#Bowman rides

[duchezss]

I've taken a bit to try and assemble my thoughts of jwct, and frankly I still don't know how to feel. Not in a "oh that was bad" kinda way, but in a "that was life changing how can I move on" kinda way. So I'm gonna do what I do best and just ramble on here, you know me. Spoilers of course.

Overall thoughts:

Holy cow the animation!! Not to say jwcc was ugly, but you can instantly see the budget differences. The lighting was gorgeous and the sequences were great. It was just so clear how much love was poured into every scene, the thought behind every move was so clear.

The story was so engaging and good. I thought I was gonna get tired of the "picking everyone up" trope, but it worked so well. I think the difference is this show knew how to take it's time. Ben and Darius had a few episodes to themselves, then Sammy and Kenji were given time to express their grievances. Hell we didn't even get to Yaz till ep 6 and I loved that. The dinosaurs were great too, and the overall plot was just amazing. I loved how it all slowly enfolded and how it was clear they had only scratched the surface with what they found out.

The voice acting was great as always, but it did kinda make me emotional at first to hear how much Paul had grown up. Getting used to Kenji and Brooklynn's new VA's was kinda odd, especially for Kenji, but by the end I was mostly cool with them.

The characters (and trust I'm gonna talk about all of them individually in a sec) were just superb. Their overall maturity and growth was outstanding, especially seeing how their trauma really effected them all differently. All of their arcs before and throughout the season were simply breathtaking. I think this season might be the best in terms of balance, it handled it's action, humor, and emotional moments so well.

This kinda relates back to the animation, I can't explain it, but they all just felt so much more human this season. Everyone's body language was so fluid and lifelike. They would talk over each other and mumble, they would hunch and roll their eyes and all of this sounds normal, but it really stood out. I think it's safe to say the animators really popped off this season, the direction was so clear this is truly a masterpiece. Also I felt like all of them were so touchy and I loved that so much. Like yes hug, hold hands, grab shoulders, pat on the back, I LOVE.

Characters:

Darius, my god Darius. Of course I've always loved him, he's an amazing mc and he is just so lovable. That being said I generally couldn't get over how much I loved him this season. He blew me away in ways I couldn't have imagined. His grief is so understandable and the way he shifted his ideology on dinosaurs because of Brooklynn was just heartbreaking. The way his character was handled was amazing, and it was wonderful to see that the writers do know how to let the others shine while still showcasing that he is the mc. I was also so in love with how sassy and witty he was, like when did he become so funny? His vulnerable moments were just as good and I loved how they showed his anger and frustration as well. His arc about learning to accept his grief and his regret was so poignant and beautiful. It's clear he needs a shoulder to cry on and yet he still puts everyone first, god I didn't think I could love him this much. He was easily the best character this season, I feel like they FINALLY showcased how amazing he is, just 10/10 no notes they ate.

I was kinda shocked by how goofy Ben was, but man I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it. Still can't get over how tall he is, and while I hated his design at first, it's really grown on me now. I really don't get how a lot of people are saying he felt like a shell of himself, cause frankly this season just cemented him as one of my favorite characters ever. He was kind, caring, understanding, humorous, he cracked jokes and messed around, but also got emotional and real. Him being a conspiracy theorist and living out of a van just makes sense, and the way he's the opposite of his germaphobe self now is hilarious. It was also interesting to see him as the meditator since he was the only one that got along with everyone else. He tried to help Darius with Kenji, he tried to give advice to Yaz about Sammy. It was just so lovely to see him so content and yet still himself? His scenes with Bumpy were so sweet and sad I can't stand them. Also I'm kinda obsessed with the fact that he's so big yet sucks at fighting and defending himself...king. I loved his mini arc about almost regressing on his fear, and how he grew from that. Ben ily light of my life, still the goat I fear.

Sammy's whole story just felt so heartbreaking. When they found her on the farm all alone it hurt me so bad. The way her family was her whole world and now they aren't on speaking terms? I hope the writers explain a bit cause I just can't fathom why? And Yaz moved away and she was really all alone. The way she approached her grief and her whole life in denial, and how she refused to accept anything was so heartbreaking. It hurt even worse because despite all of that pain she was still her. She was headstrong, kind, and passionate, for people and for dinosaurs. I did love how they still showcased her flaws and weaknesses. She had a hard time treating Yaz differently, but she also just wanted someone to actually be there for her. It's so clear she's tired and wants to be the one taken care of for once. Sammy stories feels heart wrenching in perhaps a more subtle way than the others. I really loved the direction the writers took her in this season. They showcased so much good and left us wanted more and ugh someone just give her another hug please.

If there's one thing the writers can be consistent on is making me despise Kenji. He was annoying me at first because of how he was approaching things, but he really grew on me by the end. He was this season’s punching bag and it was so heartbreaking. Brooklynn died and he blamed Darius and it's like he couldn’t escape his anger. It's interesting to see how him and Darius secluded themselves in different ways, and the way he still calls their mom? Oh I'm gonna cry. Yes Kenji is mad and he has every right to be, but it's clear his anger is misplaced. The whole scene with his father was so sad for so many reasons. Yes Kenji didn't like his father, but he literally watched him die. His breakdown was so painful to watch. I like how we can see Kenji kinda mature again over the season. It's as if he's relearning that not everything is in his control, and he shouldn't dwell on that. Sometimes his VA sounded too uninterested or nonchalant, which is a shame because the thing about Kenji is he pretends not to care but it's really the opposite. I am intrigued to see where this show will take his journey.

We took a while to get to Yaz, but I'd say it was worth the wait. I liked how this series didn't shy away from talking about her ptsd, and it took it even a step further by exploring peoples ways of coping. It's also interesting to see how fear has driven Yaz and how that has effected her relationships with all of them, but particularly Sammy. She's trying so hard to do better, but healing isn't linear and building a glass house around yourself can only do so much. I really hope they'll let us see how all of this is effecting her next season, because for someone is deathly afraid of dinosaurs this season put her through the ringer. That being said, I think there's no denying the bravery she showed. No matter how terrified she was she was always there for her friends. When Sammy needed her she knew how to calm her down, when her friends needed her help she let her instincts drive her. She even learned to let herself enjoy the moment, adding humor to trying to make the best of things. I feel for Yaz and I want to see her find comfort in her friends again, because she also just needs a hug.

Character: five stage of grief

While writing this I stopped and realized that in a way all of them really represented the five stages of grief regarding Brooklynn and just their life in general. So I wanted to take an interlude to talk about that for a moment.

Denial: Sammy - It's clear that Sammy has been trying to deny anything and everything, if only to pretend all of her problems are nonexistent. She doesn't want to believe that her family won't talk to her, and that Yaz won't either, and that her friend is just gone. Denying makes it all of it easier and so she makes herself busy so she won't even have a second to think about it all because then maybe she'd have to accept it.

Anger: Kenji - He's blaming everyone, especially Darius for Brooklynn's death. He blames the Allosaurus and he blames his father and through it all his anger never dwindles. Eventually it's all too much and he lets his anger become sadness, but it's clear his frustration and aggravation are not exactly gone. He can forgive but still feel mad at his situation and I think that's ok.

Bargaining: Yaz - Her's almost borderlines on denial like Sammy, but I think it's a little different. Because unlike Sammy she thinks everything is ok. She's convinced herself that this dino free island is fool proof and if she hides away like this nothing bad could ever happen. Obviously she comes to find out this isn't true and she has to accept the fact that her reassuring herself can only do so much. She has to face her fears, and boy does she.

Depression: Darius - From the get go we knew Darius wasn't doing too good. He's locked himself away in his bunker, cut off everyone, and had just become obsessed with catching the Allosaurus. Loosing Brooklynn was hard on all of them, but it's clear he took it the worst. It also didn't help that Kenji blamed him so much, so he fell into this hole. It's not the typical signs of depression, but his behavior is so different than before. Old Darius would have never cut everyone off and reduced dinosaurs to simple killers.

Acceptance: Ben - He's perhaps the only one that can speak so plainly about Brooklynns death. He constantly reassures Darius that it wasn't his fault and he's the one that rallies all of them together. His acceptance of her death is what allows him to put the pieces together that someone is after them. Of course he still mourns her, but the difference is he wants to get her justice and make sure all of them are safe as well.

Relationships:

To get the elephant out of the room THANK GOD brookenji broke up. I know they have a lot of shooters but I have and will never support or understand them. They just didn't work and had like zero chemistry. I really hope they stay broken up please writers I can't take it anymore. That being said I was pleasantly surprised Kenji's whole character wasn't just about Brooklynn. Yes she was a big factor, but without her there it's like he could be his own character again. That was always my biggest gripe with s4-s5 brookenji. I couple should not be reduced to their partners, they need to be their own person too.

Yasammy you will always be famous. The two of them were absolutely wonderful this season. Their fight was so warranted and valid and I loved that both of them were right in some ways. It's never black and white and it's up to communication to resolve those issues. The two of them are just so in love, they are actual soulmates like I can't. No notes, I think their relationship is proof that you can balance a couple and the individual. Sammy has her problems, Yaz has her problems, and together they can be a mess, but that's what so wonderful about it. The scene with them after they got out of the van was generally so beautiful I LOVE THEM.

Darius "I was in love with Brooklynn" Bowman....I USED TO PRAY FOR TIME LIKE THESE?? When I tell you I screamed I mean it so bad, I almost fell out of my chair. I know a lot of people aren't a fan, and they think it reduces their friendship, but I disagree. I think Darius still would've been heartbroken, but this just adds a layer. I also love it cause it's just so messy, and I think that makes it feel more real. What do you do if you love your brothers ex? I have been a dinostar defender for years, and I think there's no deny how much they mean to each other. I know he said Brooklynn didn't replicate his feelings but until we see the scene I'm gonna deny that. I think she rejected him because she didn't want him to get hurt in her investigation, that or she doesn't want to hurt Kenji. Let me just say writers you have a chance to get this all back on track PLEASEEEEE do not mess it up I can't take the heartbreak again.

Ben and Darius' friendship was kinda the best thing ever and I wasn't expecting it at all? I know they've had a rocky relationship before but this was so playful and I loved it so much. The way they goofed around and got into trouble, the show couldn't handle them together all season I guess. I also love how tender it was. Ben was so patient with Darius and it was clear he only wanted the best for him. Darius was just as patient with Ben and he helped him through his little paranoia relapse. They were such a good time and a blast to watch like the amount of times the two of them had me busting out laughing was insane.

Sammy and Ben duo oh how I've missed you. Another one I really didn't expect but they were so lovely. I loved how much they messed around yet they also dropped everything to commit a few crimes. Ep five was full of them and I loved it so much. Also the way Sammy constantly defended Ben was so special to me, that girl knew how to throw a punch lmao. Nothing too crazy, but so welcome and sweet. Also the way Ben was terrorizing Sammy on the phone with Yaz, peak cinema.

MIGHT AS WELL KILL ME NOW KENJI AND DARIUS. WHY are they always fighting Kenji don't make me mad. I loved their relationship so much. The way Kenji was so angry at Darius and yet Darius held him so close while he had a breakdown? Might just kms. They friendship is so rocky and real and I love that. I also love how Kenji wasn't angry when Darius said he had feelings for Brooklynn. He just listened and the maturity they both have is insane. I'm terrified of Brooklynn coming back and causing a love triangle, but honestly I'd be fine if they all just stayed friends if that means these two end up alright. When the brothers brother >>>

Ben and Yaz bestfriendism back everyone cheered. The way they still call each other by their last names actually kinda tears me to pieces. I love how Ben offers advice to Yaz even if it's in his own silly way. They're both so gentle and yet so playful with each other I love. I love that Yaz just let's Ben go on his side quests like yeah he's got it. They didn't get that many scenes but I still love them so dearly anyways.

The return of the king, Sammy and Darius. I know they didn't get that much but they were always one of my fav limited screen time duos. The way they constantly comfort each other just pulls on the heartstrings. Like when they just hugged in the back of the van? And when Sammy raced to hug him again in the warehouse? Ohh I love them. And despite it all Darius trying his best to defend Sammy? Save me older sister-younger brother duo save me.

Kenji got very limited time with Sammy and Yaz and I can't wait to see more cause those just iconic duos, I also would love to see more of Darius and Yaz since they also didn't meet till the very end. I really hope S2 (I'm pretending like it's already confirmed) let's us see more of this, especially Kenji and Yaz please I've missed them so much.

Ohhhhh Ben and Kenji. Benji nation we're kinda so back, living off crumbs is better than living off nothing. Ok but in all seriousness their relationship is so sweet. Ben trying to make Kenji see reason in the beginning, then letting Kenji hold Bumpy's egg cause it was clear that's what he needed at the moment. Then Kenji helping Ben when he got hurt. It's clear they speak in actions, not words. I need more of them like actually I've missed my pookies so bad.

Lastly I wanna talk about Yaz, Sammy, and Ben with Brooklynn. Their flashbacks broke my heart, and it also showcased how different their love and grief for her was. THE FACT THAT WE FINALLY GOT B DUO AND IT'S AFTER SHE'S GONE...my heart shattered. I love how funny and chill they were, we were so robbed of this in jwcc I swear. It's also kinda sad because the implication that Ben introduced Brooklynn to dark jurassic which subsequently lead her down the path that got her "killed"...I'm done. Also the fact that they were so casual implies that Brooklynn would constantly visit him at college which is just so sweet? I can't stand them bye. Sammy casually having Brooklynns old jacket tells me Brooklynn used to come over a lot, perhaps more when they were younger. Also Sammy seemed shocked to go in that room so I might be reading into this too much, but I see it as maybe that was Brooklynns guest room at one point? I am also a firm believer that Sammy dyed her hair pink for Brooklynn. Like Ben, everything just felt so casual and therefore more heart aching. Sammy wants to pretend like she could open that door and Brooklynn would just be there, researching and chilling. I think Yaz's flashback with Brooklynn is the saddest. All these years later and Yaz still confides and trusts Brooklynn to help her through her struggles. It's hard to believe they used to fight so much. Brooklynn is so understanding and kind, and I also find it interesting that it appears that Brooklynn was the one that really kept up with all of them. She wanted to be there for them, and it makes her supposed death that much sadder.

Random things of note:

I have always been a Benjamin denier AND NOW THEY'RE JUST DROPPING THAT OUT OF NO WHERE?? I can't have anything fr. Whatever, I'm still on my Sammy is short for Samantha box sue me.

Bumpy being a mother is so silly goofy but I'm hear for it, just glad she's ok cause if they actually tried to kill her I would've had to intervene.

I really loved the way they let everyone show emotions this season. Like yes of course they showed emotions before, but this felt so much rawer and realer if that makes any sense. Literally all of them cried once throughout the season and I loved that. But not just that, they let them be frustrated, and angry, and happy, and everything in between. KEEP IT UP.

All of the dinosaurs looked amazing, but man the Allosaurus stole the show. Also I loved the white eye, it made us want to view the dinosaur as evil in a way, and I think that was good for putting us in Darius' shoes.

The flashback sequence with Darius and the Allosaurus was so wicked. The team knew how to kill a dramatic moment oh my lord. This is kinda related to the animation too but so many shots were so cinematic. LIKE LIGHTING AND BLOCKING IS BACK PEOPLE. Brooklynn's apartment was gorgeous, Sammy's ranch during the sunset was beautiful. The scene of the explosion behind the T. Rex was iconic. We're so back

I'm so in love with how this show handled grief and not only that, but grief in a group setting. I think this might one of the only pieces of media I've ever seen that really shows how messy found family can be, and that's ok. It's not supposed to perfect, it's only as good as they make it.

Kenji saying dad in Japanese after having that conversation with his father about not being able to speak it, and the implication that he might've learned that word to try and talk with his father? Someone kill me like actually.

Darius wearing yellow agai- [GUNSHOT]

I could go into the color theory with all of their outfits but I won't cause I'm trying to not go that insane (it's not going well)

Ben's fanny back going across his torso, Yaz's iconic bangs.

The fact that Sammy found the map implies that A. Brooklynn came over right before she died and after Darius' confession, and B. That despite everything she still wanted and needed to talk to him about something.

Microbangs lady was actually scary as hell. I really liked her though, she was menacing and interesting. And she clearly valued her relationship with the raptors, I hope we see more of her.

I'm kinda sus of Mateo but I think that's just the trauma of every adult always betraying them. Hope he was chill and we won't see him again pls.

Sammy being such a great fighter is so random but I love it so much?? Like yes let her kick ass in cowboy boots that's my girl.

Where is Darius' necklace? When did he stop wearing it? It is important to the plot or did the animators just find it unnecessary?

Closing thoughts:

Overall WHAT A SHOW!! I had kinda fallen out of love with this show because s4 and s5 were kinda eh. I've never stopped loving the characters though, so this show was like a dream come true. Finally an amazing story to support these amazing characters again.

The character relationships felt at an all time high and I'm so grateful. These characters literally feel like my family too it's kinda bad how much I'm attached. I just love how much they love each other.

The only thing that kinda confused me was the ending. Why did they have to get on the boat right then and there? Why did no one stop the boat before it left? I'm not sure but I'm very excited to find out.

And lastly surprise surprise Brooklynn is alive. Of course I'm happy to know, but I kinda don't like the circumstances. I thought she was gonna be kidnapped or something so there would be a valid reason why she wasn't reaching out. But she's free and is just choosing to hide from the crew, with a good reason I assume. I think this will make her reunion with them more bitter than sweet, but I did just say I love messy so I'm excited anyway.

Y'all my fault I know I have a habit of rambling and making essays but this is just too much fr. Whatever I LOVE TALKING ABOUT WHAT I LOVE LMAO.

[ritartist42]

Well, in the end, late again. But like it's less than three hours lol (at least in my time-zone).

This is Day 15-Mortality (or could be Day 24-Death too I guess)

Yeah, so final post for now I guess. I was going for illustrated children's book vibes here. I didn't get to draw as much as I wanted but hey, that's life I guess.

I think I'm gonna write like a short novel here lol

but first bg bc I finally had time and I had so much fun~

Looks a lot more cheerful here and not as gloomy(angsty), right?

So a bit about the illustration. I don't remember the title, but I read a fic where Bard was refered to as a mayfly (I guess it could appear in muliple fics but I distinctly remeber one).

First I didn't know what that was exactly, but after a quick google search I realised that my country is kinda famous for having them (I just didn't know the english name). It's Tiszavirág in my language. So that is where I got the idea for this. But like I combined the mayfly with the firefly mainly bc I like using the glow effect.

I think I loved that fic but was very sleep deprived at the time of reading so I probably should re-read it to do it justice.

Honestly like, I think I spendt as much time on this as the others combined. I like having bold outlines on my drawings so it's uncommon for me to do an illustrattion like this. During this month I used all three of my go-to styles.

I am so glad I took part in this, it really helped me to relax and just get my mind of my exams (on a side note, I didn't want to belive it, but one of my exams had a correction error in it, and I was notified almost a week later. This is huge for me bc the extra points are a big advantage with the finals).

Anyway, I look forward to next year (is it too soon to say that?)~

and for one final time, thank you so much @bi-widower-dads

Also also, before I forget, if someone is intrested, this was my mock-up:

[mangosaurus]

darius feels like an audiobook kind of guy. but if not then probably 80's music (bc that's what dads play when they go on roadtrips and the kids assume that's just the assigned roadtrip music it's a real life experience)

you 🤝 me 🤝 other anon

being on the same wavelength (80s music enjoyer darius truthers)

[timbowmanmedia]

Metallica rocked Soldier Field in Chicago last night on day one of their M72 World Tour in the city. Check out the band playing "Fade to Black."

More videos from Metallica's show are available on my YouTube channel!

[virginsexgod69]

would die for a dom Daryl who’s absolutely weak for fem reader but displays that in the way that he craves hearing her beg for him, is obsessed with drawing things out and making her cum and LOVES cockwarming omg. Established but new relationship would be so cute!!! And since they’re still learning eachother’s bodies (and their own honestly because maybe neither of them have rly let their guards down in sex with others before?) Daryl makes the reader squirt for the first time and is absolutely amazed 🤭

(Wanna thank in advance because I feel like squirting is not represented very often in fics and it’s so nice to read it, as a human who experiences it myself!) <3 :-)

❝ Oasis ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

cw smut, cockwarming, unprotected p in v, squirting, pussy eating

889 words

not proofread yet

 You rested against Daryl’s chest as he took another drag from his cigarette. You lazily watched the way his pretty pink lips wrapped around the cigarette, wishing they were on your clit instead. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before going back to his cigarette. You were growing impatient. He’s had his large cock stuffed inside you for what felt like forever, yet he insisted on making you wait until he was through with his cigarette. You looked up at him pleadingly, but he didn’t give in. 

“C’mon, Daryl, please?” You begged, squirming in his lap. His rough hands placed a firm grip on your hips, keeping you still. 

“If you keep wigglin’ aroun’, ‘m not gonna let you cum,” he warned as he put out the finished cigarette. You sat up straight, looking him in his dazzling blue eyes. He put his hand behind your neck and pulled you down for a kiss, tasting your mouth with his tongue. You pulled away when the need for oxygen took over. 

“I’ve been real patient this whole time.” You batted your eyelashes at him with faux innocence. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling gently. You’ve come to find out that he loved it when you did that. A gentle grunt slipped from his lips. “Fine,” he said, finally giving in. Holding your hips, he guided you up and down on cock, thrusting his own hips up meeting you halfway. He pulled you into another kiss before sucking marks onto your neck and chest. You gripped onto Daryl’s shoulders for support, digging your nails into him though the fabric of his button-up shirt. The thick vein on the underside of his shaft rubbing against your velvety walls brought you close to the edge. The bowman pulled your tank top down, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the garage. 

“So pretty,” he commented before taking one into his mouth. You tangled your fingers in his hair as your rhythm became sloppy. His dick was rubbing against that one spot that drove you mad. It felt so good, yet so strange, like you needed to pee and cum at the same time. But you didn’t dwell on it as you continued to ride your boyfriend. 

“‘M gonna-”

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum fer me,” he encouraged, rubbing your clit for extra stimulation. Daryl held onto you as you threw your head back in ecstasy. The coil in your gut burst, sending a white hot orgasm flooding through you. But this felt better than your typical orgasms. A rush of liquid flowed out of you as you came. You and Daryl looked at each other with wide eyes. 

“Did ya jus…” He looked down at his soaked lap with a flushed face. He prided himself in making you feel so good that you squirted. 

“Oh my god, Daryl,” you said between pants. “I didn’t know I could do that.” His warm hand supped your face gently. 

“Needa taste ya.” His eyes were so full of lust you could barely tell they were blue. Before you could reply, he picked you up off his cock and placed you on his work table, spreading you out. His flattened tongue lapped up your juices from your slit like a dehydrated man finding an oasis. Still sensitive, you let out gentle whimpers, everything felt even more heightened. He inserted his tongue into your tired, soaked hold. His hand groped your thighs as he ate you out, his tongue hitting you in that same spot that made you see stars. 

“Yeah, right there, keep doin’ that!” You begged Daryl. 

 His fingers found your clit and began rubbing rapid circles on the swollen nub. Your back arched off the table as your hips chased his mouth and thighs clamped around your head. His tongue continued licking around your smooth walls, eliciting wanton moans from you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper between your thighs. His own hand found his achingly hard member, stroking it as he brought you to your second orgasm. The same feeling overtook you as that coil burst once again. Feeling your juices squirt onto his tongue brought him to his own orgasm as he drank them up. Reluctantly, Daryl pulled away from your abused cunt. He licked the remaining liquid off the inside of your thighs before helping you off the table. 

“You taste so good, Sunshine,” he praised as he cleaned you up with his red rag. You pressed a kiss to his cheek as a way to thank him for making you feel so good. 

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 16

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; pregnancy; symptoms of pregnancy; pregnancy complications; vomit; mention of urination; attempted SA; injuries

A/N: I am still not convinced that I like this one or the direction it takes the story, but I agonized over it for too long. So here we are. 💙

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It was one of those days, weak from hunger and dehydration, that you struggled. You couldn’t ride on the bike with Daryl and were confined to the bench seat in the back of a beat up van that the group had grabbed when the old truck had run out of fuel. 

You were freezing, even with the two blankets wrapped tightly around you. You refused to complain, though. It seemed like you always needed something. Daryl was barely eating, ensuring that you had most of his portions as well, meager as they already were. He always placed you closest to the fire when it wasn’t too dangerous to have one. You were to receive any anti-nausea medications that were happened upon, leaving Lori to suffer through her own morning sickness. It didn’t matter to you that hers was just run of the mill nausea and would fade. 

At 24 weeks, you felt the baby fluttering more often but only inside. It made you wonder if they weren’t growing as they should. You could see the same grim notion in Hershel’s eyes when he would check on you; the way the others avoided your gaze all together. 

But not Daryl.��

He’d just sit with you, letting you curl into him for warmth, while he displayed the tiniest of smirks. 

“S’a Dixon. They’ll be fine.”

The reassurance always made you smile. Sometimes, he’d even press his lips to the top of your head as he pulled a blanket snug around you. He had found this god awful poncho, colorful and not him in every way, which meant that it suited him perfectly. Always keeping you on your toes. He relied on that for his own source of warmth but never objected when you would pull him beneath the blanket as well. 

“Gotta keep my human furnace functional.”

The van rolled to a stop, prompting you to sit up. 

“Why’re we stopped?” You asked from behind Carol’s seat. Rick looked at you through the rear view mirror. 

“Getting late and we’re all exhausted.” He gestured to his right so you’d look out the window. A large, tattered house with a fence. “Haven’t seen too many walkers so we’ll clear that and maybe stay a few days.”

There hadn’t been many stops for the past several hours. There were probably buildings nearby to scavenge, but it was getting too dark to attempt. You gave the slightest nod and sat back to wait for the building to be cleared. Carol opened the door to help. She was learning and helping more and more with the walkers, becoming self-sufficient. You had the gun Daryl had given you but were under strict orders from the archer that you were to stay away from any altercations unless absolutely necessary. 

Just as Carol disappeared, the bowman peered inside. 

“Ya doin’ okay?”

You tried to offer a reassuring smile but it just wasn’t there. “Yeah.” 

He was doubtful, had every right to be, but morale just wasn’t anyone's strong suit anymore. Expression drawn, he reached back to squeeze your knee. His hand was warm through your sweatpants. You almost asked him to stay with you instead. He was needed out there though, part of the muscle that made things safer for everyone. 

“How are you feeling?” Lori asked from the passenger seat once the door had been closed. She was reclined slightly, eyes shut. She had already begun to show, even being several weeks behind you. 

You shrugged needlessly. She wasn’t looking at you. “Okay, I guess. The meds helped.” Cursing yourself the moment the words left your mouth, you tried to backpedal. “I have a few if you want one.”

“I’ve been through this before. Mine’ll pass.” You could hear the smile in her voice, though you didn’t understand why. She and Rick acted like strangers in recent weeks. Everyone had their theories but no one dared speak them. 

“Well, if you change your mind—” you trailed off, sitting back to deal with your own bout of nausea. You were feeling better. The episodes came less as your pregnancy progressed, but when it hit, it hit hard. IV fluids had long ago run out, no luck in finding more. It was up to you to keep yourself going now. 

The door slid open, startling you from a light doze. Daryl moved the seat in front of you and offered his hand. 

“S’clear. Let’s getcha inside. S’got a fireplace. Getcha all warm an’ make somethin’ horrible to eat.”

You rolled your eyes and took his hand, dragging your cocoon of blankets out with you. “I don’t know if I can eat but I’ll try.” You knew it bothered him when you didn’t at least take a couple of bites, make the attempt even if you weren’t feeling hungry. Because you should be hungry. You were pregnant in the middle of an apocalypse never knowing where your next meal might come from. So, you tried, if for no other reason than to see a few of the lines on his face smooth out. 

“S’all ya can do really.”

You couldn’t feel his hand on the small of your back but you knew it was there. That’s how he had taken to walking with you. It felt both possessive and protective, neither of which you minded. It had been weeks since you had realized you loved him. Weeks of never knowing where you stood. No one dared make an assumption other than Carol. She was convinced your feelings were reciprocated. You just didn’t know. 

“Sit down over there. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

“I can do it.” You attempted, knowing full well he was going to shoot down the idea. 

“Nah. Sit down.” He waved dismissively, not even turning around. You sat back with a pout, feeling utterly useless. You couldn’t fight. You couldn’t hunt. You couldn’t even start a bloody fire. 

Rolling up your sweater a little, you poked at your round belly. The air was cold, goosebumps rising as soon as it hit. “Guess I’m good at growing you, huh, Thumper?” When you thought about what you had said, you let your palm fall flat across the taut skin, tears stinging your eyes. “Fuck. Not even good at that, am I?” You sniffled, glancing up to make sure Daryl was preoccupied. The last thing he needed was to deal without another bout of your emotional whiplash. 

You watched the man work at the fire. Rick was bringing pieces of wood that weren’t soaked, too preoccupied with his task to pay you any mind. You could hear Glenn, T-Dog, and Carl chopping up furniture. Lori, Maggie, Carol, and Hershel were either snooping around or bringing in supplies. So, you could stare without risk of being caught. 

Like everyone else, Daryl had lost weight, his face more angular, clothes fitting looser. Not only did he barely eat, he was by far the most active. He’d scavenge, clear homes, lead the caravan on his bike, and still leave for a day of hunting that was usually unsuccessful. The only thing he did less of than eating was sleeping. You woke up at least twice in the few hours you had, usually to go pee. You never had to wake him to accompany you. He was always sitting up beside you. 

It was all starting to show. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he’d lose his balance sporadically. You were worried. You just wanted him to care for himself. 

Unconsciously tapping your middle finger on your stomach, you flinched when you felt a ripple beneath your hand. No way. You had frozen as if the baby would get spooked and run if you so much as breathed. When it happened again, you laughed out loud, startling Daryl. Upon seeing your shirt up, the archer was up and striding toward you. 

“S’wrong?” He asked with notable worry, crouching beside your knees. You shook your head, slinging your tears. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Gimme your hand.” You wiggled your fingers in front of him, elated and impatient. His hand barely made it up before you snatched it and pressed his palm to your belly, feeling bad for the way the sudden movement made him flinch. It was just out of surprise, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from muttering an apology. You were just too damn excited. 

But then nothing happened. 

“I, uh—the fire.” Daryl began to pull away but you weren’t ready to give up. 

“They were moving.” You pressed a little firmer against his hand. 

“Doc said ya’d feel ‘em ‘fore—”

You watched his face the moment the little ripple bumped against his palm. His eyes, wide as saucers, were shining with tears he didn’t seem able to blink away. Because he wasn’t blinking. You were about to question if he was even breathing when he drew in a gulp of air as if he’d forgotten. 

“Was that—”

You nodded. “Thumper’s thumping.” A tear trickled down your own cheek but you refused to move in order to wipe it away. Good moments were few and far in between and that was a great moment. Another movement within you had you laughing, Daryl glancing up and back down. “Feels funky but it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Your baby was moving. Alive and moving. It wasn’t a guarantee that nothing was wrong but it was something and you’d take that. 

The archer was still staring, cautious and curious, at his hand. He swiped his thumb back and forth over the skin, more than likely hoping for another movement. You were about to tell him it may not happen when he was rewarded with a small but firm bump to his palm. 

You laughed again, too engrossed in what was happening to notice Daryl leaning in. You lifted your head just in time for his lips to press against yours, both of your eyes shooting wide before he pulled away, hand and all. His reaction made it clear he’d been aiming for your cheek. 

“I should, uh—” 

The way he stood, nervously adjusting the crossbow’s strap as he backed away, made you anxious. The excitement was gone from his eyes, replaced with something you couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

“Daryl, it’s okay.” Shirt pulled down, you leaned forward, resisting the urge to reach for him.

“Nah, I—” he turned, making large strides out of the room. Foregoing your blankets, you were quick to follow. Daryl was standing a few feet from Rick, shifting from foot to foot like the panic was about to burst from within him if he stopped moving. 

“I’ll get the fire goin’ but man, it’s dark out. You can hunt tomorrow.” The former deputy shifted the wooden burden in his arms. He seemed to see something on the archer’s face that you couldn’t because he quickly relented. “Just be safe out there. What do you want me to tell Y/N?”

“Tell ‘er whatever ya want. She ain’t my problem, m’just here for my kid.” 

Your wet eyes stayed glued to where he had stood only seconds ago. At some point, Rick had noticed you, stopping beside you in the doorway. He would have squeezed your shoulder if not for the firewood he carried. 

“He didn’t mean it, Y/N.”

You couldn’t hide the hurt when you looked toward him, gaze seeming to look through him. “You sure about that?”

He wasn’t. 

Morning came and went, Daryl still hadn’t returned. Had he not left during the night, it wouldn’t be unusual. He spent many days out looking for anything that could be a potential dinner. But he always came back before dark. 

“You need to eat, sweetheart.” Carol gently stroked your hair while you looked out the window. You were cross-legged, wishing you could draw your knees to your chest and shrink into yourself but baby Dixon made that impossible. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” You asked quietly. 

“It’s Daryl. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Something about that answer didn’t sit right, no matter the good intention behind it. Daryl was only human. Anything but weak but no less human. You helped drag him from a ravine when he was barely hanging on to consciousness. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, the walker would have certainly killed him.

“I should go after him.” Even if he doesn’t care about me. 

“No you absolutely should not.” Carol’s hand stilled on the back of your head. “You’re pregnant, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” The quiver in your voice betrayed your attempted confidence. What if you couldn’t protect yourself anymore. Everyone had been treating you like a doll, fragile and useless. 

“You can’t go out there. Think of your baby.”

As if they could hear the concern echoing in the other woman’s voice, the baby moved, a whispered flutter just beneath your skin. Your hand moved of its own accord, gently massaging, reassuring the little life inside you that you were thinking of them. 

“I’ll wait.” You conceded, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Your baby needed to be your first priority. They certainly were Daryl’s. You supposed that was a good thing. At least he would be a present father. 

“I think he’s dealing with some serious emotions right now.” Carol had begun to pet your hair again, her voice soft and sure. As the first snow of the season began to fall, you leaned into her and allowed yourself some comfort. 

Still, your eyes never left the window. 

You had fallen asleep as Carol held you. You didn’t remember moving to the bed roll but when you forced your eyes open, the fire was burning brightly and you were bundled up. You stretched stiff muscles, pushing the blankets away. What had become a tradition, your bladder screamed for relief. You wouldn’t complain since it meant that you weren’t severely dehydrated. 

But it was cold and everyone was asleep. 

Biting your lip, you decided to venture out on your own. It wasn’t far to the tree line. Your holster was in the van, unable to wrap around your thickened waist. You decided to simply carry the gun and strapped your knife to your thigh. Your swollen belly altered your center of gravity, making it difficult to step over the lumps in blankets and sleeping bags. 

Glenn was nowhere to be seen, most likely patrolling the outside of the house. Hopefully you didn’t startle him. The snow had stuck, nearly two inches at least, and Daryl was still absent. It was beyond difficult to push down your worry, fight the urge to keep walking past the trees in the direction he had left. 

Just inside the treeline, you nearly moaned in relief that quickly passed into annoyance. With toilet paper and napkins being saved for the messier trips, you had to bear the cold biting your most intimate areas while you drip dried.

“God, the apocalypse sucks.” You complained under your breath. After an adequate—and brutal—amount of time, you were sure there was a layer of ice on your nethers. Panties, leggings, and sweatpants pulled up, you picked up your gun and stretched again. 

“Aw, the show’s over, boys.”

Your gun was aimed before the sentence was finished. Four shadows were spread out around you, one shoved toward you harshly. Glenn fell close to your feet, and you instinctively offered a hand and let him pull himself up. 

“Assholes jumped me.” Your friend staggered, choosing to hold onto the tree instead of putting his weight on you. 

“How many more of you are there?” One of the men asked, stepping forward so you could make out some of his features. 

“More than there are of you.” You silently clicked the safety off your gun.

“Getting knocked up when the world’s all fucked is pretty stupid.” The shadow to the left sneered. “Must be some good pussy if the daddy didn’t pull out.”

“You’ll never know.” You hissed, your freed hand clutching the sweater over your belly. “We scream, and our group will take you down before you can even reach us.”

“Y/N, there’s one missing.” Glenn was dazed, shaking his head as if he just couldn’t focus. 

“What?”

“There were four.”

Before his words could fully sink in, there was a knife pressed into the side of your belly, a bulky arm wrapping around to hold tightly to your left breast. 

“Drop it, or I’ll carve the little one out.” The tip of the blade pushed into your skin, enough for a small, damp patch of red to spread across your sweater. 

“Okay! Alright, I’m putting it down.” Flicking on the safety so the gun didn’t accidentally discharge, you let it fall to the ground with a dull thump. 

“Good girl.”

You visibly cringed, glancing over to find Glenn as his hands were restrained. He was having a hard time staying awake. Head injury. 

“Tie her hands and get her pants off.” Your breath hitched as the knife was pulled away, your holster ripped from your thigh. 

“Please don’t.” You begged, your body being jerked unnecessarily roughly to zip tie your wrists. A dirty hand ran across your stomach and down to your hip, squeezing uncomfortably. 

“She knows how to beg when she don’t got that gun.” He laughed huskily, leaning in too close. You reared back, turning your head to avoid his lips. “Don’t be like that, baby. We about to get to know each other real good.”

“Leave her alone!” Glenn tried to struggle upright, a boot to his stomach securing him to the ground. 

“Don’t worry, boy. You’re next.” The stranger standing over him chortled. 

What if these men were the reason Daryl hadn’t returned? What they had—

You flinched when the waistband of your pants was grabbed and pulled at, the hold too strong to struggle against. That sure as hell didn’t stop you from trying. If they were going to rape you, you wouldn’t make it easy. 

“Get off me!” You shrieked, not caring if you drew every walker in the vicinity. Maybe they’d hear you in the house. When your mouth opened to scream again, a dirty handkerchief was stuffed inside. The only thing worse than the taste was the smell, instantly triggering your nausea. 

The man grabbed behind your knees and pulled, sending you crashing to your back, your head smacking the unforgiving ground. The snow began to melt and seep through your sweater but your lower half was nearly exposed. Two men worked to undress you—maybe there was just one? They looked identical and moved in sync. After a moment, the two melted together. Now you had a head injury. 

It was futile to battle against the bile creeping up your throat. You had to tilt onto your shoulder to vomit, the viscous liquid seeping out around the fabric blocking its exit. With what little coherence you could summon you swallowed down what remained in your mouth. It would happen again but at least you wouldn’t choke on it this time. 

“Hoo, boys. Look at that pretty cunt!” 

Your face burned with shame, your gut churning, and your heart breaking. Daryl. It was the only logical explanation. They’d killed him and now they would kill you. One of them knelt between your legs, loudly working open his belt. Over the laughter and the clink of metal, you heard a sharp whistle. 

“What was that?”

“Where’d it come from?”

Another whistle, but this one was different. It was the sound of a projectile traveling to its target. Something warm ran down your right thigh. When you managed to raise your head, ignoring the throbbing, the man that was about to fuck you began toppling toward you, a familiar bolt through his eye. 

Daryl. You’re okay. 

You managed to move just far enough to avoid the dead weight before letting your head fall back into the snow, the cold soothing the ache. There were voices all around you, some distant part of you yearning to get up and help in the fight. 

“Stay awake, honey.” You opened your eyes to find Carol’s worried blue gaze looking you over while she ripped the disgusting cloth from your mouth. 

“Snuck up on us.” You breathed. 

“I know but they’re dead now. Or they will be.” 

You hummed, tuning her out when she began to admonish you for going outside alone. You were too tired to admit you fucked up. You could do that later. After a nice nap. 

“Nuh uh, girl. Open them eyes.” 

Something warm was wrapped around you, and you were gently lifted. The smell of leather and smoke wafted into your nostrils, and you knew you were safe. 

“Daryl—”

“This her blood? What th’fuck happened? Why wasn’t someone with her?!” 

When had he laid you on the bedroll? You squirmed against the cold hands on your skin, your clothes being completely removed. Had you dreamed it? Were you still out there?

“Be still, woman!” 

You exhaled. It wasn’t a dream after all. You were safe, the baby was safe. You could rest. Ignoring the pleas for you to stay awake, you followed the darkness into a blissful state of nothingness. 

“I’m fine!” You whined, swatting at Carol’s hands when she tried to roll up your shirt for the millionth time to check your stitches. “It wasn’t that deep and the baby’s been wiggling like a nightcrawler.” When the woman deflated, you leaned forward with a wince to grab her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Daryl was perched on a chair in the corner of the bedroom they had moved you into, forever fiddling with his crossbow. He had long ago cleaned and prepped the two rabbits he’d brought back. Lori was handling those while Carol insisted on being your mother hen. The archer hadn’t left the room much, but he hadn’t spoken to you either. 

It wasn’t like you did anything damnable. You went to pee, thinking Glenn was safe and on watch. Why the hell was Daryl mad at you? He was the one that skulked off for over twenty four hours and scared the hell out of you! You should be giving him the silent treatment. 

You already kinda were. 

“Any headache?” Hershel asked, strolling into the room with some Tylenol. 

“Just a little.” You shrank back, suddenly feeling like a kid under the scrutiny of the older man. He held out the tablets and you took them without question. You stayed forward so he could probe the back of your head, hissing when he pressed against the sensitive lump left behind. 

“Swelling’s gone down but we still need to keep an eye on you. You took quite the tumble last night.”

“Wasn’t as much of a tumble as it was a thrown onto the back of my noggin.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl go still, his fist clenching. “Doesn’t matter though. I’m good. Baby’s good. Glenn’s good. And we have meat for dinner! I’d say that’s a win.”

“Jesus fuck.” Daryl hissed from the corner. You turned your head so fast that your vision blurred and Hershel moved as if you’d slapped him. 

“What?” You clapped back, growing warm with anger. Carol and Hershel all but dashed out of the room. 

“Ya just gonna act like s’all good? No big deal? Ya almost got yourself killed, Y/N!” The crossbow was still on his lap, trembling from how hard he was gripping the stock. “Fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I was going to piss, Daryl! I usually have someone to go with me but you weren’t here!” You wanted to find the stricken expression on his face satisfying but somehow, it just felt bad. 

“Couldn’a got someone else?” His voice was calmer now, tired and raspy. 

“Why does it matter now anyway? Your baby’s safe.” You sank back against the headboard, grimacing when even the dusty but soft pillows made the back of your head sing with pain. 

“Yeah but you got hurt.” 

You heard his crossbow being placed against the wall but didn’t bother to look over. Your head was actually starting to hurt and dealing with Daryl wasn’t doing it any favors. “Your kid is your priority, Dixon. You don’t need to hover. They’re good.” Massaging your temples, you sighed. “I’m sure Hershel will tell you if anything changes.”

The mattress dipped beside you, your eyes opening and fingers ceasing their movements. Daryl wasn’t looking at you. He was actually looking at his knees, where one hand was clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white. His other hand was planted on the mattress, the trembling shaking the surface beneath you. 

“Ya heard that?”

You swallowed, your heart feeling heavy and suffocating beneath your ribcage. “I did.” You wanted to push him off the bed, yell at him until he felt as bad as he made you feel. 

“Didn’t mean it.”

You scoffed. “Then why’d you say it?” The archer looked pained, confused. “You know, it’s fine if you don’t want to be anything with me. Doesn’t mean we can’t raise our kid together.”

“That ain’t it.”

“Then what is it because this hot and cold with you is getting really old.” You laughed wryly. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.” He cleared his throat and sat back a little, hand hovering over your belly before he placed it on his thigh next to the other. “Kiss ya. Not, uh—not like that.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. His cheeks were tinted pink, the tips of his ears matching the shade. 

“That’s okay. I turned my head. It was—”

“I wanted to.” He clarified quickly, shutting you right the hell up. “Just didn’t mean to.” God, that man was confusing as fuck. Just like you had said: hot and cold. “Ain’t good with words. Never have been.”

You shrugged flippantly. “Always good with them when we’re fucking.”

“Y/N.” He deadpanned. 

“Sorry.” Licking your lips, you wiped away your smile. “So, you want to kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“But it was an accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” This was beyond hot and cold. This was eternal hellfire and hypothermia. “Daryl, can you just—say what you want?” 

“Told ya, ain’t good with words.” You opened your mouth but then he was leaning forward pressing his lips to yours, gentle and chaste, leaving you yearning for just a little more. His eyes were dancing back and forth between yours, fear and uncertainty blooming in the cerulean pools. 

“Do you want to know what I want?” Your fingertip brushed over the scar on this temple, moving his hair a little. It was growing and he wasn’t stopping it. You kinda liked it. Your focus returned to his gaze, and he nodded. “You. Me. Thumper. I never thought I’d have a family and then I thought I’d be a mom and you’d be a dad and we’d coparent as friends.”

“That whatcha want?”

“Shut up and let me finish.” You struggled not to laugh when his mouth shut with a click of teeth. “I want you and me to raise little Thumper. Together. Not as friends. It’s okay if you don’t wan—”

This kiss was a bit more. More tongues, more teeth, more vigor. When he moved away, it was only to start pulling at your clothing, coaxing a hearty laugh from your throat as he wrestled your sweatpants off with a bit of a struggle. 

“Wait!” You called out, holding out a hand to have him freeze. Your chin trembled with the absolutely agonizing attempt to hold back more laughter. “Does this mean you like me?” 

Your sweatpants landed on your face. 

“Shuddup.”

[writella]

Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You

Synopsis: A detailed record of all the special objects Daryl has found for you while hunting, riding, supply gathering, and living in the various places he has in the new world. These objects often lead to sweet moments of kindness, joy, and understanding between the two of you, deepening your connection. Although they are things others might not think much of— they were simply small gestures or trinkets after all— you believed these memories and mementos to be gifts of gold; they would shine in your mind forever onward.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, mutual pining, kisses, lots of love and ♡ sweetness ♡ (true self indulgence at its finest), but there are also descriptions of trauma, abuse, and self-hate. Though other than that, it’s nothing else except Daryl being an endearing friend and future loverboy to you. This travels across the plot and setting of season 6-8, but it might not be a perfect fit. Lastly, even though these can be read anthologically, I did write them in a storyline as if there was an order in which Daryl gives or does these things with the reader as their relationship grows, so some past trinkets might be mentioned in the next story, but it truly isn’t too big of a deal; this is one you can have fun with! ♡

Author’s Note: My dearest reader, this one took much longer than I intended, but I think it’s because I put so much of my silly heart-filled imagination into it— truly one of my favorites to write thus far. I’m just so happy to give it to you. Feel free to read these all at once, one at a time, or pick the ones that best fit who you are. with love, writella . ♡ ⋆ ☽

Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!

Trinket No. 1: The Ribbon ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ⟡.•

A Bow from a Bowman

Daryl was out on a hunt one morning when he found it. It’s like he was compelled to pick it up, he did it without even thinking. It was nothing, honestly: kind of silly really, and flimsy, slightly covered by grass blades— it was dirty and discarded. But there was something about it, something tender… it reminded him of you, even though in some ways still, he hardly knew you at all.

It had been over a month since Daryl came back home to Alexandria; just a month since you entered what was supposed to be your new home. But also a week or so long journey it had been to unexpectedly find you and bring you back.

He remembered it well: you were covered in dirt, tired and hungry, running for your life from the past group you were with. He was going to let you go and mind his business— you looked scared of him anyway when you crashed into him. But most importantly, he had just lost his crossbow, his bike, and maybe even a little bit of his dignity to Dwight who stole them. He didn’t feel like getting tricked again, especially since it takes a lot to trick him; he wasn’t letting that happen again. Especially not the day after. And most especially not for a seemingly young and innocent-looking girl like Dwight’s wife, Sherry or that kid they were with, Tina.

But then, he heard the yelling, the hollering, the men– they wanted you, and none of it was for the right reasons. Very wrong and scary reasons they were indeed, ones he would soon come to understand were things you’d never want to live out or discuss again. He understood that feeling, so he stayed. He hid behind a tree. He decided to help again. Who knows of your innocence, but what was definitely true was that you were a lost and lonely girl in the woods. He knew a thing or two about those unfortunately, those stories ended badly.

Sad enough, the hiding and helping— or attempting to— led him to become a prisoner with you and your ‘group.’ He barely got scraps of food, and every night was just another day of seeing your tears, your face in a permanent state of desolation and misery; staying ever silent even when you were yelled at— even when you were forced to do things you didn’t want to do. You looked scared and small.

It was only when you all reached a hospital, one you burned to the ground just to get away from them, that Daryl saw the fight in you. You didn’t even ask for his help and he tried to save you, but in the end, you saved him. A silent soldier, you were. He returned the favor with the least he could do: he took you home.

And now there you both were. You sat by Rick’s fireplace. No one was home yet, and you had just put Judith down for the night. Daryl found you there on the floor with a book. He quietly sat near you. All you two said was hello.

And this was normal, actually– the being around each other, showing up unannounced, sitting beside each other– talking or not– or you, trying to help him with whatever work he was up to. He tried to fight it at first, but it became a regular thing. It’s what helped Daryl get to know you, and you to him.

You were equally as fierce as the fire you created not long ago, but just as gentle. Just as desiring to smile and create friendships. He knew that now. And he— he was just as rock solid and straightforward as the crossbow he once carried, but just delicate. Just as easily hurt and as quick to hide, yet so deeply desiring of loyalty and acceptance. You know that now too.

It’s still so soon, but you admired him, so deeply. You wanted to learn from him. You thought he was strong, and you wanted to be strong. All that anguish and pain and he came out a fighter, a leader.

Little did you know that is exactly what he thought of you. He went from seeing you cry yourself to sleep every night to becoming the kind and generous friend you were to almost everyone you met. Always offering to care for Judith, or allowing Carl to come to you to talk, or learning about guns and shooting with Rosita. And of course finding a way to go on supply runs, or learn to hunt, or fight walkers with Daryl as much as you could. As always, he pretended not to care that much, but he did. He couldn’t help it. He values his independence, but it was nice that there was someone who wanted to be around him so much. And he admired you for his own reasons as well: You’re someone who fills others up with lightness when such dark things have happened. He felt like that every time you two we’re together. He wanted to learn from you too.

As he sat there, thinking, he wondered if maybe that’s why he thought of you when he saw it. Maybe it was the brightness and softness of it, despite finding it on the ground, despite it being dirty. He cleaned it up, and it still shined, that’s like you but… he was still unsure. Maybe it truly was nothing, maybe it was stupid.

He looked to his side, watching your figure for a moment as he decided what to do. You were on your stomach, laying on the small rug that sat in front of the fire. You were continuing the chapter you were on, paying little attention to him. He only said ‘hey,’ after all. And you did wave back, you asked him how his day was, but all he gave you was a typical response, ‘fine,’ he had said. You thought maybe this visit wasn’t about talking so you left it. And all of this was typical anyway, for Daryl to come by Rick’s, or for you two to sit in peaceful silence, but then you started to see him fidget in his spot in your periphery, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, hands adjusting his jeans, moving things in his pocket.

“Do you wanna go to the porch?” You thought maybe he was reaching for a smoke. “I can put on the baby monitor…” He just shook his head at the suggestion.

You decide to move to the spot next to him, leaning your back against the wall. “Did something happen today?” Your voice was soft as you tilt your head, trying to reach his eyes.

“No,” he shook his head again, he was facing forward. “It’s just…”

“What?” You asked calmly.

He found it hard to speak, “Just- just brought something.” He reached into his pocket one last time, his hand in a fist as it made its way closer between the two of you until he started to release his fingers from his palm slowly.

It was a ribbon. A pearly light pink one. Just scattered in his hand. “It’s stupid,” he grumbled quietly, trying to shove it back down his pocket, but you stop him.

“Wait,” your hands gently cupping the other side of his and then you pick it up, letting him go. You wrap the ribbon around your finger and you tie it into a bow, examining it in your palm now. “This is for me?” Soft disbelief enchanted your voice. You made sure not to sound too excited or too surprised. You didn’t want to scare him, especially since he replied with:

“It's nothin’.” He was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It's so nice,” your voice continued in its understated tone despite your smile becoming uncontainable. You couldn’t help the way your lips were curling upward, it was even hurting your cheekbones to try to make your teeth shine through a little less— Daryl Dixon just gave you a gift. And it was a little pink thing at that. Perhaps miracles are real. “It's perfect,” you say, “I can wear it in my hair.”

“It's stupid.” He repeated, brushing you off, but you saw right through him. Daryl doesn’t do anything for no reason at all.

“It's not.” Your words are so kind as your interject, “You know, sometimes it's the smallest things that mean everything. They become our favorite things even.” Your lips pressed together, forming another smile as he meets your gaze, “Like your vest that needs to be patched up.”

“It's fine,” he almost sounded defensive. It made you laugh.

As messed up as it is, it truly was fine. It was his and he loved it; that made it so. And he didn’t only have the vest, he also had his cut-up button-downs, and those ties he laced on the bottom of his jeans— you knew those were probably because the pants available didn’t always fit all the time, but nonetheless— these were all things that made him and his clothing unique from the others. Even in the apocalypse, Daryl was one of the few that maintained a personal style. You couldn’t help but love it. He could, and often always was, the guy covered all in dirt and grim and blood but he still had something about his look that was simply just him.

You missed that. Having those personal touches, and now here Daryl was with this. The simplest thing, but he brought it for you. It was your special piece, your special something. It truly was perfect.

“C’mere,” Daryl gestured, taking the ribbon from your hand and moving your shoulders so your back faced him. He undid the bow and cuffed your hair, he actually almost yanked your head with the way he gathered the ponytail, honestly– he forgets his strength, but you said nothing. Only giggling slightly, but you were mostly quiet. You tried to keep it down, afraid he might stop if he thought you were making fun of him. You wanted to reel at the closeness for as long as you could. You couldn’t believe the fact that he was doing something so domestic— you almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to detangle some pieces with his fingers and then he tilted his head to the side to leave some shorter pieces out at the front. He didn’t know what he was doing and he probably was doing it badly, but he tried his best to be delicate. He’s never touched you like this before. Every time his fingers accidentally brushed against your ear or your neck he relearned just how soft you are. And every feeling of his skin almost made you shiver; like when someone whispers in your ear, it always feels so sensitive, traveling down until you feel it everywhere. His touches felt like that. You always end up feeling his everywhere. He’s entrancing, filling you with hearts and stars.

Finally, he ties the ribbon into a bow right at the top of the ponytail he created. He’s done. He lets go. They shapes and colors fade. Everything is cold again.

But to him, everything looked warm and vibrant. Looking at you was a sight so sweet and so gentle among all this dark wreckage of the world— it was precisely how he saw you: the way the ribbon now laced around your hair looked like an angelic embrace.

You turn to him, “Thank you, Daryl.” Your smile is so sincere, so lovely, there might as well be a halo and hearts invisibly drawn all around you.

A moment passes as you continue to look at each other and your heart jumps. He’s still looking directly at you. There are moments that he looks away and you can’t help it, the bashfulness creeps up on you two, but he’s giving you all his attention; it feels great. You decide to take the chance, you can't help yourself, you hug him, you have to. It has been so long since someone gave you something. So long since someone thought of you so specifically and intimately.

He’s caught off guard, his hands don’t wrap around you until a few seconds later, but when they do, they are sure, and tight, more sure of it than you surprisingly.

You breathe him in, giggling again, “I’m surprised you smell this good.”

“Fuck you.” It makes you laugh just a bit louder, it’s the nicest ‘fuck you,’ you’ve ever heard. Its tone has a hint of sincerity in tandem with humor in just the same way you delivered your line. He shakes his head, “You’re silly.”

He lets you go and you turn away, but it’s only just a little. He watches how the ribbon lays right where he put it again, seeing the side of your face light up with your rosy smile as you sway your head. You’re trying to not make it obvious that you want to feel the wag of the bow and your hair back there so you do it slowly, it just feels so cool and so pretty. You liked it so much. You didn’t even know what it looked like yet, but it already made you feel more like yourself. Like a part of you that had left before this world began— it fit well like a missing piece finally snapping into place. It was your unique touch and he found it for you. He did it for you. Just for you.

For me, you repeated it in your mind, he found it just for me.

Trinket No. 2: The Lesson ō͡≡o˞̶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams

You had asked and asked for weeks with no let up. It made you start getting creative with your pleas: “You know, Daryl, we really should be teaching each other our skills,” you had insisted, sarcasm lining your voice. No one else in the group knew how to ride yet they were doing just fine, but you were incessant, “You never know what kind of situation we’ll be in where we might need it… I could die,” your hands raise as your voice does, “and your bike could be my only escape but I wouldn’t even know how to ride it!”

He would always just stare at you blankly, ignoring you, especially when you got dramatic like this right before you two were leaving. “Get on or stay,” he would say, “go help Rosita or somethin’.”

You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.

But then one day, one lucky, lucky day for you— it was your earnest approach, and your silly smile, and sun-filled eyes that got the best of him as they looked up to meet his darker ones. “Please,” you said, stretching out the word, it was just as cheesy as your smile. He looked back at you from his front seat as you continued, “I just want to feel capable and- free… I don’t know,” but you did, you meant it and felt it from deep inside you. “To know I have the option I wanted to… I… I didn’t really have those before.”

He was still for a moment and then he nodded, restarting the ignition. You guessed that was another no until you started to ride past the walkers that lined the outer gate. “An hour,” he said, his eyes forward as the trees became a blur to both of you, “then we gotta get work done.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, you only used to cup his waist or hold his shoulders, but you felt fearless today, head leaning against his back and neck, arms hugging around his torso. He finally said yes.

As time went by, you had gotten comfortable with completing your drills. You learned the controls, how to shift gears, how to waddle and power walk with the bike, operate the clutch, throttle, and lift your feet up, riding on a straight path all by yourself. Turns were still hard though, and the fact that Daryl always insisted you think about the worst-case scenario wasn’t the greatest either. He’d look you dead in the eye, his voice clear and unrestrained from his usual grovels as he said, “If a herd is comin’, or people are shooting, or if there’s something tryin’ to crash into you, you need to think about how you’re going down. Decide on what won’t fuck you up completely, then do it. ” He always got way too close to your face without realizing it in those moments, his finger almost crashing into your nose as he vigorously pointed to get the idea across.

“If something goes down, I’m not arguing,” you say. “You'll be in front.” You meant it, your voice was quiet, you understood.

But really, you didn’t: “If something go down, either of us should be able to do it.” He paused to make sure you got it this time, “That's the point.”

As if you didn’t already sense it, this was the first time you absolutely understood that Daryl was serious when he decided to do anything. Full commitment. Start to finish. You said you wanted to learn, that you wanted to be capable, then that’s exactly what he was going to teach you. You would take it seriously too.

Soon enough, Daryl allowed you to ride out of the gates of Alexandria first instead of switching off after you got a few miles out. You were getting better. So much so that today would be a different day, he explained. Daryl wanted you to ride to the Hilltop. This would be the longest distance you’ve ever rode. A whole 23 miles. But before you guys got there he would steer you in the direction of a turnpike: he wanted to practice speed, and most crucially for you, right and left turning.

His weapons and guns were strapped to his lower body, some on his thigh holster, and a machine gun over his back, all just in case, and his hold on your waist was fixed as you rode. It made you feel like a child and such a little teenager all in one with how excited you would get. Not only were you becoming skilled at riding a whole fucking motorcycle, but you were the one he was holding onto this time and it was the longest amount of time he was holding you at that.

As you reached the turnpike, he guided you around the semi-circular road. Continuing on, you saw a few walkers in the distance. He told you to speed up, there was enough space on the road and there were only four of them, they were far away anyway.

You looked back at your surroundings, other than those four, the road was pretty clear other than some broken down, discarded cars. This accidentally became a lesson on tight turns and swerving too.

Some of your turns were abrupt as you tried to go around the cars, it made you nervous. You knew it was okay not to be perfect, but it was still a little stressful to make mistakes when a master was watching behind you.

“Relax,” he’d tell you, sometimes putting his hands over yours on the handles and helping you out. “You got it.”

You went on and as the walkers approached closer, an idea arose. It was probably irresponsible, but you joked anyway, “Daryl,” you whisper-shouted with fake suspense, getting his attention. “We’re on a mission. Got to take those guys out before they get to Rick!”

He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. He leaned in closer as you leaned forward, gaining speed. One arm wrapped around your hips in totality, hand placed firmly there as the other reached for his gun, extending his arm out as you two got closer to the walkers. You two turned to face them as Daryl pulled the trigger: one shot each, straight in the head, “Got ‘em.”

You gasp, your laughter sounding so wild and fun and unrestrained in a way it hasn’t been heard by either of you before. “Is it bad if I say I hope we find another one?!”

“No, that was fun,” he agrees understatedly, trying not to fully give in. You couldn’t even see his face, yet he was trying to hide a smile.

And you were too. It was all too much honestly. You were balancing riding and having Daryl right behind you, holding onto you, trusting you to do something he’s never let anyone else do before; and you just proved you both could probably kill it in a high stakes situation. Well, maybe not, this was very, very low stakes, but still, it made you believe. You decided to ride the high, quite literally as you kept going, shouting back: “Imagine us in battle?”

Oh, wait— your grin fades slightly, you immediately regretted it after you said it. The point of this life was to try to find a way to live, not always fighting to survive. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

The silence makes you feel like an idiot until Daryl speaks up, both hands now on your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, “If we were in battle,” he almost whispers into your ear, “we’d be their worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

You feel your smile practically reaching your ears. “We’re a team,” you say, the humor coming back to your face now, the shine in your teeth reflecting the sun as it always does. “A dream team.”

A dream… Maybe. You definitely were at least, but that is a thought he doesn’t let come to the forefront. He let it go. But it was true… something about you felt unreal to him. The way you wanted to be around him this much, so interested in the things he does; he still didn’t get it, it almost felt unbelievable. He wondered when it was going to stop. When he would wake up. He didn’t want to wake up. The thought grows, he can’t avoid it now: you are a dream. One he didn’t even know he wanted.

Trinket No. 3: Lucky Charms ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flying Away With You

You gasp excitedly, “The Eiffel Tower!” You hold the bottom up to the light as he still holds the top. “Nice,” you say with bright eyes, “I found the Statue of Liberty in the mom’s jewelry box and a few others that weren’t on her charm bracelet.” You showed him the mother’s sterling silver and he showed you the daughter’s that he found. “I guess they were traveling family… or wanted to be.” You feel a heaviness behind your eyes after you say it.

You loved collecting these charms, but sometimes there was a sadness to it. Like you were collecting other people's tokens, little pieces of their personalities and their stories, keeping it as your own. It almost felt invasive. But it was something that you and Daryl did together. You liked that. Another thing that made you feel close to him… Maybe this was like keeping their memory alive? You may not have known them or know what happened to them, but you were giving something that they loved new life. The charms did make you happy, after all. Especially because it was Daryl that got you into it. But it was also you who got Daryl into it too.

You both can recall the first day it all started: He found it incredulous that you cared more about a little piece of jewelry you saw in the dirt rather than the bigger thing that was right by it: the deer Daryl just shot, the one that you two had been tracking for what felt like hours.

His face twisted up to you as he collected his bolt from the body, “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin’ at that?”

“We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s literally good luck!” You held the gold sun charm to the actual light source it was designed after, “Look at us… Lucky charm, dream team, remember?” Your smile was just so wide after you said it, he let his slight irritation go. It was easy actually, he was always taken aback by that smile. It still wasn’t that long ago when he thought you weren’t the type to do so, like him most of the time. He had only seen you sad, but now, I’m Alexandria, you just glowed. Eyes and an essence as bright as the sun, and that smile, all teeth and just as pearly as the moon… The charm was perfect for you and it needed its match. Maybe a star too. He would find it.

He still remembers where he found those. He came across a silver crescent moon necklace discarded on the floor of a girl’s bedroom. It was simplistic, like one or those expensive necklaces that shouldn’t even be that expensive because of how small it was, but it was a perfect charm size, and it shined, there were no scratches. In the other girl’s room in the house, probably the younger sister, there was a charm bracelet on the desk. It was kind of childish and clunky, like one you could get in those supermarket toy vending machines. He took the first charm he touched and removed the clasp from it for your moon. It was hard to do it with his fingers on something so small and dainty but after a few tries, he managed.

As for the star, he found it on a walker in the woods. It was a little girl, it almost made him feel bad to do it because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but her and what looked like her mom and dad went straight for the two rabbits he just caught, ripping their skin, eating them. He shot them all in the head. The thud of their bodies to the ground only seconds apart. Oh well, were his thoughts, their fault for messing with his catch. After that is when he noticed the gold charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. It was different from the one he saw last time in that other girl’s room, it wasn’t a fake toy, it was more refined. Maybe they were a well-off family.

There was a star was at the center. It’s all he wanted, but he thought you might want to see the others she had too— they were all nature themed, he kind of liked it— so he tried to take the bracelet off but it wasn’t working. The thing fit her wrist perfectly and the bracelet clasp was stuck so, in typical Daryl fashion… he just chopped the girl's hand off.

Kind of gross, and he would definitely have to keep the red off of everything now, but the star charm was gold, it would match the sun charm and the moon would stand out at the center, he assumed. He thought it could look nice… and beggars can’t be choosers in the apocalypse anyway. After he took the bracelet he discarded of the hand, tossing it to the ground like it was nothing. (He’d leave that part out if you asked for the story later). Now that he had the bracelet, you would also have a gold owl, a bunny, a bird, and if it couldn’t get any better, there was a deer charm too. That’s what was most important about the account anyway.

That night, Daryl crawled into your bedroom from the window while you were asleep. He placed the star and moon on top of your journal that was on your desk, and after that, he left. That was it. He just wanted to surprise you. He’d give you the rest later. You only realized he did it and how he did it when you closed your window that was slightly left open the next day. There were scuff marks on the window sill. They were from his shoes.

After that it became a game; a little side quest. Like how people would count red versus blue cars or shout ‘punch buggy,’ when they are out with their family. An activity that took you out of your boredom, or really, for you in the apocalypse, it was an activity that made you feel oddly sane again, since you always dealt with the insane everyday anyway.

That was what today was about. At least on the down low; at least after you found anything of value for the community; at least to you two. You guys had found what seemed to be a wealthy neighborhood a while ago, when you passed that turnpike. The houses there were so big there, but all you had was his bike at the time, nowhere to put supplies and you were expected at the Hilltop, you couldn’t stay and look around.

It had been a little while after that and you had a plan now, a few Alexandrians backing you up with cars. You two finished your portion of houses to sweep and now you were waiting on the others, sitting in one of the house porches. That’s why you both were showing each other your finds from this place and the others.

You continued to hold the Eiffel Tower charm in your hand, “Maybe we should go to Paris…” Your voice was wistfully, then a quietness lingered in the air, it made you laugh awkwardly, releasing the tension. Your suggestion was one of those silly things you say where you mean it, but you pretend it’s just a joke, knowing it won’t have any outcome. “All of us, I mean,” you do mean it, but at the same time you we’re just talking about him right now. “That would be nice.”

“What would I do in Paris?” He asks it while he fixes his weapons, you’re sitting back, looking at the trees. He thought it was a ridiculous idea. He’s never been anywhere. He hadn’t even been to Virginia or D.C. before this and there’s no way he could go anywhere else now.

“Well I guess we’re never going to know unless we find out… you can eat!” You laugh, “You do like eating.”

He snorts, “Who knows if there’s food left there.”

Pessimist. “Again— we’re never going to know unless we find out.”

“Have fun tryin’ to become a pilot,” his drawl comes out strong on that last word. “Or a plane.”

“I guess that’s the next charm we need to find, an airplane or a captain’s hat. I am a pilot… or I can pretend to be.” There’s that smile again, “I can do anything.”

“Bet you could.” He meant it.

You nod, your next words making you laugh at yourself, “I’m Barbie.”

“Better,” he mutters. You can barely hear it. You don’t know if it was real so you say nothing until—

“We’re going to travel the world some day, Daryl.” You say it so surely, breaking the moment of silence, “We’ll find a way.” As long as we’re together. As long as you want me.

That’s all you wanted, truly. Even if this world really couldn’t take you to Paris, or New York, or anywhere out of Virginia. All you wanted was him. All you wished and hoped for is that he wanted you… but did he? You still weren’t sure.

Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸

Back Pocket Memory

You two were almost near Alexandria, only a few miles left to drive. “Do you think we can just sit down over there before heading back?”

Daryl continued driving, “Dangerous to leave a good van with supplies just put.”

You pointed to the clearing you were referring to ahead. The trees were sparse in that area, it might have been a meadow, but you didn’t know the difference. There was a little pond near the center. “Can we just drive the car a little bit closer? Just for a few minutes?” You look up at him, your eyes doing that little sunshine thing as it always does, “I just want to sit in the grass,” you say, putting your hand out the window, feeling the wind through your fingers, “the sky feels so nice today.”

He huffs, but does as you ask. “Get out,” he says, gesturing to you to walk over to the area you pointed at. “Pick your spot.” You run over and he follows. You have this wonder about you, it was almost childlike, but not childish, more— sweet, innocent perhaps.

You jump down to the ground and cross your legs on the grass, looking out at the pond. Daryl parks the car a little behind you and comes out to sit on the hood. His legs spread, knees almost to his chest, his elbows lay on there, arms extended.

You look at him, “You’re really not going to sit down?”

“If someone comes up behind us and steals our shit then that’s gonna be your fault.”

Fair. You gesture at him to move over and you sit to his side on top of the car.

As you settle, you close your eyes and you raise your face to the sky. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your closed eyelids. There was a majestic kind of wind that blew in the air today. It made everything look effortless, especially Daryl.

His ever-so disheveled hair had pieces flying on both sides, brushing some parts out of his face, and pushing others in. As always, it was just enough that they didn’t completely cover his eyes. How does that always happen? Thinking about it makes you giggle lightly as you look at him.

“What?” He asks, becoming a little self conscious.

You shake your head, your eyes looking at him kindly, hoping to ease his nerves. “You just look nice.” Your voice was silvery and sweet as you said it.

You get up and skip toward the pond, picking a flower and coming back to him. You sit down and try to put the tiniest white flower behind his ear.

“What’re you doin’?” He tries to swat it away, playfully hitting your other hand that tries to hold him in place and he takes the flower from your other hand. He successfully places it behind your ear instead. “Better,” he says.

As he looks at you, he notices light pieces of your hair frizzing up at the top from the wind, other pieces at the bottom still moving around slightly. It didn’t look bad, to him, your hair looks more like that invisible halo he sees when you’re around, and with that flower in your hair, you look like a true angel or maybe even a fairy with all the greenery surrounding you. You’re just lovely.

You give him a closed smile, your head falling to your knees. “Pretty day,” you sigh contentedly.

Pretty girl.

Handsome man.

Then a thought comes. Your smile turning to a grin.

“What?” He asks sharply. He knows the look you get when you’re up to something at this point.

You grab your backpack from your side, slowly bringing out the polaroid camera you found earlier today.

“No,” he pushes the side of your face, already detesting the idea.

“Daryl,” you whine.

He says it straight this time, “No.”

“But…” your eyes trail his face for a moment before continuing, “you just look… I don’t know. It’s like I said, you just look so- nice.” There’s other words you could use, but you don’t, not yet. “I just think it would be nice to have a nice picture. All we take pictures of is the houses and work. It’s boring and a waste.” You pause, “Daryl… Please?”

He rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You first.”

He’s glad no one was around when these moments happened. Someone might think you had him completely whipped. His brother definitely would think so if he was still around. Daryl was almost embarrassed of himself because of it. But you don’t ask for much. Other than the bike thing, you really didn’t. You trusted him and you were patient. You went along with his plans and you could sit for long car rides and periods of time in quietness if that’s what he wanted. You never pushed him to tell you his story. He only knew a part of yours circumstantially and he didn’t push you for more details after he brought you home, so you did the same. He could feel you wanted to ask more questions, but he also saw you stop yourself, move on, you were creative with your conversation topics: you asked him about what the best thing he hunted was, or what his favorite things were about your friends. You were so gentle with him. Maybe you could get him to do almost anything you wanted without you even knowing, but it was worth it for someone like you.

You look down shyly, “I’m not good at pictures,” you admit.

“You’ll look fine.” He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. You’re so alike, more than you know.

He tilted your jaw with his thumb. It was too quick for you to melt into it but the feeling lingered, it made you buzz with excitement and it was easy to smile after that. He looked through the viewfinder, seeing you do that pretty sunny smile, matching the yellow bud of the white flower. He clicked the button. Beautiful.

You snatch the camera instantly, “Your turn!” You were too eager but you didn’t care.

You take the flower from your hair and bring it toward him. He sucks his teeth, saying your name as he does so, “No!”

“Yes, Daryl!” You push it over his ear, but not before he pushes you knee, just to do it. He didn’t even know why he was fighting, he knew he was letting you have your way right now. “Look,” you sound like a school teacher, “very nice.”

You even out some of the frizzy parts at the top of his head, the light wind was still blowing through it, it was futile so you left it, he looked great anyway. A perfectly imperfect mess.

He crossed his arms over his knees and looked into your eyes. You held the camera to your face and snapped the shot. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. If anyone else was here that could see those all to familiar hearts and stars around you and in your eyes, it was so hard to hide. “I’m keeping this,” you said, placing the polaroid delicately in your back pocket. He said nothing, he wasn’t going yo let you know he cared about a dumb picture. “Okay, thank you for indulging me,” you start, taking the flower from his ear, “let’s go home.”

Later that night, past one am, he came through your window again. But this time you saw. Your head was almost covered by the blankets, your eyes slightly open. He didn’t even look in your direction. Maybe he wanted to be quick.

You saw him go into your bookbag. It was hanging on your desk chair. He took the picture out. He wanted it. He wanted your picture. The one that matched yours of him. Maybe this was something. Maybe he did want you.

You closed your eyes quickly when he started to turn around, then watched as quietly as you could as he neared the window, starting to climb out but not before he placed the polaroid in his back pocket, just like you did. Now you both had a piece of each other, forever.

Trinket No. 5: The Music Player and the Wish on an Eyelash ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ♬♪

Never Fade Away

It’s official, in all the ways it possibly could be: Alexandria was truly your home. More time has passed: you live in a house, you have a job, you have family— it’s your friends. In some ways things are better than they have ever been… yet you still think about the night and the dark just as much as you used to. You tried to hide it, you wanted to be grateful and you were. But the things that used to happen to you, and the people that hurt you… they still lingered like ghosts when night came.

In the closed and guarded walls of your community, you hoped night could be a time and place that was peaceful. But thoughts of an attack, thoughts of losing your first real home, it left you apprehensive and paranoid of what could happen in your vulnerable state. And when you close your eyes, sometimes the past visits your dreams. It all felt inescapable.

It makes you so fearful that despite keeping your window’s curtain open, a battery-powered lantern resides practically glued to your nightstand— always on when the sun goes down. You knew it was a waste of a resource, but at least you kept it on low, at least when you woke up in the middle of the night, closer to morning really, you remembered to turn it off— the sun making its way back around soothed your nerves; it was always that initial getting-to-sleep part that made you need it anyway.

And of course, you’ve tried to calm yourself down at night using different methods to see what stuck: You do read— your neighbors were always kind enough to lend whatever books were in their houses— and you did daydream— letting your mind wander to happier, more wondrous places when you wanted to escape— and it did help sometimes, but on other nights, it wasn’t enough.

You miss watching tv in bed. There was something about the buzz of the box, and the voices of humor and romance and relatability that miraculously took you away, and helped you stop thinking, even allowed you to drift to sleep… it was a luxury you didn’t have anymore, and not only did you not have that luxury, you also had an overabundance of dead or deadly issues to worry about. It all haunted you.

You sat with your back against the headboard of the bed. You’ve yet to put on any night clothes. You had already read the next chapter of your book, and you would have read another, and possibly another after that, but tonight you knew it would have just kept you awake as something to do instead of worrying about sleep. You were tired though. That’s why you stopped, but you also weren’t ready for trying to catch sleep that wouldn’t come.

Part of you hoped Daryl would stop by, but he doesn’t always, and he probably won’t tonight. Some nights he’s out until the next day or the next week, who knows how far he went this time, you didn’t go with him and he left too quickly to ask. It had been a few days since you saw him last.

When he was here though, he did start to make it a habit of stopping by to see you, especially when it was time for Alexandrians to settle into their homes for the night. He stopped being so quiet through the window and only dropping things off. He would start coming through the door. It was just a light chat for a couple of minutes at first, then there were the times when he stayed an hour or two. He always sat on your floor, by the window, or by the door. You never understood why until you insisted he sit in your chair by the closet. It was only until a few more visits later you realized the chair's light color becoming just a bit visibly darker. It was soot and hard work and the air, he worked outside all day and usually visited before he called it a night. You made sure not to mention it, you just cleaned it yourself. No need for him to feel embarrassed.

Besides, you didn't mind, anytime he walked through your door or jumped in from your window, that was his chair, at least that’s what you called it in your head. You liked that. You liked that after he brought you home he didn’t move on and let you be. In his defense, you didn’t let him be either, but he could have always distanced himself if he wanted to, told you no, but he didn’t.

You two have gotten so close quite quickly. You both felt it and you didn’t know why, but at the same time, you did. It was something left unspoken, even in your mind, always on the side toward the back of your brain. That part knew you could fall in love with him, but why admit it to yourself if the other person might not feel the same? You were still feeling that way. Despite all the moments you’ve shared thus far. His silent nature was endearing at times, but it could also be a very confusing gripe of yours. There were moments when you knew exactly where his mind was, but there were other times when you simply did not. Especially when it came to you. Daryl always gave you just enough, and maybe tonight, it would be nothing at all.

At least that’s where your thoughts resided until you heard the creak of your door slowly pushing inward.

Daryl’s hand holds the doorknob, meeting your eyes as he steps in further. Your window casting just enough light on his face.

“Hi,” you meant to be clever, ask him if he knew how to knock, but only wistful, subdued surprise is all that came out in your one-word greeting.

“Hey,” he replied, it almost seemed like he was surprised too, you couldn’t tell it from his voice but from the way he cut the word short. “Didn’t know if you were awake.”

You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t see you in the window.”

His voice is low, your house is quiet, and people are asleep in the other rooms. You match his tone with your own quietness, “Right,” you say. The window did hit the bed end, not the top. But he knew you were a late sleeper. He even came and sat with you for longer the night before he left because you had told him about it— he knew, he had to, but you didn’t question it.

“Um,” he’s looking down, “Was just gonna leave somethin’.”

He starts to walk to your nightstand but you stop him, your hand reaching out, not touching him, but it’s just enough to pull him to your gaze. “You’re gonna leave without showing me?”

Daryl positions himself toward you and you sit up. Gingerly, he takes something small out of his front pocket, it was covered in one of his bandanas. He looks at it for a moment, almost unsure before placing it on the bed, right in front of your lap.

It was an MP3 player. One of those slim rectangular ones with a digital rectangular screen to match and a big circular button with the controls covering the bottom half. There were some small scratches in the screen corners and some dent marks in the back. The arrow buttons were starting to fade too, but he handed you some headphones out of his back pocket as you continued to examine it, it must have worked.

You look up at him, eyes wide, shining just a bit in the dark just like the little silver miracle that was in your hands. You remembered having one of these, the thought made your lips curl, a light open-mouthed smile forming as the nostalgia set in.

You move closer to the edge of the bed, the sky illuminating you more in your semi-darkened room. You place your hand on the other end of your bed, “Come,” you say as your tap the spot. He’s hesitant before he finally accepts the invitation, sitting down. You would have insisted anyway if he didn’t.

You flip the switch on the side then and the music starts instantly in your right ear where you set one of the earbuds in. You tried to put the left on him, but he shook his hand, “You listen.” You let him be for now, you were too excited to see what the previous owner was into.

The songs are scattered from different decades, but what you notice the most of as you skip through were various 90s and 2000s rock, pop-punk, pop, and the like. There was Nirvana, but also Fiona Apple to Blondie, and even Elvis. It was a little all over the place, really. This definitely had to be a teen’s in the early or late aughts. You thought maybe Carl would like this. There was even some stuff that you were sure had to have come out in 2010, right before the apocalypse began… Another kid who wouldn’t get to spend the rest of their teens, or young adulthood, or adult life like they were supposed to, like you were supposed to.

Having these thoughts while Aerosmith’s Fly Away From Here played was not helping, especially since it made you think of your lost family, and those from your found family that were gone now too, so you decided to skip, but the button seemed to fidget. You tried again, then again, even touching the screen. You accidentally made the shuffle icon come onto the bottom corner.

“Don’t like Aerosmith?” Daryl read it on the screen, but he also recalled the melody, even from just the soft buzz produced by the headphones, the volume was accidentally turned all the way up, you set it down.

You give him a light smile, “Aerosmith’s fine. Just have to be a little more careful with this, I guess.”

You continue to press forward to see what else is there until you shriek, color coming back to your face as you shake your head at the memory emerging as you listen. “Oh my god, my sibling used to love this song when we were younger.” It was Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend that was playing. “We used to put on the radio or look up the music videos on the tv and dance. They loved doing that…” Your voice was soft, both sweet yet desolate, “I knew all the popular songs and all their favorite songs whether I liked it or not.” You giggle, “I can lie this one is fun.”

You knew Daryl would probably scoff, but you lightly place the left earbud near his ear for a few seconds so he can hear what you’re talking about.

“Definitely a chick’s.”

“‘Chick’?” It was funny, and you did laugh, but you still decide to protest, “It’s just one song and…I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty eclectic mix of artists…” You continue to press forward as you ask, “Were there kids? Or- did there used to be?”

“Based on the rooms.” He nods, “Boy and a girl.”

“Hm,” you say curiously, flipping through the songs: the next one that played was by Linkin Park, then Alanis Morisette… you wondered if the kids shared it or shared interests. Suddenly, the player starts Lit’s My Own Worst Enemy. Your eyes are starlit as you gasp, “Oh, this one is so you.”

This time you fully push the headphone into his left ear, turning the volume all the way up as the first verse plays, his face is fixed, “This ain’t me.” There is silence as the music continues and he scorns, “You think I used to just get drunk all the time?”

“Daryl,” your laugh is light, “no.” It was a ridiculous thought and he should know it, but nonetheless, you console him, “Of course not.” Your hand reaches forward onto the bed, nearing where his own resided, but not touching. It saddened you to see Daryl always react like this to small things. He was never judgmental, but he was always so quick to believe others would judge him. “Maybe not that part,” you smile, slightly mischievous, “but- okay, this-” you sing-speak along lightly, remembering to stay quiet, “it’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy, cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me- that's you! That's literally you.”

He shakes his head, ‘Whatever,’ the gesture says with his grunt.

“No, you’re actually a little bit self-deprecating, I think. At least internally.” You continue, “Oh, and this part— I didn't mean to call you that- you see?” You say, humor still in your smile, “That part is you.”

Daryl gives you another small grunt indicating ‘no’ as he shakes his head again. “If I say something to someone, then I mean it. Wouldn’t say it if I don’t.”

“Well, you also mean a lot of what you don’t say,” your eyes trail to the side. You knew that didn’t make sense, but it did to you. There was a part of you that was still in denial of your feelings or if there was a possibility he had any for you either. You’d never see him talk or treat anyone in a more than friendly way– or whatever Daryl’s version of friendly was. You wanted to protect yourself by not admitting you adored him, even to yourself, but really, you knew. And there was the way he kept giving you these things, these little moments: the ribbon, the picture, the charms… It made that smaller part of you that believed something was there, glow and warm inside your heart.

You look at him, there was a sorrow placed on both of your faces, but he just looks at his hand that is placed on the bed through his hair, the one that's so close to yours. “You really don’t think there is anything you don’t regret saying?” Another song passes, you didn’t recall it, but then the playlist shifts to something slower, it’s the Beatles. “I just think you keep a lot inside… It’s okay though. But it is just something I notice.”

Normally, a comment like this or something similar to it would sound trite and judgmental, there are a lot of things people don’t talk about now, but you say it with understanding, a little sad because you can’t help it, but your voice is kind, like gentle fingers through his hair, evening it out; a voice that shows you care, you see him and respect him even if you do want more. “It’s okay,” you whisper as Paul McCartney’s voice sings softly, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me.” It felt like he was speaking right to Daryl as he continued to look away from you.

It’s moments like this where he wants to say it all. The sad stories from his childhood that he has never been able to tell anyone before. Stories about his brother… the bad, yes, but even some of the good ones. He knows he could talk to Rick if he wanted, or Carol. His group was loyal to him as much as he was to them– he knew that, but they probably wouldn’t care to hear about Merle, it would probably make them angry to be reminded of all the bad things he’s done to them. He wouldn’t blame them. In many ways, and for more reasons then all of them, he will always be angry at his brother too. This is why he didn’t even like to let himself think about the past, but in other ways, it still sucked. It makes him feel alone, like talking about himself or his brother or the past was just a gateway to hurting himself and scaring others, scaring you.

You wipe him away from those thoughts even though you didn’t even hear them, your voice pulling him out of his trance, “Things are harder now, Daryl, but I think you’ve only gotten better.” There is still so much you don’t know, but nonetheless, it’s like you can read his mind.

“This is the only me you know.”

“And even then I don’t think you’re the man I met when you found me… We’re definitely not the same people.” Your hand is just inches from his fingertips now. “We all have things to improve on, even if we think we’ve already grown up. I think that’s a part of growing up actually… just realizing that you never do, or at least not entirely. You’re always going to continue to grow.” Your words linger in the air as the next song starts, it’s Paramore, it’s The Only Exception— something still laced with melancholia but it has a sweet gentleness to it. It's just like you. This is how you were trying to be with your words. “It’s better if you allow it though, or work toward it instead of against it, I think.” You laugh at yourself then, “But I'm far from perfect so I should really stop talking.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks, you’re hopeful the night’s light doesn’t show it too much.

He wishes he could tell you he thinks you’re perfect, or at least something close to it. At least for him. You truly were like an angel. Maybe Radiohead is on this too.

The chorus continues to play, leading to the song’s ending and his jaw tightens. It’s annoying that you were right, your words from before echo to him. They weren’t nonsensical, he did get it: he does mean the things he never says as much as the things he does, but no one will ever get to know. Not that everyone has to, but maybe for you, maybe just a little, maybe you can be the exception. And he can tell that you’re trying to me: who carries around a silly little ribbon anyway? Or who keeps their window open almost every night, even on cold nights? He felt like he was failing you. Maybe these gifts and these small moments weren't enough. Maybe they were just trinkets; meaningless, giving you false hope for a love he couldn’t provide.

You both hear the outro, “Oh, and I’m on my way to believing,” and his heart pangs at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to fail, maybe he can try, at least right now, “It’s just…” he speaks up, his voice clears, “It made me think of you when I saw it.” He was talking about the mp3, “That’s why I brought it back… You’re always humming under your breath. Now you can stop annoying me with the same old thing.”

Your eyes roll, but you aren’t mad, in fact, you can't help that it makes you smile. “Oh, okay, Daryl,” you say through quiet bits of laughter.

“Also thought it could help you sleep… I dunno.”

You nod intently at his words, “Thank you,” and that wistfulness in your voice returns. “That's really kind.”

He nods back. He’s so gruff and straight-faced all the time, but was it bad to say that there were moments when you can't help but see him as adorable? He was always trying not to meet your gaze through his hair, and it was always messy like a kid’s, just like when you took that photograph.

Muse’s Starlight starts playing as you brush some of the hair out of his face. It's an awkward transition, but it's what you get from accidentally pressing shuffle so many times. In the end, though, the words make it seem perfect for the moment. The singer spoke of desire and escape, about missing loved ones and wanting to keep someone special, someone that's like starlight, close by. You understood that. He did too.

You giggle lightly, “Daryl, you- you have something…” You point at your face in reflection of his.

“What?” He wipes his nose.

“No, it's- it’s here,” you say, taking your finger to lightly catch the eyelash that threatened to slip away from his face and onto the bed. “Make a wish,” you whisper. Your face is nothing short of innocence and wonder.

His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”

“Daryl,” you eyes widened with apparent prodding and pleading annoyance, but your words still have a sense of amusement to them, “I think we need all the luck we can get.” Your head tilts as you say through your smiling teeth, “I’ll do it with you…?”

“Fine.” He can’t help that your squeal makes his lips curl but he’s trying to hide it.

“You have to really do it.” You turn the music down, it's in the background now. Your usual sun-filled eyes are currently wide like the moon as you look into his, coming closer to his face.

He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise?” You sing.

“Promise.” He meant it, he even closed his eyes before you to prove it.

You closed your eyes too, “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Squeezing them tightly, you whisper, “Think about what you want, and then I'm going to count to three and we blow.”

Instantly, your heart foolishly thinks of Daryl. You know you could be thinking about the safety of your group, the stability of Alexandria, or hoping that the threat everyone feels coming subsides into nothingness, but all your thoughts are just of him. It makes you feel like a silly little girl, waiting for that big romantic confession of love that you dream about, the one that will probably never come.

I wish for you, you think. You can’t help it, you can’t say anything else, this is the only thing that’s true, I just wish to stay by your side, forever.

The song echoes your hopes too, I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.

You agree, never fade away, please.

“Okay,” you say softly aloud, “1… 2… 3…” And then your wish flies into the air. You two stare at each other afterwards, eyes starry like the sky from your window.

You wished for each other.

Trinket No. 6: Scars, Marks, Tattoos, and Internal Wounds ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Things I Only Trust You to Know

It’s another night. Another visit. It wasn’t intentional this time, but your curtains were drawn. They’re almost never drawn, at least not completely. The window was still open though, the night’s breeze ruffled them backwards. Daryl became concerned, so he climbed up, opening the window wider and pushing the curtains to the side to get through.

He saw you crying.

Hearing the thud of his boots stomp lightly to the ground triggered you to turn, body facing the closet as you were curled in your bed. You didn’t want him to see you. “I’m tired tonight, Daryl.” Your voice was low, you tried to keep in neutral. For the most part you were doing well, but it was still obvious you weren’t fine— he saw your face before you covered it.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, his legs hitting by your feet. He didn’t feel like asking if you were okay if you were going to lie and say no. “You can tell me to go if you want,” was all he said, rubbing your arm as he did and then let go. You starting sniffling involuntarily because of the touch. You realized you were holding in a breath, the shaky exhale came out louder than you wished it did. “I’m sorry,” your voice blubbering. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t done this in front of him since before he brought you home.

“Don’t gotta be.”

“I feel stupid,” you say under your breath. You’re still trying to hide your face.

“Stop.” He puts his hand over your body now, on the bed, and he faces you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head slowly, looking at him, “I don’t know how to say. I can’t-”

“Just say it,” he said calmly.

You felt heat rising from your throat, it was like the words were trying to come out, but it felt scary to do so, it made your teeth grind against each other. Your head shakes harder, “I don’t think I can.”

He brings a hand to your face and wipes some of your tears with his thumb, “What would you tell me?”

You would tell him to speak, that it’s okay, you both knew it. The thought makes you sit up in your bed, tears still running down your cheeks, but you were going to try.

“You’re just going to get annoyed,” you wipe some of your tears with your wrist, “think I’m dumb, like a little girl.”

“You’re not dumb,” he spoke over you before you finished.

You pause, you shake your head again. The words are on your tongue but you just feel so bad and so embarrassed to admit it. “Sometimes I just…” your voice hitches and your hands goes to your head, more tears fall, “it’s just one of those days, I guess.”

One of Daryl’s hands goes to your shoulder and your upper back, he pats you until it quickly becomes a soft, swaying motion.

Your voice doesn’t go above the lightest whisper as you try to start again, “Sometimes- I just look at myself and I-” a sob erupts from your throat and tears roll much quicker, “I know you’re going to think I’m stupid, but sometimes I just wonder if anyone could love me.” It doesn’t even feel good to finally admit it, but you continue, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like maybe I’m not enough. Or I’ll never be.”

Daryl’s face heats up. How could you ever feel that way about yourself? How do you not see yourself as anything less than everything he’s seen in you since the day he met you? You’re not stupid. Never. He feels stupid for not seeing this in you. He feels stupid for it being so hard for him to tell you everything wonderful about yourself in the way you deserve.

He thinks for a moment, he wishes he was more poetic, but he wasn’t and there are still certain things he’s not ready to say. So he decides on something else as he calls your name, “You’re telling me you can’t see you’re a tough son of a bitch?” The phrase makes you laugh involuntarily through your tears, he always says it like it’s one word. “One that found a way to burn down a hospital and kill a bunch of dickheads in one go just to stay alive?” He huffs, “Prettiest arsonist I’ve seen.”

You gasped but it made you smile lightly, it was funny. “I’m not an arsonist! And it was only part of the building.”

“Coulda fool me.” He tilts his head, “But you’re also probably one of the best scavengers we got. And you’re a good friend.” His hand travels to your knee, “You’re really good at talkin’ to people… and to me.”

You try to let his words fill you up but there is still doubt. “I don’t feel like pretty and really good are the right words.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t get it, “Well, what do you see that I’m not?”

Your heart beats ferociously, you don’t move, you’re hesitant, you don’t know if this is right, but there is a part of your that wants to. “Can I show you something?” You asked.

He nods.

It’s scary, but you decide to trust him, showing him the part of yourself you felt most ashamed of. The part of you that you thought was unloveable.

But he sees nothing shameful, nothing bad, he just holds onto it or another part of you, caressing you gently. “You’re perfect,” he says, shrugging as if his words aren’t a big deal, but he knows they are. This is the first time he doesn’t keep a thought like this in his head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He turns his back on you now, and he takes a breath, sighing deeply. You’re confused until he sighs and starts to speak; “When you were with those guys— and I know it ain’t the same, but— I know what it’s like. For people to use you.” He swallows hard, “I don’t like myself all the time neither.”

Your eyes widen. He was taking off his shirt. The first thing you see are tattoos, until your eyes travel to the other side, you see what he meant; the scars. “My dad. He was a drunk and a loser and an asshole.” Daryl's voice hitched, you couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but you had never heard him like this before. “He did it to my brother too, Merle. But then he just left when he was old enough. Didn’t even give a shit that our dad was gonna do it to me,” there was anger in his voice. “He said he didn’t know,” and then he chokes on his words, “but how can I believe that? Thought it’d just skip a generation? He never changed. Neither of ‘em.” You wanted to hold him, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. He was still speaking, “Then when I got old enough, I left too. Some time later I started drifting ‘round with Merle, like that was gonna be any better… Two fucked up kids doing nothin’ with their fucked up lives.” His face turned to the side, you saw his profile, his eyes were red, “That’s what I did before Rick… You all were going to do good things with your life and I was gonna be nothing.”

“Daryl…” you were crestfallen, “I’m so sorry.” You held his arm, stroking it softly. “But you weren’t going to be nothing.”

“Yes, I was.”

“There is no thinking about what could have been. This is how life is. Maybe this was always going to happen,” your voice falters as you say it. “You’re not nothing. You’ve become everything to so many people.”

He turns his face back around and you look at his back again. It was difficult to look at, you won’t lie. Your heart sunk low, like it was being squeezed and brought down to the pit of your stomach to know that someone put him through this. Someone who was supposed to love him. Another tear escaped your eye at of the thought.

“Daryl,” you stutter meekly, “Is it okay if I hold you?”

His nod is so faint you barely see it, but he doesn’t say anything else so you believe it is a yes.

Your fingers ghost over his back until you let the tips of them finally lay on his skin.

His eyes wince and squeeze as he shutters despite your fingers trailing so tenderly. Your palm is now flat on his back as you move downwards and back up again. You kiss near his shoulder, right on the tip of his highest tattoo and then you wrap your arms around him, under his arms over his waist, and he holds your hands there.

You stay there for a long while, you don’t have a recollection of time. The moment feels like forever, although it is sad and you wished you weren’t discussing the things you were to get here, you don’t want it to end. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him.

It’s quiet until he says, “No,” disagreeingly, “You’re not brave just because you go through some shit.”

“But you still are,” you insist. “This happened to you and you chose to be the person you are now despite it. You became someone invincible.” You pressed him against you tighter, “I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Finally he turns around and takes you in his arms, your head now resting over his shoulder as your chests touch, closing the gap. You lay down on the bed and he stays on top of you. One hand plays with your hair and you continue to caress his back.

“I really like your tattoos,” you whisper, almost a giggle in your voice. “They look really good on you.”

He smiles a little. He never takes off his shirt so people barely see all the ones he has. He liked that you liked them. “Thank you,” he says.

“Do you want more? If you could?” You also want to ask why he got the ones he did, but the crying has made you sleepy and him being on top of you is making your mind hazy. “I wish I could,” is all you add.

He looks at you, “Maybe that’s the next thing we find.” He was talking about a tattoo gun, “That’s the kind of junk people don’t need now, we’ll look.”

He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.

“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”

“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”

He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”

You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.

He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.

You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.

Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.

You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.

Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.

Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.

Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-

Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut

It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.

The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.

And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.

But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.

Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.

All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.

It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.

He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.

This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.

And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.

The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.

After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.

This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.

But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.

You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.

The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.

Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.

As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.

He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.

There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.

“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”

You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know,” he mutters.

Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.

Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.

He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”

You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”

“I left you-”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”

You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”

“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”

You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”

“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.

You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.

Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”

His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”

Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”

The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.

“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”

“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”

“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”

You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.

He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.

“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.

“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.

You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”

“It aint.”

“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”

“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”

He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.

As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.

He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.

Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.

You’re worried, “What happened?”

He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”

Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.

“How long have you had that?”

“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.

You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.

He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.

It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.

“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.

He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.

… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩

[rosieethor]

Aromantic Books Let's Go!

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath

Black Wings Beating by Alex London

This Dark Descent by Kalyn Josephson

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Fire Becomes Her by Rosiee Thor

Not Even Bones by Rebecca Schaeffer

This Golden Flame by Emily Victoria

Immoral Code by Lillian Clark

Tarnished are the Stars by Rosiee Thor

The Last 8 by Laura Pohl

Hullmetal Girls by Emily Skrutskie

Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman

Loveless by Alice Oseman

Take Me To Your Nerdy Leader by Hailey Gonzales

Being Ace edited by Madeline Dyer

Queerly Loving edited by G Benson and Astrid Ohletz

Common Bonds edited by Claudie Arseneault, C T Callahan, and RoAnna Sylver

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria

Godly Heathens by H. E. Edgmon

The Grimrose Girls by Laura Pohl

The Butterfly Assassin by Finn Longman

At the End of Everything by Marieke Nijkamp

Switchback by Danika Stone

Tell Me How It Ends by Quinton Li

Awakenings by Claudie Arsenault

Stake Sauce by RoAnna Sylver

The Ice Princess's Fair Illusion by Dove Cooper

The Threads That Bind by Cedar McCloud

Not Your backup by C. B. lee

Fallen Thorns by Harvey Oliver Baxter

Natural Outlaws and Fractured Sovereignty by S. M. Pearce

Wander the Night by Sydney Cobb

Stones Stay Silent by Danny Ride

The Story of the Hundred Promises by Neil Cochrane

Two Dark Moons by Avi Silver

The Bruising of Qilwa by Naseem Jamnia

An Accident of Stars by Foz Meadows

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

Syncopation by Anna Zabo

Dear Wendy by Ann Zhao

The Loudest Silence by Sydney Langford

Lord of the Empty Isles by Jules Arbeaux

Our Deadly Designs by Kalyn Josephson

The Final Curse of Ophelia Cray by Christine Calella

[livingdeadblondequeen]

Heated Push

This is the first of a two-part with Daryl/Reader in an ABO universe. Set between S3 & 4; Smut

Chapped lips pressing firmly against yours

Hard muscle smashed against your soft breasts

Warm callused hands running up your inner thighs, spreading them apart

Y/N bolted awake, panting and taking in her surroundings. She was alone in her cell at the prison. It was a dream, yet so much more than a dream. Her body felt hot, her skin sensitive against the bedding, and she was throbbing between her legs. It had been a while since it had happened, but Y/N knew what this meant. “Fuck.”

Throwing off the sheets that were twisted around her body, Y/N swung her legs to the edge of her bunk and got up, throwing on some loose clothes as she did before poking her head around the sheet she used as a door. Typically, she would have just bolted through the opening into the public area but with the pheromones she knew she was putting out, it wasn’t the best idea if she didn’t want a bunch of alphas pouncing on her. No, there was only one alpha that she wanted in particular at the moment or at any time.

Spotting Maggie not far away with Beth and her father, Y/N frantically waved the brunette over. Confusion masked her face until she was within a couple of feet of Y/N and picked up her scent. “Whoa.”

“Tell me about it.” Y/N huffed as she pulled the other woman into her cell for privacy. “I woke up like this.”

“No warning?”

“None,” She replied. Y/N hadn’t had a heat since a month before the world went to hell and the dead rose thanks to the suppressants they had found then the malnutrition from the rough winter they had after the farm fell. Now it seemed her first one after a couple of months of safety and eating well, her cycle had returned with a vengeance. Thankfully, she hadn’t woken up in a full-blown heat, but she wasn’t too far off either. “I need your help.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “My help?”

“Not like that!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re beautiful and sexy but…”

“I’m with Glen and I’m not the alpha we both know you want,” Maggie said with a devious smile. “Speaking of Daryl, do you want me to get him?”

“He’s on a run. But I need you to get Carol and help me to one of the heat cells.” Y/N answered as she chewed on her lip, trying not to let the small moan that suddenly bubbled up in her throat as her core clenched at the mention of the Alpha that the omega inside her desperately wanted. 

Her relationship with the bowman was complicated. They had met in the beginning when the Dixon brothers had joined the group in the quarry. Both alphas, especially Merle with all of his crude talk, had been a bit rough and scary at first. Yet they settled into the camp and started helping the group by hunting for food. 

Y/N had felt herself drawn to Daryl, her eyes following him when he wasn’t looking and a few times when she wasn’t watching him, she’d look up and catch him looking at her. Yet he hardly ever approached her, if she wanted to talk to him, Y/N was the one who would have to engage. The first time she did, she picked up his scent; a mixture of the woods, grease, with a hint of smoke. She had a feeling that the last part was due to his cigarette habit, but she didn’t care, the omega in her wanted to roll around in the scent of him. Thankfully Y/N was still on suppressants at the time or she might have done just that though it didn’t keep her from seeking him out.

After Merle disappeared and the camp fell which led them to head to the CDC, Y/N was trying to figure out who she was going to ride with when Daryl came up behind her. He let her know that there was an empty spot in his truck if she wanted to take it. He chewed on his thumbnail as he waited for her answer, and for a moment it was hard for her to remember she once thought he was an intimidating alpha. She nodded quickly before yelling over her shoulder to the others that she would be riding with Daryl. 

It was during that trip that Y/N realized how touch-starved Daryl was. Right after they had said their goodbyes to Jim, she had told Daryl that she was sorry about his brother, reaching out to squeeze the hand not on the steering wheel and saw him jump at the contact. As long as it wasn’t wanted, Alphas and omegas appreciated casual touches, but Daryl’s reaction told her that he wasn’t used to them. As they continued to drive, Y/N ran over the time she’d been around Daryl in her mind. She couldn’t remember one time where someone touched Daryl or he touched them in a kind way. She had seen Merle punch him in his arm or shove him on occasion, and then later there was the fight between Daryl, Shane, and Rick. Those instances coupled with the scars she had seen peeking out of Daryl’s shirt told her a lot, no wonder he had so much anger. 

After that, Y/N made sure that she did what she could to help Daryl. She would sit as close as she could when they would eat meals first at the CDC, then at the farm, brushing her leg or arm against his as they ate. She also offered small touches, not too much to help soothe him as they would sit and talk at the end of the day, him telling her about the search for Sophia and later at his bedside after he had been hurt. When they found out the little girl had been in the barn the whole time, Y/N had given him a hug, only to have him shove her off of him and stomping away.  

Y/N had gotten separated from the group when the herd came through the farm, but thankfully she was able to stumble her way to the highway and found herself engulfed in Daryl’s arms when the group spotted her. He mumbled an apology into her hair as he held her, saying he thought they had lost her. 

After that, when they were on the road, the two of them were always together unless Daryl was hunting, though things remained platonic between them, even with them sleeping next to each other at night. It wasn’t until he had returned after leaving with Merle that he finally admitted that he wanted her as more; he wanted her to be his. They had been ‘together’ ever since but had not had sex nor were they bonded yet. First the Governor, then building the community within the prison had taken precedence. Y/N wished he were there now though because with her heat she knew that both of those things would be happening. 

Maggie nodded in understanding before she disappeared back out of the cell. Knowing she had gone to look for Carol, Y/N grabbed a few things she would need for her heat. Her pillows, her few blankets, her water bottle, and a shirt she had hidden away, not much for an ideal nest but better than a bare floor or bunk.

“Y/N?” Carol called to her from outside her cell door.

Y/N shoved the privacy curtain to the side, coming face to face with the older Omega and she saw sympathy in her eyes. Carol wrapped her arm around Y/N’s shoulders, directing her out of the cell block. “Oh sweetheart, let’s get you out of here and away from everyone.”

Y/N nodded as she let Carol and Maggie lead her out of Cell Block C and to the Administration building. One of the things the group had done when making the Prison their home was to turn the old intake cells in the Administration building into makeshift nests for the few omegas when needed. It allowed for the omegas and their Alphas or, like Y/N, a single omega, to have some privacy during their heats, safely away from the others.

After getting her settled, Carol hugged Y/N one last time. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Daryl,” Y/N replied. Carol’s brows shot up in surprise, but Y/N quickly continued. “He is on that run for a few days, can you tell him what is going on when he gets back? I don’t want him to worry.”

“He’ll do that no matter what when he doesn’t see you, but I will make sure to head him off as soon as he returns.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said before Carol moved to shut and lock the door, leaving the younger omega to her heat.

*Next Day*

Pulling his bike up alongside the car Glen and Rick took on their run, Daryl killed the engine. Those who were nearby and had seen them return all came over to see how it went. They had been lucky, not only did they find a large haul, but they had found it quickly which allowed them to return to the prison earlier than planned. 

Daryl noticed Zack, the kid who had been on gate duty, approached him. “Hey man, Carol left a message for you. Said to come to find her when you got back.”

“She say why?” Daryl asked, wondering if something was wrong. 

“Nope, just find her as soon as you come back,” Zack stated with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t think it was anything bad.”

“But sounds important if Carol left word,” Rick commented. “We’ve got this. Go find Carol.”

Daryl nodded in thanks to the man before grabbing his bag and heading to find his friend, hoping it would be quick. While checking in with Carol was something he did usually when he came back from a run, there was someone else he wanted to see first, Y/N. Returning early meant he would be able to see her sooner, something Daryl was happy about. Three days away from his little omega had been plenty. Technically, she wasn’t his, she didn’t bear his mark, hell they hadn’t even had sex, but he had been courting her with the desire to make her his. He had known he wanted her from the first moment he saw her at the quarry. He just wasn’t sure it was mutual. 

Not only was he craving her sweet scent and touch, but Daryl had also found a little surprise for her on the run and couldn’t wait to give it to her. After not seeing Carol anywhere around the outdoor kitchen, Daryl decided to check cell block C. It was most likely that both Carol and Y/N were there anyway. 

Daryl was still a couple of doors away from Y/N’s cell when her scent, wild berries, and cream, hit his nose. His first thought was that he picked it up despite the distance due to their time apart but as he threw back the blanket that covered the entrance he knew that wasn’t it. The scent of ripe berries overwhelmed him and his alpha senses kicked into high gear. His mate was in heat. She was in heat and probably suffering from its effects alone, without him. Her rich scent had gone straight to his cock, and the only thing Daryl could think of was finding her. 

While fainter than within her cell, Daryl was able to follow the scent trail she had left behind, growling slightly when he picked up Maggie’s alpha scent mingling with Y/N’s though it faded quickly and was replaced with Carol’s. He followed the two scents out of the cell house to the administration building. He knew that was where the secured heat rooms were and Daryl was relieved to know that Y/N was safe from the others while she was so vulnerable. 

Between her scent and the sounds of her whimpers, it didn’t take long for Daryl to figure out which cell she was in. The holding cell was the furthest from the entrance, allowing for the most privacy possible. Daryl felt his heart clench when he caught sight of her; Y/N was naked in her makeshift nest, the cot mattress along with a few blankets and what looked like one of his shirts that he knew had gone missing a few weeks before. The alpha within him preened knowing that she had wanted to be surrounded by his scent, even if it was from his shirt. Her hand was between her legs, rubbing frantically in an attempt to get some relief from her heat but Daryl could tell the moment she caught his scent by the way her eyes snapped open and looked for him. When they landed on him, she whimpered. “Alpha, it hurts.”

Hearing her whine snapped Daryl into action. Using his set of keys, he quickly unlocked the door and let himself in. The door hadn’t even closed before he started to strip off his clothes; his poncho, vest, and shirt hit the floor while he kicked off his boots. The room was saturated with her scent and if his cock hadn’t already been hard, it certainly would have been then. As he removed his pants, he gave himself a few strokes to relieve the pressure before he lowered himself to kneel between Y/N’s thighs. “It’s okay ‘mega, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”

Though her thighs were coated in slick, her pussy swollen with arousal and need, Daryl laid his body on top of hers, giving her the much needed skin to skin contact. Y/N’s knees rose to cradle his hips as he pressed his mouth against her neck, kissing, nipping, the feel of his scruff brushing against her neck sending shivers through her. He used his left hand to hold himself up while his right cupped her breast, his thumb brushing against her hardened nipple, causing her to moan. 

Daryl teased her breast for a minute before moving his hand away, trailing his fingers down her stomach. His touch felt amazing, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Y/N jumped when she felt him press his calloused thumb against her clit. She moaned softly, she pushed against his hand as he started to rub firmly. Y/N could feel her eyes wanting to roll back in her head from the pleasure of his thumb sweeping back and forth across her bundle of nerves but it wasn’t enough. “More, Alpha. I need more. I need your knot.”

“You’ll have it sweet ‘mega, but I need to get you ready first before I fill you with my cock.” Daryl mumbled against her skin as he licked and bit at her neck. Not hard enough to break skin, not yet. He needed her less glassy-eyed and foggy with need. 

Moving her hands from their position on his wide shoulders, Y/N threaded her fingers through Daryl’s hair and used them to pull his face away from her neck, up to her mouth. Her lips crashed against his hungrily, as she tried to convey to him the desire she felt for him. He seemed to read her thoughts as his lips pressed against hers greedily before she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. His lips parted automatically, and their tongues intertwined. 

Daryl moved his fingers to her opening, sliding one in just a little before drawing it back out and circling her sensitive folds. All of the teasing movements sent Y/N into such a state that when his fingers pushed inside of her in a deep thrust, she arched her back in pleasure. She broke away from his lips and cried out. "Daryl!"

"Come for me Y/N, let me see you…" He whispered as he picked up the pace of his hand. The teasing touch he had started with was gone now, as he fucked her with his fingers. 

Every thrust of them brought her closer to the edge until she honestly believed she might be going insane from it. She felt him push into her one more time before she finally did shatter, shuddering, the waves of pleasure radiating up through her body. Daryl watched her orgasm take her over as he continued to pump his fingers inside of her, working her down from her high. He kissed her tenderly as he removed his hand from inside her. His fingertips ran back up her body, stopping briefly to caress her heaving breasts before he grabbed the arm that had been resting at her side. He laced his fingers through hers, before bringing them to his lips.

Though her body was buzzing and shuddering in the last tremors of her orgasm, Y/N felt her pussy throb again quickly when she felt Daryl roll her over onto her stomach before moving her onto her hands and knees in front of him. Her belly quivered, she craved the feel of him inside of her, she needed to feel his knot inside of her or she was going to combust. She rolled her hips back against him, rubbing herself against his throbbing erection. Daryl growled against her neck at her teasing. Not being able to wait another second, he took his thick length in his hand and guided it between her legs towards her entrance.

"Alpha…" Y/N gasped, as she felt the swollen, slick head of his cock probing her flesh. She bit her lip when he found her opening. Daryl held her hips, and she swallowed a moan when he pushed into her. He was stretching her in the best way possible.  

As soon as he was completely sheathed inside of her, he stopped, and she knew he was letting her get used to the feeling of him. She felt impossibly full, but didn’t need him to be gentle; she needed more. She flexed her thighs, sliding back and forth on him to signal that she wanted him to move. He bit back a moan, as he felt her beginning to move on him. She felt tight around him, her inner walls contracting every time she moved, trying to lock him inside her. His hands gripped her hips to stop her, taking control as he pulled out of her until only his tip was still inside her. She whimpered at the loss of him, but the whimper turned into a loud moan when he thrust back in.

Again, Daryl moved out of her, until just the tip was inside, and then back in fully. He repeated the action a few more times, making Y/N moan. Her thighs trembled, while her body jerked as he rammed into her, the swollen head of his cock pushing and hitting her deep inside. His hips started moving, pumping into her at a demanding, hungry pace. One of his hands left her hip cupping her breast to knead the full mound to try and distract him from her neck. It took all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into the flesh of her throat.

She closed her eyes and let sensations engulf her. Daryl could see her mouth open slightly as a moan escaped her when the friction inside of her was too much, or the head of his cock pushed on a sensitive spot. He gripped her hip harder, moving faster into her, the feel of her around him pushing him further, wanting to go deeper into her for his knot to lock them together. Her face twisted more and more in pleasure as he felt her starting to flutter around him. She felt him grip her hips tighter as his thrusts became faster and more erratic.

Her walls clamped down around his cock, as her orgasm rolled over her. He held her tight when he kept moving against her for his own impending release. He relished the feel of her muscles flexing tightly around his cock. His orgasm coursed through his body as he continued to pump into her, his knot expanding until it was notched inside her. As soon as they were locked, he came hard, filling her completely. His orgasm seemed to go on for hours though he knew it was only minutes. When his body finally came down from his high, he felt like he was going to collapse. Not wanting to crush Y/N, he rolled the two of them onto their sides, wrapped his arm around her, and tucked her head under his chin. “You feel better ‘mega?”

Y/N nodded before yawning, feeling half asleep already. She had been in agony since her heat had come on full force, she tried her best to relieve the ache within her by herself but it wasn’t even close to the satisfaction she was feeling now thanks to the knot now locked inside her. It wouldn’t be too long before her pussy would be throbbing again with need for Daryl. 

“Get some rest Y/N,” Daryl ordered. “I’ve got ya.”

Please reblog or tag a friend to share.

Thanks to @littlegodzilla, @green-eyedladywrites, & @minervadashwood for their help!

[racefortheironthrone]

I understand that knights normally followed a fairly set career path: start as a page, get taken on as a squire, and then if they merit it and have resources, knighthood. How did it work for other classes of soldier? How would one go about becoming say, a man at arms, or a specialist like a long bowman or a crossbowman or a pikeman for example?

Ah, excellent question!

One preliminary thing, you do have to be mindful of the distinction between actual training and social organization. Let's take your "career path" for knights, for example - at its heart, the whole page/squire thing was essentially a two-stage apprenticeship, but there was both a mix of actual martial training (I'll get into the curriculum in a bit) and what we would think of as socialization into the noble class - things like music, dancing, literacy, manners, and so forth aren't really directly related to the job of an armored heavy cavalryman, after all.

Importantly, when it comes to the distinction between various ranks, we have to keep in mind the importance of both material resources and sociocultural status. As you note, the difference between a squire and a knight was really about whether the squire could afford the full complement of arms, armor, and a horse, and there were more than a few grown men who were squires their whole lives (this is the inspiration for characters like Squire Dalbridge) because they just didn't have the money to advance to knighthood.

At the same time, the difference between a knight and a man-at-arms came down to social class - in order to be a man-at-arms, you had to have the same training as a knight and own the same equipment (arms, armor, and horse), which is why a lot of the written sources simply call all such men men-at-arms whether they were knights or not - although some sources took more pains to distinguish between the milites gregarii (the plain man-at-arms) and the milites nobiles (which, as you probably have guessed, refers to actual knights).

The former tended to be from the gentry rather than the nobility, and as a result of their lower status, they were usually paid half the wage rate of knights despite doing the same work and taking on the significant risk of providing their own equipment. (The fact that they were cheaper also explains why the proportion of actual knights on the campaign rolls dropped rather rapidly between the 13th and 14th centuries - knights were more expensive, so hiring men-at-arms instead meant you could stretch the budget for heavy cavalry.)

The Knightly Curriculum

As I suggested above, the training for knights was essentially an apprentice system where the page and then the squire provided service to their master in exchange for education. When it comes to the actual content of this training, the curriculum was actually pretty ecletic:

As you might expect, training in arms was an important part of the program. However, this training included a lot more than just swordsmanship. While the sword was very culturally important, when it came to the actual military function of a heavy cavalryman, the lance was arguably of greater importance. Training also tended to include other sidearms - axes, maces, and the like. In later periods, as armor got a lot better and mounted frontal charges tended to be de-emphasized in favor of having men-at-arms fight as dismounted heavy infantry, the curriculum expanded to include new weapons like the poleaxe and other polearms that Gary Gygax was obsessed with.

Training in horsesmanship was also a core part of the curriculum. GRRM is not wrong when he says that "jousting was three-quarters horesemanship," and this is why pages and squires were not only taught formal equestrian lessons, but were also taught how to hawk and hunt as part of their training. Hawking and hunting were the past-times of the nobility in no small part because they involved riding horses very fast through difficult terrain while simultaneously handling either a dangerous animal or weaponry, and were thus were considered good training for future cavalrymen. As Hillary Mantel puts it, "la chasse...we usually say, we gentlemen, that the chase prepares us for war."

Training in armor tends to get downplayed or overlooked, but it was considered so important that a major portion of what pages and squires did was deal with armor - carrying it, maintaining it (scrubbing with abrasives to prevent rust, oiling the straps to keep the leather straps supple, polishing - it was really endless labor), repairing it, putting it on their master and taking it off, and so on and so forth - so that they would understand every step of the process and be able to fend for themselves later on if they didn't have attendants of their own. The famous French knight, Jean "Boucicaut" le Maingre, was held up as an example to pages and squires for constantly wearing full armor while undertaking exercise:

What About the Man-at-Arms?

As you may have noticed, I've been mostly talking about how knights trained rather than men-at-arms. So how did your gentry-born homme d'armes train? Essentially the same as a knight, but with less of the aristocratic bells and whistles of ritualized service and socialization to the nobility. So a son of the gentry would probably be training under the tutelage of their father or other male relative - and given that we're talking about a society in which the overwhelming majority of people did the same jobs as their parents, often being legally bound to do so, this was a very common phenomenon all the way from peasants upwards - or perhaps from a professional tutor who would most likely be a veteran in working retirement.

Towards the later Middle Ages, as literacy rates increased and book production expanded to match supply to demand, your more traditional systems of apprenticeship and one-on-one tutoring became supplemented with written manuals of arms. While this genre of military literature goes all the way back to classical antiquity - and indeed, Roman manuals like De re militari were very popular in the Middle Ages, as were translations of Byzantine manuals - these lavishly illustrated manuscripts were both practical teaching tools and status objects for the families who owned them.

Specialists: Longbowmen, Crossbowmen, and Pikemen

Ok, enough about the upper classes, what about the commoners who served as specialist infantry in Medieval and Renaissance armies?

Well, I've already written a bit about longbow training, but the gist of it is that what started out as a (Welsh) hunting tool was recognized by the English royal government as a vital aspect of military readiness, so laws were promulgated that required essentially all but the poorest to own a longbow and that "that every man in the same country, if he be able-bodied, shall, upon holidays, make use, in his games, of bows and arrows… and so learn and practise archery." This training started at a fairly early age and lasted at least a decade, because it involved both the acquisition of technique and the development of the body (not just the arms, but also crucially the back muscles, as the "special sauce" of the English longbowman was his ability to "lay my body in my bow" rather than relying solely on the arms) - such that archeologists can identify longbowmen from the over-development of the shoulder and arm bones.

What about crossbowmen? Well, as I've already written a bit about, one of the major advantages of the crossbow over the longbow is that you could train someone to be a crossbowman in as little as four months, compared to the decade at minimum for a longbowman, because most of what you were teaching them was accuracy in shooting (hence why the recruitment process often involved eye exams) and the procedures for loading and cocking the crossbow - which required a certain amount of physical strength to pull back the string to the nut that would hold it in place, or to work the winch or the lever or the gaffe or the windlass if you were using a heavier crossbow, but nothing like the physical conditioning required for a longbow.

One of the reasons why the term "Genoese" is so often associated with the crossbow is that the Republic of Genoa established a corps of crossbowmen to serve both in the army and as marines in the navy and these experienced soldiers in turn provided a ready supply of labor for mercenary companies. While the captains who recruited on behalf of the great companies might have to put in the up-front investment of equipment (the crossbow and its accessories, pavise shields, armor,and sidearms), they were able to essentially outsource the training costs to the Republic.

When it comes to training, pikemen were somewhere in the middle between the longbowman and the crossbowman. Because pikemen have to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with lots of other pikemen without stabbing one another accidentally or getting their polearms tangled up, coordinating movement and action was vitally important. Hence, pikemen learned a series of quite complicated drills to teach them how to move in formation in different directions, how to change formations from line to square and back, how to switch from pike to sidearm and back, how to work with missile infantry, and so forth.

As I've talked about before, a big part of the reason why Swiss pikemen were so feared on the battlefield is that, because they were very well-drilled and disciplined due to the policies of universal military service adopted by the Swiss cantons, they could execute these drills very quickly, which meant that the Swiss pikemen could turn on a dime from an impenetrable defensive pike square to a shockingly fast and aggressive deep column which beat the ever-loving shit out of the Burgundians, the Hapsburgs, the Italians, the French, and pretty much everyone - until the Swiss ran up against a nasty combination of the German Landsknecht and the Spanish tercio.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 1: Matt

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: No real warnings thus far -- This is going to be a pretty angst-free fic.

Word Count: ~6,300

A/N: Welcome to Angel of God, My Guardian Dear! This started out as a 1-shot and quickly spiraled out of control, as my thirst for Matthew Michael Murdock could not be contained.

For the purpose of this story, Reader is Catholic and grew up at St. Agnes with Matt.

Title is from the Catholic prayer "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide, Amen."

"All set to go to Lavelle?" 

Matt Murdock turned his head as his friend and business partner, Foggy Nelson, came into his office. "Yeah, just need to finish up here and I'll be on my way."

"It was really cool of them to ask you to come speak," Foggy added.

Matt nodded. "I hope I can help these kids realize that their disabilities don't define who they are and that they can be whoever and whatever they want to be, including lawyers."

Foggy huffed out a laugh. "Or crime-fighting vigilantes?"

Matt grinned. "Well actually, there's probably only room for one blind crime-fighting vigilante in this city, so I probably won't suggest that as a potential career path."

Foggy patted Matt on the shoulder. "You're a great speaker, I'm sure you'll motivate the heck out of those kids. Have a good time, dude."

"Thanks, Fog."

Matt grabbed his briefcase, headed outside, then hailed a cab.

"Alright, where we goin'?" The cabbie asked.

"The Bronx," Matt answered. "Lavelle School for the Blind."

The cabbie tapped on a screen, presumably putting the address into his GPS. "Alrighty, just sit tight and we should be there in about half an hour."

Matt sat back as the cab began to move.  Think of it like a jury, Karen had said when Matt had told her and Foggy about the opportunity over a couple of pints at Josie's a few weeks before. Just a younger, way more judgmental jury.

Matt had laughed. Not helping.

You'll do great.

He mentally practiced his speech during the ride and before he knew it, the cab was pulling up in front of the school.

"Thanks," Matt said as he paid the cabbie.

"No problem," the cabbie replied. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too."

Matt headed inside.

Almost immediately, a somewhat familiar voice asked him, "Hi, may I help you?"

Matt turned towards the voice. "Hi, yes, my name is Matthew Murdock. I'm one of the speakers for today?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Murdock, I'm Dr. Bowman, we spoke on the phone."

Matt nodded, now placing the voice. "Right, right."

"We'll be in the meeting hall, which is straight down this corridor. If you'll just come with me…"

Dr. Bowman led Matt down to the meeting hall. "We really appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to speak to our students," she said as they entered.

"It's really not a problem."

"The students and their parents will be starting to arrive in a while, but if you'd like we could have someone escort you around to the exhibitor tables once they're all set up."

"Yeah, maybe."

"We have a Braille program if you'd like one -- it lists all the speakers and exhibitors for today."

"Yeah, I'd love one."

"Okay, one second."

Dr. Bowman stepped away for a minute then returned, handing Matt a booklet printed on Braille paper. "Okay, here you go."

"Thanks." Matt pointed to a nearby table. "Is it okay if I sit over here?"

"Yes, of course. Just let us know if you need anything."

"Will do."

Matt sat at the table and began to read the program. Staff, sponsors, speakers, exhibitors…

He began to read the exhibitor list. American Council for the Blind, representative Ashley Prewitt. VISIONS, representative Clay Markham. NYC Mayor's Office for People with Disabilities, representative Barbara Franklin. Andrew Heiskell Braille and Talking Book Library, representative Y/F/N Y/L/N --

Matt froze and read it again. Could it really be the same Y/N?

Y/N, who at 8 years old had taken 9-year-old Matt, who had just arrived at the orphanage, by the hand and declared that she would be his friend. Y/N, who had giggled when Matt had asked her a few days later if she was an angel and replied, 'no, silly, I'm a girl!' . Y/N, who had been Matt's fiercest protector and had gotten into almost as many fights as Matt himself had. Y/N, who would stroke Matt's hair softly until he fell asleep on the nights when he would sneak into her room because all the stimuli flooding his senses became too overwhelming. Y/N, to whom Matt had taught Braille so they could pass secret notes to each other without anyone else being able to read them. Y/N, who 17-year-old Matt had held while she cried the day they found out that Y/N had been taken in by her long-lost aunt and would be leaving Saint Agnes… and him. 

Y/N, his own personal guardian angel, the one person in the world Matt could tell everything to… except the one thing he had wanted to tell her most of all.

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

"I don't want you to leave," he admitted quietly as he and Y/N stood at the entrance to St. Agnes.

"I don't want to leave either," Y/N replied. "I wish you could at least come with me."

Matt chuckled wryly. He had overheard one of the nuns talking to Ms. Y/L/N earlier that morning, warning her about 'that Murdock boy' and telling her how it was best for Y/N to be separated from him 'before he gets her into trouble'. "I don't think your aunt would go for that."

"Then can we run away together instead? We could travel the world, just you and me on the epic best friend adventure that we've always dreamed of." 

God, Matt wanted to say yes. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Y/N by his side, be it as his best friend or -- as he knew deep down in his heart -- something more.

However, Sister Bernadette had been right. Y/N really was an angel sent from on high who deserved all of the goodness in the world, and Matt… Well, Murdock boys had the devil in them.

He shook his head sadly. "Your aunt's waiting. You should go."

Y/N was quiet for a few moments. Finally, she said, "Before I go… I got you something."

She took Matt's hand and dropped a thin, wiry chain into his palm. "I saved up for six months to buy it from the church's gift shop. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…" She trailed off. "Anyway, think of me when you wear it, okay?"

Matt picked it up with his other hand. Attached to the chain was a small cross. 

He nodded. "I will. Thanks."

"I'll write to you, give you my aunt's address." Y/N pulled him into a tight hug then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll miss you, Matty."

"I'll miss you too. Goodbye, angel."

Matt waited as half of his heart climbed into a cab and left, the note he had written to her the previous night still in his pocket.

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

Matt mentally shook his head. Don't get your hopes up. It may not be her.

…But deep down he knew it had to be.

He stopped someone who was walking by. "Excuse me, can you tell me if the representative from the Heiskell Library is here yet?"

"Umm…" the woman paused as she turned towards the exhibitor tables. "Yeah, actually, it looks like she's talking with Dr. Bowman at the moment."

"Okay, thank you."

"No problem."

As the woman walked away, Matt turned his head so he could listen in on the conversation.

"...So glad you could be here," Dr. Bowman was saying. "We really appreciate you taking time to come out and speak with our students and their parents."

"It's no problem, Dr. Bowman," the other voice replied. "I'm always happy to promote the library's services."

Matt sucked in a breath. It *is* her. 

Even after all the years that had passed since he had last spent time with Y/N he had never forgotten the sound of her voice, the times he had sat listening to her read to him still among his favorite memories.

Y/N and Dr. Bowman were wrapping up their conversation, so Matt stood and headed over towards them.

Either Y/N didn't notice that Matt was behind her or Matt had misjudged the distance between them, but Y/N turned around and bumped into him.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, sir, I--" Y/N gasped. "Wait, Matty?"

"It's just 'Matt' now, but yeah. Hi, angel." Matt was surprised at how easily his old nickname for Y/N slipped from his lips.

"Oh my God, hi!" Y/N wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "How are you? What are you doing here? Are you a teacher?"

Matt chuckled as he returned her embrace. "I'm well. I don't teach here, I'm actually one of the featured speakers."

"Oh, wow, that's wonderful."

"What about you? How have you been?"

"I'm well too, yeah. Oh my God, this is so crazy. Are you still in New York?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, still in Hell's Kitchen. You know me, I'm loyal to my city. What about you?" 

"Yeah, Florida was okay, but New York is home. I'm actually in Midtown West now, so I'm not far." Y/N paused. "Hey, would you want to maybe grab dinner or a drink or something after this is done, and I dunno, like, catch up? It's totally fine if you can't, I just thought maybe --"

Matt quickly shook his head. "No, no, yeah, I'd love to."

"Great! I'll have to run back by the library to drop all of my stuff off but I can meet you wherever after that."

Matt thought for a moment. "You still like Italian?"

Y/N let out a light laugh. "Of course."

"Then how about Bellissima Italia, over on 9th and 44th? That's near there, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great."

"Will 6:00 work for you? I'll make a reservation."

"That would be perfect. Here, let me give you my number in case something unexpected comes up. It probably won't, but then again, this is New York -- you never know what kind of craziness is going to happen next."

Matt chuckled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "That's very true."

He created a new contact and typed in Y/N's name, then added her number once Y/N recited it to him.

He hit the button to call her, hanging up after Y/N's phone began to buzz in her pocket. "There, now you have mine."

"Awesome. I have to get to my table, but I'll see you tonight?"

Matt nodded as the doors opened and people began to trickle in. "Yeah, definitely. See you tonight, Y/N." 

"Bye, Matt."

Wow, what are the odds? Matt thought as Y/N walked back over to her table. 

He pulled his phone back out and headed back into the hallway to make their reservation, then called Foggy.

"Yo, Matt, what's up?" Foggy said in greeting.

"Hey, Foggy, do you remember me telling you about Y/N back when we were in college?"

"Y/N, as in Y/N, your childhood friend from the orphanage who you talked about non-stop and are still hung up on 16 years later Y/N? 'The one that got away' Y/N? That Y/N?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, that Y/N. Well, I actually just ran into her. It turns out she's a librarian at the Heiskell Library and is here promoting their library services, so we made plans to have dinner and catch up after this is over."

"Oh, wow, that's actually really awesome, dude. You said she works at the Heiskell Library?" 

Matt could hear Foggy sit down at his desk and start typing on his computer keyboard. "Yeah."

After a moment, Foggy said, "Damn it."

"What is it?"

"I knew she was gonna be hot!"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Did you seriously just Google her?"

"I wanted to see what she looks like! You're a hot woman magnet, so of course your old childhood friend is hot. Is she single? Because if you change your mind about her…"

Matt just chuckled. "Not gonna happen. If I even remotely still have a shot with Y/N, I'm taking it." 

"Eh, I was just kidding anyway. Good luck tonight, man. Hope she's everything you remember her being and more."

"Thanks, Fog. I'll talk to you later."

"'Kay. Bye, Matt."

Matt hung up and headed back inside, both excited and nervous to catch up with Y/N later that evening.

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

Matt smoothed down his hair for what seemed like the tenth time as he arrived at the restaurant for his catch-up dinner with Y/N. 

He took a deep breath and headed inside.

"Buonasera," the seating host said. "Welcome to Bellissima Italia. How many in your party, sir?"

"Actually, I have a reservation for two at 6, under 'Murdock'," Matt replied. 

"Ah, yes, sir. Your companion's already arrived. Right this way."

Matt followed the seating host to where Y/N sat.

"Matt, you made it," Y/N said, standing and giving Matt a hug.

She had changed from the blouse and slacks she had worn earlier into a silk dress that hugged her form, and underneath the subtly floral perfume she wore was her familiar natural scent that had never failed to relax Matt when he was overwhelmed. Even now he could feel his nervous energy starting to calm.

He returned her embrace. "Hi."

"Joseph will be your server tonight," the host said as they sat. "If you need anything let us know."

"Thank you."

Matt folded up his cane and stuck it in his jacket pocket. "I hope you haven't had to wait long."

"No, I just got here a few minutes ago."

Their server walked up to their table. "Good evening, my name is Joseph and I'll be taking care of you. What can I get you to drink?"

"Can I get a glass of Pinot Grigio and a water?" Y/N said.

"Certainly, ma'am. And for you, sir?"

"I'll take a glass of Merlot and a water as well, thanks."

"Okay, certainly. I'll get that taken care of for you while you get a chance to look over the menu."

"Do you know what you want, or do you want me to read the menu to you?" Y/N asked as Joseph left.

"Actually if you don't mind telling me what's on the menu I'd really appreciate it," Matt replied. "I didn't get a chance to check it out before I came."

"No, it's not a problem at all." Y/N picked up her menu. "Let's see…"

Matt listened intently as Y/N quickly read the menu off to him. He nodded. "Okay, thanks. I think I know what I want."

A few moments later Joseph returned with their drinks. "Okay, here you are. And are we ready to order?"

Matt nodded. "I'm ready. Y/N, you want to go ahead?"

"Yes, I'd like the gnocchi in cream sauce, please," Y/N said. 

"Okay, and for you, sir?"

"I'll take the chicken parmigiana, thanks." Matt picked up his menu and handed it to Joseph.

"Okay, I'll put those in for you right away."

"Wow, I still can't believe this," Y/N said as Joseph left once again. "It's been, what, almost 20 years?"

Matt nodded with a grin. "Yeah, something like that. And even after all this time, you still look exactly the same."

Y/N laughed. "I'm glad to know that you haven't lost your sense of humor."

She took a sip of water. "So, catch me up on the past 20 years."

Matt shrugged. "Not much to tell. Left St. Agnes at 18, went to Columbia and got a law degree, opened my own practice with my college roommate, and that's about it." Except for the fact that I also became a crime-fighting vigilante, sent a mob boss to jail, and took down a secret organization of ninjas.

"Not married, no kids?"

Matt shook his head. "No, never found the right person." Because I already had found her but was too much of a coward to tell her how I felt before she left. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Finished high school in Florida, got my bachelor's degree in sociology, did my MLIS, and became a librarian. Did five years as a special services librarian in Florida, two in Indiana, then I managed to get on with the Heiskell Library and have been there ever since."

"No marriage or kids for you either?"

"No kids, almost got married once but it didn't work out. Wasn't anyone's fault, we just weren't right for each other."

Matt nodded. "How's your aunt?"

"Oh, she's fine. She's still in Florida so I talk to her every few days. Wait till I tell her I ran into you."

Matt gave a wry smile. "I dunno if she'll be happy about that. She didn't like me."

"What do you mean she didn't like you? She didn't even know you."

"She didn't have to. She had heard enough about me from Sister Bernadette to form an opinion."

"Ugh. Sister Bernadette. She did always seem to have it out for you."

Matt shrugged. "Well, in all fairness, I was kind of a troublemaker."

Y//N laughed. "Yeah, but I was usually right there with you in whatever trouble you were making, if not starting the trouble myself."

Matt grinned and took a sip of his wine. "You mean like the time we stole that bottle of Communion wine out of the church storeroom?"

Y/N laughed. "You know, that was the first thing I mentioned during confession after I started going to church in Florida. Seal of Confession or not, I wasn't about to confess to Father Reynolds about it."

Matt grinned. "Afraid of a harsher penance?"

"Yes! It was bad enough having to say five Acts of Contrition and three Our Fathers that time I punched Bobby Neyland in the face for tripping you in the hall. I had already gotten detention and I had to apologize to him, what more did they want?"

They were interrupted by Joseph bringing their dinners. "Alrighty, we have the gnocchi over here, and the chicken parmigiana here. Careful, those plates are hot. Is there anything else I can get you two?"

"No, I think we're fine," Y/N replied. "Matt?"

Matt shook his head. "We're good for now."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything else."

"Will do."

"Anyway," Y/N said, "we weren't always getting into trouble. Most of the time we were perfect little angels."

Matt chuckled. "I think your memory is faulty. You may have been an angel, but I certainly wasn't."

"We did have some good times together though, didn't we, Matty?"

Matt nodded, the quiet times he got to spend with Y/N floating through his mind. "Yeah, we certainly did."

The conversation continued to flow easily as Matt and Y/N reminisced about their childhood, and the next thing Matt knew dinner was over.

"Will that be one check or two?" Joseph asked as he cleared their plates.

"Just the one check, thanks," Matt said, handing Joseph his credit card before Y/N could protest.

"Next time, I'm paying," Y/N replied as Joseph went to go take care of the bill.

Matt grinned, thrilled that Y/N had even mentioned a 'next time'. "Deal."

He signed the check once Joseph returned for the last time, then unfolded his cane as he and Y/N stood. "May I walk you home?"

He could almost hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that." 

Matt extended his arm. "Then shall we?"

They left the restaurant together, the ease and familiarity they once shared still there.

"So, what made you decide to become a librarian?" Matt asked as they headed towards Y/N's apartment building. "Last I knew you wanted to go out and save the world by becoming a big-time CEO of a Fortune 500 company."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Um, well, actually, it was you." 

Matt's eyebrows raised. "Me?"

"Yeah. When it was time to start thinking about college I spoke to my guidance counselor and told her about how my best friend was visually impaired and how I'd sit and read print books to him because there weren't any Braille or audiobooks in the orphanage where we grew up, and so she told me about how there were actually special library services for people with visual impairments and that maybe I should look into special services librarianship since I seemed called to that."

"And do you like it?"

"Yeah, more than anything. Like a lot of people might think that being a librarian is boring or an obsolete job, but you should talk to some of my patrons, Matt. They're all alone with no family or friends nearby, so listening to these audiobooks are the only things that they have to do all day. It's actually kind of heartbreaking."

Matt nodded with a soft smile. Y/N really was an angel.

"And I know I'm not like, saving lives or changing the world or anything," Y/N continued, "like by being a doctor or by helping innocent people who've been wrongfully accused of crimes like you and your partner, but I feel like I'm at least helping people in my own way, you know?"

Matt turned towards Y/N as they stopped at a crosswalk. "You think you haven't saved lives? 'Angel' wasn't just a nickname, sweetheart. You befriended a lonely, scared, angry little boy with absolutely zero fucks given as to what anyone else thought, and to this day I'm still so damn grateful for whatever made you see me and decide, 'Yes, that one. I want him as my best friend'."

Y/N let out a watery laugh. "Honestly, it wasn't a tough decision. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were going to be way cooler than everyone else."

Matt smiled softly. "You were my guardian angel, Y/N. I certainly wouldn't have made it without you."

He reached up and gently swiped his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears that had collected there. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah."

Matt slipped his hand into Y/N's and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

They continued on their way to Y/N's apartment, Y/N seemingly as reluctant to let go of Matt's hand as he was to let go of hers.

"What about you?" Y/N asked. "What drew you to law?"

"I want to fight injustice and keep Hell's Kitchen safe, protect the people I care about," Matt said simply. "Going through the legal system seemed the best way to do that at the time."

"And now?"

"What?"

"You said 'at the time'. What's the best way now?"

Being Daredevil, Matt wanted to say. Protecting those I can't protect through the law. 

He shook his head. "I just know that everything's not as black-and-white with the legal system as I once thought."

"Yeah, I get that." Y/N slowed down as they reached her apartment building. "This is me."

Matt nodded. "I'm really glad we found each other again."

"I am too -- I've missed you so much, Matt. I tried to write to you after I moved but all of my letters came back 'return to sender'. Eventually I realized that they were returning my letters, but by that time it was too late, and it's not like I could just call up Sister Bernadette and ask for your forwarding address."

Matt shook his head. "I knew it. I knew something weird was going on. I could tell she was lying whenever I asked her if I had any mail from you."

"I still have them."

"The letters you wrote me?"

"Yeah, they're in a box in my closet."

"Can I read them?"

"Yeah, sure. You want me to go get them or do you want to come up for a drink and we can read them together?"

Matt nodded. "A drink would be nice." More time I can spend with you.

"Okay, then. Come on in."

Y/N led Matt through the lobby to the elevator and up to her apartment. "Make yourself at home," she said as she unlocked her door. "Living room is straight ahead, just mind the coffee table when you go around the couch to sit."

Matt sat while Y/N moved around her kitchen. "What's your preference?" Y/N asked. "I have wine, hard cider, amaretto, whiskey, rum…"

"Whiskey is fine. On the rocks."

He could hear Y/N adding ice to a couple of glasses then opening a couple of bottles, then smelled the scent of sweet & sour mix. "Let me guess. Amaretto sour for yourself?"

Y/N paused in her pouring. "How'd you know?"

"I can hear the difference in the shape of the bottles, and I can smell the sweet & sour."

"You're good." Y/N closed the bottles and put the sweet & sour mix back in her refrigerator. 

She handed Matt his glass before setting hers down on the coffee table. "Here you go. Give me just a second, I'll go grab the letters."

Matt took a sip of his whiskey as Y/N retreated to her bedroom.

She returned momentarily with a box. "Ok so remember, I was 16 when I started writing these, so don't judge me if they're cringy."

Matt chuckled. "I won't, I promise."

Y/N opened the box and handed him a manila envelope. "Here, start with this one. I'm pretty sure they're still in the order I wrote them."

Matt opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of Braille paper. "Can you still read Braille?" he asked.

"Yep, can still write in it too, although Braille printers make everything a lot easier these days."

Matt set the piece of paper on the coffee table and began to read aloud. 

"September 30, 2002

Dear Matty,

Just got settled in at Aunt Ruth's house. My bedroom here is as big as both of ours at St. Agnes combined. 

Hoping I can convince Aunt Ruth to let you come visit soon, maybe during Thanksgiving?

By the way, my address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Y/N"

Y/N snorted. "Yeah, 'I'm sure you'll be able to get away from the orphanage for a week or so to come hang out with your bestie in Florida!' Man, was I naive."

Matt shook his head. "You didn't know. Neither of us could've known that they'd actually try to keep us apart."

Y/N picked up the next envelope. "Here, I'll read the next one."

Matt nodded. "Okay."

"October 21, 2002," Y/N began.

Dear Matty,

I must've done something wrong with the postage on my first letter, because it came back marked return to sender. Adding double to make sure this gets to you.

Aunt Ruth wants me to join some after-school clubs, make some new friends. I don't want *new* friends, though. I just want you.

Speaking of making new friends, you know that song 'make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold'?  Well, it's not true. You're way more precious to me than gold. You're more like… I don't know, the rarest and most precious substance on earth, whatever that may be.

Anyway, address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190. Write me back!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt picked up the next envelope. "November 12, 2002.

Dear Matty,

Another letter came back return to sender. Don't quite know what I'm doing wrong, but hopefully this one reaches you!

School has been okay. Don't think I told you yet, but Aunt Ruth enrolled me in some fancy all-girls Catholic school. I'm really enjoying English class. We're reading The Crucible. Maybe next time we're together I'll read it to you. Think you'd like it.

Anyway, hope you're doing okay. I miss you.

Always,

Y/N"

Y/N laughed. "You know, my offer to read The Crucible to you still stands."

Matt grinned. "In that case I might have to take you up on it. You're still my favorite audiobook narrator."

He could hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she began to read her next letter. 

"January 10th, 2003.

Dear Matty (or is it just Matt now that you're the big 1-8?),

Happy birthday! I wish I could be there with you to celebrate. I wanted to surprise you and come visit, but Aunt Ruth said no. (Party pooper.)

I hope your day is amazing and that you get everything you wish for, because you deserve it! *Heart*

Miss you like crazy and I really hope to hear from you soon!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt shrugged. "My 18th birthday was fine, nothing overly special." I didn't get my wish, but now I know why.

He cleared his throat. "April 6, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I don't know if I did something wrong before I left and you're mad at me or if I'm just that inept at mailing a letter, but I just got a bunch of letters back unopened again. I really hope it's the latter because if it's the first, I don't know what I did but whatever it is, I'm sorry. Just please talk to me. I want my best friend back.

Y/N"

Matt's heart broke. Damn them. Damn them all to Hell for making Y/N think she could ever do something to make me not want her in my life. 

He finished his glass of whiskey before picking up the next letter.

"Want a refill?" Y/N asked.

Matt nodded. "Sure."

Y/N stood and went to make them each another drink while Matt read the next letter aloud.

"September 3, 2003

Dear Matt,

I don't even know why I'm still trying. You're 18 now, I'm sure you're not even at St. Agnes anymore. You're probably off to college and have made fancy new college friends, so even if this letter somehow reached you you probably wouldn't respond anyway, but I wanted to tell you goodbye anyway and to wish you good luck.

Y/N"

Matt's brow furrowed. "But there's more letters."

"Yeah." Y/N sounded hesitant as she set Matt's drink down on the table. "I never sent any of the rest though."

She picked up the next one. "December 9, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I'm sitting here in English class (well, not now since I'm writing this in Braille instead of standard print) and our bell assignment today was to write a letter to someone who is no longer in our lives. I'm sure the point is probably to write to someone who's dead, but whatever, I'll write to whomever the hell I want.

Aunt Ruth finally told me the truth: that St. Agnes had been returning your letters to me before you even got them. Needless to say, I'm furious. I don't understand why they would go to such lengths to keep us apart, or why Aunt Ruth would even agree to it.

I hope you don't think I never tried to get in touch with you, because the thought of you believing that I would just abandon you like that tears me up inside.

I miss you, Matt, and I hope you're doing well.

Y/N" 

Matt shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N. I hate that you ever even had to think that I would ignore your letters."

Y/N reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. "It wasn't your fault."

They continued reading, Y/N telling him about getting into college, the classes she was taking each semester, graduation, getting into grad school and getting her library science degree, her first job as an official librarian… 

Y/N took a sip of her cocktail before starting the next letter.

"March 8, 2012

Dear Matt,

I've met someone . His name is Alex and he works in the I.T. department of the library. I think you two would get along -- you're a lot alike.

We've been dating for a few months now and things are going pretty well. I'll keep you posted as to where things lead.

Y/N"

Matt picked up the second-to-last letter. 

"January 13, 2013

Dear Matt,

Alex proposed, and I said yes. We're planning a fall wedding -- nothing big, just close family and friends.

I wish you could be there. I thought about asking Alex if he could look you up on the internet to see if he could find an address for you. Could you imagine? We haven't been in contact in over 10 years and suddenly you get an invitation to my wedding.

Crazy, right?

Y/N"

Even though Matt knew that things didn't work out between Y/N and her ex-fiancé, his stomach was still in knots as Y/N began to read her final letter.

"June 29, 2013

Dear Matt,

I ended my engagement with Alex today. We were touring wedding venues over the weekend but none of them felt right, and I realized this morning that it wasn't the venues that felt wrong, it was me.

You see, I can't marry Alex, not when-- " Y/N paused and took a deep breath.   "Not when I've been in love with you for most of my life."

Matt's brain screeched to a halt. What did she just say? 

"God, I'm so pathetic," Y/N continued, "pining over someone to whom I haven't even spoken in years. It's not fair to Alex to marry someone who's in love with another man and it's not fair to myself to keep holding on to something that I can never have. 

I guess I've kept writing to you in order to somehow hold on to you and to feel like we were still teenagers writing secret notes to each other, like maybe one day I'd have the courage to finally tell you how I feel.

I'll always love you, Matt, but maybe it's time for me to finally let you go.

Y/N"

Matt turned towards Y/N, who had picked up her drink and was currently draining it. "You were in love with me?"

Y/N remained silent, but the uptick in her heartbeat gave Matt hope. 

He took her glass from her and set it down on the table before taking her hand in his. "Y/N? Please, angel, talk to me."

Y/N took a deep breath. "I still am, Matt. I still love you. I never stopped."

Oh, thank God. "I love you too," Matt murmured. "I've loved you probably since the moment I met you, it just took me a few years to figure out what it was I was feeling." 

He pulled out the cross Y/N had given him out from under his shirt. "I've always kept you close to my heart, Y/N."

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his chest, warming the metal cross pressing against Matt's shirt. "I was wondering if you still had that."

Matt nodded. "I've rarely taken it off in the past 20 years." 

He paused. "I was going to tell you I loved you the day you left for Florida. I had written you a note telling you how I felt."

"Why didn't you give it to me?"

"Right before I was going to I overheard Sister Bernadette talking to your aunt about how it was best to separate us so I wouldn't ruin your life, and I realized it definitely wasn't fair for me to tell you I loved you right before you moved a thousand miles away."

"What the hell? How would you have ruined my life?"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Well, let's see, the exact phrasing she used was 'before he gets her into trouble'."

"Before you 'got me into trouble'? Wait, did she -- did she think we were sleeping together ?" Y/N sounded both horrified and amused.

Matt shrugged. "Well, she wouldn't have technically been wrong."

"Well no, but all we ever did was literally sleep together!"

"Maybe, but it's not like I never thought about doing the other kind of sleeping together with you."

Y/N gave a playfully scandalized gasp. "Why, Matthew, I certainly hope you went to confession for that."

"More than once." Matt chuckled. "I mean, I was a hormonal teenage boy who was hopelessly in love with my best friend, of course my thoughts drifted there from time to time."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if maybe someone saw you sneaking out of my room one morning and reported us, and that's why Sister Bernadette thought something was going on. She could've confronted us though instead of just shipping me off and keeping us apart for almost 20 years. So much wasted time, and over what was probably a complete misunderstanding."

Matt shook his head. "Angel?"

"Yeah, Matty?"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Y/N sucked in a breath. "Uh huh, yeah, okay."

Matt reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, then -- after over 20 years of longing -- gently pressed his lips to hers.

He leaned back, a smile spreading on his face as he caressed the matching smile on Y/N's with his thumb. "So, how about dinner again tomorrow night?"

Y/N hummed. "What, you don't want to lose touch for another 20 years and hope we randomly run into each other again?"

Matt shook his head with a laugh at Y/N's teasing tone. "No way, angel. I spent almost 20 years without you, so now that I've got you back in my life I'm not letting go."

[robindrake93]

For Someone Called Bumpy, She Sure Rides Smooth (1408 words) by robindrake93 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Darius Bowman/Ben Pincus Characters: Darius Bowman, Ben Pincus, Bumpy (Jurassic Park) Additional Tags: POV Third Person, One Shot, Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Holding Hands, Riding, Heart-to-Heart, Slice of Life, Touch-Starved Ben Pincus Series: Part 4 of JWCC Month 2021 Summary: Ben and Darius take a ride on Bumpy and have a heartfelt conversation.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

It’s the Last Wídfara Wednesday! Time to get all weepy for Guthláf!

The 8th and final part of the story, in which Guthláf meets his destiny at the Pelennor Fields and Wíd has to learn how to live all over again. This feels obvious, of course, but just to be absolutely clear with everyone – Canonical Character Death ahead! The loss of Guthláf is obviously tragic, but I did work really hard to make this story not end on a bleak note. I’m proud of it and I hope it works for you! I’m so, so grateful for those who have followed along, stuck with it and given me very kind feedback. You’re the absolute best!

Prior parts can be found here (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) or all on AO3.

The next days passed for Wídfara both slowly and quickly. There were endless hours of riding – from the muster at Dunharrow to the beacon hill at Min-Rimmon, through the narrow, forested paths of the Stonewain Valley – and there were long, tense nights camped quietly in tight places where little sleep was to be found. And yet, he had only to feel the bruises still wrapped around his own throat to be reminded that they had left Helm’s Deep behind just days ago. To find themselves now deep into Gondor and in a state of readiness for another, even bigger battle after so short a time was a substantial and difficult achievement.

Still, the journey hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Guthláf’s melancholy at Dunharrow had fully retreated, and he was his usual easy self. He chatted happily as they rode, anticipating the familiarity of an open battlefield and the excitement of representing not just his éored but his king and country on what was undoubtedly going to be the biggest stage he had ever fought on. Wídfara got his own boost when Déorwine promoted him to chief bowman of the éored, filling the role after Arengan had been left in the Westfold to recover from serious injuries at the Hornburg. Wídfara would have given the promotion back in an instant to heal Arengan, but he still felt pride to have been chosen and wondered what his parents would say to know that their son had risen from a scrappy little boy guarding herds in the rural desolation of the Wold to the top archer of the king’s own éored.

He and Guthláf rode together near the front of the company, separated only briefly when Wídfara was sent with a few others as out-riders to scout conditions as they approached Minas Tirith at last. On his return, they crossed out of the Grey Wood side by side, passing through one of the large breaches that had been made in the great wall encircling the fields outside the city. As Wídfara noted to the king himself, an encouraging scent was in the wind that morning, and the light of dawn seemed likely to break around them at any moment as the Rohirrim lined up to make their triumphant arrival to the defense of Gondor.

While they waited for other éoreds to fill in behind them, Wídfara watched Guthláf make his final battle preparations. With his reins tied to Syndrigan’s saddle, he slid his shield onto his left arm and unfurled the king’s banner, a white horse charging across a field of deep green with a glorious sun above. The reverence and care Guthláf showed whenever handling the flag never failed to move Wídfara, and a rush of feeling welled up in his chest, an overwhelming urge to tell him again what he had already heard so many times before. I love you. Wídfara swallowed the words before they escaped his lips, painfully aware of the dozens of others within hearing distance, but Guthláf’s head turned anyway, as though Wídfara’s silent devotion had somehow called his attention. He studied Wídfara’s face for a moment, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile.

“I know, Wíd.” He brushed a hand quickly over his heart. “You, too.”

Before any more could be said, Théoden crossed in front of them, standing in his stirrups and giving his last exhortations. He seized Guthláf’s horn as he passed and blew a great blast that was quickly echoed by many others. With this sign, Théoden and Snowmane sprang forward and the whole army raced to follow, a mass of gleaming helmets and bristling spears. They picked up more speed and sound with each advancing hoofbeat until it seemed the entire field was flowing in one deafening wave that would sweep away anything in its path. Guthláf took a last look over at Wídfara and his lips moved again, but his words were lost to the clamor. And then he was off, shot out to his place at the front with the charging white horse streaming proudly in his wake.

Wídfara urged Cypren to give chase, taking up the battle song of their éored as they thundered ahead, and for a time, everything went exactly as it should. They descended on ranks of enemy forces that hadn’t expected or prepared for their arrival, and they clove their way through entire companies of Haradrim, who fell easily before them. Wídfara rode his charge, keeping Guthláf and the banner always in sight as he shot his arrows, and the morning sun and a bracing sea-tinged wind in his face left him feeling near invincible as he cut his way through fighters in black and red, who had begun to turn and flee.

But in the midst of their rout, a sudden shadow fell.

Before Wídfara could find its source, his horse reared up in panic, and all around him riders were thrown from the saddle or carried off as mounts bolted in the opposite direction. He managed to keep his seat through several bucking leaps, but the fourth forced him off and an errant hoof struck his helmet as he tried to gather himself. He staggered forward one or two steps before sliding to the ground as everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes again, the shadow was gone. He clawed off his helmet and rolled onto his side. How much time had elapsed was beyond his guess, and his head felt cloudy and unfocused. But somewhere within those clouds a single thought soon crystallized. Guthláf.

He pulled himself up on an elbow, the field swimming in front of him, but he heaved a deep breath and slowly his vision cleared. Dead bodies, man and horse, lay all around, along with some kind of winged beast he’d never seen before, now missing its head. He stumbled to his feet and began a frantic search among the carnage, rushing from corpse to corpse, choking back the nausea as he discovered friend after friend. The dizziness in his head and the panic in his chest threatened to send him back to unconsciousness, but he kept scrambling forward until his eyes fell at last on the body of a dappled grey horse that he knew in an instant and all the light and sound of the world fell away. He limped the last few steps around Syndrigan and pulled in a ragged breath at the sight of his deepest fear made real.

Guthláf lay on his back in a wide pool of blood, his unseeing eyes staring ahead. The staff of the banner was still in his right hand, and his left was clutched to his chest. Wídfara collapsed to his knees and seized that hand, and as he wrapped his own around it, his mother’s ring fell from Guthláf’s grip. Something inside of Wídfara broke, and a pain beyond any he had ever known or imagined flooded through him, set loose by the breaking and with nothing to stop it from overtaking him completely.

The front line of the fighting had moved on for a time, leaving an eerie temporary calm here in the center of the battlefield, and Wídfara sat alone at Guthláf’s side for long minutes, seemingly the only living soul in a circle of death. He felt weighted to the ground, his limbs like lead and the blood in his veins gone solid. Everything around him became hazy and indistinct, all but Guthláf’s face. Wídfara couldn’t tear his gaze from that face, desperate to see those pale blue eyes blink back to life, the color to return to his cheeks, the mouth to smile and speak the words that would tell him that this was merely a nightmare. A hallucination of a mind suffering from a recent blow and preying on his greatest terrors.

Into this private agony, a company of riders came, Rohirrim following the Third Marshal and his flowing horse-tailed helmet. Wídfara paid them no heed and, in fact, didn’t even register their presence until one approached to pull the banner from Guthláf’s lifeless hand. As the flag passed before his eyes, unspooling from the ground with a deep red stain soaked into the white horse emblem, another searing pain tore through him, like the burn of an open flame pressed directly to his heart. He slumped down onto Guthláf’s chest, whimpering quietly to himself and hoping only for the flame to consume him quickly, to reduce him to ashes that would have no awareness or feeling. But instead, a small hand appeared on his shoulder and shook it insistently.

“Are you hurt?”

The hand pulled him up by the spaulder, and he raised his eyes to find a small man before him. He was dressed in the gear of an esquire of Rohan but was several feet shorter than an average Rohirrim, more like the size of a child. The man stood unsteadily, one arm pressed awkwardly to his side, and looked over his shoulder at new forces of the enemy gathering in the near distance. “If you’re hurt, you should make your way into the city,” he said. “You can’t stay here like this. The battle will overrun you soon enough.”

“I don’t care,” Wídfara whispered, as much to himself as to the small stranger. He tightened his grip on Guthláf’s hand.

“This man, he was your friend? Or kinsman?”

“He’s my…He was my…” Wídfara broke off, unable to speak the truth but unwilling to say that Guthláf was anything less than he had been. A sob rose in his throat, and he looked down.

The small hand came back to his shoulder, the voice pained but firm. “I don’t think he would want you to die here today.”

Somehow, those simple words pierced the tormented haze of Wídfara’s mind and hit their mark. He knew they were true. If Guthláf still had even a single breath in his body, he would use it to push Wídfara forward. To urge him to be brave and fight his way to safety. I’m asking you to try. To give up now would be a failure of everything Guthláf would have wanted for him or for Rohan. Whatever else he felt, Wídfara knew he couldn’t let his last act be such a betrayal.

He nodded to the small esquire, who turned quietly away, and he took his last, long look at the face of the man he loved above all else. He fought back the urge to take Guthláf’s hand, now growing cold in his, and hold it to himself. Against his heart. His cheek. Anywhere that he could press it like a stamp into wax, hoping to leave behind a mark, something to carry away with him and bear for as long as possible. Instead, feeling the weight of other eyes now on him, he rewrapped Guthláf’s fingers around his mother’s ring, placed the hand gently back on his chest, and hauled himself shakily to his feet.

The rider who now carried Guthláf’s banner gestured in the direction of an available horse, its own rider dead or forced from his saddle. Wídfara mounted up and slipped into the company just as the host began to move again. All around him were cries of ‘Death!’ and the ringing of blades being drawn as they charged toward the re-formed lines of the Southrons ahead, and Wídfara urged his horse forward, following the bloodstain on that banner wherever it would lead.

The rest of the battle meant little to him. He fought hard and without fear or sensation of any kind. Something in his mind shut down, the parts of him that felt and thought going numb and leaving only the part that guided his limbs through the motions of duty. The same was true when the battle was over, when he was then marched out to the Morannon under the combined banners of the Men of the West, and when they marched back, victorious over all. The unsettling numbness only ended when they came within sight of Minas Tirith once more and he caught his first glimpse of the burial mounds that had been raised, the new hills of earth and stone where somewhere inside Guthláf would rest forever. And then he wished for the numbness again. He would have gone to his knees and begged for it, for anything that would dull the razor-sharp edges of the hurt that sliced through every part of him.

Wídfara spent the days before the host’s return to Rohan in quiet misery. As they waited for the orders of their new king, his éored camped just outside the gates of Minas Tirith. His fellow riders used the time to soak in the majesty of the city, still wondrous even after so much destruction, and to distract themselves from their own grief with the thrill of new experiences. They walked the streets, freely accepting the heartfelt congratulations and thanks of the Gondorians who had long prayed for the arrival of the Rohirrim, and they drank to their own health and good luck. But Wídfara could enjoy none of it.

The city was dull and colorless to him, as though he viewed everything through a veil that removed all the vibrancy and loveliness from the world, and he took no pleasure in the warm welcome he received when he chanced out of camp. He bridled at the people’s insistence that a glorious victory had been won when he knew himself to be drowning in an all-consuming loss. He was repeatedly told, in breathless and enthusiastic terms, how fortunate he was to have survived, and he could only stare blankly at these smiling, well-intentioned faces and wonder how anyone looking at his wretched existence would conclude that he still lived.

The return to Rohan did nothing to ease his pain. He had never known Edoras without Guthláf, and memories of him dwelt in all corners of the city. Every place he went, everywhere he looked, he somehow expected to see Guthláf there. He could see Guthláf. Laughing in the tack room at the stable. Chatting in line for sweets at the central market. Stretched out and smiling in the blankets of Wídfara’s own bed. So present and so absent all at once. Each time that he looked up with the expectation to find Guthláf in front of him or had the reflexive impulse to share a thought or feeling with him, the sharp and swift correction of reality chipped away another small part of his spirit, which he felt growing ever thinner and more fragile.

He took to spending long hours curled up in his room in the dark, alone except for Guthláf’s dog, Slaga, who would accept no other guardian. He ignored the regular knocks on his door and the calling of his name, even when the voice doing the calling was Elfhelm himself. He longed for his mother, who alone could perhaps have given him the comfort he needed, but she was so separated from him by distance and expense that he had no way even to tell her what had happened. Everyone else he kept at arm’s length, avoiding them or making excuses and slipping away as needed rather than struggling through a conversation that he didn’t know how to have.

He left his room only when called by duty or to occasionally retrieve Slaga, who developed a habit of slipping away from the barracks to take up a watch at the stables, patiently waiting by Syndrigan’s old stall for Guthláf’s return. The sixth or seventh time it happened, Wídfara decided to leave the dog there and allow him to wait it out in the barn. Two days later, he was awakened in the night by scratching at his door, and when the little dog slunk in and curled up sadly in his lap, the extinguishing of the final hope for Guthláf felt like a whole new loss to mourn.

Wídfara’s primary duty in those first few weeks was to attend the funerals that began soon after their return to the city. Though their fallen riders would remain forever in the fields outside Minas Tirith, the new king set aside official days of mourning to honor their dead at home, and funerals without bodies were held in cities and villages across the Mark. The losses in Théoden’s éored had been particularly heavy, so many having fallen victim to the same force of evil that menaced Théoden’s own last moments, and for a time it seemed the stretch of funerals in Edoras would be endless. There was death on a scale that hadn’t been seen since the Long Winter of Helm Hammerhand’s reign and an equal number of lingering injuries and traumas.

Wídfara attended every funeral of his éored, forcing himself to remember each man specifically even as there was only ever one man he wanted in his thoughts. He listened to the moving remembrances and the painful tears of parents, friends, and commanding officers, and he sang as various dirges and hymns were offered to honor the fallen and to call on Ácith to escort them to the halls of their fathers. But most of all, he watched the widows, grieving openly and fully, as they accepted the traditional offering of gratitude in acknowledgment of their suffering. A senior rider spoke each sentence of the pledge, repeated by every remaining member of the company.

“Dredda, we thank you for sharing Déorwine with us…We are humbled by the sacrifice that you’ve made…We pledge to you that it was not made in vain…In his life and in his death, he made Rohan a stronger and prouder kingdom.”

“Serugimm, we thank you for sharing Harding with us…”

“Eadhild, we thank you for sharing Herefara with us…”

“Wenebyrd, we thank you for sharing Fastred with us…”

“Luftmeda, we thank you for sharing Herubrand with us…”

He heard the words so many times that they ran through his sleep at night, haunting even his resting mind. And each time he said them, and each time he followed them by taking his place in the line to offer an individual expression of thanks and support to these bereaved women, he fought to keep the jealousy from his heart. For all the pain the women felt, they at least had the solace of occupying a recognized role. No one questioned a widow’s mourning. No one wondered why tears were always moments away or begrudged her a day where she couldn’t stand to see other people’s happiness. But he had to keep those same feelings in himself obscured beneath a veneer of acceptability, a false show of grief that would match expectations for someone who had lost a friend rather than an irreplaceable part of his own soul.

He felt keenly the alienating loneliness that Guthláf had foreseen back in their tent in Dunharrow those weeks ago. The burden now lay on his memories alone to keep all knowledge of their love from being wiped clean from the world, washed away like footprints after a rain. There was no one else who knew that Guthláf adored Wídfara’s dimples or that it had delighted Wídfara to discover that Guthláf was ticklish behind his knees. No one else who knew the silly things they laughed about just between themselves or the ways they each liked to be touched. No one else who knew that Guthláf was desperately nervous to make a good impression on Wídfara’s mother if they could ever meet, or that Wídfara dreamed of taking Guthláf someday to see the ocean and to wade together in its warm shallows.

Just one other person around him who understood and acknowledged all that he had lost could have helped pull Wídfara from the furthest depths of his grief, to wrest him back toward the light that glinted on the surface above his head. But he had only the cold, nameless currents of the deep clawing at his feet, tugging him further down into the dark unknown.

Guthláf’s funeral was the éored’s last and also its largest. All the city seemed to be in attendance – riders from all the éoreds of Edoras, the regulars from Guthláf’s favorite tavern, the women from the market where he always bought the cakes and treats that were his weakness, the young boys who idolized his riding skill and had followed him around the stable like a mythic figure from history. Had Wídfara been able to think clearly, he would have been moved to see the outpouring of affection for Guthláf, but it was all he could do to remind himself just to continue drawing breath, to find a way to live through yet another phase of this ongoing nightmare.

The ceremony was held by the barrows outside the city gates, and a gentle breeze wafted the smell of apple blossoms across the rows of hay bales and other makeshift chairs. The scent reminded Wídfara of his first night with Guthláf, when they had shared a bottle of apple mead, and he wondered if he would ever again be able to think of those happy memories without feeling as though he was pressing on an open wound. He made his way to a seat near the front, friends of his and Guthláf filling in the spaces around him, and kept his head down, allowing the curtains of his loose hair to obscure any view of the tears sliding over his cheeks and off his chin.

The service began, and Wídfara worked to maintain his calm by silently counting his own breaths as rites and traditions unfolded around him. There were songs and short speeches, and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, acting as representative of Gondor at all the war-related funerals of Edoras, offered a blessing on behalf of the Gondorians and their king. Cups of mead were passed from person to person as the names of Guthláf’s ancestors were recited and their care sought in welcoming him to the halls of his forebears. A bier was placed in his family’s barrow where his body would have lain, the frame empty but for the banner marked with his blood that had been recovered from the rider who bore it through the remainder of the war.

Finally, Elfhelm rose to speak, taking up a place on a small podium at the front of the crowd.

“As most of you likely know, Guthláf lost the family of his birth in the Great Fire of 3006. Just fifteen years old, he found himself suddenly without parents or siblings or even grandparents. And when a tragedy of that nature happens, there are two ways a person can react. They can keep the love they had for those they lost and hold it all inside, until eventually it curdles into anger and bitterness. Or they can take that love and let it out, finding new ways to use it and new people to give it to. And that’s what Guthláf, a man of many talents, was the very best at. He gave all of his love to us. To his friends, his éored, his country. And we loved him back.” Elfhelm’s voice trembled, and he paused for a moment to collect himself before continuing. “His first family was cruelly taken from him, and that might have broken a lesser man. But he worked hard to build a new family for himself. He was like a son to some of us. A brother to many. A treasured friend to all. And much more than that to one.”

Those last words caught in Wídfara’s ear, and he looked up from the handkerchief he had been twisting back and forth in his hands. Elfhelm’s eyes seemed to be on him, though he immediately turned his gaze as he continued.

“Guthláf never married, but that doesn’t mean he was alone. He kept that part of his life private, but it’s almost impossible to hide love when it’s been found at last. You can see it in someone’s eyes and in their smile. In the way their gaze is constantly drawn to the object of their devotion. In their instinct to protect that person and their labors to make them happy. He was in love, I can tell you that. And it feels only right to me that the sacrifice and courage of the one he loved so well be recognized here today, in keeping with our traditions.” His eyes swept across the mourners, stopping again briefly, almost imperceptibly, on Wídfara as they went. “If such recognition would be welcome.”

A wave of dizziness hit Wídfara, and he pressed his boots into the grass in an attempt to steady himself. Elfhelm’s words had been simple enough, but he struggled to make sense of them nonetheless. He could only discern a single meaning, but it was one that couldn’t be right. He stared up at the marshal, seeking some indication of whether he had misunderstood, but Elfhelm now studiously avoided looking in his direction. Wídfara’s mind raced, rearranging Elfhelm’s words and pulling them apart, looking at them from different directions and angles. And yet he kept arriving back at the same conclusions, no matter how unbelievable: Elfhelm knew their secret. He accepted it. And he thought that Wídfara could now acknowledge that secret to everyone else.

Of course he had long dreamed of the chance to do just that, to claim openly what had always been his in private. They both had, though only Guthláf had been brave enough to ever imagine it was possible. Why should they care if we love each other? I don’t think they will. Not the ones that matter, at least. Now, it seemed, there was a chance to see him proved right and to put an end to the secrecy and hiding for good. An end to acting like the most cherished part of Wídfara’s life was something to be ashamed of. The idea was powerfully tempting, and he was certain Elfhelm would never intentionally lead him into harm. But a lifetime of fear and caution couldn’t be simply shrugged off in an instant, and he found that his feet wouldn’t move as much as he might want them to. Instead he sat, caught between terror and hope, paralyzed with indecision.

And then he felt a hand on his arm, just a light squeeze. It came from Arengan, seated on his left. He smiled gently at Wídfara and inclined his head up toward the podium. Another light nudge came from the right, where Freogan sat, and then more hands briefly clapped onto his shoulders from the row behind. Quiet, encouraging words were whispered from seats a little further off. He turned slowly only to find other expectant faces looking his way, somehow already aware of what he and Guthláf had always feared to share and watching him now with both kindness and pity.

A sharp, clear certainty took sudden shape in his heart, spoken in a beloved voice. These are good people, and they can bear an unfamiliar idea. He could do this. He would do this. He rose slowly and crossed the small distance to the podium where Elfhelm stood. A murmur of shocked confusion rippled through parts of the crowd, but Elfhelm silenced it with a stern glance. Then he smiled at Wídfara, put a strong arm around his shoulders and gestured for everyone to stand. Hundreds of people rose, leaving only pockets of quiet resistance still in their seats.

“Wídfara, we thank you for sharing Guthláf with us…”

A wall of voices echoed back Elfhelm’s words – voices of fast friends and of teary-eyed strangers, those who knew and loved Wídfara and those who just wanted to honor what Guthláf had known and loved. Wídfara heard each one as a precious gift, another soul to stand alongside his in honoring the truth of Guthláf’s life and the role that he had played in it. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but for the first time since that awful day, they weren’t solely tears of sorrow. Amidst his grief there was also relief for himself and pride for Guthláf and gratitude for Elfhelm and those who now saw him as he was. The enormous weight that had sat on his chest for weeks eased ever so slightly, not because his grief was lessened but because, at last, the burden of it was shared.

More than anything else, Wídfara felt his overwhelming love for Guthláf. Of all the kind and supportive faces looking back at him now, Guthláf had brought nearly every one into his life. He had made the first introductions, smoothed away the shyness, lent Wídfara his own good favor by making him a part of all that he did. It had always been Guthláf, easing his way at every turn, riding at the leading edge and signaling the direction so that Wídfara could follow.

All of this washed over him as he listened to the rest of the recitation and then as a whole column of people lined up to offer him individual words of comfort and support. He cried and smiled, and sometimes both at once, as he spoke to each person, some of whom were surprised but understanding and others who professed to have long known or, at least, suspected. To talk so freely and openly about Guthláf — the whole Guthláf — brought a warmth and fullness back into Wídfara that he wouldn’t have thought possible only an hour before, and he stood a little taller and a little stronger with each person to embrace him.

At last, at the very end of the line, came Elfhelm once again.

“I would have understood if you had decided to keep silent,” he said, “but I’m glad that you didn’t. You deserved the recognition, son. Both of you did. He was a good man, and he wanted this acknowledgment for you. If anyone gives you any trouble, you just let me know. I won’t stand for it.”

“Thank you, Marshal. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I can’t find any other words right now.”

“I know, son. You don’t have to worry about that.” Elfhelm wrapped his arms around Wídfara and thumped a big fist against his back. “All I need to hear is that you’re alright.”

Wídfara took a long, deep breath and brushed a few tears from his cheeks. “I will be,” he said. And for Guthláf’s sake, he would make it true.

Random/self-indulgent notes:

It’s canon that Éomer & co. were ignoring Merry while they were dealing with Théoden’s death, so why couldn’t he have been talking to Wíd during that brief time???

Ácith is a Rohirric name (“Ever Young”) for Vána, the wife of Oromë/Béma. Flowers bloom in her wake, and so my Rohirrim believe that the consistent appearance of simbelmynë on their graves is evidence that she personally comes to escort their dead to the halls of their fathers.

All the names of the fallen from Guthláf and Wíd’s éored come from the Mounds of Mundburg song at the end of Chapter 6 of ROTK. (Guthláf’s name is also in the song, 1 of the 3 specific references to him in the LOTR text.) Of course, the wives are invented.

Is it cheap grace to present many of the Rohirrim as accepting of Wíd and Guthláf being gay? I don’t think so. There is plenty of textual evidence that the Rohirrim are more progressive than their overall culture reflects, and they readily accept change when it’s presented to them. No one but Háma thought to put Éowyn in charge, but they loved the idea when he suggested it. No one let Éowyn join the army, but Elfhelm (and presumably a lot of his men!) actively chose to let her stay when he found her there. Éomer didn’t realize what life was like for women in Rohan, but when Gandalf explained it, he didn’t argue or get defensive – he listened and reevaluated.

So I think this is canonically defensible. They had a culture where there was no acknowledged place for queerness, and that allowed a lot of fear to develop in the silence. But some of them could see there was something between Guthláf and Wíd (despite best efforts, they were occasionally spotted coming and going from each other’s rooms at odd times; neither showed any real interest in women but were clearly devoted to each other; both were seen going to pieces at some point when the other one was at risk), so some folks were used to that idea before anyone ever dared to speak it out loud. And others, even if they had no clue, could still roll with it when they found out because they already loved Guthláf and/or Wíd as people and they were open minded enough to see that this didn’t really change anything. Throw in a universally respected dude like Elfhelm signaling his own support, and that brings even more people along. Plus, I’m not writing tragedy porn here, so I needed a note of hope to end on!

(Also, in case anyone is curious, do I think Guthláf told Elfhelm he was gay? Yes, I think he saw Elfhelm late at night in Dunharrow, Elfhelm asked him what was wrong, and Guthláf blurted out everything to his beloved mentor. And then I think Elfhelm said, “duh,” because it had already been obvious to him and he had only been waiting for the guys to feel comfortable saying something. So Elfhelm was not at all surprised – or bothered, because Elfhelm’s number one canonical character trait is to support other people doing their thing. I think Elfhelm told Guthláf that he’d happily back him up if/when he and Wíd decided to go public.)

Thanks as always to @quillofspirit for the lovely Rohan-fied dividers!

@emmanuellececchi @hobbitwrangler @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz

[qballqueue]

Bloomburrow's story is good

Having just binged the audio version of the Bloomburrow story, I can say with genuine surprise that I actually enjoyed it a lot??? I'm stunned, legitimately, that it actually delivered.

For context, I'm not an avid reader of the Magic story. It had been so reinforced from community consensus--as well as my own experience--that the story for each set was largely lacklustre, existing mostly so people could see what their favourite blorbos were up to instead of actual entertainment, that I hardly bothered reading them and stuck to story recaps on Youtube. It had always seemed to be a better use of my time.

This was echoed by my reading of the Thunder Junction story. I loved the idea of Magic Cowboys, so I actually dove in to read this one as it was being released, and it was meh at best. It was a story where most of the characters were reappearing ones instead of new, almost none of whom felt they had any reason or motivation for wanting to be there. And the climax largely centred on a cliffhanger, which left a lot of narrative tension feeling unresolved.

(For the record, absolutely no shade thrown towards author of the OTJ story articles, Akemi Dawn Bowman. I found the actually writing to be enjoyable, and I'm 80% sure most of my issues with the narrative were mandated to be there)

I went into Bloomburrow expecting more of the same, honestly. I only really started it because I needed something to listen to, but, like, holy shit. We have a mostly original cast that's simple but fun. We have a plot that's almost entirely self-contained, with no larger narrative implications so it's just allowed to be itself. We actually only have one reappearing character who joins in on the current story instead of taking it over. It's just a short, pleasant ride you can finish in an afternoon.

I do have some issues. For starters, the prophecy that happens at the end felt like a shoe-horned in way to remind people that there's supposed to be an over-arching plot. I do prefer it to the 'something interesting is going to happen soon, we promise' form of storytelling longer narratives often fall prey to, which MtG's story often does, but I would just as soon do without an over-arching story at all if I'm being honest.

The pacing also felt a bit rushed. By the time we get to chapter five, it feels like we're only at the middle of the story, but then the antagonist's introduction, their explanation, a couple climatic battles, and the ending happen all at once. It felt like I had skipped something, but this feels more like an issue with WotC only allowing five chapters per set and one set per plane.

Speaking of which, if the quality of the Bloomburrow story is doing anything, it's highlighting how shitty it is that each plane only gets one set worth of story before we have to leave again. I liked the story, so it's a shame that as soon as the set arrives it'll be gone for a while; WotC almost assuredly has the next year-or-so's worth of sets planned out already, so if there ever is more Bloomburrow story it'll be way in the future, and not because someone decided to put faith in it--it'll be because it proved profitable enough for a revisit.

So, yeah. You know the drill: artistic integrity good, capitalism bad, etc., etc.. But I will say that I think these story articles are worth a look. Kudos to the author, Valerie Valdes, and the entire story team.

[homestuck-music-tournament]

Pony Chorale

Album: Homestuck Vol. 3 Composer: Michael Guy Bowman Leitmotifs: Chorale Characters: Maplehoof, Rose Lalonde, June Egbert, Minihoof, Roxy Lalonde, Jane Crocker

You may know this from:

[S] Ride. (Flash Broken, can be found here)

[S] Ride. (Flash Broken, can be found here)

[S] Party: Ride. (From MSPFA "Homestuckesque") (Appears to be broken)

[S] Damara: Ride (Fan YouTube animatic)