#It's also very sad that he was forced to lead a life that was so opposite to his desires - but that doesn't erase his history

[auncyen]

8 and 10! For Isat ask thingy!!

8. post-game things I'd like to see lmfao I mainly just want to see the trip that the whole fandom thinks happened BUT a few minor h/cs--

post-game his memory improves. It'll never be great if you compared it to someone else but they're pretty happy with it. It's a combo of Isabeau and Odile trying to help him find ways to better remember things and the group remembering some things for him and kind of easing that mental load. (I remember reading something once about how like. in longtime couples each person kind of specializes in remembering different kinds of things and can prompt each other to remember things relevant to a subject/event by bringing up what they remember and with Siffrin we do see like. some pretty old memories ARE there, they just need to be prompted and then not eaten by the Universe.) ...Also less anxiety.

The world rediscovers astronomy as Bonnie's generation and younger don't associate the subject with the Island. (way way far out obviously.)

If Siffrin settles down with Isabeau, their part of the living arrangement probably gets very cluttered at times with them wanting to keep TONS of things as souvenirs and no longer being limited to what they can carry--which might also lead to frustration at times if Siffrin does end up forgetting where he got something from. Isabeau's probably surprised by this at first and it might even cause conflict if Isabeau tends more toward "things should be organized and in their place", but they could probably figure out some sort of solution. (Maybe they add lots of "pockets" to Siffrin's side--aka a big cubby hole organizer where they can keep all those things on display. Siffrin tries to sort through it when it needs dusting to make sure he still cares about something and that helps reduce "I've forgotten what this is but I have it so it must be important" frustration. Still happens sometimes though.)

10. headcanons about the world--

already gave some of this away in fic but Poteria emphasizes "beauty" pretty heavily. They praise Muses of science and art (and yes, it's definitely borrowing from Greek mythology). Given the science bit it's not always about visual/sensory beauty but there is like. a general sense that what is pleasing is good. (This can at times lead to some messiness in dealing with what isn't pleasing.) Also not all Poterians do this but it's openly acceptable in Poteria to also worship gods/faiths from other countries, since the Muses are seen as like. Praise-worthy for helping them find enjoyment in life, but not omnipotent or anything like that. They're credited with very specific things and that's it.

Countries having varying attitudes toward Sadnesses and the people they spawn from, some very accepting and tolerant or helpful (Vaugarde very much on this end of the spectrum) and others having negative attitudes that pressure people to attempt to hide having a Sadness, which...definitely tends to do more harm than good. (I'm not 100% sure I want to use that attitude for the Island but it is kind of tempting to wonder if the journal is supposed to be understood as a cautionary tale because the clone who perfectly understands the writer's pain turned out to be "the first Sadness" or whatever. Similarly Sadnesses being seen as some sort of twisted, selfish wish, trying to force your own pain on others. ...Again, not very helpful for someone who actually has a Sadness!)

Sadnesses could have originated after the loss of color. This is just springboarding off how negative thinking is usually more a hindrance than a help nowadays but might have been important for an ancestor surviving in the distant past. The loss of colors would have been a huge loss of information, and probably still is (think plants/animals that you recognize as poisonous to eat by color for one easy 'could get you killed' example). This probably caused a lot of upheaval when it happened and you had a better chance of surviving if you were prone to being cautious. Societies eventually adjusted as well as they could but 'no color for u' probably had a huge effect on people's psyches so yeah. just tempting to think Sadnesses might not have even been a thing before that.

[sysig]

Predator and Prey (Patreon)

[candyskiez]

so, you've heard shows be recommended because they had gay characters. you don't really know what they're actually about though, and don't know if they'd be something you'd be into and are worried about spoilers. here's spoiler free plot summaries of em!

The Owl House

The Owl House starts out as a typical teenage girl goes into a fantasy realm story, but with a twist. Actions have consequences. The protagonist is a girl named Luz Noceda, who was being sent to a camp to make her behave normally by her mother after causing too much trouble at school. She ends up finding a place she's always dreamed of: a fantasy world. A world where everyone's so much weirder than she is. And she thinks, maybe if I don't belong out there, maybe people will like me here. Maybe I can be special here.

It's a story about found family, propaganda, erased history, living with disability, religious trauma, and neurodivergence. It's fundamentally a show about people who's brains work differently finding each other and making a family that treats them right. Definitely my favorite of the ones on this list. It's about people who've been oppressed being pissed about it and about finding yourself again after giving up on everyone around you for so long. It's basically a show about being a minority and trying to be understood and to understand yourself in the process. It's about growing up neurodivergent and how isolating it feels and figuring yourself out. It's about repairing broken relationships and parents who fuck up. And it's just. Such a love letter to anyone who was the weird kid in school. It's sad and heartbreaking and also so hopeful, and it's wonderful.

Content warnings: Abuse, Death, Grief, Animal Death, Suicidal thoughts, Vague suicide attempts, Depression, blink and you'll miss it s/h, body horror, religious trauma

She Ra and the Princesses Of Power

Adora was raised in the Horde since she was a baby, being fed propaganda about how cruel the princesses were. After learning how the horde actually was, though, she defects. But there's one problem. Her best friend, Catra, stays behind. Adora finds a sword that can transform her into She Ra, and might be the key to figuring out who she really is, while Catra takes her place as force captain.

It's a story about abuse, at the end of the day. Adora and Catra were stuck in a golden child and scapegoat dynamic, despite how much they care about each other. This leads to them knowing everything about each other but not understanding it. There's a fundamental disconnect between them, because both of their traumas are completely different. They have complete misconceptions about each other. Even in their initial split, they both have completely different perceptions of what's going on and why the other is upset. It's not a story about magic princesses, it's about the cycle of abuse and what makes it so complicated. Does it have flaws? Yeah. But ultimately I really really enjoy it, and when it does something right it does something RIGHT. Get through season one, it starts kids show-y but it gets very good during later s1.

Content warnings: Abuse (obviously), body horror, gaslighting (and I mean actual gaslighting, not what the Internet thinks gaslighting is), suicide, depression, flashing lights and eyestrain during the finale

Steven Universe

Steven Universe is a sins of the father story. Steven is the son of the leader of the rebel group The Crystal Gems, who's name was Rose Quartz. He navigates the confusion of being half gem and half human, as well as trying to figure out the mess of the rebellion and what his mother left behind. He's constantly in her shadow, for better or for worse.

It's a story about grief. How it impacts relationships, how it taints history, how it impacts family. It has some definite flaws, but ultimately it's about very flawed people who have lost so many people in their life trying to cope with it. Trying to handle what they lost and trying to adjust to life without them. It's about how expectations fuck a kid up and about agency and just a show about complicated relationships in general, at the end of the day. Also, it has some FANTASTIC music.

Content warnings: Grief, Abuse, body horror, very creepy people I don't know how to tag, heavy allegories for homophobia

Nimona

Nimona is a story about a guy who gets framed for murder. His name is Ballister Boldheart, a commoner who hoped to become a knight. It seemed everyone was waiting to watch him fail, so it was no surprise when he was the immediate target. Heavily injured and away from the man he loves, he's left alone trying to figure out a way to prove his innocence- until a strange kid comes into his life. This kids name is Nimona, and while he is intent on proving his innocence, she gave up on being anything but a villain a long time ago.

It's about deconstructing the model minority myth, trans rage, propaganda, and with a healthy dose of "FUCK the police".

Content warnings: Heavy injury, on screen suicide attempt, flashing lights

feel free to add more shows! just remember to keep the summaries as spoiler free as you can and add content warnings!

[nobodyfamousposts]

Do you really think all of ML's problems would be fixed if Adrien never existed?

Good heavens, no.

Adrien isn't the problem. He's just a symptom of a much larger issue. That issue being laziness and poor writing that comes in the form of "tell, don't show", plot threads that go nowhere, and lack of character development or plot progression that leads to a setup of "Status Quo Is God". Removing Adrien wouldn't fix all of that. Heck, it wouldn't fix any of that.

I can't fault the writers for replacing Felix with Adrien. Even if I and others could write out a plot with Felix, that's not to say everyone could or that the writers could. It could very well be that Felix as he was in the PV simply didn't work for the setup they had in mind.

...the issue here is that the setup they had in mind seems to require stagnancy. Where Hawk Moth attacks without winning and the heroes fight off the akumas without really trying to track him as the source and the two leads chase each other around in circles without anyone making any headway in either of these battles. Marinette wants to date Adrien. Chat wants to date Ladybug. It's why all her plans to ask him out fail while his attempts to express his feelings aren't taken seriously. And there is no forward movement, whether in their arc or in the fight against Hawk Moth. There wasn't even build or lead up to the two falling in love. They just started out episode one with crushes on each other and remained having crushes on each other until arguably season 5.

But no good story is stagnant. In this setup, characters need to do things and there needs to be a feeling of forward momentum.

Break it down this way: What is Adrien's problem? What is his goal? What is the obstacle to his goal?

Yes, we could say Adrien's dad being a supervillain and a neglectful jerk is Adrien's main problem, but it's not the problem Adrien is actually focused on in the show. Instead, if we could say Adrien has a problem, it would be that he wants to date Ladybug. And his goal is to date Ladybug. And the source of the problem and obstacle to his goal is...Ladybug.

So his problem, his goal, and the obstacle are all the same thing. This ultimately seems to make his problems Ladybug’s fault then because the problem would be solved if she gives in to his wants rather than by any real effort on his part.

Adrien as he is in the show doesn't do anything. And he doesn't need to do anything because he is at his base a character that things are done for. He doesn't have a goal or direction or drive. He just comes out to deal with akumas as needed, flirt with Ladybug when he can, and then be sad because his life is so hard when he doesn't get what he wants. We don't see him doing anything else. We don't see him making friends. We don't see him engaging in school. We don't even really see how he interacts with the classmates he only recently met. Things happen around him, but he is not a driving force in anything in the show.

But Felix in the PV is a very driving character. He had a problem: he's cursed. What does he need to break the curse? A kiss from Ladybug. What are the obstacles to his goal: Ladybug refusing to kiss him and Hawk Moth trying to kill her. How does he get that kiss? By flirting with her and trying to earn her affections while protecting her and making sure she doesn't DIE against an akuma before he gets that special curse-breaking kiss.

It's the start of Felix's journey. His goal and the various obstacles to that goal that make his story interesting and his growth possible. As such, I see him as a character who would progress in his attempts to obtain his goal as well as one who would progress the storyline...which is also accurate of 3D Felix since that's kind of what he's done more in his relatively few appearances than the series has in 5 seasons.

Adrien didn't have to have Felix's personality. He didn't have to have the same goals or level of drive. But he could still have had things where he grows and helps to push the plot forward.

Adrien...

...just started school. He has no friends, knows no one, and is trying to learn the ins and outs of public education. How is he doing in the different setting with teachers instead of tutors? How is he trying to get along with his classmates? Does he experience bullying? Does anyone NOT like him? What is he going through as a new student who had been homeschooled all his life?

...is friends with Chloe. What's it like learning his "only friend" is a bully? How do people respond to this? Does anyone (besides Marinette) fear him or avoid him because if he's friends with Chloe, he must be just like her?

...is a superhero. He could have been spending time learning the history of the ring and trying to develop his powers. Trying to get stronger? Trying to get to know Plagg? What is he experiencing as a highly known model who is also a superhero and having to juggle those dual identities?

...has a dead mom who died of a "mysterious illness". Given that this loss supposedly occurred about a year prior, he could still be mourning her. Maybe trying to learn what happened to her.

...has a neglectful father. How is he trying to interact with his dad? How does he feel about his dad not being around? What is he doing to try to resolve this?

...has a supervillain father. Like, I cannot stress this enough! His dad is a SUPERVILLAIN! His dad is THE SUPERVILLAIN THEY ARE FIGHTING! People were predicting him finding out and joining Gabriel to try and revive his mom! People were living for the eventual heartbreak of when Adrien finds out the truth! Entire AUs, fan arts, and fanfics were born of this very idea! Going into the drama and struggle Adrien would be experiencing being caught between the "right thing" and the girl he loves and his duty vs his father and his mother and his family. HOW CAN THEY JUST IGNORE THIS?!

But we don't get any of that. Instead, we get Adrien...

...just acclimated with no issues in school and automatically friends with everyone. Good for him, I guess. Wish it was that easy for the rest of us.

...doing little besides occasional comments to Chloe as she is completely horrible for five seasons including Chloe stealing from classmates, getting the entire school punished for something she did, stealing a Miraculous, trying to crash a train, and betraying the city to Hawk Moth. But it takes him learning about something she did to Marinette a year ago for him to finally decide enough is enough and drop her as a friend.

...only goes out to deal with akumas as they come but does nothing to try and figure out his powers and history, get stronger, or try to track Hawk Moth.

...just moves on from dead mom. No relevance here aside from wanting to see a movie she was in or making a passing comment about how she got sick. No attempt to find out what happened to her. No questioning what she may have wanted for him.

...is just sad about his neglectful father neglecting him but seems to get over it rather quickly.

...never learns his father is a supervillain. Okay, I take it back. He learns twice and those timelines are erased with no real repercussions other than trauma for Marinette, so it really doesn't feel like they count. The pieces are all there, though! He knows his dad has the grimoire but never questions him about it! Never asks his dad what the deal was with Tibet! No question about how mom died or what is going on with Nathalie or what he's doing with a hidden mechanism in mom's portrait.

Adrien has potential. He has plot threads and aspects that could be used and goals he could have. But the writing does nothing with him, so while he has a number of things he COULD do to move forward and progress as a character or for the plot, nothing comes of it.

And that all boils down to a problem with the writing.

Adrien was chosen over Felix as an "easier" option to keep the story at a standstill so they could drag it out for as long as needed. That doesn't mean it should have been. There were so many paths that could have been taken, but Adrien was given the personality of a wet noodle, so he acts on none of them because that was what the writers wanted out of his character.

[esoteric-oracle]

//long rambles ahead!

I think what really lingers with me about MDZS is that it's not a novel with a cathartic ending at all. It's a bittersweet story that leaves you slightly hollow. Yes, it's a beautiful and epic romance. It's a piece of social commentary interwoven with a love story and murder mystery. It's a cautionary tale. But it is also very much a tragedy. It's a story about being too late, second chances, and moving on.

By the time the truth of everything JGY and JGS did comes to light, it's 13 years too late. Everything that mattered has already happened. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan are long dead. Jin Ling is still an orphan. Wen Ning is dead, and sometime in the future, his death will be permanent. Wen Qing was burned to death at the stake for no fault of her own. Nie Mingjue has already spent ten years in a no-doubt agonizing state of un-death, and Lan Xichen will have to bear the guilt of loving both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, and by doing so, forsaking them both. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng's once-close bond is irrevocably broken, and the woman who sowed the seeds of resentment when they were still children will never face the consequences of her vitriol.

People sometimes say MXTX was too hard on the side characters, and only gave the Wangxian a happy ending, but what stuck with me after finishing the story is how… sad things are. Yes, Wangxian finally get the happy ending they've deserved for nearly 20 years - but at the same time, it's not a happy ending where the people who've wronged them get the consequences they deserve.

Wei Wuxian will spend the rest of his life haunted by guilt and loss, over what happened to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, over the loss of the Wen remnants. The rest of his years won't even be lived in the body his parents gave him.

Lan Wangji will spend the rest of his years wondering if he'd chosen to stand with Wei Wuxian when it mattered - would his son have had to grow up without his birth family?

Nie Huaisang is left wondering if his brother had been a little less trusting and had never taken Meng Yao in as a Nie deputy, would his brother have died a less wretched death? Would he have been forced to stoop to ruthless machinations and manipulations to seek some semblance of justice?

Wen Ning will have to live with the knowledge that if he'd been a little less kind, if he'd let Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng die that fateful day - his family would still be alive. The Wens would've won the war; Wen Qing might've even succeeded Wen Ruohan.

No one really gets the ending they deserve. MDZS isn't a story where good people get happy endings, and bad people get their dues. Sure, Jin Guangyao's crimes are revealed and he faces the consequences of his actions. But what about the people who stood by and made him into a monster? If anything, the side characters and antagonists who survive get better than they deserve. The real villain of MDZS - society - will never face retribution. Those cultivators who always believed in their own bigotry and righteousness over and over again, will never face justice.

Do you think those cultivators and the public will ever feel any regret for the innocent people they condemned to death in their own prejudice and blind self-righteousness? Do you think the people who gathered at Nightless City to call for Wei Wuxian's death considered for one second that he was the biggest reason they won the war? When the cultivators who sacked the Wen settlement at the Burial Mounds threw the bodies of the Wens into the blood pool, do you think that was a sign of shame?

Do you think Jiang Cheng will ever regret leading a siege on a small settlement of innocent farmers? Do you think he's haunted by condemning to death the same people whom he owes his life to?

Do you think those people like Yao-zongzhu will ever feel an ounce of remorse for so easily believing rumours and hearsay, and spreading speculation and vitriol about innocent people?

Do you think that unnamed cultivator out there will ever lose a single minute of sleep over smashing in Wen Popo's head?

In the years that follow, Wen Ning will have apologized a hundred times for lives he did not take, crimes he did not commit, because of the name he bears. People, both in-universe, and even readers, will condemn him for actions he could not help, for doing the right thing. But did Jiang Cheng ever apologize for killing his family? Did the Jins ever apologize for their horrific treatment of people in the labour camps?

People will continue to demand that Wei Wuxian apologize for causing the deaths of their friends and family. But how is Wei Wuxian meant to do that? No one ever apologized to him for taking his family away. No one ever apologized for condemning the Wen Remnants to death for crimes they took no part in. The Wens were his family too.

There's so much potential for bitterness and corruption in MDZS. Instead of saving everyone, Wei Wuxian could've stood aside and let the people who tried to kill him die. MDZS could've been a story of succumbing to hatred and grief, but it wasn't. MXTX could've gone on and on about how society wronged the protagonist, but she didn't. The narrative is one of forgiveness and moving beyond past grievances. The story chose to close the story on a positive note. I truly love that aspect of MDZS, where MXTX leaves just enough room for hope and love at the end.

A-Yuan will finally get his closure about the family he lost as a toddler. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian get their happy ending together after being separated by nearly two decades by war, miscommunication, cruelty, and death.

Wei Wuxian will never regret protecting survivors of an attempted genocide, because it was the right thing to do.

And Wen Ning will still stand in the way and take a fatal blow meant for Jin Ling, despite everything the Jins and Jiang Cheng did to the people he loved.

Because they chose love. Characters like Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning and Lan Wangji have the chance to move on and live a happier life because when they could've succumbed to hurt and fury and resentment, they chose to be kind and do the right thing. Wangxian get their happy ending because they learn to recognize the toxicity of the cultivation society's self-cannibalizing prejudice, and chose to pursue righteousness above personal benefit.

MDZS isn't a story about good people getting good things. Just look at what happened to Xiao Xingchen. There's really nothing satisfying or cathartic about everyone's fates at all. There's no promise about society facing the consequences of their mob mentality or Wangxian actually changing the world together. Even in TGCF, for all its makings of a love story, we get the promise of societal change once Jun Wu is deposed.

It has all the makings to be a tragedy or tale of vengeance of epic proportions - but instead, it's a love story. It's a story about making the best of what you've got, and staying true to yourself and your morals, even if that's sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. It's a story where everything that could go wrong went wrong, but the characters still managed to fight their way to a better ending by choosing kindness. At its core, MDZS is a testament to choosing compassion over cruelty no matter how tragic and hopeless life gets, no matter how long the journey gets. Even though the happy ending is more personal and only applies to the specific characters, even though we don't actually get the promise of their society becoming a better place - we still have the hope that Wei Wuxian's second chance brings. The hope that sometimes, no matter how cruel the world is, some people who deserve it still get their happy endings. That's what makes MDZS such a memorable work of art. That's why it stays with you.

[klausysworld]

I know you've not been as active lately (not having a go promise ❤) but I was wondering how Klaus would react with a s.o that swears A LOT compared to the normal person, if u aren't comfortable with this feel free to ignore and I hope ur doing ok❤

Klaus with his cussing love:

Klaus could still remember the first time he met her, as soon as he introduced himself she told him to “back the fuck up” before calling Damon and asking him what the fuck he was thinking when he left her home alone at the Salvatores.

He had began to laugh before he took notice of the look on her face, the glare in her eyes and pressed his lips together with the clearing of his throat, both brows raising as he looked away. She stared at him for a full minute before asking why he was still there and telling him to piss off before Damon was back.

He had let out a short laugh before stepping outside, feeling the wind hit his face as the door slammed shut. He proceeded to listen to her whispering a series of curses as she mused the idea of killing Damon.

Shortly after a very tense Salvatore brother came rushing past Klaus only to be smacked over the head with a newspaper and called a little dickhead.

Klaus had decided that it was best to come back later.

The next time he heard her was when Stefan had both her and Elena in his car, threatening him with Elena’s life. Y/n, he found her name out to be as Elena yelled for her, had been with the Gilbert when Stefan forced them into the car. Despite Stefan’s threats and Elena’s cries, he could hear her yelling angrily “I don’t give a flying fuck what kind of bullshit you have with this prick, pull the fuck over, right the fuck now!”

He wasn’t able to catch the rest as the sound of car brakes shrieked and the call was cut off but he couldn’t help his smirk.

The day he properly met Y/n was when Elijah had invited the Salvatores over for a truce and Damon had brought Y/n along as a ‘surprise’. She had payed the Mikaelson brothers no mind as she asked Stefan why the fuck someone would need a house that fucking huge

Elijah had cleared his throat and kissed the back of her hand regardless and brought them all inside whilst Niklaus remained seated with an amused expression on his face. He began to explain he had many servants and hybrids and such but she told him she didn’t give a shit and he shut up.

She had contributed few words to the conversation, a ‘fucks sake’ when they spoke of the doppelgänger and an ‘ah shit’ when Elijah revealed the daggers before Damon grabbed her arm and dragged her out while she laughed and pointing at the situation.

He found her amusing and a relief from the whiny residents of Mystic Falls but also a difficult person to pull much conversation from.

He had attempted to speak to her in the grill, he had wanted to invite her to the ball but she had been a little…rude. Told him to go fuck himself and as one could imagine, he was a little pissed off.

He had slammed his glass down and stormed out as to not cause a bigger scene than needed. Y/n had shrugged and sipped her coke, most people were used to her swearing and took it lightly. Klaus wasn’t.

And so he took Caroline to the ball.

And then he chased her the next day until he found out she had tricked him to help dagger his brother. By the end of the evening, his mother was dead and his siblings were all planning to leave him once more. That was when he went for a late night walk and found Y/n lead in the middle of a silent road.

———————————————————————

“What has you so daring?” He questioned, his voice sounding much too loud against the silence of the cold air. Y/n shrugged as she continued to stare up at the stars

“Damon said he lays in the road when he’s stressed or angry or sad…he’s a bit fucked in the head so he can’t handle emotions. Thought I’d try it” she mumbles and he hummed, uninterested in Damon’s choices.

“So which are you? Stressed? Upset?” He asked and she turned her head to look at his shins, her eyes darted up to look at his eyes

“Dunno, just felt off so thought I’d lay for a while. You should try it, you’re always in a piss” she muttered and he huffed but nevertheless laid beside her on his back. He glanced to her before sighing to himself at the ridiculousness of his actions as he looked up at the sky, the half moon hung above them.

They stayed in the peaceful quiet for a while before she began to speak

“Are you more angry or sad?” She whispered and he furrowed his brows

“What?”

“About your mother” she stated as though it were obvious

“Why, did you have something to do with it!? Did you know that Elena had spoken to her about-“

“Calm your fucking tits down man” she cut off his accusation with the roll of her eyes “if I was planning to kill you then you wouldn’t fucking know about it” she grumbled and he frowned. He remained quiet, unsure what to say to her but she kept up her end of the conversation “besides there’s being a dick and then there’s helping a psycho bitch kill her but job kids. I’m not that far gone” she murmured, distaste on her tongue.

Klaus tapped his thumbs together as he kept his gaze on the moon and listened to her ramble on about how “fucking pathetic” everyone was in this town.

He eventually told her to shut up and she did so simply. Y/n went silent for a moment before a whispered “sorry” left her and he pushed himself up into a sitting position making her mimic his stance. She gave a tight lipped smile before speaking “I don’t mean to make it worse” she mumbled and he nodded

“In all fairness, you haven’t said anything that isn’t true” he admitted and she hummed

“I know” she nodded and he chuckled

“You’re an odd one, Y/n” he mused and she smiled

“Better odd than a fucking lunatic”

———————————————————————

From there Klaus saw more of Y/n, not always under the desired circumstances but he found that she never actually had anything to do with any of the attacks on him. She was just there, not contributing but not in the way.

He only found it natural to want to cause more troubles so that she would pop up some more. He found that if he was able to cause the Salvatores to stress out then they would piss off Y/n and then he would get to lay with her among the stars again, listening to her rant off the reasons she would out live “all those crazy fuckers”

It wasn’t too long before she was round his house, invited or not, just to talk with him or see him.

Her…use of language became more and more normal as he listened to her more. Often it was amusing under certain conditions and most times it was rather useful. She told him exactly how she felt and exactly what he was thinking, with zero filter. He needed someone like that, someone who wasn’t afraid and would sugar coat everything.

Though sometimes it was a little annoying, especially when he was already in a bad mood, but she almost always apologised and after watching her struggle to find kinder words to use he would let out a soft laugh and tell her it wasn’t her fault.

The phrase “fuck it” was the most popular when she was with him. It was said before their first kiss and the first time they slept together. At first he was a little worried that it didn’t mean anything to her but he found that she always had a knowing smile on her face when she would whisper it into his ear.

His siblings were always amused by the way Y/n would speak to both him and everyone else. Rebekah always looked impressed and on the verge of laughter, Kol was often offended or giggling as he watched Klaus get told to “shut the fuck up” and Elijah, gave up on ever trying to reduce her swearing after she told him what a “tight ass” he was and making him turn a dark pink as he struggled to defend himself against words that were although true, slightly harsh.

Klaus found she was always defending him, she’d tell every supernatural creature going to go “shove it up their own asses” if she had to and Klaus would be proud of her each time.

[varpusvaras]

Fox is dead.

He knows he is. His life hadn't been over instantly when his body had been suddenly and violently grabbed and twisted beyond what he could take. He had lied there, after, for a moment longer, knowing nothing but pain and the sinking feeling that he was dying.

He is here, now, not where his body had been left to die, but somewhere else. Somewhere he does not recognise, but knows, still, almost instinctually.

It looks like a grand hall with golden rivers and silver skies, so large that he cannot see how far the walls actually go. He tries to see, but everything is simply too far away.

There are others around him. Fox can see them and hear them moving around, walking past him, stepping around him like they don't see him but still know he is there.

Fox tries to look at some of them. He can see faces, so, so many of them, and if he focuses long enough on one of them, he can see it more clearly for a second, but no more. It is like they are far away from him as well, too far away for him to actually see them.

He watches as they go. They all follow the rivers, each a different one, disappearing somewhere alongside them after a while. Fox knows, somehow, that he is supposed to also follow one of the rivers to somewhere, wherever it may lead him to.

He hears one of them, faintly, if he listens very carefully. It's like the river wants him to follow, but cannot make him do so. Fox also wants to follow, but cannot make himself do so.

He knows the reason as well. He knows that he has done mistakes. Many of them. So, so many of them. He knows some of those mistakes have been too grave for his brothers to forgive.

Fox knows he is not welcome anymore.

The river sighs, and then flows away from him.

Fox stands there, and watches as faces he cannot see walk past him and disappear.

---

He waits.

It is the only thing he can do, after all. Wait.

It's a strange thing, waiting there. Every time he looks somewhere and watches someone, and then looks away for what feels even barely a second, there is already someone else there in their place. He needs to not forget himself, if he wants to not get lost there. He figures that out pretty quickly.

It's cold, there. The rivers look warm and the skies look clear, but Fox cannot feel them. He cannot feel anyone walking past him. They are there, just like he is, but at the same time, it is like they are existing on parallel realities, and only getting a glimpse of what is going on behind the glass that separates them.

Perhaps it's just Fox who sees them. Perhaps no one else sees him.

He tries not to think about that too much.

---

There are a lot of brothers walking around him.

Fox can see their faces clearly. They do notice him too. Many walk towards him, if they see him, and some of them speak to him, if they get close enough.

Fox wonders if they notice him because the Force recognises them as the same, or at least close enough. If the Force recognises them as kin, even when Fox has been casted aside.

His brothers want him to come with them. They can still hear the river, calling them, guiding them forward to somewhere they are meant to go. His brothers try to take his hands and take him with them. Fox had not expected that, if he is being completely honest. He would understand it, if the others were thinking that he was just any brother.

But no. Some of them do recognise him, and still reach for him, even if they are not wearing the Guard red.

"Of course you can come with", one brother in 212th gold tells him. "The Commander always spoke very fondly of you. You are our brother. Of course you can come with us."

He reaches for Fox, and he makes contact, and even when his hand is warm, Fox's legs are stuck on the ground.

The brother looks at Fox with sad eyes.

"I'm sorry", he says. "You are our brother."

"I know", Fox tells him. "I know. Can you say hi to everyone for me?"

"Of course", his brother tells him, and then follows the river away from Fox.

---

The Guards, once they figure out that Fox cannot follow them, want to stay with him.

"You are our Commander", they all tell him. "We're not going to leave you here alone!"

They stay, all of them, as long as they are able to. They hold onto him, like Fox is their anchor, the only thing keeping them from drifting away with the river.

Fox lets them stay with him, for a while, but eventually he tells all of them to go.

"Don't worry", he tells them. "Others will come along. I'll be fine. Say hello to everyone for me, alright? Go now. I'll be fine."

There is always resisting, but eventually, they do leave. They have to. The river is guiding them forward, and they have to follow it. Fox cannot hear the river, and his brothers cannot guide him themselves to it.

Fox stands there, and watches them leave.

---

Stone is the first one to arrive after Fox.

It's strange, to look at him. He looks both like the Stone Fox remembers, and like Stone Fox doesn't quite recognise, Stone who is slightly older and has a new scar across his face.

It's still Stone, though.

Stone stays with him for a long, long time.

But eventually, he leaves as well.

"I'll be fine", Fox says, for the hundreth time. "Say hi to Thorn for me."

"I will", Stone promises. "I will."

---

After Stone comes Hound. He stays for a long time as well, and promises to say hello to Thorn and Stone.

After Hound comes Bly.

Bly puts his arms around Fox and holds him.

"It's not fair", he says, again and again. "It's not fair, this isn't how any of this is supposed to go! It doesn't matter if someone has called you a Dar'vod, you are my brother! That should matter more!"

"I know", Fox says.

"Why are you so calm about this?" Bly asks him. "You are stuck here! You should be with all of us!"

"Bly, please", Fox says. "I can't. Please don't...please don't remind me too much. Please don't."

Bly goes quiet. He still holds onto Fox for a long time.

Eventually, he has to let go.

"It's okay", Fox promises him. "Say hi to Ponds for me."

---

Thire comes last.

Fox knows more time has passed now. It's strange, to look at Thire, and see his youngest brother there, but also someone who is a lot older than Fox ever got to be now.

He looks a lot like Prime before he died, Fox thinks, but doesn't say it out loud.

He also thinks it's a good thing Thire looks so much older than Fox. Fox knows he wouldn't have been able to endure his little brother dying young like Fox had.

"We have a chance", Thire tells him. "There are a lot of people standing against the Empire. Bail and Breha are with them."

Fox almost starts crying then and there. It's been- he doesn't even know how long it has been since someone has said those names to him.

"They're," Fox swallows, and tries again, "they're alright?"

"Yes", Thire says. "They are. I let them take your body, you know? You're there with them."

It's strange, to think about what happened to him after his death. Fox has been here the whole time, not there.

He guesses whatever was left of him there was what was left of him to everyone else, as well.

Fox thinks about it for a while, and then turns back to Thire.

"What else has been going on?" He asks, because he already knows that Thire is going to be staying for a while.

So Thire stays, and he tells his stories, until he has nothing else to say.

He promises, like all of Fox's brothers before him, to say hi to everyone for him. He hugs Fox for a long while, before he finally lets go.

Fox watches him leave for as long as he can.

---

The Galaxy is big, and there is always someone dying.

Fox has accepted that to be just the inevitable way of life. Everyone and everything dies eventually, even the stars. He thinks he had heard that from someone while he was still alive.

Still, some deaths are more tragic than others. Some deaths are ones that Fox thinks shouldn't have happened, not at least in the way that they did, no matter the inevitable nature of death itself.

He has seen it all pretty much, by now. Many people have been crying when walking past him, but as far as Fox has seen, they have all always dried their tears before they disappear with their rivers. He has seen anger and despair, both in a way that suits normal lives and in a way that he recognises to suit lives that are ended by the brutality of war. They all seem to always get past it, though, before they continue their journey past where he cannot see them anymore.

Fox has learned that it is normal for there to be a lot of people around him, and for them to be in distress.

But still, he knows something is wrong.

Maybe it's the way the people just seem to appear, all of a sudden, all at once, instead of coming in many rivulets. Maybe it's in the way that people are now moving. Many are still walking towards, around and past him, like they usually do, but many, too many, way too many, are running around, shouting and screaming names, searching for faces with desperation and grief written all over their own, whenever Fox gets to look at them for long enough.

It feels less like a river now, flowing towards their ends, but like a wild rapids, like rogue waves being pushed around against shores that are too small and tight for them.

Fox looks at them more closely.

He has seen it all, by now. Adults, elderly, teenagers, even children. People die at all ages all the time.

But this? There are so many of them, searching for each other. All of them are crying. He sees so many small children, healthy looking, yelling for their parents, for their siblings, friends, anyone, and just as many adults doing the same, searching for their children and parents and anyone they know, and they just keep coming.

Fox tries to look at them, tries to listen at them for long enough to figure out what is going on, but it's even more difficult now, when there are so many faces and voices around him. Something terrible, he can tell, because there seems to be no end for them, and whenever he gets to hear more than one word from any of them, they all sound the same, like they all speak the same language in the same way.

Fox doesn't understand how that can be. How can this many people die like this, all seemingly at once, in one place? He has seen war before, but even the largest massacres had been nothing like this.

He listens to them more, and there is now something familiar in the way they all talk, in a way that suddenly makes Fox go cold, like he was dying himself all over again.

He knows it. He knows the way they are all speaking, he has listened to that very same way of speech so many times.

Suddenly Fox understands everyone around him searching and screaming very well, because he is doing the same now.

Not screaming yet, but definitely searching. He tries to look at all the faces, to see if he sees them, and he prays to something, anything, everything, that he doesn't find what he is looking for.

He doesn't need to look into the faces of people around him to see them, eventually, because in the sea of faces and voices on the other side of a misty window, he sees two more than clearly.

Fox understands the grief in everyone's faces now too.

He is definitely screaming, now.

No words at first, no. Just a sound that makes its way out of him without him being able to control it at all. He sees them hear it, because they stop, and they start to look around, their eyes searching the people around them.

Fox hasn't had to breathe in a long, long time, but now he feels like he is out of air anyway. He drags his voice back in, and pushes it back in where it can be formed into words, and he screams again.

"Breha!" His voice is tearing up at its invisible seams. "Bail!"

He looks at them, and that's the moment they look at him and see him, standing there, in the same place where he has been standing his whole time there.

Fox watches as they start running as well, still looking at him, and then they are there, and Bail is just a little bit closer and throws his arms around him.

Fox stumbles, his legs ripping away from the ground. He doesn't get to wonder about it for too long, because Bail is holding him now. He is warm, just the way Fox achingly clearly remembers him to be, and then Breha is there as well, her arms going between Bail's to hold onto Fox just as tight.

They all stand there, for a moment which length Fox cannot measure, in each others arms.

Breha is the first one to speak.

"Fox", she says, in a way she always used to say his name, and Fox is barely able to keep the tears that have sprung into his eyes from falling.

Her hand reaches up and touches his jaw and then his cheek.

"Fox", Bail says then, as well, and Fox cannot hold it in anymore.

He cries.

He is pretty sure they are all crying.

There is another hand on his face, now, both of them wiping away the tears still falling down.

"Fox", Breha calls him again. "Fox, my love, our love. Look at me."

What else can Fox do, than to do as she asks of him?

It is Breha and Bail, standing there, just like he remembers them, but not quite. When Fox blinks, there are definitely grey streaks in Bail's beard and hair, and there is a long, silvery strand framing Breha's face. More lines around their eyes when Fox looks closer, ones he doesn't remember seeing there before.

It doesn't matter to him, not really. He knows them, still.

It's a strange mix of emotions he is feeling. Relief, of finally seeing them again. Happiness, brought by being held by them again.

Sorrow, for seeing them both there, emerging from the chaos of grief, knowing that they are here with him now, because they are both dead.

"Why?" He asks, because he doesn't know what else to ask. It's one word, but they understand it still.

The same grief is on their faces as well.

"The Empire", Bail starts, and pauses for a moment, like speaking pains him, "has figured out how to build weapons of mass destruction beyond anything we could've imagined. We've been fighting against them for a long time now, and...we finally got caught. Alderaan is no more."

"I don't understand", Fox says. "That doesn't make any sense."

Except it does, in a sense that it explains why there were so many of them all of a sudden, all frightened, like they hadn't had any time to prepare for their deaths. But it doesn't, because Fox cannot, will not believe that there is a weapon that can make a whole planet and everyone on it disappear.

"I know", Breha says, soothing, like she isn't the one who has just lost her own life and everything else. "It's not all lost. Our daughter, she's out there. She has the key to stopping them."

"She will do it", Bail says, and he sounds proud, so proud. "She will. We know she will."

Fox believes them when they say it.

"Of course she will", he says. "She is your daughter, after all. If she is anything like you, she can do anything."

They look at him gently, then.

"Our daughter", Breha repeats. "Our daughter. Just because you weren't there doesn't mean she is any less yours. She carries you with her as much as we did."

"She takes after you very much as well", Bail says, and there is a sparkle in his eyes again as he speaks. "Determined and strong, just like you."

Fox cries again. They don't rush him to stop, just stay there with him and hold him until everything has been spent.

"I wish I would've known her", Fox says. "I wish I would've been there."

"We wish so too", Bail says. "There wasn't a day we didn't wish that you were with us still."

"But you are now", Breha says, brushing her fingers softly over the skin under Fox's eye. "You are with us again. We have all the time now to tell you everything."

That is the moment Fox remembers that he can move again.

He has to make sure. He lifts one leg, and takes half a step back, and then makes the other leg follow.

He can move, but he still cannot hear the river.

"I would love that", he says. "But I...I don't know where to go."

"Don't worry", Bail says. He reaches for Fox's hand, and takes it into his, firmly and securely. "We know. We'll show you."

Breha laces her fingers with Fox's as well, tying herself to him like a safety line on the outside of a ship. They turn to face the golden rivers, meandering towards their ends under the silver skies, and they take Fox with them.

[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. ⋆｡°✩

[hanafubukki]

Concerning the Idia & proposing by pomegranate thing- what if he gives you the seeds slowly as he becomes more and more sure he wants to marry you? The first one he gives you is while he's at NRC. Just a single seed doesn't say anything, what's the harm in feeding you one just as a symbol of appreciation for what you are to him? Cue to a year or two later- he's no longer in school while you're still there (free housing, ya know?), but you're facetiming and doing everything you can to stay in contact/have a long distance relationship. He sends Ortho to visit you along with a gift basket, making sure Ortho has video proof that you ate the single pomegranate seed nestled among the fruit. Another year or two pass and you now live relatively close to each other. He's at your place, snuggled up to you on the couch as you're nodding off. He gets caught up in his feelings for you, of how much he loves you and would never want to live without you. His gaze never leaves you as he presses a seed into your mouth and you sleepily eat it. The fourth one is somewhat forced onto you- he had gotten jealous. You corner him into talking about his feelings, which leads to an emotional outburst. He corners you up against a wall, grimly speaking down to you. A pomegranate seed appears between his fingers and presses it into your lips, but you don't open your mouth. The rage he was displaying started to radiate away as you held strong until all his face showed was sadness. You know what he was feeling- what he was thinking. You were waiting for him to cool off. You take his hand in both of yours. He flinches. You can tell he wants to back up- to not be near you now- but he doesn't move away. Your lips part and mouth opens as you take the seed from him, looking into his eyes as you eat it (you don't know what's up with him and these occasional pomegranate seeds, but you know they mean something special to him). He hands are trembling now as his face starts shifting- he's gonna cry. You let go of his hands to cup his face instead and kiss his tears away as they start rolling down.

He's done for the night and laying in bed, ready to actually get some sleep. And what better way to fall asleep than to daydream of you. What naturally comes to mind first is embarrassing- your wedding. Nobody's watching so he let's himself indulge in his simping pleasures. Until he remembers (more like realizes). The seeds. He- He never thought your relationship would amount to anything- to continue this long. He figured you'd realize he was a loser, that you could do better, and one day leave him forever. That's why he never thought much about giving them to you- they were just symbols of his feelings for you that would never reach a critical number because you'd have left by then. He shivers. He's at 4. Not much more than half, but only 2 to go. What if he hadn't realized it in time? What if he'd given you the last two in another willy-nilly moment and unintentionally bound you to him for life? He knows what his options are. He knows, if he really wants to, he could leave you. Ghost you and never have you enter his life again. Never have another opportunity to feed you another seed. But he also knows- deep down he doesn't want to. Even disregarding the hope his heart cannot help but have, he wants to spend every single moment he can with you- up until the very last second. He's selfish like that. So he decides- he'll just ignore it. There's 2 left- that means he has 1 as a buffer before things get dangerous. It'll be fine. He won't feed you one again.

It happened again. He's at home, sitting on his bed as he reflects on his actions. He'd spent another day with you, as usual, and as the day was winding down... he was so in love with you. The idea popped into his head, "Feed her one. Give her a seed. You have to, you love her so much you can't bear it, so just press one more into her mouth- let it alleviate this positive pressure on your heart. Who cares if this will be the fith? It's the buffer seed. It'll be fine as long as you never give her another. It's fine, just do it!" And he had. And he was happy.

He hated his feelings ever since he'd fed you the fith seed. Day by day his desire to give you the fate-bounding sixth seed grew stronger and stronger. Again and again, he felt the compulsion to feed you another. But he had more willpower this time around, knowing what the consequences of his actions would be. It was difficult, but he'd held fast despite his tug-of-war of feelings- of loving you so much but having to not act on it. His suffering would be eased soon, however. You'd come to visit him but you were acting slightly off. Nervous maybe? No...flustered. You sat on his couch and gestured him to sit next to you, your knees angled so you'd also be facing each other. You were nervous, heat rising to your face, but you wanted to do this. Now you just had to start talking. "You know...Ortho told me." "??? T-Told you...what?" "What the pomegranate seeds mean." His heart dropped to his stomach as you continued talking, "He also let me know how many I've eaten so far. I feel like it's been way more than 5, but maybe that's because it's been over so many years." This is it, he thinks. It's gonna be over. "Have you... do you... would you want...? To... give me the last one?" He can't answer. The moment he does, you'll be gone (his appearance doesn't match his inner turmoil- with his blazing pink hair, blushing face, and dilated eyes). You can do this. You have to take the plunge. You take a breath to steel your nerves and raise your open palm. A single pomegranate seed sits in it. "I-I would like it. If you'd.... give it to me." He hasn't moved a single muscle. Is this rejection? "I-Idia?" You have unconsciously leaned closer to him, gravitating your face closer to his. The room is silent. You can't take anymore. You're about to pull back when you feel something tickle your hand. It's his slim, pale fingers, just barely grazing your palm. Now he's leaning closer as well, and he picks up the seed. He's yet to say anything- he's only staring at you. He lifts the seed. His pointer finger places it on the seam of your lips before his thumb gently holds it there, waiting for your permission to push it in.

(Extra: you move his hand away and pull him in for a kiss- your tongues pushing the seed around. You make sure it's in your mouth when you pull away, and you make sure to exaggerated your swallow so he knows it went down)

[in reference to this ask]

Hello Fake Date Sebek Anonke 🌸🌺💙

*grips you by the shoulders* Anonie, Anonie, the way I just gaped at this?? Wow??

It’s so cute?!! I adored reading it. 💞💞💙💙

@werewolfnamedraven, Raven you need to read this!!

Idia slowly coming into his feelings as time goes on is just -chef kiss-

The symbolism of courting you secretly but in his own way, you don’t know what it means, but you do it for him. 🥹💙

And then!! The sixth seed!! He could end his misery and make you his, but he doesn’t! Doesn’t allow that one last selfishness move his hand. Instead, you find out and make your choice. You ask him to give it to you.

It was your choice.

You chose to be with him ahhhhh 💞💞

And that kiss!!! That kiss!!

The kiss sealed the deal.

You are together now, not even death can seperate you two.

Fake Date Sebek Anonie, you’ve done beautifully!! I thank you in not leaving me in angst this time 💙🥰🌺

[maleyanderecafe]

Mushroom Oasis (Visual Novel)

Created by: DeersphereStudios

Genre: Romance/Horror

Mushroom Oasis is very cute, and I love Mychael's design a love (I'm a huge sucker for good monster design). @deerspherestudios always seems to make pretty nice games with cute characters and it was really nice to be able to hang out with Mychael! The artwork in it is also very pretty and cozy, much like Mychael himself.

The story starts out with the MC losing their cat, and has become worried about their disappearance. After being unable to look for them, they desperately look into the forest near their house. After wandering for a very long time, they end up stepping in a fairy circle, where they pass out due to the spores after finding their cat's collar.

Waking up in a cabin, they are tended by someone with messy hair. The two of them talk for a while, with the guy revealing himself to be named Mychael. The MC finds Mychael's appearance to be a little bit odd given the horns, his green skin and his pointed ears. The MC tries to ask Mychael where their cat is, showing them a picture of her, but Mycheal doesn't seem to know. Mychael seems touched that the MC is willing to go out of their way to find their cat, and is happy to make conversation with him. While the MC tries to go home, Mycheal seems to convince them using his spores that they should stay. Mycheal brings the MC to the kitchen and offers them food.

If the MC refuses and leaves, Mycheal will reluctantly let them, but as they walk, they end up falling to the forest's influence, passing out. The end is Mycheal walking sadly to see the body of the MC taken by the mushrooms in the ground next to their cat.

If they agree, Mycheal will cook them something and the MC eats it eagerly. The two talk about why Mycheal lives in the woods until the MC accidentally drops their mug on the floor... which Mycheal catches with his tail, later revealing his four eyes. This can lead the MC to either freak out or stay calm.

If the MC decides to calm down, Mycheal will become bashful hiding behind his plate, telling the MC that he'd be willing to hide his eyes if they'd prefer. The MC drinks the tea, and reassures Mycheal about his appearance. Mycheal insists on having the MC stay for the night.

If the MC freaks out, they will try to escape. Mycheal tries to get them to calm down. They can either attempt to take the sewing needles as a defense or leave them.

Leaving them will cause Mycheal to grab the MC forcefully and use his spores to brainwash them into calming down. He cries a bit, sad that he won't be able to love the "real" MC but is willing to play along with the sedated and brainwashed version of them. The MC is then brainwashed into believing that they've been with Mycheal all of their life as Mycheal plays along with this state.

Taking the needles will cause Mycheal to release spores to get the MC to calm down, however, if the MC does attack him, the needles are stabbed into his heart causing him to fall down bleeding. As Mycheal dies on the floor, he talks about how happy he was that the MC was there with him before dying. The MC feels regret.

I gotta say that this artwork is way, WAY too pretty, from the backgrounds to the characters, it's just really cozy and it's great. I love Mychael's design since I love looking at unique monster designs and it's pretty cool seeing a mushroom based monster character. His four eyes are just so expressive, and he has cute expressions. The creator really has to pull on the heartstrings on the ending where he dies though, don't they.

As a yandere, Mychael is pretty interesting because he is pretty much doing the right thing in forcing the MC to stay with him. As we see in the bad endings, if the MC does end up leaving Mychael's cabin, then they end up being taken by the forest much like their cat, so subduing the MC using his spores is probably the best he can do to make sure that they don't leave, even if it's likely out of selfishness as well since he is pretty lonely. The spores do raise up the question of how powerful his mind control is, as we see that sometimes the MC can break out of it, while in others, such as the ending where the MC is braindead, they can pretty much completely erase their memory. It might come down to how much is released in the air or even what kinds are released. It's possible it might come from his eyes as well, since they turn into a sort of pink hypnotic state. Mind control in yandere stories is an interesting topic to get into since it goes into the idea of if the yandere is okay with an MC that doesn't really have a free will anymore and the amount of angst if they do ever snap out of it. Mychael is a curious creature since I'm not sure we know where he came from or if he's the only one of his kind. My theory is that he's some sort of mutation with the forest (since he's able to sort of tell when the forest "takes" someone and is unaffected by it or at least knows how to avoid it) and possibly was chased out by humans at some point as well (thus his complex about his appearance) so he's forced into isolation. Or I'm completely wrong since there can be a lot of reasons why he isolates himself so much. Also, his blushing sprite? Adorable, I love it.

Overall, a pretty cute demo. I like how it's introduced with the MC running after their cat which I feel is pretty different from how other VNs I've played initially introduce their MC. I'm curious to see how Mycheal will develop as a yandere as the story goes on.

[graveyardcuddles]

Some rambling personal thoughts on Astarion's endings since I can't sleep.

I find myself really loving Astarion's spawn endings and ALL of their variations even more the more I think about them (the exception ofc being the cursed af endings where you don't help him AT ALL and he either gets turned into a zombie or is still being hunted by cazador even after the game, but I'm obviously not talking about those).

I think I, like many others who grew very attached to his character, were left feeling very torn over his initial spawn ending before the added epilogue. Because Astarion being free from cazador and learning to truly relish in that freedom AND use it towards more positive ends is the entire point of his spawn endings. But we don't really get the chance to see that fully paid off in the narrative. One could argue that we do see the very beginnings of it with the graveyard scene and the morning after scene and how he makes several comments about never being a slave again after he kills cazador. But then we get a rather painful reminder of the fact that he's still been forced to give up something he's come to love and cherish so much over the course of your journey. And then we just kinda end on that note.

I definitely didn't regret keeping Astarion a spawn, even after that. But I will admit there was a part of me that still really wanted to see more for him. And that's why I really do adore the epilogue. I know people have their issues with it and say it's unrealistic for Astarion to be so "healed" after only 6 months but I disagree with this take because we're literally only seeing a glimpse of him on one really good, happy night, it's not necessarily a reflection of how he usually is. He could very well still be having days where he struggles, and he almost certainly does. But comparing his previous 200 years to his possible (good) spawn endings, it's not really surprising that he's thriving. Same with the "counterweight" comment. He's not saying the 6 months you've been together completely negates and erases the 200 years of torture. He's saying his freedom and your love have been such a HUGE contrast to what he's had to live through for so long that they feel like a counterweight to the horrors.

I think about how far he has to come for him to actually get to those endings. His bounty hunter/adventurer ending? Amazing! He's relishing in violence and living his best rouge life. Leading the spawn in the Underdark? Speaks so much to his character development that he actually cares enough about them to even attempt such a massive undertaking. Lots of potential for healing of course but also: Holy shit the potential for unhinged shenanigans as well. Going to the hells with Karlach? Incredible! He's not just getting to enjoy tearing up cambions all day he's devoted to Karlach and helping her it's literally so beautiful.

Something else I really adore about his spawn ending vs. his ascended ending is that he burns down cazador's palace in his spawn ending. Burns it to the ground and destroys it for good. Whereas ascended Astarion literally moves into the palace and like...sure you can headcanon that maybe he eventually has a new, even grander palace built. But the mental image of Astarion wandering those halls is just so fucking sad to think about. He could go anywhere and do anything but he's still physically occupying the space that hosted so many horrors and tortures for him. And it to me that just screams that he's still there mentally.

I'll always defend people who like the ascended ending because I understand the appeal of it. As a dark romance enjoyer, I very much understand the appeal of the dark consort ending. And I don't even think this is the "worst" ending for Astarion because there's at least still potential for him (as opposed to the endings where he dies or is still being hunted, which ARE the worst endings for him). But it does feel like a step backward for him. And I think the people who go "Well this is just NATURAL character progression for him he's selfish af of course he would want this" Think too little of him or at least underestimate his capacity to care for others.

Because he very obviously DOES care. And allowing him to get to a place where he can foster that sense of compassion for others is truly so beautiful and so profound to see. I'm someone who is easily moved by fiction already but Astarion's story really touches my heart just because of how rewarding it is to see how far he comes in those endings.

[cherryfennec]

what are some of your favorite Super Paper Mario headcanons?

I wasn't sure how specific you'd want those to be but I tried to think of a few that I personally enjoy/tend to apply myself!Includes spoilers.

Some general headcanons:

SPM takes longer than than a day/few days (maybe about a month or two)

Flipping into 3D is a nauseating experience and it takes time to fully adjust to it (especially for Mario, he never really managed to get over it).

Pure Hearts emit a comforting aura, a sense of warmth and calm, while the Chaos Heart feels like a thousand voices are whispering in your ear.

Some character specific headcanons:

Mario finds himself confused and lost more than he ever did in his life during this adventure. His usual confidence and grounded attitude are shaky because almost everything in these other worlds makes no sense to him, which is rather frustrating, especially at the beginning of his journey where he's completely surrounded by strangers and forced into the hero role. (Seriously, Mario couldn't even go home if he wanted to because he's stuck not on an island but between dimentions where he was TELEPORTED IN. There isn't really a door that leads to the Mushroom Kingdom.)

Peach's parasol is hardened by steel and enhanced by magic with a sharp tip at the end. She changed her heels to something more comfortable on the Flipside and put her hair up so it doesn't get in the way during travel and unavoidable combat.

Bowser takes his 'marriage' very seriously. He cares more about Peach than Mario in the team so when she's trouble he'll dash to assist her (he can run when he really wants to huh), but if the red plumber's in trouble he'll pretend to not see it or brush it off. (unless his lovely wife nags him about it).

Luigi, after landing is the Underwhere, finds lots of stuff in his pockets that he doesn't remember squirreling away like firecrackers, bolts and a small screwdriver. He is in fact very confused.

Count Bleck isn't very emotional. Most of the time he only has one, sad and dull expression. Any type of larger emotion showing through means that you've REALLY pushed it to the extreme.

The minions know the kind person that the Count is deep at heart so they're not put off by his frown, except for Mr.L. A default reaction that the brainwashed soldiers get as a 'bonus' from Nastasia is the highest respect for the Count, yes, but also fear of him. The fear ensures that they are most obedient but it's more of a failsafe than anything. You can imagine how it looks when Mr.L, an exploding and tempered personality, runs around the castle causing havoc like a brat and then suddenly just FREEZES on the spot at the sight of Bleck.

On the topic of the quirks of Nastasias ability, usually a person only needs to be brainwashed once. HOWEVER due to a certain someone who likes to provoke the man in green and his subconscious she is required to sometimes strengthen the control on Mr.L as she doesn't trust the magician with keeping his mouth shut. At one point she directly orders L to actively stay away from the jester, even forcing him to follow her around when she works.

Dimentios poncho and hat are covered in glitter and his mask is porcelain-esque, also the idea of him being the "son of the magician". I just think this theory is quite fitting and I like the thought of him being actually 3000 years old. He's not very popular at the castle but everyone has a silent agreement to not bother him. He however bothers everyone and likes to stare. When he's intrigued he tends to tilt his head slightly.

Mimi enjoys designing clothes and tries to give fashion advice to her teammates (to absolutely no avail because who cares we're literally ending the world, we're evil and depressed blehhhh). She and Dimentio have an 'annoying sibling' dynamic and she wouldn't hold back against him in battle at all for all the times he's messed with her. She also enjoys filing her nails to be super sharp.

Nastasia is a very strict person who takes her duties seriously but she does have a side for fun. You just need to search for it a little.

O'Chunks likes to spar with Mr.L in his free time. Mr.L is in general one of the few people he can do this with since Mimi says that 'she doesn't want to ruin her dress over such a stupid thing' and Dimentio always finds an excuse or simply dissapears.

Post SPM headcanons:

There is little conflict with the neighbouring kingdoms after the void incident. Peach, Mario and Luigi use that free time to have fun and just relax after everything that happened. They need eachothers support for the time being.

'Team Bleck' still meets up often after everything and hangs out. They don't necessarily talk about the Count but it's nice knowing that there are other people who understand what you're feeling right now. *They've been trying to have a full group reunion with Luigi included for some time now. Things are a bit awkward among them but it's still nice when he agrees to come along.

Luigi inherits some of Dimentios mannerisms which shine through from time to time such as laughing patterns, hand gestures and a rather malicious looking grin... A bit more unrelated and physical change is that his hair tends to turn white when he's around strong sources of power. (Dream Stone and Dark Star levels kind of powerful ykyk maybe Super Star as well or stardust in general cause star child origins) and the eyes somewhat darken.

He's also never really informed about the specifics of his Mr.L and Super Dimentio arc. Mario doesn't really want to burden his brother with something that was in the past and not a necessary in his eyes knowledge since it wasn't truly him.

The Chaos Heart isn't completely gone. It rests, slowly regaining power within it's host, accumulating all the scattered fragments like puzzle pieces. Try all you want but you can never fully get rid of chaos, it's an inescapable force.

I might gather up some more another time but I'd say that's it for now! You might've already heard some of these before but I hope it was at least a good read.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @vodka-glrl request: UMMMM GA MING GA MING GA MING!!! CAN WE GET A GA MING X READER OUT HERE!? So the whole thing is the reader comes from a rich family who kinda doesn't approve of her (yup fem! Reader if you're comfortable) and ga ming dating so they don't allow her to go watch gaming perform during lantern rite so gaming is just so sad during the whole performance but the reader sneaks out of the house so she could go watch him!! :3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ HIIII!! Omg yes!! I really hope I got Ga ming somehow right because gosh I adore this boy but then again, I dorn have experience with writing for him yet.

Fem!reader wasn't really any problem so hope you like it! Also one-shot format because I felt like it's better like that!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

It was finally day if the Lantern Rite and Ga ming was bouncing from excitement when he thought of tonight's performance! Not only because he loves pe forming but also and mostly because his beloved will come to watch him!

You said yesterday that you'll do your best to come, in fact you promised you wouldn't miss it for the world! He knows how your parents are and he knows he should probably not have this much hope... but somehow he just couldn't. It's like your presence was sure already and he wanted to make it the best performance of his life yet so you'll be only proud of him! Who knows? Maybe he'll even steal a kiss or two for his good work?

But when he finally entered the area and jumped high above the audience, looking for you. He didn't saw your eyes, your hair, your clothes, nothing! You didn't come after all... Big smile on his face was washed away for a second. But it was quickly replaced with sadder smile, he may be disappointed but he won't make this moment sad to others because of his own feelings!

"(Did her parents really were this forcing? It's just one performance... and on Lantern Rite... I made sure to practice this play thousands of not millions of times too!)"

You on the other hand, had your stealth mission! You could see in distance lights of Lantern Rite and hear loud music, accompanied with cheering of the people. You knew you were running late.

With even more motivation, you finally jumped from the window onto the tree nearby and carefully for down with it's help. And when you did, you ran towards the event like you never did before. You honestly didn't care if your hair will get messy or if you get sweaty, all you wanted right now is to see your boyfriend's performance and not make him feel like you abandoned him on this special day!

"(Oh please let it be a long show... so I can come at least for the ending..!)"

Performance kept going, Ga ming had many glimpses at crowd, hoping he just didn't notice you and you're actually there somewhere! During one of these peeks... at the very end of performance when he almost lost his hope, he noticed you in the crowd! He noticed how you were panting from tiredness but also smiled brightly upon hearing him perform, leading to bright and honest smile return to his face.

It was a big part now... and he made sure to catch up for precious part of the performance and make it the best part yet! He didn't thought much of it at the moment but he probably wanted to help you see what you missed too! And maybe get some praise after the show~

When it was over, he carelessly took his costume off and ran towards the crowd, looking for you.

"Y/N! You came in the end!"

He immidietly hugged you upon seeing your face. His embrace contained all emotions he felt, being both happiness and expressing how much he missed you.

"Of course! My parents tried stopping me but there was no way I'd miss your performance! It was just so great! I felt the shivers on my body... in a good way of course!"

You then leaned to give his cheek a little congratulations kiss. He deserved it and you wanted to show a bit of affection after being so late too.

He for one squeezed you tighter in response for a short while before letting go to not hurt you accidentally. And this night is not over yet so he wanted to get out of this as much as possible!

"Alright~ Why won't we go get some dim sum since we're together now? My treat!"

"Oh absolutely! You know I can never say no to that!"

Both of you were eager to spend time with each other and probably a bit hungry so you arrived in no time! Of course holding hands on your way, as well as inside of the restaurant~

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @vodka-glrl - come get your dim sum lover!

[moments-on-film]

Moments on Film: Carmy IS The Bear - Opening Scene Analysis

Hello friends. I hope your year is going well. If we have interacted or you’ve read my work before, hello again! If you’re new to my blog, welcome!

This is the final part I’ve been building to in a 3 part character analysis series I have written about the character of Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto from The Bear. In the first part, I analyzed how 🔗Carmy doesn’t know who he is yet because he’s never had the safety and freedom to discover who he really is by connecting with his true passion, art. In part two, I analyzed 🔗Carmy’s true purpose and how I believe his destiny is to set everyone up for success, leave the kitchen behind and step into his light.

I have rewatched The Bear multiple times, but nothing ever captures the wonder, intrigue, and immediate empathy I felt for Carmy after that fascinating opening scene in the pilot episode. I have been thinking about it since I first watched it and it has stayed with me.

Since the first time I saw it, I have always believed Christopher Storer wrote the opening scene of The Bear to provide a portal into the entire arc for Carmy’s character. Let me explain.

Think about what Carmy is doing in the opening scene. He’s approaching a bear trapped in a cage. He speaks to it softly and gently, shushes it, empathises with it, coaxes it out and unlocks the cage. Look at the words used in the script:

Trapped, locked away

Whimpers, cries from inside

Emerges

A mass of dirty, matted hair

Mouth bleeding and ill

Shivers

“Shhh…..shhhh…it’s okay…”

Sad, abused eyes

There was a cute animal in there once

“Come on….go….”

“I know.”

Why is The Bear so personified in the script? Why is Carmy talking to it like it’s a person? Carmy looks into its “sad, abused eyes”, and tells it,

“I know.”

In my opinion, in the pilot episode, Carmy encountering the Bear is more than a dream, it’s a premonition because….it is Carmy talking to his future self.

Think about everything we have seen him go through so far and read the scene below:

I think Chris Storer has given us the arc of Carmy’s character in the form of a fevered dream Carmy has while watching over a slow cooking pot of gravy while he sleeps on the metal counter.

Carmy is the bear in the cage. S1 set the trap, by the end of S2, Carmy has fallen deep into it, and I think in future seasons, Carmy will suffer greatly, then will make great attenpts to heal, get in touch with what he really wants and will set himself free.

The fact that the opening scene in the series takes place on the State Street Bridge is an indication that Carmy saving himself—letting himself out of the cage—will save his own life. This is the same Bridge where his brother Michael, trapped in the same cage he is caught in now, separately, but somehow together, saw no way out and took his own life. The symbolism is striking. The Bridge is the connection between the two realms, and the difference between life and death.

I also think that the words used to describe the bear mean that things will get so much worse for Carmy before they get better. Season 1 ended with Carmy committed to opening The Bear. Season 2 ends with Carmy caught in the walk in freezer of the restaurant, a literal bear trap of his own making where he is buried alive by his unprocessed trauma, and inability to thrive in the very place he was supposed to lead, and crippling pressure to turn a profit to pay off his debts. This is because in my opinion, the restaurant, his cage, is not his natural habitat. This is why everything in it always seems like such a struggle and so painful, forced and joyless.

I’m worried to see how things will get worse for Carmy than they already are. In the script, the bear is described as tapped, locked away, crying, whimpering from the inside, a mass of dirty matted hair, mouth bleeding and ill, shivering with sad, abused eyes.

From the moment I saw the drawing on the wall in the pilot episode, I said, wow, look at the bars, it’s a cage. Of course, I didn’t know until 2x6 that Carmy himself drew the sketch himself, as a Christmas gift for Michael, who was trapped in a horrible cage of his own at the time, which makes it all the more telling and poignant. There’s a reason why Carmy drew the sketch this way, even if it was subconscious, with the same bear trapped in a cage, which we see again in his dream.

Photo credit: moments-on-film (me)

At the end of season 2, Carmy is trapped, pacing the cage of the walk-in freezer.

I’ve been so worried about Carmy as a character since the first episode because it is so clear that he’s sick and badly needs help that he’s not getting. He has undiagnosed PTSD, and inner trauma that manifests physically in the form of nightmares, trouble breathing and terrible panic attacks that ravage his body. This has been so visceral to me throughout S1 and S2 that I wrote an analysis post about 🔗Carmy’s Vital Signs, and how they are dangerously visible on screen through Jeremy Allen White’s exceptional acting. The Bear in the pilot script is described as whimpering, crying and ill. If I am correct, this is where Carmy is headed before it can all turn around.

One other little clue that Carmy is metaphorically the bear from the opening scene, is the physical look of Carmy’s hair. From the pilot episode, Carmy’s hair has bothered me. He’s a 3 Star chef, trained with the best, and worked under the abusive chef in New York who must have had him and his hygiene under a microscope. It never made sense to me that his hair at times looked dirty and unkempt while his shirts were immaculately clean, pressed, and white. Below is a quote from an article where Jeremy Allen White talks about his hair as Carmy:

"I also wanted Carmy to always look just a little dirty. There’s a sink on set — everything was functional — and before most takes, I would get water in my hands and run it through my hair to get it looking kind of greasy.”

This always stuck out to me. He’s playing not just any chef, but, in the words of Sydney, “the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the United States of America.” A chef who clearly cares about cleanliness, who gets on his hands and knees to scrub the floor more than once with just his hands and a washcloth. Why would he want him to look dirty? But thinking of it now, if he too knows the arc of Carmy, which he has said Chris Storer has shared with him, then he understands that where we are headed is to witness him as the bear is described, emerging from the cage, “a mass of dirty, matted hair.” The slightly dirty hair is a physical clue into the journey he is on as a character.

I think in future seasons we are going to see a great deal of guilt and therefore self flagellation from Carmy to over correct his mistakes from S2 that is going to further impact his mental and physical health. As I mentioned in a prior post, just like his tattoo, he is constantly dancing on the knife’s edge, and literally putting himself in life threatening danger.

I also have predicted in prior posts that Carmy is going to push himself so hard that he has a major health incident that might finally force Claire (if she’s still around) to actually take note of how sick he actually is. I’m not sure if she’s going to be prominently featured in S3, but I would not be surprised if a health emergency forces Carmy into her life somehow. It never made sense to me that her (then) boyfriend is sick, she’s an ER Doctor, and doesn’t seem to really notice or care.

As I mentioned in my last post, Carmy’s True Purpose, I ultimately believe that Carmy needs to get out of the kitchen and into a life where he can be happy and healthy, and connected to his true life’s purpose. I do not believe that this means Carmy will abandon his found family, or that he will do anything to betray Sydney. I believe she’s his shining star and he will do anything and everything in his power to make sure she gets hers. I also believe they will be in each other’s lives forever because they are truly soulmates. This isn’t about anyone else, though, I think this is about Carmy coming to terms with decades of abuse, unspoken thoughts and feelings, buried passions, his precarious health situation, which is in fact, eating him alive, and letting go of his long held mantra to 🔗 “just keep going”, before it kills him.

Perhaps there’s a way to marry art with the restaurant. That doesn’t solely mean he is only drawing. Maybe what Carmy really should be doing is creating, planning and designing menus, traveling the world to discover new flavors and finding inspiration that can help the restaurant, and provide him with much needed creatively, peace and, yes, joy. Maybe the restaurant will become seasonal and he and Sydney can spend the off time traversing the globe and creating menus together. Maybe down the line he can get out of the commercial kitchen, and he and Sydney’s can revamp her catering company and they can create together is a different environment. I must believe we are headed for somewhere healing, positive and beautiful, despite the valley of despair that ended S2.

The character of Carmy honestly breaks my heart. In him I see someone who so desperately needs a breakthrough and help on so many levels. He so badly needs to discover who he is and what actually makes him happy before it’s too late. I think Carmy is subconsciously very connected to this. His dream, which started the series, continues to haunt me.

One great thing about Carmy’s life are the people who now surround him. In my opinion, he needs to be very careful about how he treats them moving forward. He has people who genuinely love him and who I believe have his best interest at heart. If he pushes himself to the brink and then decides to leave the kitchen for the sake of his health, I believe everyone would ultimately understand. However, no one can take the reins of his life and fix it for him. Only he has that power and create his own reversal of fortune.

If I am correct, for his character to follow the arc of the opening dream scene, all Carmy ultimately has to do is unlock the cage and set himself free.

How he will arrive at that point is the journey of The Bear.

©️moments-on-film 2024

[wind-up-thancred]

bit of thancred character musing under the cut that im gonna try to approximate from a 6am discord rambling into something i can actually post. both SHB and EW spoilers included

i saw some folks talking on twt about how guilt seems to be a very important factor in his life and i agree. i think a lot of major parts of his character and arcs have been due to guilt over something he did (or didnt even really do, re: the whole goobue rampage situation). it's driven him to work his ass off after louisoix which lead to him getting possessed... but its probably also what motivated him to do better for ryne after being forced to look his fuckups directly in the eye instead of just wallowing about them. but i think, at the same time, he doesnt really seem to, like... actually be proud of himself for a lot of the stuff he's done in order to work off that guilt? the biggest giveaway for that being the line in endwalker on the ragnarok where he talks about his "good deeds" cynically and seems to insist that they were never really that impactful in the first place. that they'll just go to dust when he dies.

in shb, during the ahm areng segment, not only does he talk down on himself in general, but also puts down his attempts to help OG minfilia back in the pre-ARR days... when i'm pretty sure she never even blamed him for the goobue rampage in the first place.

it's all a little bit sad to me, tbh. i've seen some people reason that, because he was only able to escape poverty due to louisoix seeing potential in his thieving skills, he's essentially internalized the idea that he's only really worth keeping around by ANYONE if he's actively being productive, either helping others or trying to fix whatever fuckups he feels he's made. i think that would explain a lot of this

note the "few positive traits" line, which to me comes across as "i was only picked up out of childhood poverty because he thought my skills were useful." though i don't really know how much of that mentality he's managed to work past by post endwalker. he IS able to go off on his own, and mentions that he trusts the scions to keep themselves safe now... but as i ranted about before, the short story points out that he's only really content to rest briefly before he feels obligated again to seek out unrest to try and help, specifically mentioning minfilia again. also, a couple times during the story, notably post ARR after his possession, mid SHB after he's wounded in a fight with sineaters, and post SHB after he passes out due to the weakening soul-body bond, he seems to dislike even having to rest for medical reasons

it's a pretty interesting part of his character to me. idk if the writers specifically had his rigorous upbringing in mind when they wrote these parts of his character, but to me it would make a lot of sense as an explanation for why he's so averse to rest and why he carries so much guilt and why he's so passionate about keeping the folks around him safe. that's kinda been his whole reason for life since he was a kid-- using his skills for the benefit of others. to him, doing anything other than that would be a waste, it seems.

idk. funny guy makes my heart hurt. yes i had all these dialogue screencaps saved and on hand. yes i am a little insane. what of it

[xpiredcheeto]

Glass

(Not my gif)

word count

Reader stays out late and comes home injured.

Tommy Shelby x sister reader, Arthur Shelby x sister reader, Ada Shelby x sister reader

Warnings: Blood, injuries, blood, death, killing, cursing, reader gets attacked, mentions of cocaine, Arthur is sad and needs a hug very bad, mentions of prostitution. I think that's all. 

This takes place during season 2

word count:  2395

 This whole situation could have been avoided if you had decided to call it an early night and ignored your burning desire to stay awake and go to some pub in the middle of the night, but of course, being a Shelby, you decided to go out. 

You walked down the cold and dark alleyway leading to the building. The outside walls were cracking, paint was peeling from its edges. Just the place you were looking for. It was called The Red Lion. You walked up the brick steps of the pub, and the click of your shoes echoed in your mind. The mahogany door had a stained glass window depicting a fisherman. You had no idea what a pub called "The Red Lion" was doing by having an image of a fisherman as their window, but maybe they got it on sale. 

It was far away from the watchful eyes of Small Heath, away from your reputation. It freed you in a certain way. Unfortunately, being away from the negatives of your reputation also meant you were away from the protection it brought with it. Normally this was not an issue, but tonight was different. When you walked into the pub, everything became silent at once. All heads in the bar turned to face you. Maybe you were not as far from your reputation as you thought you were.  

"You think she's a spy?" one man asked another 

The old floors creaked under your footsteps. You approached the bartender to ask for your usual when a voice from behind confronted you. "Yer not allowed in our pub, little girl. Why don't you run on home?" 

You made note of his voice, he was Irish and he spoke with a level of arrogance like no one had ever told him "no" in his life. 

"Sorry, but I'm not going anywhere. I came here for a drink and I'm going to get it. If you would just leave me alone I could have my drink in peace and you won't have to worry about me."

You could tell by the look on his face that he didn't like the answer you had given him. his brows furrowed and his expression contorted into one of annoyance. 

"I asked you to leave and when I ask you to do something, you better do it. Now, this is your last chance to leave before something happens that you won't like." He was trying to scare you and it wasn't working. You were going to hold your ground until this strange man left you alone. 

  "Look, I just told you that I'm not leaving so why don't you just leave me alone-" you were cut off when two hands grasped your shoulders. They dragged you backward off your chair and onto the wooden flooring of the bar. You hit the ground with a bang and waves of pain radiated up and down your spine. You let out a hiss of pain and the hands grabbed you again. This time they angled you toward a glass table before you could process what had happened. Your body was thrown with such force you could not stop the trajectory of your body. You threw both arms out in front of your face to block the impact of the table. Suddenly, waves of white-hot, stinging pain punctured your forearms. Blood trickled down your arms as you looked up. There were two men before you, the one that confronted you earlier and another. His face was withered, and his expression bore a constant snarl as he looked down at you. 

"Are you two fucking insane?! That's the Shelby girl, her brothers will fucking kill all of us!" the bartender was seething with rage. His face was a glowing red color. You glanced back at the men, they looked scared now. 

You looked down at the floor, the brown wood now tainted red with your blood. You heard movement behind you, rushed and frantic, then the slamming of the front door. You looked back up at the bartender, he threw a dishtowel at you. "For the bleeding," he said. You held the dirty rag to your left arm, leaving the right to bleed all over your clothes. 

You limped to the door, turned the handle, and walked out. A rush of frigid air hit you, cooling the thick rivets of blood streaming from your arm. The walk home wasn't too long but the pain was making it seem so much longer. You looked down at your white blouse, patches were saturated with red blood. The way it stuck to your skin was revolting, partially dried, and sticky. The metallic stench was almost overwhelming if not for the pain coursing through your body. And, oh God, it hurt. It wasn't just the pain from your arms, your back still ached from the fall, and it made each step agony.   

You were approaching Small Heath now. The smell was normally the first thing that hit you, but not tonight, now the only thing you could think of was blood and glass. The shards still embedded into your arms made each movement painful. You could see the house now, you were so close.

You walked up to the door, twisted the handle, and pulled. Awaiting you in the kitchen was Ada. Her eyes shot up, "Do you know how worried I was-" she cut herself off. "Oh my God, Y/N, what happened? Come here     I'll patch you up." Her face was laced with concern. "Sit down, I'll get the bandages." She got up and move to the bathroom, you could hear her rummaging around in the cabinets. Glancing at your arms, you saw the rag was saturated with blood.

Behind you, you heard the door opening, then a loud gasp. It was Arthur. "Jesus Christ, who the fuck did this to you?" he was next to you now, looking at your arms. You responded, "I don't exactly know who it was. There were two of them, but I don't know what I did to upset them that much."

  Ada returned from the bathroom with her hands full of bandages and a pair of tweezers. Arthur looked relieved to see her. She acknowledged Arthur and started speaking "I found the bandages," she held up the pair of tweezers, "and these are for the glass." She sat down next to you. "How did this happen?" she asked again. 

"I got thrown through a table." You replied. Arthur let out a sigh of anger. Ada picked up her tweezers and looked up at your face. "This might hurt so prepare yourself." The tweezers grasped at a piece of glass and you let out a hiss. Arthur noticed and tried to calm you. "Shh, it's alright, it's alright." he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. The door opened once more. All three of you turned your heads, Tommy was standing in the doorway with a look of confusion burned onto his features.   He took a step towards you and spoke. "What the fuck happened?"  

"She got thrown through a fucking table, Tom," Arthur responded for you. 

"What the fuck do you mean she got thrown through a table?! Who the fuck threw her through a table?" You moved to answer but let out a pained gasp when Ada pulled one of the shards out. Arthur looked back at you and moved his hand to rub up and down your back. 

"I-oh fuck, I don't know who it was. They were Irish and in a pub called The Red Lion. I don't even know what I did to offend them so much." you spoke through gritted teeth.

Arthur looked at Tommy, they were going to trash the pub later and find the men that did this, but first, they needed to make sure you were going to be alright. Ada moved to another shard, this one came out easier than the last, but the pain was still significant. And, oh god, you were crying now. 

"This really fucking hurts." you sobbed out. Arthur responded to you, "I know, love. I swear I'm gonna kill everyone that hurts you. I-I'll fucking kill the people that did this." He looked like he was about to cry too. Ada looked up from her work to inform you she was almost done removing the glass, just one more to go. You looked at Tommy, he had moved and was now sitting on a chair across the kitchen. He shot Arthur a glance and said "Tomorrow, brother."

Ada was getting ready to pull the final one out now, it was located near your left wrist. At this point, you were struggling to keep your eyes open, the blood loss made you dizzy and lightheaded. She grasped it with her tweezers and pulled. Your eyes shot open and you let out a scream of pain. Arthur grabbed your right hand and rested his head on the corner of your neck. It was the closest he could get to hugging you at this moment.

"Alright love, the painful part is over, all I have to do now is wrap them up." Her voice always seemed to soothe you. She placed the edge of the bandage in your palm and wrapped it around a few times. She then moved it down to loop around your thumb before wrapping it around your forearm. She repeated the process on your other arm. You looked over at Tommy, he stared forward in a silent rage.

"I'm gonna go to bed now." You moved to get up. Tommy moved from his chair, "No, love, you shouldn't be walking. I'll carry you to bed, Alright?" You nodded and he walked over, he looped one arm under your knees and one beneath your back. He lifted you and carried you up the stairs, he pushed the door open with his side and laid you on the bed. He went to your dresser and grabbed a nightgown for you. He laid it on the bed for you to put on. He turned to leave the room, "Thank you." 

"You don't need to thank me, love." He placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head before turning and leaving the room. You unbuttoned the now red blouse you were wearing and pulled it off, it dragged on your arms sending pain blooming through them. You let out a small hiss and let it drop to the floor. You reach down and slid your bottoms off, also leaving them on the floor. You pulled the nightgown over your head and down the rest of your body, you moved to get under the covers when you heard a knock at the door followed by a voice. You sat up. "Hello, can I come in? If you don't want me to that's fine... I just don't want you to be alone right now." It was Arthur.

"Yeah, come in."

The door opened with a creak and he walked over to you. He gently grabbed you in his arms and held you. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I...I don't ever want you getting hurt and I wish I was there so I could keep you safe." he paused. "Can I stay in here tonight, so I can make sure you're safe?" he looked at you, awaiting your response.

"Yes, Arthur, you can stay in here tonight." 

"Alright, love. I'll sit in the chair over there." He pointed to the chair across your room next to your fireplace. "No, Arthur. You can sleep in bed with me. I don't mind, I'd feel safer that way anyways." He looked surprised, but he walked over to your bed and slid in next to you. He adjusted his position next to you and said, "Alright, love, go to sleep now. You need your rest."  

He looped his arms around you in a protective hug. He held you tight to his chest as if you would disappear if he let go. "Please don't scare me like that again," he spoke as if he was still scared that you were seriously injured. "I don't know what id do if I lost you." his voice was breaking, and you could tell he was holding back tears. You could tell he wanted to say more, to tell you he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing he wasn't there to keep you safe. He didn't tell you he would blame himself for the rest of his life if you died and how he already gets nightmares about that exact scenario. Instead, he held you tighter and pushed his face into the crook of his neck. You could feel his tears run down your shoulder like shiny pearls. You felt like crying too. 

"Oh, Arthur. I would never leave you like that. I'm so sorry I made you worry about me." You turned around so you could wrap your arms around him, wincing slightly when the sheets rubbed against the bandages. "It's alright, love. It's not your fault. It's those fucking men that hurt you. I'll find 'em, make sure they never hurt you again." 

"It's alright, Arthur. They can't hurt me now." You made your voice as soft as possible in an attempt to calm him. 

"I know, love. I know," he paused. "Just...If you want a drink, go to The Garrison. Won't be mad as long as you don't end up like me. Oh god, please don't end up like me... I'm sorry. I'm keeping you up. Go to sleep now, you need rest." 

"It's Okay, Arthur. You don't need to apologize, and you need to stop insulting yourself."  He nodded into your neck. You shut your eyes and melted into the darkness behind your eyelids. You savored the feeling of protection that your brother gave you, it made you feel like you were safe from anything while you were in his arms. And you most likely were, he would do anything to keep you safe, even if that meant bashing someone's head in with a glass ashtray. Even if that meant killing fathers and sons, none of it was as important as keeping you safe. You drifted into the abyss of sleep in his arms, knowing that none of your fears would be able to harm you.