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celtic-crossbow · 1 month

Note

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

I Might Change Your Life, I Might Save My World

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre/early)

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Mentions of canonical character death; Some verbal aggression

A/N: I had them on the run alone. I hope that’s okay!

The run had so far been uneventful. You’d even dare say boring. That was a word that wasn’t used carelessly. Life in the apocalypse was rarely boring and usually consisted of running for your life while scrounging up anything possible to ensure you could just survive. At least you were out with Daryl. He was your best friend and could usually keep you at least mildly entertained whether or not it was intentional.

You were a survivor of the Governor’s insanity at Woodbury. It had seemed safe enough, but he had fooled everyone. Or maybe he had at one point been a kind, reasonable man that was just pushed too far by the cruelty of the end of the world. Regardless, it was there that you had met Merle, the right hand man. You had always teased him about that. Right hand? Get it? To most people, it would have seemed cruel, but not to Merle Dixon. He would ruffle your hair with a gentle shove and tell you to get lost.

You never did.

When Merle left, you had followed and he had allowed it. He even held your arm and dragged you out behind him. That’s when you actually met Daryl. You had seen him in the fight pit, eyes wide as the Governor revealed he was Merle’s younger brother. He had never mentioned having a brother. Maybe he had thought him dead. Most would say Daryl was everything Merle was not, but they just didn’t know the elder Dixon like you did. Merle was crass, sometimes downright unkind, but below that rough exterior, he had a big heart. He was learning, little by little. You would have liked to take some credit for that.

Daryl had left his group that day, following Merle, just as you did. You remained quiet, watching the younger Dixon watching you. He looked almost wary, but there was a naked curiosity there too. When the two butted heads, you trailed behind while Daryl led the way back to the prison. Where he belonged, he had said.

You had fit in easily. Merle, not so much. It made your heart ache for him when you could see the poorly hidden love he had for his little brother. He was absolute shit at showing it, sometimes selfish, but it was there. When he proved it by trying to be better, trying to show Daryl that he could do the right thing, it had cost him his life. You blamed Daryl for the longest time. You knew it wasn’t his fault, deep down, but you needed someone to catch the fury of your grief. The archer had taken it willingly.

When the prison fell, you had tried and failed to save Beth. Grieving yet again, right on the heels of losing Merle and then Hershel and then your home, you found a way out with Daryl, leaving the two of you stuck together on the road, alone and with a dense cloud of animosity billowing between you. It wasn’t until one night in a rundown home that Daryl had said reminded him of where he grew up, moonshine was flowing and then so were the emotions. You had both yelled, thrown things, killed the walkers that the fight attracted while continuing the verbal onslaught. In the end, drained and resigned, the two of you had talked.

And the rest was history.

Alexandria had been a saving grace. It had taken a while to adjust. For Daryl, he had never lived in a community like that. He slept on the porch most nights, fleeing the confined spaces that left his chest heaving and his skin damp with sweat. You felt as if it were Woodbury all over again, destined to crash and burn and leave the group nothing but ashes. So, you slept on the porch with him, if for no other reason than to keep a fellow outsider close. You both knew it was more than that.

Months had gone by. You had both finally moved inside a house and were even closer now than you had once been to Merle, which was surprising. Rick was confident in sending the two of you out together. You got shit done. That day in particular, things just weren’t moving in your favor.

For one, it was cold. The seasons were changing and you hadn’t adequately prepared for the chill in the air, especially when on the bike. The two of you were scouting for places that could possibly still have necessary supplies. Daryl had—as always—been quick to notice your discomfort. Though he had usually sewn the sleeves of jackets right onto his sleeveless shirts, that day, he had actually worn a leather jacket.

“Here.” He shoved the article toward you, prompting a raised brow in response.

“What for?” You queried. It was a stupid question, but useless banter always kept things light between the two of you, comfortable even if Daryl would always claim the opposite. The space that lingered was never oppressive, not anymore.

“You’re cold, idiot.”

“Daryl Dixon is being sweet to me. This is one for the record books!” You chuckled while slipping on the jacket. The hunter scowled and bumped you with his elbow.

“Stop.”

“Didn’t hear you disagree.” You would have continued to tease if he hadn’t held up a fist just in front of you, the signal to be still and silent. The telltale groans, snarls, and shuffling feet were growing closer, blocking the two of you from the bike. “Aw, crap.”

“Yup.” He agreed, leaning around the corner of the building just enough to see the sizable herd. “Need a plan.” He mumbled, unclipping the sheath of his knife for a quick draw when needed.

“Got one.”

“What?” When Daryl turned, you were already rounding the opposite corner of the building with a quiet shout of get the bike. “That fuckin’ woman’s gonna be the death’a me.”

There were a great deal more undead than you had anticipated. “Well, hell.” You grumbled. It was too late to turn around, several of the milky yellow eyes already landing on you. As you walked backward, keeping a safe distance but close enough to hold their attention, you could see Daryl peeking out from the corner. You exchanged nods before you began to wave your arms. “Hey! Over here! Keep your eyes on me!!” The noise ensured that Daryl’s already near silent footfalls would go unnoticed. He would get the bike, circle the herd, and you’d jump on. Piece of cake.

Until you bumped right into a walker that led the other half of aforementioned herd.

“Oh, fuck!” Quickly grabbing its throat to hold it back, you pivoted, walking backward toward the open area at the edges of the corpses. Daryl was shouting your name, the bike roaring to life. You just happened to choose the wrong time to glance in his direction in an attempt to gauge the distance between you. The next walker had fallen somehow, levering clumsily to its feet just beside the one you were grappling with, your knife having just sank into that one’s skull. There was no time to react. You could only watch the blade slip free as the teeth came together on your arm. It was painful but nothing like you had expected, more pressure than anything. Still, it was too late. You were bit.

“Y/N!!” Daryl shouted, grabbing you away from the dead man, your arm slipping free from its jaws to throw it off balance. That gave you a chance to climb on behind Daryl, the injured arm cradled to your chest while the other wrapped tightly around his abdomen. “Just a minute, just hang on. We’ll take care’a this.” He was rambling anxiously, the cool wind whipping and stinging as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

“I’m bit. I’m bit. I’m bit.” You chanted against Daryl’s back, only barely holding back your sobs. The bike slowed to a stop, the kickstand lowered roughly before Daryl was scrambling off when you should have been the first to move.

“Lemme see.” When your teary eyes met his, he growled through the sting at his waterline. “Lemme fuckin’ see!” He wasn’t as gentle as he could have been but he didn’t hurt you. Pulling your arm away from your chest roughly, he grabbed the shoulder of the jacket and yanked it down, ripping one of the seams in the process. You were both greeted with bruising flesh, the slightest indents of where teeth had vehemently pressed, but no broken skin. No blood. No scratches. While you stared in a shocked relief, Daryl wasn’t so graceful. His legs buckled and he went down hard to his knees. “Goddamn it, Y/N!”

“I’m okay.” You blinked, eyes transfixed on your arm. It hurt but it wasn’t a death sentence. You weren’t going to turn. “I’m okay, Daryl.” You smiled through the tears, now falling for an entirely different reason. “Daryl?” He was trembling fiercely, his shoulders moving in a way that suggested he might have been crying. You started to throw your leg over the seat to comfort him when he drew back his arm and planted his fist into the asphalt with a crunch that made your stomach turn.

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid!” He roared, barreling upright to stand with his nose nearly touching yours. You were too shocked to react properly. “Ya couldn’a waited for a actual plan, just had to go balls to the wall an’ run out there like a fuckin’ lunatic!” Your eyes followed anxiously as he started to pace.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get us out there in one piece. I didn’t even see the—”

His uninjured hand grabbed your wrist, tight and firm but not without care. He’d never hurt you. Not intentionally. Not physically, at least. “Ya call this one piece? I woulda had to take your arm, ya fuckin’ useless idiot!” That sent you reeling. Daryl had been angry with you before, but for things like keeping the squirrel over the fire for too long or kneeing him in the groin while trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. But that? That was different.

If Merle Dixon had taught you anything, it was to never show how you really felt. When you began to laugh, Daryl dropped your arm and stepped back, eyes wide and full of disbelief. “My god, you’re dramatic. I’m fine, Dixon. Let’s just chalk this up to a shit day and get the fuck out of here.”

“A shit d—are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Stop it. Get on the bike and let’s go.” You pulled the jacket back onto your arm, your red flannel peering through the tear in the shoulder. Now adjusted once again and ready to go, you looked back to find him still staring at you with the same incredulous expression. You chuckled and shook your head. “Stop being ridiculous. Let’s go.”

“Nah.” He was stepping backwards with his own head twisting back and forth. “Take the bike and go home. M’gonna walk.”

“It’s at least fifteen miles and it’s cold. Now who’s being stupid?” When he turned his back, leaving his crossbow strapped to the motorcycle, you actually began to panic. You could drive the bike, sure. He had taught you a few months back, just in case. Still, leaving him behind with nothing but his knife was not something you would do without a fight. “Daryl! Seriously, please, let’s go.” He ignored you, stalking off into the trees until the wings of his vest disappeared.

Chasing him wasn’t a good idea. You knew him well enough to know that much. Or did you? It had been a long time since an argument like that, one where both of you had shut down in one way or another. You started the bike, toeing up the kickstand before propelling it forward, your chest constricting tighter and tighter with every mile.

It had taken him far longer than necessary to make the walk back to Alexandria’s gates. Granted, he’d stopped for several smokes to calm himself down. He’d slide down the nearest tree and sit there—flexing his throbbing fingers—until he had drawn the cigarette down to the filter or he heard the incoming growls of the walkers that had been tailing him. He had to take an extra half hour to put down the ones he could and lose the ones he couldn’t. By the time Sasha pulled open the gates, Daryl was bone weary and more than a little ashamed of how he’d reacted.

“Seen Y/N?” He asked in lieu of answering when she questioned where he’d been.

“She came back a while ago. Haven’t seen her since. Sorry.” She patted his shoulder and returned to her post. You were back, so that anxiety was at least remedied.

Still, he needed to talk to you. The way you had laughed in the face of his anger had unnerved him. It reminded him so much of his brother that it hurt. That type of behavior didn’t suit you. Then again, who was he to tell you how to behave? He had spoken to you so harshly instead of just telling you that you scared the shit out of him. He should have hugged you and been thankful that you didn’t lose your arm, didn’t lose your life. But emotions and Daryl weren’t exactly on speaking terms. When he didn’t understand why or how something made him feel a certain way, he lashed out at it. He was conditioned that way, it was in his blood. He had been trying so hard to be better. He actually thought he was getting better. Boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong. He was still a work in progress. He needed you to know that. He needed to apologize, even if it burned coming out of his mouth to admit he was wrong, to admit to feeling anything at all.

Damn you for wiggling your way into his useless heart. He thought he had crushed and buried the thing years ago. Then you came tagging along on his brother’s heels and challenged everything he thought he knew about himself. He chose not to acknowledge it, even when people like Carol and Rick did. Often.

Sighing, he stopped on the porch of the home he shared with you and Carol, lighting up a cigarette and leaning over the railing on his forearms. He would have assumed that you’d already spilled everything to Carol but when she didn’t barrel out of the house with a rolling pin aimed at his head, it was easy to figure out that you hadn’t. Maybe you hadn’t even been home yet. He trampled that worry down quickly, not willing to let it compound into another wave of anger he’d have to answer for eventually.

The streets were quiet with the sun now completely gone, replaced by the waning crescent moon. There was enough light for him to see, of course. His eyes were trained from years of hunting and surviving out in nature. He could hear frogs close to the pond, even hear the paper of his cigarette sizzling with each drag. But then he heard something else. Something that shattered him to his very core because he knew immediately what and who and why it was.

He didn’t bother to keep his steps light. It wouldn’t do to surprise you. You’d just be even more upset without time to even try and compose yourself. Even so, it was possible you still didn’t hear him approaching. Your sobs and sniffles continued, probably barely audible to anyone who didn’t know how to listen and not just hear.

You were perched on the bench beneath the gazebo, knees drawn up to your chest with your face hidden behind them. Even in the dark, he could see your shoulders shaking. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there watching you but once it was clear that you hadn’t noticed him, he cleared his throat. Had it been any other day, any other situation, the way you unfolded and nearly climbed over the back of the bench would have been comical. Maybe it still would be when the two of you looked back on this, but that was only if he could make things right.

“Hey.” He rasped, still rooted to the same spot.

You sniffed, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your flannel. The leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. “Hi.” All the confidence from earlier was gone, leaving your voice but a tiny echo of the woman that had called him dramatic. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”

“Ya alright?” He chanced a step toward you, pausing after one when your eyes darted down to his boots and back up. God, he felt like an asshole. Were you afraid of him now?

“Mhm. I’m okay.” You sniffed again and settled back onto the seat, pulling your knees against you once again. “I hung your jacket on the doorknob of your room. I fixed the sleeve.”

Great. You fixed the thing he tore. Now he felt like a major asshole. “Listen, Y/N, I—”

“It’s okay, Daryl.” You interjected, offering him a small, feigned smile while your eyes betrayed you. “Carol has dinner ready. I put your plate in the oven.” It was just getting better and better. You had still thought of him enough to make sure he had something to eat when he got back. And the award for Asshole of the Year goes to: Daryl Dixon.

You stood so quickly that he nearly flinched. “I should—I have a new job assignment tomorrow. Need to get some sleep.”

That threw him. “New—ya ain’t goin’ out anymore?” You shook your head.

“I’m gonna work in the pantry, dabble in the armory too. Give Olivia a break sometimes.” Your tone wasn’t cold but bordered on emotionless. You’d asked Rick to take you off the run list, and you’d done it because of him.

“Y/N, don’t do that.” He watched as you approached, your head down. If you hadn’t seen his boots when he stepped into your path, you surely would have slammed into him. “Shouldn’a talked to ya the way I did.” Even while you looked off to the side, he could see the way your face screwed up like you were about to cry again, but after a moment, you settled.

“No, you were right. I should have waited. Things could have gone a lot differently. I didn’t stop to think about how you would have felt if I had been bitten.” Daryl deflated at the utter dejection in your voice. “Anyway, goodnight, Daryl.”

Watching you walk away, your arms wrapped around yourself so tightly, he let himself think about it; allowed himself to think about what he would have felt if you had been bitten. It wasn’t anger then. It was loss, despair, guilt. Whether he’d had to have taken your arm or not, the prospect of possibly losing you was more than he could even think to bear. What was more terrifying was that he realized that your loss would devastate him more than his own brother’s had.

“Y/N, wait!”

He couldn’t let you think he had acted that way out of anger alone. Yes, he had been angry but he had been scared. He couldn’t say you were his closest friend. That spot was taken by Carol. You were something else entirely. Something that he would never get the chance to explore or define, fear and awkwardness be damned, if something happened to you.

His feet were carrying him toward you at a brisk pace, your eyes wide at his approach but you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch or cower, even when he grabbed your shoulder and pulled in against his chest, wrapping both arms around you to hold you there.

“M’sorry.” He whispered into your hair. You weren’t hugging him back but that was most likely because your arms were pinned between the two of you. “Ain’t no reason for me to ever talk to ya like that. Ya ain’t stupid. You’re quick on your feet an’ it ain’t fair’a me to fault ya on that just cause m’too scared to lose ya.” He felt your sharp inhale while his face and neck flushed at the admission. “I—Christ, ain’t no good at this talkin’ an’ shit.” When your shoulders shook, he knew he’d made you cry again and took a step back, his hands sliding up to hold your shoulders. While that was true, the movement was from the laughter bubbling up from your chest instead of the tears falling down your cheeks. “The hell ya laughing at?”

“I like you too, Daryl.” Goddamnit, you had a pretty smile. He’d make a fool of himself ten times over if it meant you’d give him that smile just once.

“Ain’t a thing ‘bout likin’ ya.” He swallowed hard and looked away, the pink hue on his cheeks deepening. “Don’t know what it is, but, uh—well, maybe we can try to figure it out together?” He sounded like a lovesick teenager and was two seconds away from rolling his eyes so hard that they would relocate permanently to the back of his skull.

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” He straightened, expression embarrassingly hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, not feeling like he’d entirely lost the right to call himself a man. “So, uh—Guess we should tell Rick that Olivia can get Spencer to help her. Maybe he’d stop oglin’ ya all the damn time if he’s cooped up in the pantry.” You reached for his hand and he let you take it. “Maybe I could talk her into lockin’ him in there for a while.” The walk back to the house wasn’t a long one and all too quickly, you were climbing the porch steps just in front of him.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want other guys checking out your girl?”

Daryl almost missed the top step. “My girl?” He didn’t mean for it to come out quite so breathlessly. He was mostly definitely losing his man card that night. You were blinking at him, your smile slowly faltering.

“I—I misunderstood, didn’t I? Jesus, Daryl, I’m—”

“Nah.” He quickly derailed that train of thought. “Just liked hearin’ ya say it s’all.”

“Are you—”

“Yup.” The smile was back and Daryl could breathe again. Somehow, standing there with you on the porch and him on the top step, just staring at one another was more comfortable than he could have ever imagined.

“So,” you began, twisting your upper half back and forth, “you walked me home. Are you gonna say goodnight and kiss me now?”

Daryl’s face contorted in confusion, a dark brow arching. “I, uh—I live here too.”

“Does that really matter?” You asked, stepping a little closer.

“Guess it don’t, really.” When you leaned forward, he didn’t stop you. Found that he didn’t want to. Even as new and undefined as whatever this was, this felt right and he’d be damned if he’d let a chance like that pass him by.

Inside the house, Carol swirled the wine around in her glass, watching the kiss happen with a sigh of relief. “Finally.” Picking up her book, she took a sip and placed the glass down on the table before opening to the dog-eared page. “Now I don’t have to lock them in the pantry together tomorrow.”

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tswiftupdatess · 8 days

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TTPD Lyrics Taylor Swift has revealed so far:

“I love you, it's ruining my life” “You don't get to tell me about sad” “Am i allowed to cry?” “Old habits die screaming” “Crowd goes wild at her fingertips Half moonshine, full eclipse” “I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all” “Even statues crumble if they're made to wait” “One less temptress. One less dagger to sharpen” “Lost the game of chance, what are the chances?” “As she was leaving, it felt like she was breathing”

Pre-order the album now! 🤍

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #lyrics #ttpd #taylorswift

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wildfloweronwheels · 11 days

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And so I enter into evidence my tarnished coat of arms my muses acquired like bruises my talismans and charms the tick tick tick of love bombs my veins in pitch black ink all's fair in love and poetry -> I love you it's ruining my life -> you don't get to tell me about sad -> am I allowed to cry? -> old habits die screaming -> crowd goes wild at her fingertips half moonshine, full eclipse -> I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all even statues crumble if they're made to wait... -> one less seductress one less dagger to sharpen -> lost the game of chance, what are the chances? -> as she was leaving it felt like breathing

every fragment taylor swift has shared about/from the tortured poets department so far...

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd #prologue extracts? lyrics?#seeing it all laid out like that is... ooft #every shade of this is dark I think #its joever

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the-fiction-witch · 11 months

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Cuddles

Media The Maze Runner

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet Af

Concept 'Feel Better?'

I sat leant against the log watching the fire burning bright most people still partying away, when I saw someone approach. I smiled as I saw her in her little black boots with high muddy socks, little Jean shorts and her long blue hoodie her hair up in a plait to keep it out of he Mr face even if loose hairs were sticking to her skin in some places she had her sleaves down far past her hands as she came over.

"Hi love, what's up?" I asked given she didn't look very happy she seemed kinda sad she meerly opened her arms so I chuckled set my moonshine down and offered my arms which she happily crawled into nuzzling her nose into my neck, her head into my shoulder, her hands into my hoodie pocket, her legs up close to her chest as she sat on my lap. I wrapped my arms slowly and gently not wanting to trap her too fast giving her some soothing rubs on the back and leg "hey it's okay, what's wrong love?" I whispered she took my hand pulling it closer to really squeeze around her until my hand rested on her lower stomach i could tell she was more bloated then usual and I could almost feel her cramps and stomach churns "oh dear. Always around bonfire isn't it" I sighed and she nods "awww it's okay, cuddle up as much as you need to."

"But what if-"

"I don't care if you bleed on me. You need cuddles." I told her "when did you last have painkillers?"

"Yesterday"

"Yesterday!"

"Clients being stingy with them" she pouts

"Well the box came up today hopefully he'll be able to give you some more before bed time." I told her stroking her hair "when did you last drink something?" But no answer came "I take it you've barely drank anything all day?" And she sheepishly nods "y/n. Your cramps are only going to get worse if you're dehydrated. And I know you've been crying from pain which will make you even more dehydrated. So come on hydrate" I told her offering her some moonshine but as usual she turned her nose up "hydrate. Or no cuddles." I warn and she begrudgingly had some sips even if her face turned sour, she always hated moonshine."there that'll help, would squeeze help or is that going to make your tummy worse?'

"Squeeze please" she smiled squeezing my chest so I happily squeezed her as tight as I could rocking us both from side to side a little

"I'm sorry you have to feel this way love. I wish I could help."

"You do help. You help a lot newt" she says "can I?"

"Of course" I laughed and she began poking me, pinching me, giving me small playful punches, just getting the pain and the anger out on me I didn't mind I know it helps her I can't imagine the horrific sensation of your insides ripping themselves out and cramping up to force things out. Honestly that's the kinda stuff I have nightmares about. And I know Clint's low on pain meds as he hadn't been giving me as many lately either. So I don't mind getting maybe a small bruise from her poking and pinching me if it takes her mind off her pain. I could tell after a while she was getting very tried as her eyes went heavy and her pokes has stopped, so I readjusted her a little so she could lay with her head on my chest I was gentle as I stroked her hair and moved my hand under her hoodie to stroke her stomach making sure to be soft and gentle with her and given her growing smile I think it helped and hearing her happy little joyful moans made me smile so much knowing she was cosy and comfy "that feel better love?" I asked and she nods "good. You wanna go to bed?" I asked and she nods sleepily "you want a cosy night?" I ask and she excitedly nods "okay" I smiled being as gentle as I could to get up and lift her up with me so I could carry her with her still nuzzled into my chest, I carried her across the glade making sure not to jolt her around till we reached her little hut near the walls corner I let her down and she went for a shower, given she's our only girl she had her own out here. And while she was gone I made her little mattress up with blankets and pillows making sure I climbed in to keep it warm for her, when she got back in her small shirt and panties she climbed into the bed with me and bundled herself close again I wrapped the covers around us both pulling her close tucking her in. I gave her back a rub and soothed her aching tummy, I made sure she had some water before bed and tucked her in tight "There, that feel better love?"

"Ummm humm" she nods

"You all cosy?"

"Very cosy"

"Good, now you sleep tight, you know where I am if you need me." I told her

"I do, goodnight newt"

"Goodnight y/n" I smiled giving her forehead a small kiss then I gave her nose a small kiss which turned her bright red across her cheeks I couldn't help but smile looking at her all bundled up and cosy she's so cute I couldn't help myself almost regardless of my fears I leant down and kissed her lips they were so soft, so sweet and smooth she happily kissed back and for a while the only movement between us was our lips till I pulled back nervously "I uhh sorry I uhh"

She giggled and gave my lips another kiss "goodnight newt" she smiled

"Goodnight love" I cooed making sure she was cosy before I got up and headed to her door

"Newt?"

"What is it love?" I asked turning back to her bed and she had opened her arms "really?"

"Cuddles"

"Okay," I smiled jumping back in bed with her to cuddle her close "So long as I don't get in trouble again"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take"

"Are you now?"

"Very much. For cuddles" she smiled nuzzling close

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kcyars99 · 5 days

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TTPD Lyrics Taylor Swift has revealed so far:

Pre-order the album now! 🤍

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

Taylor Swift · Album · 2024 · 16 Songs

SPOTIFY

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sinceyesterday · 6 days

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TTPD thoughts (spoilers!)

Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) - My New aesthetic??? - This is so depressing - I wanna kill her??? - I love you, it's ruining my life!!! - This song is absolutely STUNNING - Comment on my sweater??? - My husband is cheating??? - Love Post on the vocals - Move to Florida??? The Tortured Poets Department - Typewriter at my apartment - Omg... - I'm literally shaking - No-fucking-body??? - Golden retriever??? - Kill yourself??? - Nooooooo - The closest I've come.. - Who else decodes you??? My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys - The beat omg - Plastic smile??? - This is exactly the vibe I wanted! - litany? (what does that mean?) - Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me? TAYLOR - Kens!!! - but I'm not... Down Bad - Fuck it if I can't have him - Naked and alone!!! - TAYLOR IT WOULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!! - Say that it's- - Fuck you if I can't have us??? - Lost my twin, oh Taylor... So Long, London - I'm gonna cry - Lana vibe - Oh, the tragedy - CPR??? - The altar??? (false god...) - But I'm not the one, aww But Daddy I Love Him - Kinda upbeat lol - Country vibes!!! - I'm having his baby??? - Bitching & moaning?? Huh? - Me & my wild boy, lover vibes! - Lovers... - But fuck 'em it's over??? Fresh Out The Slammer - LOVE this sound! - Imaginary rings??? - Not many thoughts, just stunned! Florida!!! (feat. Florence & The Machine) - Weed or little babies? - Florida!!! - Never heard Florence & The Machine but they/she eats! - Gives me no body , no crime vibes - Fuck me up, Florida??? - I actually LOVE this song! Guilty as Sin? - Automatically 10/10 - Am I allowed to cry!!! - lowercase inside a vault??? - Oh, so sensual!!! - False God pt.2!!! - So far, prob my fav! Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me? - You don't get ot tell me about "sad"!!! - REP VIBES - YOU SHOULD BE??? Girl I am - I am GAGGED - Obsessed!!! - The low beats? - Is she talking abt the cornilia street house? - Narcotics in your songs??? - Oh dang, she wrote this alone... I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - Not the jokes - The big booms are so cool! - Good boy??? - Whoa maybe I can't, lol loml - White Horse vibes - You took me to hell too?? - Wait, is this my fave? - Mr. Steal Your Girl? - I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all! I Can Do It With A Broken Heart - I can handle with my shit - Lights, camera, bitch smile! - About the Eras Tour def - Not the depressing lyrics but happy beat lol, I love her - In stilettos for miles - As the crowd was chanting more! - Aww, I hope she doesn't think of us like this... - Cause I'm miserable and nobody even knows! - She said "try and come for my job" bitch!The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - Who the fuck was that guy? - Now you know what it feels like - The breath... :((( - The yelling into the mic!!! - Were you a spy??? - Sexy??? - You crashed my party??? - ATE HIM UP QUEEN! The Alchemy - Was she actually in a hospital??? I'm scared - Hey you - LOVE this too!!! - Gonna rank this right after btw! Clara Bow - (I'm scared) - Rock vibes [in the beginning] - You look like Clara Bow in this light - Crowd goes wild goes wild at her fingertips, half moonshine full eclipse - Girlish glow? - You look like Taylor Swift in this light, we're loving it - This is so sad... [Will post thoughts once the vinyl and cd are received] The Manuscript The Bolter {I'll try to find videos on YouTube...} The Albatross The Black Dog

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justanotherspeck · 1 year

Text

s1 my beloved

transcript below the cut:

CASPAR: Anyway, this is Midnight Burger. I’m Caspar.

AVA (Outside): FUCK. YES.

CASPAR: That’s Ava, she’s always here.

AVA: (Outside) NICOTINE, GET IN ME.

CASPAR: And this is a... diner.

GLORIA: Are you sure?

CASPAR: The huge murder beast is having a coffee break

ZEBULON: For our marriage is made strong by a singular truth.

EFFIE: That divorce is an abomination.

ZEBULON: … And that we love each other very much.

EFFIE: Yes, also that.

THE EX: You can’t let that stand in the way of true love.

LEIF: Honey, you lay eggs.

THE EX: Why do you keep bringing that up?!

LEIF: It’s an important detail!

GLORIA: Do you ever feel like Leif is almost too relaxed? He goes with the flow no matter what, it’s weird.

AVA: Oh yeah? Watch this. Hey, Leif?

LEIF (In the kitchen): Yeah?

AVA: I’ve been thinking about it and, I don’t know, I still feel like a hot dog is a sandwich.

[POTS CRASHING.]

LEIF (In the kitchen): For fuck’s sake!

MARY: Can you help me?

CASPAR: What’s happening?

MARY: The officer outside, he’s been looking for me for days. I’ve managed to avoid him so far but now that’s him outside. Can you hide me somewhere? This desperate plea is brought to you by Arby’s. Arby’s, we have the meats.

---

LEIF: This Molotov Cocktail is brought to you by communism!

[BOTTLE SMASHING]

EFFIE: Yes, yes, of course. Our Lord is a God of peace.

ZEBULON: Indeed.

EFFIE: Unless you’re a merchant outside the temple, then look out for the chokehold of Jesus.

ZEBULON: Honey!

CASPAR: Ava, what are you doing?

AVA: I’m getting this jug of moonshine and going out in the parking lot to watch a fist fight. Suck on that, Stephen Hawking.

CASPAR: Oh, no. What are we going to do without all the essential work you do around here? Who will do the incredibly hard work of being an asshole to people?

AVA: That’s not work, that’s how I relax.

CASPAR: Well you must be really relaxed.

---

STEVE: We had come upon a binary star system. I looked upon these two stars rotating around their barycenter and my thoughts turned to my wife. We were like these two stars, locked into an eternal dance only due to chance and gravity, unable to recall a moment where we chose each other and unable to escape this rotation. Knowing that to move closer would obliterate us both.

CASPAR: This went from fun idea to Russian novel real fast.

STEVE: Hello, my friends. I am about to go on a date.

CASPAR: Yeah, we heard... uhhh nice work, buddy.

LEIF: Go get ‘em, tiger.

STEVE: I have no idea how to go on a date.

CASPAR: Oh.

LEIF: Shit, okay, uh...

CASPAR: Um... Ask her about her job.

LEIF: Yeah, her life in general.

CASPAR: Listen a lot.

LEIF: Don’t try and be funny.

CASPAR: Try sharing a secret with her.

LEIF: If she asks you to do something illegal, it may be a test.

CASPAR: What?

LEIF: Really gauge the situation at that point, is she kidding or does she actually want to do crimes?

CASPAR: What are you talking about?

LEIF: This is good advice.

CASPAR: Where, the Pirate Isle of Tortuga?

EFFIE: Caspar, thanks for being with us today.

CASPAR (Whispering): So great to be here, go fuck yourself.

CASPAR: Gloria, we’re going to have to go.

GLORIA: Oh, man. Okay. Guys, gather round.

[HEARTBREAKING MUSIC]

CASPAR: What the hell is that music?

[WOLVES WIMPERING]

GLORIA: V, Jungkook, Jimin, Suga, Jin, RM, J-Hope. I want you to know that I love you all very much. But I have my own pack, and I have to go run with them now.

EFFIE: (Fighting back tears) It’s... so hard to hear her say goodbye to the wolves.

ZEBULON (Also crying): I didn’t realize she named them after the members of BTS.

CASPAR: We should get one of those signs that says “This many days since an accident”.

LEIF: Yeah, except ours would say “This many days since your sentient radio quoted the Egyptian Book of the Dead, switched personalities, or steered you into a supermassive black hole.”

CASPAR: ...That’s way too long for a sign, Leif.

GLORIA: Yeah, Leif, that’s—

CASPAR: As a straight white male you know one thing about me: I’ve watched a lot of History Channel.

GLORIA: Okay, I’m thinking a chair, some rope, and I’ll pour hot coffee on her, let’s do some Guantanamo shit.

JANE (Overlapping): It’s no use, guys.

GLORIA: Did the doors to the diner just lock?

CASPAR: They did. Effie, what in the Amityville Horror is happening right now?

JANE: Does having you kidnapped maybe count as a romantic gesture at all?

CASPAR, narrating: In Ava’s defense, she was unilaterally putting everyone in danger... That doesn’t make it better, does it?

AVA: I am going to rip your balls off!

CASPAR: Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time.

#midnight burger #midnight burger podcast #podcast recommendation #i love them all so much #also #i finally figured out audio transitions #was not that hard #but also #this took me way longer than i thought #writing. voice acting. dynamics. all so good.#who else is doing is like midnight burger #i mean actually who is bc i need to know. none of my podcasts are updating/updating frequently and im losing it #lord knows if i'll do this for any other season tbh #i also was tempted to animate this but i ran into two problems: motivation and lack of skill #so it'll stay in my head lmao

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sednonamoris · 2 years

Text

cloudburst

Pairing: John Marston x reader

Summary: Shot by a bounty hunter and left for dead, you’re saved by an unlikely pair in the dead of night. (Set pre-game with young John and Arthur)

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and language, references to dead animals, gun violence, description of wounds, nihilistic/borderline suicidal thoughts

Word count: 1,389

Masterlist

—

It is raining and you are going to die.

Thunder rumbles through the open heavens as rainfall pounds blood into the mud of the dirt road beneath you. Lightning arcs, crackles, splits the sky. For a heartbeat it lights your surroundings, just enough to show how very alone you are, pinned beneath a dead horse and bleeding out from a gunshot to the shoulder.

The man who shot you lies dead as well, riddled with holes you put in him just a few yards up the road. The bastard. What are the chances a bounty hunter would recognize you this far North? What are the chances you’d run into one sitting on a stolen horse at the dark end of dusk on an otherwise empty road? Your teeth grit into a grimace. You’ve never been lucky, and the glint of moonshine on metal as the storm formed above you only further exemplified that fact.

Your legs are all but numb now. The left is badly sprained - probably broken, if you’re honest with yourself. Hands slick with blood and rainwater as they are, it’s hard to keep pressure on your shoulder. More blood oozes out with every heartbeat.

You hadn’t realized that dying would be this boring.

Or take this long.

Or be this lonesome.

So far as you can tell there’s no one else around for miles. The storm isn’t letting up, and the wind that drives rain sideways into your face is a painful and unwanted reminder of how alive you remain.

If only you’d been knocked unconscious in the fall.

If only he’d had better aim, a more sinister voice whispers in the back of your mind.

Then, distantly, the wet suction of hoofbeats in mud. You must be delirious, because something treacherously close to hope bubbles up your throat and comes out in a strangled cry. It’s barely audible over the storm.

“There’s somethin’ in the road,” a scratchy voice shouts to be heard.

“No there ain’t.” Someone else, a little older.

“Is too,” the first voice insists. “Look there.”

Look here.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the landscape. Your eyes meet two strangers’ wide and helpless. They stare back just as shocked, just as wary. Like a wild animal caught in a trap you are willing to gnaw off a limb if it means freedom.

“Please,” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Please spare me, please kill me, please save me? You’re not sure which. Please.

One of them jumps down from their horse and rushes to your side. “Help me lift this damn horse, Arthur!”

The other one - Arthur - hops down with a curse, hat low on his brow. It takes three tries to lift the mare enough for you to squeeze out. Your breath comes out in body-wracking sobs. You’d been stuck for over an hour.

“Can you stand?” one asks.

You try to move your leg and bite back bile. “No.”

More muttered cursing.

“Arthur,” your rough-voiced savior warns.

The next lightning strike is much closer. You watch Arthur’s hard mouth draw into a line in the flash. “Fine. Your horse will take the extra weight.”

Dead weight, your mind helpfully supplies.

And so your fate is decided.

Arthur throws you up into the saddle behind his bony compatriot, and to his credit he isn’t unkind about it. Not that it matters; Your leg and shoulder scream out in pain with every movement. Your only mercy is that the ride isn’t long.

The rain starts to lighten over the narrow deerpaths and overgrown game trails you follow in almost complete darkness to what looks like an abandoned homestead at first blush. Nature has done its best to reclaim this place. Weeds run rampant, tall and unchecked, and there’s a hole in the cabin’s roof that doesn’t look new. They hitch the horses out back and lift you carefully, carefully to the ground. The impact still leaves you hissing in pain.

“Sorry.”

“S’fine,” you wheeze.

Propped up by the boy you rode with, you gimp your way inside. His lean body has a wiry strength you wouldn’t expect as he maneuvers you into a rickety chair at the dining table.

“John,” Arthur barks, “get a fire going. I need tweezers and a hot iron if we’re doin’ this right. That bullet’s still in there.”

John leaps into action, leaving you woozy and clutching your shoulder.

“Here.” You’re offered a bottle of whisky. Arthur watches with a careful expression as you cry out pouring some in the bullet hole, then swallow down half the bottle with a grimace to try and numb the pain.

“You done this before?” he asks.

“Why else would bounty hunters be shootin’ at me in the middle of the goddamn night?”

He snorts softly. “Fair enough.”

You almost laugh at the absurdity of your situation, but John brings a strap of leather for you to bite down on and without another word Arthur digs the tweezers in the flesh of your shoulder to root out the bullet.

You scream.

“There she is,” Arthur murmurs as metal finds metal.

It’s a wonder you don’t black out. You wish you would. But then it’s out and the singe of scalding metal on flesh and the smell of burning skin overwhelms your senses in a white-hot flash of pain.

Your skin is clammy with sweat and the remnants of rain as you sit there gasping for breath. Setting your leg isn’t pleasant, but far easier. The two boys watch you carefully. If you didn’t know better you’d say they were almost impressed.

“You’re pretty fuckin’ tough, you know that?” John says. Now that you’re looking at him he seems just about your age. Up close and under lantern light you can see faint scarring around his neck. His dark hair lies long and limp, untamed. The line of his mouth and the glint in his eyes is a little mean. You like it.

Arthur, meanwhile, regards you silently. He can’t be but a few years older, early twenties at most. His sandy blonde hair is dark from the rain and his larger frame fills the chair opposite you not with menace but… promise. The promise that if you threaten either one of them after this you won’t walk away. You like that, too.

Gentlefolk were never your kind.

“That bounty hunter,” Arthur says slowly, deliberately, “what was he after you for?”

You meet his discerning gaze. You’re not above lying but these boys just saved your life.

A life for a truth.

“You ever heard of the Ghost Rider of New Austin up in these parts?”

“You’re the Ghost Rider?” John interrupts.

You look at them both, wary but open. “I been runnin’ North ever since they got a good poster of me down there. That horse that crushed my legs I stole off of some rich bastard outside of town. Just plain dumb luck to run into that bounty hunter so late, and that he recognized me.”

“Did plain dumb luck put those bullets in him, too?”

Your gaze hardens. “No.”

“You ever heard of the Van der Linde boys?” It’s your turn to be surprised. “We been runnin’ with him a long time now.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Arthur says, “when John and I turn in the score from the homestead we just robbed, you’re comin’ with us.”

You open your mouth to argue but he shuts you down just as quick. “How long are you gonna last on that leg, with that shoulder, and no horse?”

“C’mon, Ghost,” John says. “We’re down a rider and we just saved your life. You get all healed up, ride with us, and we’ll call it square.”

Kindness is never free, you should know that better than anyone.

“…Deal.”

There’s only one bedroom unspoilt by the rot eating away at the rest of the place, so the boys cozy in as best they can on the spongy, waterlogged floorboards while you try not to aggravate your injuries on bedsheets riddled with moth holes and a cot that’s seen better days.

The rain has stopped now, only a soft drip, drip, drip heard from the hole in the roof, and for the first time in a long time you feel confident that you are going to live.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #fran writes #ghost story #ch. 1

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lexa-griffins · 1 year

Note

I feel like we need some virgin Clarke hc to complement the virgin Lexa asks 🙂 How about seven minutes in heaven where nerdy trans Clarke is stuck with her crush, popular Lexa in the closet after spin the bottle? Clarke gets the balls to actually makeout with Lexa who is impressed by Clarke's sudden confidence. After their seven minutes is up, Lexa pulls Clarke to an empty room to pop her cherry.

I ended up writing a whole thing, sorry 😅 i also don't know why I went with an HSAU since I don't really write those but here we are. I'm splitting this in two parts, and post the smut later! Because I think this is cute!

Lexa is been the most popular girl in school for as long as Clarke can remember really. She's always been a natural leader so it really comes as no shock to see her climb the social ladder early on, reaching its peak at high school, head of the student council, star of the volleyball team with a one way ticket to Harvard. Clarke's has a crush on her since Lexa put a flower in Clarke's hair back in third grade, back then still very short and a wavy blonde mess most of the time, and told Clarke how pretty she looked like that.

At eleven Lexa declares she only likes girls and Clarke realizes she'll never get a chance.

At thirteen Clarke starts transitioning and realizes she could actually have a chance.

If they didn't run in completely different groups.

Lexa lives amongst star athletes that are all far too good looking and far too smart for Clarke to even dare approach them, while Clarke is the art nerd type and runs with equally nerd minded people, the type that excell at one subject and subject only, like Raven and her out of this world talent for mechanics or "cockroach" Murphy whose love for survivalist media turned him into a bug lover like no other. They play dnd on the weekend and try not to get caught stealing parts from cars at the junk yard.

So when Lexa, the same Lexa that put a flower in Clarke's hair, the one who might have triggered Clarke's realization into the fact she was trans, the same Lexa that has nearly given Clarke a boner in the middle of gym class because of the way she bent down in her volleyball shorts, comes over to their table to invite them to a party that weekend at her house Clarke is convinced someone, somewhere is playing a prank on her.

It doesn't happen often she isn't mocked or bullied but Clarke has heard the mean spirited whispers. She doesn't give a shit about then, nerd doesn’t equate weak and she refuses to run away and cry just because a bunch of high schooler think her being different is funny.

But Lexa wouldn't. Right? She might be bitchy at times, imposing and refusing to let anyone walk over her but she wouldn't prank Clarke. They're not friends anymore, not since middle school, but Lexa still waves at her in the hall and hasn't missed a short yet thoughtful text message on Clarke's birthday.

They go. Because well, why wouldn't they? Lexa seems genuinely happy to see her and even compliments her band tee, focusing her eyes a little too hard on the way the Queen logo distorts around Clarke's chest, and offers her a drink that Clarke notes isn't particularly strong which is cute and thoughtful despite the fact Clarke has been drinking Monty's homemade moonshine for about two years now every other Sunday during their DnD nights. It's sweet that Lexa gave Clarke the least amount if alcohol possible without straight away assuming she wanted none, telling Clarke that behind the whole popular girl facade, the girl Clarke developed a major crush on is still alive and well.

Which is great. If it didn't make Clarke feel ten times more attracted to Lexa; Lexa in her cute white shorts and her laced-up red blouse that forces Clarke to bite the inside of her cheek so she won't get hard and be entirely to up front about her feelings towards Lexa.

She hangs out. Talks to a few people she only ever lent a pen to before, talks to Lexa for longer than she has in the past four years combined, laughs when Lexa recalls that time they were caught by Abby giggling at an anatomy book when they were kids and pretends she doesn't feel jealous when Lexa talks about her ex girlfriend Costia, who is now off to college somewhere.

She's a little buzzed by the time someone suggests they play seven minutes in heaven. Clarke doesn't even know where Raven and Murphy are, although shebsuspects they are no where in the circle when she sits down on the couch directly in front of Lexa. Statistically Clarke is sure the odds are against her when the bottle starts to spin.

She isn't really thinking about what will happen when the stops spinning and she has to go into the closet with someone because she just really wants that someone to be Lexa. Pretty popular Lexa who keeps smiling nervously at her and whose cheeks are a pretty shade of red and whose hair bounces when she walks, whose hand is very soft as she touches her, urging her to get up.

"Clarke, cmon were up." Lexa giggles above her, trying to pull her up from her sit.

Clarke doesn't understand quite why. Lexa seems to manage to read her mind, despite looking nearly as much or even tipster than Clarke.

"It landed on me."

Oh, look at that. It has. Pointing straight ahead where Lexa had her cute butt sitted.

Clarke's being pulled into a closed full of jackets before she knows it. It's warm and stuffy inside, barely enough people for one of her, much less the two of them... that must be why she can feel Lexa's nipple through the shirt, Clarke now noticing the girl has gone braless. And if Clarke can feel Lexa's nipples than Lexa can fot sure feel....

"Shit, I'm sorry." Clarke apologizes frantically, trying - and failing miserably- to get some space between her body and Lexa's.

She tries every quick solution in the book. She fleshes her leg and then her arm and then her buttcheek but it doesn't help. She's actually sure she must look like she's having a case of involuntary spasms. She tries to think about everything else, anyone else but it useless when Lexa is right there, so real and so within reach for Clarke's mind to even come up with anyone else's face.

Clarke's about to apologize again. She feels like a creep even if it is not her fault. What will Lexa think of her now? The weird nerd kid she decided to give a chance at friendship again only for Clarke to pop a boner so hard she might have to run home and jerk off to exhaustion.

Lexa says something that Clarke can't quite make out, "Hmm?"

"It's okay." Lexa repeats. It's slightly slurred out Clarke realizes, and at first she fears Lexa is much drunker than she thought. But then. Then Clarke sees green eyes hooded as they stare down at the party crasher between Clarke's legs, lips parted and heavy breathing hitting Clarke's face in warm puffs. A hand that is so close to her boner Clarke could moan just at the thought.

And then her gaze shifts and Lexa is staring at her, eyes nearly black with lust and Clarke decides this is now or never. No trying to keep a somewhat there friendship going, no backing out at the last second, no doubts about stupid high school social status that mean nothing in the real world.

Clarke kisses Lexa. Hard. Like she never kissed anyone before. And it's not like she kissed a lot.

Lexa doesnt seem bothered by this. Instead she wraps her arms lazily around Clarke's neck, letting Clsrke do has she pleases, pulling her by the waist and then slamming Lexa's hips on the closet door. Clarke attempts her best impersonation of someone who knows what the fuck they are doing, bitting Lexa's pouty bottom lip and pulling it slightly, hoping it was more sexy than it was borderline cannibalistic. If the moan that rumbles against her lips is any indication Clarke would say she deserves an high five for effort.

"You're so hot." Lexa manages between kisses, and Clarke swears she could conquer the entire world upon hearing those words, "and so fucking hard."

Clarke stops. Comically so she'd say. Eyes opened wide, Lexa's bottom lip still between her teeth. Lexa's eyes open after hers, softly at first and then big and wide all at once, Clarke's face clearly concerning her.

"Sorry." Clarke jumps to say, releasing Lexa's lip and composing herself. Her shirt has now traveled up her mid section and Lexa's laced up shirt is somehow loosened, ofdering just slightly less coverage than the shirt originally did. She pushes herself back from Lexa's body with great sacrifice, only for the arms that are still around her shoulder to pull her back in for a far more tamed kiss.

Lexa chuckles as she pulls away, "you say sorry a little to much."

Clarke laughs nervously, "yeah, sorry about that."

The sight of a perfect eyebrow raising and beautiful lips turned up in a smirk make her realize her mistake, "oh right yeah. Sorry. I mean no, I'm not sorry. Fuck this is hard."

Theyre laughing before Clarke can catch a hold of herself. Lexa pulls her closer again and Clarke wraps her arms around the girl's generous hips and they both laugh quietly in each other's shoulders.

Lexa smells like alcohol and raspberries. Her hair smells like roses.

"It's not the only thing that's hard you know."

She's going to say sorry again, but the words hang in her throat. A knock on the door makes her forget she was going to say it at all.

"Your times up!" It's Murphy's voice. She guesses he and Raven where in the circle after all.

They take a few seconds to compose themselves, the way Lexa closes up the string of her shirt and runs a hand through the soft brown curls of her hair doing nothing to soften Clarke's situation.

Lexa smiles at it and gives Clarke's cheek a peck "I'll walk in front of you."

There's the girl who put a flower in her hair.

#letter opened #wanheda's dagger #clexa #virgin clarke #g!p clarke griffin #my writing #au: 7min in heaven

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snoopyscorpio · 1 year

Text

SAMS AU (sort of)....Southern Punk Eclipse!

@snowe-zolynn-rogers as promised, here is the backstory of Eclipse and Luna(r) in my own world :D Also to clarify, in this particular world, humans and monsters co-exist but not particularly peacefully. So far, the only safe place for monsters to exist with humans is the pizzaplex, for some odd reason. There is a character I have called “Evelyn”, who is a ghost haunting the daycare, but we’ll get to her in a seperate post. ANYWAAAAAAAAYYYYYSSS!!! Basically in this particular universe, Luna has a slightly more 'Canadian' accent while Eclipse is the southerner (but sometimes I forget and have them both as southern XD). In this AU as well, Blood Moon, Earth and Kill Code don’t exist, it is just the ‘main four’, so to speak. They were made as the prototypes for Sun and Moon, but were scrapped by management (reaasons vary from telling to telling, from budget costs to Eclipse and Luna not being family friendly, or the two continuously malfunctioning), and so were scrapped and thrown into a trash compactor....but they were still sentient and functioning. Sun and Moon thought the two were dead and done for, spending a long while in silent mourning....unaware the two had managed to come back out, albeit damaged and with multiple dents and oil leaks. So the two manage to get to a scrapyard and find parts to fix each other there, just so they’re functional enough to move around without much strain, a couple of workers spotting them and chasing them out before they could finish, briefly separating them until they met on the backstreets again after a few gruelling hours of searching. Later on, they have more of an android-like upgrade, giving Eclipse more of a sturdy, stronger body and spiky orange ‘hair’ in place of his rays. Luna’s hair is long and soft, coloured a dark blue with a white streak at the front. Having put themselves back together, Eclipse embraced the more mish-mash ‘punk’ style, from the music to the clothes and everything in between, while Luna was more of a vintage-loving ‘make do and mend’ kinda style, her clothing being more of a pastel or 40s-style wear. They both are protective of each other and of their younger brothers Sun and Moon (Eclipse calls Sun ‘Sunny-boy’ or ‘Sunshiner’, while Luna calls him ‘Sunny’/’Sunflower’. Luna calls Moon ‘Moonie’ and ‘Moonlight’, and Eclipse calls Moon ‘Moonshine’. He is the ONLY person who calls Moon ‘Moonshine’, and it startles Moon when he first speaks to him again). The two end up getting a small place together, Eclipse going into mechanics and mending his fellow robots and other cybernetic beings, while Luna found solace in handmaking plushies and pillows for people. Sun soon finds Eclipse at an arcade; aside from the clothes, voice and hairstyle, Sun and Eclipse look as if they could be twins! He then reunites with him and Luna, soon getting Moon to see them once more. Eclipse likes to be seen as the “strong big brother who’s capable of anything” and is mostly the protector of the group, but he and Luna both have seperation anxiety after that night. The only one who has seen him cry is Luna..so far. Luna’s anxiety is more obvious, and she tends to cling to her brothers whenever she hears loud noises or someone is violent to them both. There is more about this world that they both live in (mainly the monsters and humans living side by side), so if anyone is interested, please let me know.

#Southern Punk Eclipse #Eclipse fnaf #Lunar fnaf #sams #sundrop #moondrop #eclipse #luna #au #my personal au #worldbuilding #lore #tw: injury #tw: seperation anxiety mention #tw: angst

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galadrieljones · 1 year

Note

Winter Season Three Word Prompts - bethyl, mountains + sun + red berries

Thank you for the prompt ^_^ This is a Christmas, fix-it retelling of “Alone.” You can also read this at AO3.

Chicken Feathers

They found an old general store not far from the tracks, three weeks after the moonshine shack. Inside, it looked like somebody had been living in there for a while, keeping chickens. There were a dozen or more plucking around, laying their eggs in nests made of clothes and old newspapers. The feathers were everywhere.

"It's a damn boon," said Daryl.

They collected the eggs into shopping baskets that Beth found by the door. They worked quietly and diligently. It was like an easter egg hunt, said Beth.

Before this, they’d been on the road for a while. Last week, he'd almost fallen down a ravine when he stepped on a patch of loose dirt. The affair was dramatic, life and death. Beth screamed, but she wasn't strong enough to help him, and he had to drag himself back up the loose hillside, wholesale, climbing the root system of a monumental hickory. When he finally made it to the top, Beth was crying. She fell on top of him to sob, as if he were dead. He tried to comfort her, but their sounds had drawn walkers, and then, in her anger, she killed two of them, entirely without his help. He'd never seen her do that, but he was flat on his back, exhausted from the climb, and she was being protective. Something had happened between them at the moonshine shack that brought the focus down around the two of them, together, and their survival. Nothing was ever going to be the same, and what it had become, Daryl didn't really understand. But the way she'd protected him at that ravine made him realize what it was he had almost pushed away, by being such a dumb asshole for such a long time after they lost the prison. He would not make that mistake again.

Now, things were quiet. When things get quiet, you can look around, take inventory of your life. He liked being in that store with her, hunting for things. It was safe in there, and they hadn't been safe in a while. They didn't have to worry about walkers or ravines. It was sunny and cold with a big hole in the roof, looking like a slow motion collapse from water damage over time. The sun beams came in and fell upon her as she worked, foraging for the eggs. This was a good place, he thought, but the hole in the roof was terminal. Winter was coming, and they couldn't live there.

When they had collected all they could find, Beth had way more in her basket than he did. He'd never had an easter egg hunt before, he said. He didn't know the rules. She laughed at this, because it was a joke. But also, what he didn't tell her was that he had been distracted. He had spent most of that time looking at her instead, while she was looking for the eggs. It was hypnotic, like she'd been doing this her whole life, and he supposed, in some ways, considering her origins, she had.

They found an old woman in the backroom who had died while handcuffed to a rocking chair. Looked semi-recent, and like she had shot herself in the head with a .44 magnum Colt revolver they found covered in dust on the floor. The gun reminded him of Rick. He picked it up, stuffed it in the back of his pants quickly, so Beth wouldn’t have to be reminded of Rick. It was just a useless relic, as there were no more bullets in the chamber.

Beth looked sad as Daryl calmly covered up the old woman with a picnic blanket from aisle 4. Beth held his hand and they stood in a moment of silence, in memoriam. She had held his hand two times before. When they were running from the burning shack, and then after he'd fallen down that ravine. But those had been for survival, staying together, he thought. This was something else.

"Thank you for the chickens. And the eggs," said Beth, looking at the woman’s shape under the blanket with the red gingham pattern. He could tell she was saying more, inside her head, too. Maybe she was praying. Beth was very good at hiding her emotions. They spoke those days mostly by not speaking. Telepathy. Nobody would have thought this about her before, not really, but he knew it now. He knew her, and he wondered how many people there were left in this world could say that anymore.

They closed the door, locking it from the inside to keep away the animals. Daryl carved some nice, pretty letters into the door: R.I.P. And then he carved a little picture of a chicken and an egg. It was exacting and it took time. He was rusty. Beth watched, seeming impressed by his work, and this embarrassed him. Daryl felt strange whenever he was observed. It was difficult for him sometimes, acknowledging his own existence. So he put his knife away. "I used to do a lot of this," he said.

"Carving pictures in doors?"

"No," he said. "Just...carving."

"Really? Could you make things? Like animals and things?"

"Sometimes," said Daryl.

"You should make us something," she said. She was so easy-going in the way that she said it, he couldn't tell if she was serious. He couldn't tell if she was flirting or if she was just being nice. He had never known a girl like Beth before. So he just pocketed the sentiment and they went on their way.

They traveled probably five or so miles that day before finding an old RV parked by a murky creek. The RV was in decent shape but had two dead dogs chained up out front that looked like they'd had a fight to the death. They hadn't been touched by walkers. You could tell. It was curious, this and the chickens back at the store. There weren't a lot of walkers here. It felt very abandoned, almost like they were frozen in time. Daryl stayed outside to bury the dogs. When he got into the RV, he found Beth, repurposing the curtains with a needle and thread, turning them into stockings.

"Stockings?" he said as he came in the door. "What are you making stockings for?"

"It's Christmas," said Beth. She was sitting in a small, green armchair with the stuffing exposed, looked like it was something straight out of the 1970s. "I been keeping a rough count of the days in my journal. I’m probably off by a week or so, but with the weather like it's getting? I think we're close."

"Christmas," said Daryl. He was examining the hinges on the front door. They were loose, but they would hold. It would work. "You think of everything.”

"Not everything," said Beth.

While she spruced up the inside, making a space for beds, for sitting, Daryl went out to string up some metal cans and things for an alarm. It was getting later in the day. the trees were bare, and there were not many sounds in the atmosphere aside from the wind, and the murky creek, and the clanking of the cans on the nylon rope. They’d gathered three dozen eggs, plus they took with them three of the chickens for food. They couldn’t justify taking all of them. They thought they’d leave some for the next passers-through. Daryl plucked one of the chickens and cleaned it outside with the remainder of the light. They’d eat this one tonight, then smoke the rest tomorrow.

As he was finishing up, something caught his eye down by the water. It was probably stupid to go ahead like this, but he didn't care. He skidded down the cold mud with his crossbow over his shoulder, ducked under a spruce. When he emerged, he saw a walker, caught up in some barbed wire, missing its legs, like maybe they’d been chewed off. The thing couldn’t move. It was real rotted. It had probably been there for months, grasping at the seasons, devoid of hope or decision. It was the first walker he'd seen in a while.

He killed it quick, and as he yanked the arrow from its claggy skull, he saw the very thing he’d come down here for. Rose hips. A whole mess of them, big and plump. He set down his crossbow, whipped the bandana from his pocket, filled the thing with the rose hips. He scratched up his knuckles on the thorns, gathering as may as he could. It felt urgent, gathering these rose hips. Then he tied them up in the bandana, bursting, and tied the bandana to his belt, beside his knife.

Rose hips were red. They were festive and pretty, he thought. They looked like something you’d have at Christmas, and that was why he needed them.

When he got back to the RV, Beth was singing a Christmas song, hanging the stockings on the wall next to the kitchen. It took him a minute to remember what song she was singing, but then it hit him. It was an oldie. “Blue Christmas” by Elvis Presley.

“That’s real nice,” said Daryl, closing the door behind him, peaking through the window to make sure nobody, and nothing, had followed him back.

"I thought my singing annoyed you."

“Ain't heard Elvis in a while. Merle liked him. Used to play his stuff constantly on this old Garrard turntable."

"My dad liked him, too."

"As for your stockings, I’m sorry we ain't got no chimney, no fireplace.”

“We’ll make do,” said Beth. She had taken her ponytail down, and she tucked the yellow hair behind her ears. She came over to help him. She hung the unplucked chickens by the stove, which was electric and no longer worked of course. “What do you got there?” She gestured to the bandana at his belt. "You find somethin?"

“Oh,” he said. He took it apart, showed her the plump, pretty red berries. “Rose hips. Saw ‘em, growing down by the creek.”

“Rose hips?”

“Yeah. My mom, she used to used to put rose hips in jam. We didn't have a lot of money, and they grew crazy by where we lived. I thought maybe we could do that, or somethin else. I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“Let’s try it,” she said, and she smiled so big, he knew he must have done well that day.

Outside, as the sun went down behind the hills and the pines in the distance, Daryl built a cooking fire. He put the bird on a spit, and meanwhile, Beth boiled the rose hips in a pan with some sugar leftover in a jar from the pantry. When the mixture got soft and juicy, she mashed it all up using a mortar and pestle she’d found in a cupboard inside. Then, she set about straining them through a mesh sieve, and she repeated this at least three times. He liked watching her make jam. They talked of this and that. They talked about nothing at all. When she finished, she poured the red concoction in a clear jar, and then she got up to go back into the RV.

The sun was down now, and Daryl was by himself, but he could hear her singing through the aluminum walls, more Elvis. Oh, why can't everyday be like Christmas?

When the bird was done cooking, Daryl put out the fire and went back inside to where Beth had unfolded a green blanket on the floor and set a couple place settings around a small collection of delicate votive candles set inside of small mason jars, burning at the center. The kitchen table was pretty busted up, so this would have to do. It was a right feast.

“Christmas bird, with rose jam,” she said.

“Better than any Christmas meal I had before.”

“Let’s eat.”

That night, they shared a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, which Beth had scored back at the general store. It was warm and tasted like melted jello shots spiked with rail liquor, but Daryl drank some anyway, because there were candles, and it was cold in the RV, and just being there with her made everything feel warm and alive, like a party. He wasn’t that same guy he he had been back at the moonshine shack. Everything inside of him had grown up. He changed. With Beth, his brain got quiet. His past stayed put. He felt very calm, even in the throes of immense uncertainty. He wanted it to stay that way.

“When I was little, and it would be Christmastime, I used to wish we lived in the mountains,” said Beth, leaning against him in the RV. “All that snow. We could have cocoa and light a fire, go snow-shoeing.”

He put his arm around her. It was something he thought he’d done a bunch of times before, maybe back at the prison? Warm nights outside, when they’d play music and everybody would gather round and dance and enjoy time as a community. Hershel was there. Maggie and Glenn. Rick. Michonne. Carol. It was like belonging, he thought. Tonight felt the same.

She grabbed his hand, examining his knuckles. They were chopped up with white scars from his old life. He thought maybe she’d ask about it, but she didn’t.

“Will you come with me someday?” she said.

“Come with you where?”

“To the mountains. You can carve animals into our door.”

It made him happy, to think about Beth in the mountains. Her cheeks would be red, and she’d be wearing a wool scarf. “There’s a lot of mountains out there, Greene. Which ones you wanna go to?”

“I don’t know, Daryl,” she said. “Big, tall ones. The Rockies.”

“Northern or Southern?”

“Northern,” she said. “Let’s go to like, Montana. ”

He laughed. It was so out of left field he could not help but commit. “Yeah, we’ll go there,” he said, her hand holding his. “Someday. We will.”

He was staring across the room, across the light from the candles, glaring off the plates and their dismantled Christmas feast, and the unloaded shiny Colt .44 he’d scavenged back at the general store. Outside, the wind had started blowing. It shook the trees all around the RV and rustled the cans on Daryl’s alarm. This startled Beth, but he was pretty sure. “It’s just the wind,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“I know,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I just--don’t you feel like this is too good to be true? I feel like I’m gonna wake up any minute. Like it’s a dream or something.”

“It’s an RV.”

“You know what I mean.”

He had his chin on top of her head. They were very warm now. “Yeah, I do.”

“Pretend like it’s really Christmas,” said Beth. “I mean, for all we know, it is. So just, pretend. Think. If it was really Christmas, and you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”

Daryl did what she asked. He closed his eyes. He thought about it, but he couldn’t come up with anything better than what it was he already had. "I'm good," he said.

"Come on."

"I mean it," he said. "We could do with some better booze. Something that doesn’t taste like strawberry-flavored battery acid. But otherwise, I don't really want for much. I'm good."

She elbowed him in the ribs. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt. She said, "Be serious. Tell me. What do you want, Daryl?"

It was an immense question. It contained the cosmos. He took a deep breath, holding her eyes like little spears. They could hurt him. But still, he felt brave that night.

“We should stay,” he said.

“What?"

“We should stay,” said Daryl. “That's what I want. For us to stay here, through the winter.”

“Stay here? Really?"

“It’s quiet here. There’s not a lot of walkers around. I seen it. And I saw a well out back, too, when we first got here. I bet it still works. Plus, I think I could build us a chimney, so we could make fires inside. I done it before. In a double-wide I used to share with Merle in North Georgia, but not much difference in function. We could scavenge the parts. And if we get desperate for food, we got our own personal KFC not five miles south of here, free and clear and ready to go. What do you think?”

She was looking up at him, close range. A girl had never looked at him quite like that and it made him nervous, but he held his ground. She had protected him. Maybe this meant he deserved her.

“You’re serious,” she said.

“You told me to be serious,” he said. “I am. Staying off the road, it’s safer this way. Then the moment them magnolias bloom, we get up and go. We find Rick, the others. I got a feeling, Beth. If we hunker down, they will, too.”

“Like, we’re connected.”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“You’re different,” she said. “You’ve changed.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just surprised.”

Then she pushed all the hair out of his eyes, and off his face. He waited, perfectly still, his heart choking, constricted by chains and stars, because he knew what was going to happen next. He knew. He just still had a hard time believing it. She kissed him. It was a soft kiss, warm on the surface of their mouths, but it pulled everything he had right out of his chest, so that his center was suddenly empty, and he was light. Like a balloon, like chicken feathers at the general store.

When it was over, Beth was quiet.

“What was that for?” he said. He still hadn’t moved. Not a damn muscle.

“I just wanted to,” she said. “I’m sorry. Is that okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

It was a long winter. Through it all, Beth and Daryl stayed together, and they never got cold. Daryl built a chimney, and Beth made jam, and she lit candles every night, praying, sending signals into the world with her telepathy. We will not fade away, she prayed. Maggie. Rick. Glenn. Michonne. Carol. Tyreese. Sasha. Bob. Carl. Judith. Anybody out there? Anybody at all. Stay put. Can you hear me? Can you hear us through the stars. We’re alive. Both of us. Daryl and Beth. We’re here. We're together. We’re alive.

#the walking dead #bethyl #daryl dixon #beth greene #daryl x beth #bethyl fanfic #bethylholidaysfest22 #bhf22

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