first Was Bridge Constructor Portal, and it was actually pretty bloody good, at least if Brendy's thoughts on it (RPS in peace) are anything to go by. Kyra is the protagonist in Bridge Constructor: The Walking Dead. The description sounds a bit humdrum, but this is the second tie-in version of Bridge Constructor. Please enjoy the slightly wrong proportions of Norman Reedus's head in this rendering. I also have to imagine it because it is not confirmed and, I must stress, nothing has been shown except that live-action trailer, and this piece of key art. Since this is Bridge Constructor but with shambling enemies, I have to imagine that perhaps some tower defence or other clever extra bits will be appliquéd on top of the puzzle-y bridge building. We are promised the chance to team up with fan-favourite characters like Michonne, Daryl and Eugene, as well as using "movable level objects, explosives and baits to your advantage" to lure zombles into traps. So, possibly the RV that Negan lives on in between battering people? Una nueva versión del género, desarrollada por los creadores del aclamado Bridge Constructor Portal.¡Prepárate para la mejor experiencia de mashupUnirse a. In Bridge Constructor: The Walking Dead, you will lead a team of survivors through bleak and ruined landscapes as you do this, and those vehicles will be "iconic ones" from the series. The gist of Bridge Constructor has always been to build a bridge using finite resources and your vague memories of how physics works, and hope it's strong enough to bear up under the weight of vehicles crossing it. Cliff notes are: it has bridge construction, it has zombies, and those zombies are the same ones that have been troubling Andrew Lincoln and his son Coral for all these years. What's more stressful than constructing a shonky haphazard bridge? Why, constructing a shonky haphazard bridge while zombies attack, of course! Developers ClockStone and publishers Headup Games revealed Bridge Constructor: The Walking Dead today at Gamescom Opening Night Live, with a live-action teaser trailer and so little else that the Steam store page just has screenshots from the production of that teaser trailer.

[suekreandtheidiots]

Wee introduction post!

SO. Let's go.

I'm starting this blog with a little overview of the OCs who are most present in my head these days. I (more or less) recently drew a shiny line up that I still like, after all, so why not use it?

I tried to get their heights somewhat right, give or take a few inches... I'll put their heights into the descriptions, too, though, for anyone (like me) who cares about these details. :)

Avery Constance St. James (*April 1st 1995 in New York City, USA; 5'2 ft / 1,57 m): a small but fierce pharmacist who lost her heart to an irresistably lively Irishman in 2022 (who refused to give it back), and who now juggles being a loving mama and thriving in her usual chaos.

Daryl Louis McKenna (*February 6th 1993 in Galway, Ireland; 5'9 ft / 1,75 m): rockstar scientist (biochemistry) and former drug abusing idiot who recently got engaged to Avery - a special lady he just happened to find when he wasn't looking, and who unexpectedly found his greatest joy in fatherhood.

Dexter Linus St. James (*August 11th 2023, in New York City, USA): a tiny Irish-American hybrid - the son of Daryl and Avery. Named after Dexter from Dexter's Laboratory and Linus Pauling.

Orla Deirdre O'Connell (*October 28th 1992 in Galway, Ireland; 5'9 ft / 1,75 m): an eccentric tattoo artist who appreciates the most beautiful things in life and who believes in love and classic romance like no other. Grew up with three brothers - Malachy (*1980-2006), Kieran (*1985) and her twin Declan, and thus handles life like a lady, but never without the appropriate dash of assertiveness.

Michael Theodore "Mick" O'Loughlin (*December 22nd 1992 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'5 ft / 1,96 m): a tall and elvenlike fella who stems from an ancient bloodline of highly fascinating individuals and who may have a supernatural streak to him. Motor mechanic in everyday life and a curious and whimsical guy overall, with soulful green eyes that effortlessly see behind the things others would not even dare to question.

Alistair Lachlan "Ali/Al" Abbott (*May 28th 1993 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,93 m): an eccentric weirdo, very charming and always a little clueless, with a heart of gold. A former rising football star who had to give up that particular dream to an unfortunate injury, and a surprise teenage dad who loves his friends and longs to meet the love of his life; who waits tables in a restaurant by day and woos ladies - who are willing to pay for his services - by night.

Lancelot Malcolm "Lance" Abbott (*July 27th 1988 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'4 ft / 1,63 m): a true force of nature, a capable internist, strong-willed and assertive (some would say stubborn) confident and outspoken, sometimes on the brink of being plain rude. An intelligent and complex person who may be a pain in the arse at times, but who knows what is right and important in life... such as suppressing some long lasting issues, ah, haha, oh well.

Maisie Rose Boyd (*June 11th 2011 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'0 ft / 1,52 m): the surprise love child of teenage parents Ali Abbott and Nessa Boyd, who is growing into a sweet and caring young lady these days.

Vanessa Christine "Nessa/Ness" Boyd (*January 14th 1993 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'2 ft / 1,57 m): a young and smart psychology graduate who is eager to finally start her career that she had to postpone due to becoming a mother at only eighteen. Gentle and kind, but also very straightforward, never taking crap from anyone and showing bluntness in just the right moments.

Caroline Miriam "Carrie" Anderson (*August 2nd 1987 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'4 ft / 1,63 m): a somewhat restless soul, always looking for something while never quite knowing what that something is. One hell of a doctor. Caring, not making any differences between people,and eager to look behind a facade... and entertaining the thought of running her own practice soon!

Dallas Ariston Gray (*October 22nd 1987 in Glasgow, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,93 m): a half-Greek, hunkalicious metal lord with a voice from both heaven and hell, a primary school teacher, musician and not quite your average nice guy from next door - the unhingedness may be subtle, but it's so, so there.

Fiona Annabel "Fi" Christie (*March 4th 1994 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'0 ft / 1,82 m): a truly delightful creature with many talents, drawing people in with her... everything. A hairdresser and make up artist, a dancer (classic ballet, jazz, as well as adult entertainment) and a gentle soul. Her optimism may make her look naive at times, but

Jean Melissa "Melissa" Carter (*June 1st 1985 in Calgary, Canada; 6'3 ft / 1,90 m): a creative director at a local ad agency... who clicks on suspicious links in spam mails and who forgets to check whether she has enough gas before she drives distances… and strands in the middle of nowhere. May seem scatterbrained but is incredibly loveable and the apple of the eye of her wife, Donna.

Donna Yvaine Christie (*January 3rd 1985 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'9 ft / 1,74 m): older and slightly (read as: not so slightly) overbearing sister of Fiona. Has her heart at the right spot but is also used to success and getting what she wants, which makes her a little insensitive and even tactless at times; still often fails to understand that "not doing things her way" isn’t necessarily the same as "doing things the wrong way".

Graeme "Sully" Sullivan (*September 7th 1986 in Perth, Scotland; 5'11 ft /1,80 m): an incredibly creative person all around who has known his goal pretty early in life - making the world a brighter, more colourful place! Owner of a tattoo studio in town - "The Den Of Tallulah Banks" - which isn’t just a tattoo studio, but also a place where creatives can get together and local artists from town can exhibit their works without paying annoying fees.

Hallie Henderson (*April 2nd 1988 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'7 ft / 1,70 m): a music journalist, writing for the popular UK/Ireland based magazine "Grot Spot". Interested in pretty much anything, believes in people. Very gentle and caring... and just a little bit weird. Loves life but doesn't close her eyes to the crappy aspects of it. A realistic optimist who is far from naive but maybe a bit too forgiving sometimes.

Jett Jones (*January 15th 1984, in Newcastle Upon Tyne, England; 6'2 ft / 1,87 m): Hallie's friend and fellow Grot Spot writer. A Geordie beauty who never met her real parents but couldn't care less, as the lovely Joneses raised her well. Outspoken and blunt, appears to be afraid of nothing. Never refills the office coffee pot and would most likely survive a zombie apocalypse. Treasures her heart and shares her real name with hardly anybody.

---

And, as a bonus...

1984

Craig Diarmid Abbott (*October 8th 1962 in Liverpool, England | † June 2006 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,92 m)

Sofia Elena Jacinta Abbott, nee Thomson (*February 11th 1956 in Mexico City, Mexico; 5'8 ft / 1,73 m)

... parents of Lance and Ali, who have their own story back in the eighties!

***

[touipus]

I dont think i posted any more of my Yum fanreplicants🚙yet so say hii to Starzoino "Star" ⭐️and Johanna💀 (Finley "Finn" [green] too dont forget🙄🙄) the first three are old🧑‍🍼

[jsinfulhate]

𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 Ch.3

As the last of the walkers fell and the camp settled into an uneasy silence, Gen stood panting, her sword slick with gore and her clothes drenched in blood. The adrenaline slowly ebbed from her veins, leaving her hands trembling with exhaustion. As she scanned the aftermath, the grim realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

“Where the fuck is Merle?” Gen demanded, her voice cutting through the night air, sharp and urgent.

Rick looked down, unable to meet her gaze. The silence that followed was deafening, and Gen’s heart sank as she saw Daryl’s reaction. His face twisted with a mix of anger and grief, he turned abruptly and stalked off towards his tent, leaving the others to deal with the aftermath.

Gen’s eyes narrowed as she turned her glare on Rick, but she didn’t linger. She quickly followed Daryl, her steps heavy with the weight of what she feared she would learn.

She found him standing just outside his tent, his shoulders hunched and his hands bloodied from more than just the recent fight. He was staring blankly at the ground, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts. Gen hesitated for a moment, not wanting to track more blood inside the tent, before stepping closer.

“What happened out there?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling inside her.

Daryl didn’t respond immediately. He continued to stare at the ground, his face a mask of anguish and frustration. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and barely audible. “Merle… he cut his hand off. He cut his own damn hand off to get free.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I followed the blood trail, but… it just led to nothin’. No sign of him. He’s gone.”

Gen’s heart sank further as she listened to Daryl’s words. The grim reality of Merle’s fate weighed heavily on her. She sighed deeply, dropping her sword to the ground with a dull thud. “Shit, man,” she muttered, her voice filled with a mixture of sympathy and frustration.

Daryl finally looked up at her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and unspoken grief. Without another word, he turned away and began stacking the bodies of the fallen walkers, his movements methodical and deliberate. The task provided him with a grim distraction, a way to channel his pain into something tangible.

Gen stood there for a moment, watching him with a mixture of sorrow and helplessness. She wanted to offer comfort, to find the right words to say, but in that moment, words felt woefully inadequate.

As she turned to leave, the weight of the day pressing down on her, she spotted Glenn approaching. He walked over slowly, his expression soft and understanding.

“You wanna get cleaned up?” he asked gently, his voice a welcome reprieve from the harshness of the evening.

Gen sighed heavily, glancing down at herself. She was covered in blood and grime, her clothes sticking to her skin in uncomfortable patches. “Yeah, I do,” she replied, her voice tired but grateful.

With a weary nod, she sheathed her sword and followed Glenn, leaving Daryl to his grim task. The day was far from over, but for a moment, she allowed herself the small comfort of companionship and the promise of a brief respite from the harsh reality of their world.

Masterlist to find the next chapter!

[catelyngrant]

He finds her behind the little cabin they’ve settled into for the evening, alone on the porch swing that looks about five minutes from collapsing beneath her. She has a half-smoked cigarette in one hand and a leg curled under her; the other moves back and forth on the patio floor, creating a gentle rocking motion that stops when Daryl carefully settles beside her.

“Everyone asleep?” she asks, staring at the yard instead of facing him.

“Yeah.” It hadn’t been easy. Most of the kids had nodded off fine, and the adults even easier, but the events of the last few days have caught up to RJ in a big way, and Daryl knows that more likely than not he’ll be up and down through the night, begging for Michonne. And Judith - hell if Judith doesn’t remind him of the woman sitting beside him, all brittle strength and both eyes on the greater good. It scares the shit out of him.

Carol casts her gaze sideways towards him, biting her lip. They haven’t talked about what Judith told them - what Michonne told her - hell, they haven’t talked about anything, but this is a can of worms that Daryl can’t even look at tonight and he cuts her off before she can open it.

“How’s your head?” he asks, looking at his own lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her give a weary shrug.

“Hurts,” she replied. “Your leg?”

Daryl shrugs too, wincing just a bit. “‘S a bitch,” he confirms, and reaches with his good arm for the pack of cigarettes on the swing next to her. “Gimme one of those.”

Carol grabs his wrist just as his fingers close around it. “Ask nicely,” she teases, but her voice is flat. Daryl snorts, unamused, and she pulls her hand back as he selects a cigarette for himself. Wordlessly, she hands him her own, and he lights his with the embers barely burning at the end before offering it back; she shakes her head. He drops it instead, extinguishing it with his shoe.

The clear blue of twilight gives way to the black of night, the thin sliver of moon and the fire inside offering more shadow than light. Daryl’s shoulder throbs. He finishes his cigarette and shifts on the bench, more tired than he can remember being.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Daryl,” Carol finally says.

MORE ON AO3

[hey-haven]

Ta daaaaaaa! I made character sheets for all of the next gen OCs!!!!!!!! I love them so much! I didn’t think I would care about them that much, but they’re my babies now. I plan to finish up the family portraits, and I might make a video with their headcanon voices cause that sounds fun. 

[justeeyores]

I WAS THE SON YOU ALWAYS HAD,

name — daryl addison age — twenty four years faceclaim — jamie blackley abilities — n/a occupation — grocery store employee, college student passions — building, making things traits — creative, protective, determined, attentive, stubborn

TUGGING AT YOUR COAT WHEN YOU WERE SAD.

when he was just a toddler, daryl’s father began a relationship with eeyore. he was too young to remember much, but he remembered being told he was going to have a new sibling after a few months. he remembered his parents screaming at each other that night. he remembered eeyore crying, begging his dad not to ‘take her babies away’. he’d heard the whole thing from his bedroom, and he remembered thinking he didn’t want to leave. he remembered having to wear a suit and go to court. from that moment on, eeyore was his mother. he never saw his father again. he was okay with that. despite both of his birth parents choosing a life without him in less than a year, he was a happy kid. he had a good childhood and he loved his family the way that it was. he fell into the big brother role for darla and darby so well, and he took pride in looking after them when eeyore had to work long shifts even if he was just a kid himself.

he would make houses out of cardboard boxes. he would make forts out of blankets and kitchen chairs. he would make up games on the spot, using his imagination to keep his little sisters (and himself) satisfied. it kept the boredom and the loneliness away. he didn’t have as much as other kids growing up but again, he was okay with that. he studied hard in school. he was a smart kid. he didn’t have many friends. he didn’t need them. his family was his life, and while he wasn’t antisocial, he was content with what he had. even as his mother insisted they needed to move to another state without her. he trusted her, he trusted life, and he knew that even if the plan didn’t turn out how it was supposed to, everything happened for a reason. he’d make the best of this situation the way he did every situation before.

I WAS THE SON YOU ALWAYS HAD,

parent(s) — eeyore addison siblings — darla addison, darby addison open to plots — message me

I WAS THE SON YOU ALWAYS HAD.