#sophia reads to build a home

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Meet Cute

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

*******************************************

Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground  and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

 "Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him.  "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him. 

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead  followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***********************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

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Harry doesn’t ever mean to hurt him; Louis doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s the only thing he ever does anymore.

Or, Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

🧡 reckless behaviour by @nouies {E, 13k}

Harry is a retired football player looking for a new opportunity. Louis is the image consultant hired to help him find it.

🧡 It'll Be by @styleandsin {E, 13k}

Louis has always wanted children and he decides he's done waiting for love to come first. However, after adopting a baby girl just days after she's born, he quickly realizes how hard parenting is. Louis hires Harry to be his Nanny, and it all works out great. Until Louis falls in love with him.

🧡 How It Begins (series) by @phdmama {E, 8k}

New town, new job, new school for his daughter. It's a chance to start again for Louis Tomlinson, a clean slate.

Or is it?

#ficrec #kidfic #hlcreators #trackinghome #1dficvillage #hljournal #hlsource #hltracks #trackinghappily #phdmama #styleandsin #nouies #jiksa #iwillpaintasongforlou #jacarandabloom #quickedween #haloeverlasting #indiaalphawhiskey #brightgolden #lovelarry10 #allwaswell16 #turnyourankle #parmahamlarrie #rearviewdreamer #ellao #kingsofeverything #sadaveniren #teandtumblr #stylinsoncity

[gavalaa]

Sketches of all my redone designs for my Phantom Thieves from my AU, Icarus! Lots of info down below on the cut, so if you want to know more about the details and inspiration, feel free to keep reading!

This includes Akechi’s design for his Princely/Robin Hood attire, BEFORE his Icarus attire you might have seen from my other posts! Check out the Icarus AU tag for more info! Icarus has a main focus on Akechi and his relationship to the thieves, but the AU is actually an entire rewrite with new designs, 3rd semester and epilogue/strikers/tactica stories, hence Zenkichi and Sophia’s inclusion.

Read below for individual info:

I decided to include more motifs towards their persona’s and general vibes; and also just my own personal touches haha.

AKIRA - Not much has changed, I really like his design overall. I raised his boots to be like Arsene’s and changed his neck area.

MORGANA - I hate the OG pill shaped head, his new design is based heavily on the shape of Palico’s from Monster Hunter. Added a little more nod to Zorro/His persona motifs and also just made him cuter! Little hamburger headed cat.

RYUJI - I made him a little bulkier and gave some more weight to his outfit overall. I gave him heavier boots and a slightly buffer build to relate back more to his sporty style.

ANN - honestly was never too big on her latex outfit, I wanted to call back to a personal favorite female lead; Christine Daae, and used one of the versions of her Don Juan costume as inspiration. I remember seeing Phantom live and in many stage versions of her character, the Don Juan scene was a pure moment of female control, and she was truly working the Phantom and controlling every movement on the stage. Her presence is commanding, and I thought it was a very fitting tribute to Ann’s character as feminine strength. (I’m absolutely not referring to the movie iteration of Daae btw.)

YUSUKE - I referred to some historical art and legend of Goemon to add more elements of design to his outfit. When I color them, I want to add some really strong pops of color to his clothing to really drive the aesthetics and artistry home.

MAKOTO - Another totally redid outfit, I opted to give her a design which relates back to Popess Joan, and also Anat. I gave her a clawed hand on her right side and an uncovered hand on her left as both a nod to Anat’s hand raised in iconography of her from art history, but also to show the duality of Anat’s title as both a goddess of war, and of love. It also relates to the mythology of Joan and her nature as both a leader and a martyr. I changed her mask to a Venetian Commedia mask as well.

FUTABA - ok. I’ll be honest. I never liked her skin-tight outfit, it just doesn’t match her personality at all. Also, the high tech Egyptian feel never really sold me. I totally understand the tomb thing, but I truthfully think a dungeon/palace which was more like… tech/nerd themed would have been much more “futaba” the inspiration for this new outfit relates back to her persona, the Necromomicon, as well as her nerdy personality, and her affiliation as Alibaba (Ali Baba.) I wanted to go more lovecraftian, long sleeves and patterning designed to look more like lovecraftian tendrils, and big baggy pants and her classic shoes to match. The patterning on her undershirt will resemble a rib cage, both as a reference to her deathly “tomb” iconography, but also to Lovecraftian and Necronomicon lore. I think she matches the description of a nerdy, techie DND dungeon master more than the initial outfit, so that’s the route I took personally.

HARU - relating back to some fashions from 17th c France, where Milady’s story (the three musketeers) takes place, I kept her design relatively similar. I just gave her a little more iconography relating to the three musketeers and that general timeframe.

AKECHI - in his pre-Icarus outfit, I’ve given him a princely sort of outfit befitting of his two faced nature, and edited it to relate to Robin Hood a little more. I tried to keep it sleek and just generally very concealing and layered.

SUMIRE - i gave her some iconography relating back to one of her personas, who is an inference to Freya. I also included some more nods to classic Cinderella, with fantasy gown elements. Overall, relatively similar.

ZENKICHI - again, relatively similar, I really like his outfit. I just opened up the face some to show more personality and spiced up the outfit generally to keep it matching. honestly, les mis/Valjean was a hard one, but I also think his character could be heavily related back to Edmond Dante (Monte Cristo.) so I gave some nods to that as well.

SOPHIA - I turned her into a FINGIE!!!! I made her whole dress as a nod to her persona/to pandora’s tiles around her/the pillars. I wanted to make her small and almost unnatural since she’s an AI, and I thought having a little guy on the team would add some more variation.

#persona 5 icarus au #persona 5 #p5 #persona 5 au #persona 5 royal #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #p5 Mona #p5 morgana #ryuji sakamoto #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #makoto nijima #futaba sakura #haru okumura #akechi goro #goro akechi #zenkichi hasegawa #p5 Sophia #sumire yoshizawa #persona 5 strikers #persona #akechi #shin megami tensei #art #digital art #akeshu #shuake #gavaladraws

[yarrystyleeza]

Congratulations on the milestone, friend!!! 🎉🎉 I’m so excited for you! 💖

So for your sleepover event I’d like to send in a request for someone that is probably NOT expected from me. Can I please get some fluff for one of my other absolute loves Daryl Dixon? Maybe something fluffy about being unable to fall asleep? Possibly something with a love confession? Whatever feels right for you I'd be excited to read! I miss my crossbow wielding love 😭❤

Thank you so much, Bella! This was definitely a milestone, and it wouldn't have been possible without you, thank you again! 🥰💞

And as for the request, I had such a fun time writing it, I missed Daryl so much and your request brought back so many memories 🥺💞💞💞

Night Birds (D.D)

Requested by @bellaxgiornata

Pairing and dynamic: Daryl Dixon x female!reader — friends to lovers

Prompt: fluff, one bed trope, unable to fall asleep, love confession

Word count: 2.2k!

Writer's note: this took me a while to write, not just because I haven't written anything for Daryl in more than 3 years, but the story building wasn't easy, and I just hope it's enjoyable and fun. Also, this lil fic is heavily inspired by Panic! At The Disco's out of the Vault "night birds", unfortunately it was taken down from YouTube due to copyright issues but here's a snippet of it on twt

"shit." you muttered under your breath, looking at the one bed at the end of the cabin, you squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the bridge of your nose. You and Daryl left Alexandria and went scavenging this morning, but your journey took way longer than expected and it was dangerous for you to take the road back home in this wintery night.

You twisted your lips in a thoughtful pout, Daryl soon notices that after he had locked the cabin door. "what?" he narrows his blue eyes as he asks, "it's a..." you gesture in the direction of the bed, "oh." he commented..

The two of you stood in place—silently for a full minute before Daryl makes a suggestion. "I can sleep on the floor--" immediately, you shook your head in disapproval, "no, Daryl, it's too cold and you might get sick," you fired back, "but I don' think that thin' can hold us up together, y'know," Daryl objected, "a bed is still a bed, even though it looks old, and rusty, and small... and a little crooked..." you gesture at the odd position the bed was in, tilting your head to try to find any correct angle in this bed.

Daryl stood silent for a moment to recollect his thoughts and you eyed him patiently, he eyed you a little before speaking, you cross your arms, pout your lips and knit your brows, waiting for him to drop the bomb of a thought because you knew what he's about to say now.

"there's another cabin down the road, 15 minute walk from here..." you rolled your eyes with a very loud objective groan, uncrossing your arms, "of course no, Daryl," he mirrored your eye roll, "don't even ask why, you know why, we need to always stick together, like— how am I supposed to make sure you're okay?" you interrupted before he could defend his suggestion, "we have our walkie-talkies--" he shrugged, "we don't," you whispered and he grimaced immediately, "what d'ya mean?" his brows got knitted, you smiled your teeth out.

"I thought it was a quick trip so I thought we didn't really need them..." you twisted your fingers as you answered with a low voice.

You lied about that, you actually brought the devices and you hid them in your backpack, you just wanted him to stay with you.

You've known Daryl for a really long time, you met back at Hershel's farm. You were a lone survivor and you happen to stumble upon Daryl in the woods. You needed a shelter and Hershel's family home provided this for you and in exchange, you helped them on their search for Sophia. Unfortunately it didn't go as intended, and everyone had to face the ugly truth about her death.

But during the search—Daryl accidentally got shot by Andrea and you offered to stay and take care of him—since everyone else was busy; and you found peace in his presence. That was the day you became true friends, inseparable friends.

Wherever Daryl was, you were with him. You were always together on missions, and whenever Rick talked about a scavenging mission you were the first one signing up the moment you know Daryl was on it too. You couldn't truly connect with other members in the group, you were shy and had troubles bonding with a big group of people, but you were always nice to them.

But, Daryl holds a special place in your heart, and you could never deny that. You were two lone wolves who found a little peace of mind together.

Now, you can see how frustrated he is, the look of both anger and worry are soaking his gentle features. "I'm sorry, Daryl," you muttered softly between your teeth, he shrugged, "forget 'bout it, pet."

You took your backpack off your shoulder and placed it by the end of the bed, you kicked your shoes off and slipped out of your heavy winter jacket. You fluff your hair and gently you lie down the mattress and your body sinks in. You were exhausted.

You watch Daryl as he makes his way to the bed, his expression is a little unsure of his actions and it was confusing, you rarely saw that face of him, he's nervous, silent and red. Daryl slowly sits on the edge of the bed, he lies down on your left side and you feel how timid he is.

"goodnight, Daryl," you lie on your back and you fix your eyes on the ceiling, he shifts a little, mirroring your pose but his hands are behind his head, his leather covered elbow brushes your cheek softly. "goodnight, pet," Daryl gently replies.

And you stay like that for hours, both facing the ceiling, you start counting the cracks in the wooden surfaces and they're twenty one, you want to pull your eyes out of their sockets to force yourself to sleep but you can't, the clock hanging on the wall had long died, you feel like a nocturnal animal who's unable to close its eyes but feeling drunk and paralyzed, you're too aware of how loud your heart is pumping tonight, you can feel every particle of dust falling onto your skin, and your breathing is so audible that you feel it ringing in your ears, it's uncomfortable and overwhelming.

Your eyes glance to the side and you notice how silent Daryl is, but he wasn't asleep either. "you can't sleep, right?" you mumble, your eyes are back on the ceiling, recounting the clefts, did their number increase?

"nah, and I guess you aren'..." he replies with the same calm tone, still looking up. "do you remember that night—back at Hershel's farm when neither of us was able to fall asleep?" you try to remind him.

The night Daryl got shot, you drank a huge amount of coffee in order to stay awake and take care of him, it was a terrible decision, because you spent the night and the next morning—shaking in weakness. And Daryl was in so much pain he couldn't close his eyes either but kept lying to you—telling you it feels more like a scratch. You kept hearing him groaning quietly and you kept petting his head to try and make his focus shift to the movement of your fingers in his hair. It was a very exhausting night but you woke up collapsed over Daryl as you had sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

"I get the same vibes here," your heart beats faster, you have no idea why you're nervous but you are. "us getting stuck together and having to deal with each other," you chuckle a little as you recall the events, "you were so pissed about me following you everywhere but then you got shot and I had to stay the night and take care of you," you keep on talking, almost feeling like you're talking to yourself. Daryl was silent, it was a little heartbreaking that he had no reaction to it.

"jeez, sorry for giving you a headache--" you sigh, tears almost stray out of your heavy eyelids, "at all, pet, I love listening to ya talkin' bout anythin'," he cuts you off, you feel his weight shifting next to you, you glance to the side and you see his blue eyes shining back at you in the dim light.

"I thought you were annoying at first but, I can't lie to ya, turns out you never were, pet," you giggle at his affirmation, "maybe because I'm a little too loud to you," you admit, your energies might have never matched but you still found harmony within it.

You remember the day you got kidnapped by Merle back at Woodbury, Daryl came over with the group to rescue you, Maggie, and Glenn. You were never able to remember anything about that event, never recalled how many hours or days you were gone but there was only one thing you remember for sure, Daryl ran up to you the moment he saw you and hugged you tight—almost crushing you in his arms. Something in you changed and you felt attracted and more attached to him. The worry in his blue orbs, and his tight hug still burns your skin.

Then the day everything fell apart and you had to flee the prison. You were introduced to the overprotective side of Daryl, he never left your side since then, and you always found yourself safe in his presence.

You never wanted to be away from him, and you hated the fact that you got separated when you first arrived to Alexandria, you were so mad that you picked up a fight with him intentionally so he could spend more time talking to you. You felt torn apart whenever he had to leave for a scavenging mission without you, and you couldn't stand any lady trying to hit on him.

The realization hits you hard... You've been in love with Daryl for longer than you can imagine.

"you look tired, pet, you need t' sleep," you almost chuckle at his words, "wish I could but I can't," you mumble. He half sits on the bed, "c'mere, pet," you look up at him, his arms are open wide for you, your heart twists in your chest as you try to make up your mind. You give up and place your head over his chest, his heart pumping next to your ear, his fingers delicately slip through your hair and he gently moves his tips on your scalp in circular motions, your eyes flutter shut and you snuggle your face into him.

His movement misses around with your heartbeat, poor little thing is thundering in your chest. You truly can't live without him.

"I care so much 'bout you, pet," your heart dropped, could this mean that you weren't the only one feeling it? You weren't so sure about it yet, but you decided you should let him finish his words.

But then his hand travels down, leaving your hair, his palm cups your cheek and his thumb fondles your blushed skin. "I care— so much 'boucha that I never think of anythin' else except for ya," you shift your head to look up at him and you find him staring back down at you.

You couldn't help but lift your head off his chest to sit straight and look directly at him in disbelief, he's astonished by your reaction and you see him lowering his eyes to his now tangled fingers. "I shouldn't 've talked about it, 'm sorry," he mumbles and you shift closer to him.

You don't quite know how you did it, but you aimed a kiss to his lips and he is taken by surprise. The very first time you've ever put your lips on him feels so unique, but you're to scared to indulge in the feeling. You part away from him, his face is unreadable, he turned pale white. Realizing what you just did. Did he actually feel anything for you? Does he even like you back? Was this the right thing to do? Or did you misunderstood the whole situation? You had no answers for those questions.

You're overthinking it a lot that you don't notice him moving closer to you, cupping your cheeks and drawing you into a kiss. Your shoulders fall and your hands envelope the back of his neck, gently tugging onto his long locks. His hands round your waist and you could feel the smile on his lips, he draws you over to his lap and he hugs you tight as the kiss continues.

He kisses you sweetly, and you only melt more into him, fumbling his face with the tips of your fingers, feeling the soft stubble on his cheeks. His hands go back over your cheeks and he's softly caressing them, tucking your hair behind your ears and you feel his lips stretching once again.

Daryl slowly pulls away from you, he's shy, he's nervous, he's flustered, and surely he's shaking but his smile is so big that you could barely see his ocean blue eyes. "so sorry I didn't mean to scare you, I was just—" you say and he giggles at you, "gosh, I love you, Daryl," you chuckle, the small of your hands are still enveloping his cheeks, "I love you too, pet, always did," Daryl slowly pulls you back into another kiss, you both smile as you sip on the uniquely sweet flavor you two created.

"think you can get some sleep now, angel?" Daryl murmured while your lips are still locked upon each other, you nodded with a slight chuckle, "alright, lemme tuck you in, lil' one," you slip from over his lap and he shuffles back to his place, taking you in his arms and resting your head onto his chest, playfully messing with your hair, you round his waist with your leg and snuggle into his chest, he keeps peppering your temple with little pecks until you both fell asleep.

Daryl wakes up early and he gently pulls himself from under you—in fear of disturbing your deep sleep, he gets up and makes his way to the little dining table where he had placed his bag, he scavenges through it for food but he finds nothing.

Daryl tries his luck with your backpack and searches through it, and that's where he finds the walkie-talkies you hid all day long... And you had witnessed his finding yourself.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

#yarrystyleeza #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fic #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x you #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus

[topazy]

Tomorrow's promise

Paring: Shane Walsh × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood and guts

Chapter: 2.04

A sharp cry cuts through the room as you enter the kitchen. “I know, I know. It's been a long night.”

You kiss the top of Jace’s head, rocking him gently in your arms. You walk out onto the front porch, where it’s empty, and feed Jace while looking out into the field, which was bare aside from a few horses. A few years ago, this would have been Shane’s dream house to raise a family in.

“Morning,” Maggie says, standing beside you. “How did you sleep?”

“I didn’t… Did you?”

She shakes her head and gives you a sad smile. You notice she has a glass of juice in each hand and offers one to you. “You gotta stay hydrated and keep your strength up.”

“Thank you.” You take the drink from her. “And not just for this, but for letting us into your home. I don’t think we could ever thank your dad enough for saving Carl.”

“You don’t need to thank us; kindness is what keeps us human.”

A pit began to form in the pit of your stomach. The Greene family were good people, and Shane... you didn’t have any proof, but your gut told you that he was lying about Otis' death. He told you a different version of the story he told Rick the night before; he told you Otis fell behind and he was too slow to notice, but if he had, he could have saved him. You didn’t believe him.

You both stayed outside in a comfortable silence, and just as you finished feeding Jace, Glenn and Shane joined you on the porch.

Glenn blushes as he notices the brunette standing beside you. “Morning Maggie,” he waved at her nervously before gushing over your son, tickling his cheek with your finger. “Hey, little man.”

Hearing the sounds of traffic nearby, you all turn to watch as the rest of your people arrive at the farm.

—

You feel physically sick as you look at Shane wearing Otis clothes as they hang off his body.

Otis’s friends and family laid stones for him at a small memorial not far from the farm house while Hershel read from the Bible. “Blessed be God, farther or out lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to him for the gift of our brother Otis, for his span of years, for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child, is now more than ever our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived, in grace.”

Your heart speeds up when Hershel turns to Shane, who says, “Shane, will you speak for Otis?”

He struggles to find a reason not to. “I’m not good at it. I’m sorry.”

Otis' wife Patricia lets out a sob, “You were the last one with him. You shared his final moments, please. I need to hear this. I need to know his death had meaning.”

Reluctantly, he agrees, handing Jace over to you with tears building in his eyes. Probably from guilt. He clears his throat and looks down at the ground, saying, “We were about done. Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limping; it was bad. ankle all swollen up. ‘We’ve got to save the boy.’ See, that’s what he said. He gave me his backpack, and he shoved me ahead. ‘Run,’ he said. He said, ‘I’ll take the rear, and I'll cover you.’ And when I looked back…” Shane pauses, searching for everyone’s reactions to his story. He limps forward and places a stone on the memorial. “If not for Otis, I’d have never made it out alive, and that goes for Carl too. It was Otis; he saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his.”

You and Shane exchange an intense look while the others make their way back to the farm house. You wanted to yell at him, demanding for him to tell you the truth, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t admit to whatever he did so easily. You only look away from him when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Andrea gives you a serious look and says, “What I said that day... when we were looking for Sophia…”

You cut her off, patting her hand, and you say, “Water under the bridge.”

“Thank you.”

Inside, you were still pissed off that she referred to your son as a ticking time bomb, but now wasn’t the time for any arguments or grudges you might have had in the world before. Almost losing Carl made you realize you needed to let go of the hurt and pain you’d been holding onto, and this was a good way to start.

—

A group of you crowd around a map of the local area to plan the search parties for Sophia, which so far have been derailed. Hershel says neither you nor Rick were safe to search after giving so much blood to Carl, and with Shane’s ankle swollen, he wouldn’t get far on foot, leaving Daryl to search alone for the remainder of the day.

“If we are going to do this right, it means we can’t have our people out there with just knives,” Shane points out. “They need the gun training we’ve been promising them.”

“I’d prefer you not carry a gun on my property,” Hershel says. “We’ve managed so far without turning this into an armed camp.”

“With all due respect, you get rid of those things wandering in here.”

Rick interrupts him before he can finish his sentence. “Look, we’re guests here. This is your property, and we will respect that.”

You watch Shane screw his face up as Rick sits his gun down on top of the map. You place yours down beside it and chime in before Shane causes an argument. “Rick’s right. The training can be done off the farm, but while we’re here, we hand our guns over. It's only fair.”

You nod in agreement before continuing, “First things first, set camp, find Sophia.”

Shame bites on his bottom lip, looking deep in thought, before suddenly snapping out of it. “I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody’s got to. What happens if we find her and she’s bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that.”

Rick gulps down, “You do what has to be done.”

“And her mother? What do you tell her?” Maggie asks, looking horrified by the suggestion.

“The truth.”

When Jace begins to whine, you step back, not wanting to distract them.

—

You sit on the grass outside beside your brother, as he gently rocks Jace to sleep while telling you about Carl’s slow recovery. Every time you’d gone to see your nephew, he’d been asleep, so you hadn’t been able to talk to him since he’s pulled through.

You spot Daryl walking by with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and jump to your feet; it's getting dark, and you don’t like the idea of him being out alone at night. “Daryl?” He turns back to face you and asks, “Will you be okay out there on your own?”

He looks amused by your question until Rick stands beside you and his face hardens. He starts to walk away, saying, “I’m better on my own. I’ll be back before dark.”

Rick hands you Jace and calls after him, “Hey. We've got a base. We can get this search properly organized now.”

“You got a point, or are we just chatting?”

“My point is that it lets you off the hook. You don’t owe us anything.”

Daryl quickly turns his back, walking away while answering. “My other plans fell through.”

You swat at Rick’s chest with your hand and say, “You're such a jackass at times.”

—

You stand a good distance back from the others, shaking your head as Glenn is lowered into a well that has a walker trapped at the bottom of it. This was a terrible idea. What if the rope snapped?

You stare at the farm house for a few seconds, deciding if you should go check on Jace. You’d only put him down for a nap roughly ten minutes prior, but felt guilty for leaving him, despite knowing he was in the same room Carl was, with Patricia and Beth watching over them both. Hearing Glenn scream for help, you look over at the well to see the rope falling. You run over as T-Dog, Shane, Lori, Maggie, Andrea, and Dale all struggle to pull Glenn up. You get as close as you can to the well and start pulling at the rope.

“Get me out of here!”

As soon as you see his head, you and Shane both reach for him, grab an arm each, and pull him up onto the ground. When he’s caught his breath, Glenn hands Dale the other rope, which he had managed to secure around the trapped walker.

“Oh my god, I can smell it from here.” You scrunch up your nose as the walker gets closer and closer to the surface of the well; the smell could only be described as rotten seafood and death mixed together.

Just as the bloated walker reaches the top of the well, its body splits in half. Its bottom half drops back into the water, leaving its still-moving head on top, while the walkers' blood and guts spilled out onto the ground.

Maggie claps at her mouth, looking visibly distressed, and walks off. You want to go after her but decide against it when you see Glenn going to check on her.

Shaking your head you stare Shane down, “that was reckless. Glenn could have died.”

“Nobody had any complaints before hands,” he scoffs.

“I did! I told you it was a bad idea and as normal you ignored me,” you snap. Noticing everyone else was staring you smooth your scrunched up top out, “excuse me, I’m going to check on our son.”

—

Your one-sided conversation with Jace is interrupted when Shane comes into the room: “You talk so much to that boy, I’m surprised his ears aren’t bleeding. His first words will be telling you to shut up at this rate.”

You stare at him blankly.

“It’s a joke,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Originally, you were going to sleep inside the RV, but Maggie insisted that you take her room and she bunk with her sister. She said it would help her sleep knowing Jace was safe in the house and not outside. “What have you got there?”

You hold up the small baby gown in your hand and say, “Patrica found baby clothes in the attic; she gave them to me for Jace.”

“They must be pretty old, huh?”

“Once I stitch up these holes, these clothes will be good as new.”

He watches you continue sowing, only looking down at Jace when he begins to babble, “He looks just like me.”

“That’s because he’s your son,” you say dryly. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing you weren’t helping by being passive-aggressive. “How did Andrea’s training go? Is she a natural?”

He lets out a deep sigh and falls back onto the bed. “She’s still got a lot to learn. I keep telling her there’s a difference between shooting a target and the real thing, but I still don’t think she’s got it.”

When Jace’s babbling turns to a gurgling noise, you put the clothes down and pick him up, saying, “I’m going to take him outside for some fresh air before putting him down for the night.”

“Want me to join you?”

“No, it’s fine.” Trying to break the tension, you place a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ll be back soon.”

—

“You don’t think I talk too much, do you? And you're not going to start talking and tell me to shut up,” you say in a silly baby voice, unaware anyone else is listening until you hear the creak of footsteps behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, you’re surprised to see Daryl frowning. “Why would the kid tell you to shut up when he’s older?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Shane said.” You look down, watching as Jace’s heavy eyes start to close and smile. The words you’d said seconds before are forgotten until you raise your head again and meet Daryl’s glare.

“That’s a bullshit thing to say. You have one of those voices, you know.”

Not knowing what he means, you let out a soft laugh and say, “Uh, no, not really.”

“You have a radio voice,” he shrugs. “Like when folks go on road trips and choose to listen to someone talk rather than playing music. The type of voice that sticks in your head.”

“That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever had, but thank you.” You smile at each other until he looks away. “I saw the flower you gave Carol; that was a lovely thing to do.”

He grunts in response, “It was nothin'.”

“You might fool them with your bad boy exterior, but you don’t fool me. I know you care,” you say teasingly.

He fights the urge to smirk and rolls his eyes: “Yeah, yeah. I'm all love and rainbows.”

“Goodnight Daryl.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He looks over his shoulder as you enter the house and says, “Goodnight.”

#the walking dead #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #Shane Walsh #the walking dead fandom #fear the walking dead fanfiction #TWD #twd fanfiction #shane walsh/reader #shane walsh/you #the walking dead x reader #rick grimes sister #rick grimes x sister reader #rick grimes

[cowgurrrl]

So This Is Love

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: this came to me in a fever dream

Summary: A Beach Day [1.5k]

Warnings: time jump kinda (Sam is 17 and the girls are 13), me giving Dina and Jesse last names (Caradonna and Pierce) because Neil Druckman couldn’t, Lucy is Tommy and Maria’s daughter 🥸, family life, fluff

If there's one thing you've realized about your family, it's that they love nothing more than a beach day. Sam will almost immediately ask when you're going to the beach when temperatures get past the eighties. His follow-up question is always, "And can Penelope's family come with us?" Because it can never just be a Miller beach day, it has to be a Miller-Hernandez-Garcia-Long-Caradonna-Pierce beach day. As the kids have gotten older and your lives more hectic, it's nice to have a chance to get away every once in a while. Sarah, Ethan, and Isaac will drive in from Sacramento, and Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and JJ will meet you guys there since they don't live far from you, Joel, and the kids. Joel and Ryan inevitably become pack mules because they refuse to let you or Carolina carry anything, and you've both learned not to argue with them. 

That's what today has consisted of. You, Sarah, Carolina, and Maria sit in the sand as you watch your husbands unload beach chairs, towels, coolers, sand castle molds, and more. It took Sam all of ten seconds to break into Fun Uncle Mode and start a game of football with Isaac and JJ, Penelope, and Lucy joining the boys. Elizabeth, Victoria, Sophia, and Violet sit in a circle with supplies to make bracelets and whatever books they're reading at their feet, gossiping just out of earshot of their uncool parents. Ellie, Dina, and Jesse have given up on arguing with Joel about helping to unpack and have settled on wading through the water, splashing each other when they're not looking. They make a sweet little family. Unconventional, sure, but loving and amazing, nevertheless.

Once the Hernandez-Miller-Long boys unload all their stuff, they join the football game Sam started, in which nobody keeps score because they're all laughing too hard. It's fun to watch Joel and Tommy play on separate teams, the sibling rivalry coming out just enough to entertain you and Maria. You would think Joel would slow down or get tired faster than he used to, but something about the summer sunshine makes him twenty-five years old again. He goes from playing football and playfully tackling Isaac to teaching JJ how to surf, holding his hands as they stand on the board together, to bounding over to Ellie in the waves, picking her up, and throwing her in the water. "Mom!" She complains when she breaches the surface with a big smile. She laughs when you throw up your hands to let her know you can't control him. 

All the moms end up running around with sunscreen, water, and snacks to make sure nobody gets neglected, no matter who they actually belong to. You once joked with Carolina that, at this point, you basically have a commune of parents who take care of all the kids. Jesse will send birthday cards and money to the twins on their birthday. When Elizabeth got too drunk at a college party, she called you instead of her parents. Not because she didn't trust them but because she knew you'd pick up the phone even though it was two in the morning. And when Sarah gave birth to Isaac, you, Lucia, Maria, Carolina, Ellie, and Dina descended upon her home to take care of the laundry and dishes, prepare food, and ensure Sarah and Ethan slept. It's like having a huge family without the drama or strained relationships. 

After Joel has all but run himself ragged and the sun is casting purple and golden rays across the sky, he pulls you onto his lap, and you sit with him as you watch your kids. Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and JJ sit nearby, munching on sandwiches and listening to JJ's latest science fair project about space. Sarah and Ethan build sand castles with Isaac, and Ryan, Carolina, and Victoria nap together in a too-small beach chair. The only ones still up and being rowdy are Sam, Penny, and the twins. Sam is trying to teach Penny how to throw a baseball, and the twins are surfing along the coastline. The sound of the waves and the heat from Joel's body makes you sleepy as you rest against his chest, his hand drawing patterns into your thigh. 

"D'you have fun today?" He asks quietly as he kisses your temple. 

"I always have fun at the beach with you."

"Cheesy," he shakes his head, and you slap his chest. "You can't even get mad at me 'cause you know that was cheesy."

"You married me for my cheesiness."

"No, I married you for the money. Obviously." He says, and you laugh. Penelope and Sam's laughter overlaps yours, and you both turn to see them leaning against each other with big smiles. Sam's eyes twinkle familiarly in the sunset as he looks at Penny again, holding up his baseball.

"Be serious about this! When I go pro, you're gonna be the one to throw out the first pitch!" He urges, and she rolls her eyes.

"If you go pro, you'll have much bigger things to worry about than me throwing out the first pitch." She teases, and he raises his eyebrows, hiding the baseball behind his back and stepping into her. You'd have to be fucking blind not to see the way they flirt with each other. 

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" 

"Like controlling your roid rage."

"I'll have you know I've never done steroids in my life!"

"You're still young, Miller. I give it three years."

"You think that little of me?" He asks and collapses to the sand dramatically when she nods. You laugh, and Joel adjusts so your ear is by his mouth.

"They remind me of us." He whispers, and you furrow your brows as you face him. He smiles sleepily and reaches out to push your hair out of your face.

"How so?" 

"Other than the fact she just called him 'Miller,'" he says, and you smile. "'M not sure. He just... seems lighter around her. And they're always together. They have their own little language and dynamic. Not to mention, anyone with eyes in a twenty-mile radius can see how hopelessly in love he is with that girl."

"I thought you married me for my money."

"I mean, that was a plus, but I married you 'cause I couldn't imagine spendin' another moment without you as my partner and 'cause I wanted to be with you every day," he says as he kisses your jaw. "'Cause I was and still am hopelessly in love with you." You take a deep breath as you wrap your arm around his shoulders and lean back to look at him in all his sunburnt nose, heavy, happy-eyed glory. 

He's aged in the years since you've been together. His hair is a little more gray than brown, and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes have deepened through late-night feeds, early-morning school drop-offs, tours, movies, albums, everything. You've aged too. You're not the same twenty-something you were when you met Joel, but you love this version of yourself. You love this version of your marriage and family and can't wait to see what joy the next version will bring you. You lean down and kiss him. He tastes like sea salt and beer and him. His beard scratches your face, but his hands on your skin are soft and heavy. You remember an old song from the original Cinderella film. She hums it after meeting her Prince Charming and goes home utterly in love with him. You swear, if this moment were a shot from a movie, that song would play over this moment.

"Cheesy." You mumble against his lips.

"Oh, that was cheesy?" He asks, and you hum. In one movement, he secures you in his arms and stands. You squeal and hold onto him for dear life as he starts walking through the sand. "I'll show you cheesy." 

"Joel!" You yell as he walks into the cold water and dunks the both of you under within two seconds. You don't see or hear it happen through the salt water in your eyes and your laughter, but your family rushes into the water after you—all of them. Ryan picks up Carolina, Ethan picks up Sarah, Jesse, and Dina work together to grab Ellie, and Sam picks up Penny, and they all run into the water. The kids follow suit, and before you realize it, all your favorite people are in the water with you, laughing and smiling as they cling to each other amidst the waves. Sophia jumps on Joel's back, and he goes underwater with all three of you as the sun sets overhead and the moon slowly appears over the cliffs. You're shaking from the cold and clinging to Joel, but you can't stop smiling. There's no place you'd rather be than here, freezing in the water with your family as the sun sets on another perfect Miller-Hernandez-Garcia-Long-Caradonna-Pierce beach day.

#one for the money two for the show #oftm family #rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader #rockstar!joel #tlou au #the last of us au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.55 We and ours

At some point, we finally left the table. I put away the food, cleaned up, and took out the trash. When I came back inside, I found Sophia in the office rather engrossed in a serious task. I asked what she worked on, and she said she'd been thinking about what I said on our first date about trying university. Namely the part where I suggested it possibly wouldn't be so bad since she'd be learning about things in which she had an interest. After doing some research and reading blogs about experiences with non-traditional students, she found a prep course to help her get ready for the entrance exam if she decided to enroll. Maybe going through the course and studying for the exam could get her in the spirit of going back to school. Even if it didn't, at least she would have the clarity she needed to move on and make some career decisions.

"I think that's great," I said. "How can I help?"

She briefly glanced at me with a smile.

"I wish we had a couch in here so you could keep me company."

I loved how quickly everything that was hers turned into ours. I still called Dad's house home and hadn't gotten the hang the whole "we" and "ours" yet, but the fact that she did made me more comfortable and welcome.

"I can get a couch," I said.

She whipped her head toward me with a hopeful smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah. My mom gave me some money when I moved in with Dad. I can get things. Just tell me what you want."

She stared at me for a moment with a serious, pensive glance.

"Well... If you want to get a couch, that's fine. This is your home now. Get whatever you want, but don't go crazy. Remember, you have a studio to save up for."

We were so invested in each other's lives. It was a beautiful thing. I rarely thought about my end game plans, but here she was, factoring it into our everyday financial decisions. We were a good team.

Speaking of my mom giving me money...

I remembered the special birthday present she gave me in Mt. Komorebi. It was a rare treasure from El Selvadorada worth around §10,000. She told me to pass it down to my child, but if I ever had a rainy day, I could sell it and take care of myself. That money would sure come in handy right now. I could build my studio and forget about moonlighting at spas and begging for places to teach my classes. But I had no idea what my financial future would be like. I made decent money, but if I threw kids and a bigger house into the mix, would it be enough? Would I have anything left over to give my child when he moves out? I liked the idea of giving my child a leg up in life, especially being a recipient of such help, so I couldn't sell it. I needed to continue working hard making money the "old-fashioned" way, heh.

"I'm gonna go for a jog and let you study," I said.

"Okay. Be careful out there. It's dusty at night sometimes and hard to see."

"Thanks. I won't be long."

She was right about the dust. Between not knowing where I was going, and the decreased visibility, I made a loop around our street and came right back to find her waiting for me outside.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

She grabbed my hands and gave me a look I'd never seen, but totally understood what it meant. The temperature in my body began to rise.

"Everything is perfect."

She stepped closer.

"I know asking you to live here and jumping into a relationship was crazy. I told myself you'd need time to process everything and to follow your lead in case you weren't ready, but..."

She stepped even closer. So close, she could surely feel the answer to what she was getting at.

"I want you, Luca. So badly. I'm not trying to pressure you, but I just wanted you to know...whenever you're ready, I'm ready."

"I appreciate that. And...I've been ready."

She grinned and led me back into the house.

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar

[laikacore]

Town Ghosts by Laika Wallace: now available to read FOR FREE!

cover by @scummetski​

Two towns, two halves of one story, two ghosts, two halves of one life…

When Marnie moved with her parents from her home in busy downtown Ottawa to tiny Pryeville, a town barely on the map, she didn’t have high hopes for any part of it. She’d left behind all her friends in elementary school, just to start middle school in a school so small both grades were taught in the same room. But meeting Sophia changed everything, sending her life spiraling along to the beat of the ethereal hooves that seemed to follow her…

For Edgar, too, life seemed like it couldn’t get worse. Stuck with his cruel, uncaring father, all he wanted to do was build himself a computer and maybe figure out what his new friend Donald really made him feel. But with this new girl living in the town over from him, where he lived in Sowridge, spells trouble of a different kind, a kind he comes face to face with himself one night…

It is suddenly up to four middle schoolers to solve the mystery of the two towns and their ghosts, whatever it takes, no matter how much their lives will change in the process…

Read it on Laika Wallace’s neocities site ( laikacore.neocities.org ) for FREE, as a downloadable PDF that can also be viewed in browser. Clickable link on pinned post & in first reblog.

Tips optional but appreciated; see pinned post <3

Trigger warnings for this story include: homophobia, child abuse, eating disorder triggering content, illness, and off screen animal death.

#lgbt fiction #ghost stories #support small authors #support indigenous authors #support native authors #support lgbt authors #lesbian original characters #gay original characters #lesbian #gay #lgbt ya fantasy #young adult fantasy #free books #neocities #black shuck #church grim #barghest #helhest #town ghosts #silent woods #sophia #edgar #donald #marnie #website updates

[lola-andheruniverse]

For your Caryl FanFiction. Best WIP - A Better Man by 27dayz on FanFiction. Daryl loses Carol to a Walker Bite at the Prison and is transported back to the Quarry. He gets to fall in love with Carol and save Sophia and more. It is so good. Out in The Cold by Haitus80 on FanFiction. Daryl helps a stranded motorist whose husband left her on the side of the road in the cold . They become friends and then more. Check Engine Lights by Mizdiz on Ao3 and on 9 Lives with the same name. High School friends and sweethearts and life goes on ( sequels too). Love these works and others might too.

Hi, @southerncountrygirl! Thanks again for taking your time to recommend great AU fanfics through my little project. A Better Man by 27days has already been recommended here. If you missed my review, go check it out, it's an amazing fic! Out in the Cold, written by Haitus 80, is posted on FF.net. Summary: On one of the coldest nights on record Daryl Dixon stops for a stranded motorist. She's leery, of course, but finally agrees to let him give her a lift home. That one kind gesture on his part, and one act of rebellion on hers, starts the domino affect that changes them both. (Caryl AU no ZA) Unapologetic fluff ensues. You have been warned. Rated for sexual situations.

Rating: M / Mature Word count: 111.129 (43 chapters) Published: March 7, 2016 - COMPLETE

This is a very sweet and precious story where Daryl helps Carol to get a new life, away from Ed's abuse, by providing her shelter, friendship and emotional support. Things progress quite quickly but it doesn't feel rushed because it's clear from the beginning that they are the best thing that has ever happened in each other's lives. As pointed out in the summary, very fluff indeed. Shout out to Glenn and Tara being that type of best friends who love to gossip (I smiled every time I read a scene with them) and Merle being...well, Merle.

Check Engine Lights, written by carol_is_daryls_favorite_meal / mizdiz aka @waynedunlaptheorgandonor is posted both on 9Lives and AO3. Summary: Daryl and Carol have graduated high school, are living together, and are deeply in love. Everything is perfect and there is no conflict or drama and they are living the ideal fairy tale life. Lmao, just kidding. Life's a roller coaster and they're flying on the tracks with no safety bar. Turns out you can't control the future; all you can do is live it. Rating: M / Mature Word count: 272.529 (33 chapters) Published: February 24, 2019 - COMPLETE Very important warning: this fic is the third part of a five-part series called Scrap Metal. So if you're new to this work, please read 'Jumper Cables' and then 'Team Groupchat: An Interlude' first.

I don't know what I love the most about Diz's works: her dry humour, her talent on managing to maintain our characters' exact traits in completely different scenarios or the way she surprises us with that kind of fluffy that gives a reader cavities. Check Engine Lights is no exception. Be ready to laugh your head off but also cry with the sweetness of not only Carol and Daryl growing up and building a life together but also with TF being the best friends someone can possibly want.

Great fics for loving carylers' hearts. I hope you guys enjoy today's recs by southerncountrygirl. Please don't forget to give feedback to these authors who have given so much of their time and love to our little fandom. Caryl on, babes, caryl on!

#caryl #caryl fic recs #au thursday #caryl fanfiction #caryl fandom

[wrenwrights]

My Konig Headcanons (Konig's Past)

First off, I'd like to thank everyone who read and enjoyed Afterlife. That was my first work on Ao3, and I really appreciate all of the Kudos and Comments. I checked my Ao3 and nearly jumped out of my computer chair, I was proud and excited that people liked my little one-shot. Again, thank you guys so much!

Since I started working on my little project, I've had to develop Konig's character since the fandom has given so little information on him. But, dear reader, that's honestly never stopped me before. So here is the headcanons/backstory I've got for Konig so far. It goes from childhood up to the point of meeting the main character. Now! Onto the headcanons! I'd like to mention first that these headcanons are specifically for the fic that I'm working on, and many are in no way to cannon to the actual lore of Call of Duty.

***

Konig's life before the military was a normal, caring one; his mother and father loved each other dearly. His sister (Sophia) was Konig's protector, walking him to and from school. His father was his idol, taking him hiking or wood working every Sunday. His mother was Konig's greatest love; she made Konig feel better when his classmates teased him.

And oh, how the other children teased him. At six, Konig was already about as tall as his eleven-year-old sister and weighed almost twice as much. He was just a big, sweet goofball of a child who knew why other kids laughed at him but didn't really understand why. His father used to frown at the sight of Konig's tears, patting his shoulder and saying, "Everything will be okay, buddy." Konig didn't have a lot of friends; actually, Sophia was his only friend, so his father's little pet name for him was like a soothing bandage over his lonely heart.

Then, Konig's father left when he was ten. No notice, no call, no apology; he just didn't come home from work one day. It tore the only life Konig had ever known out from under his feet. His sister shut down, distancing herself from Konig. His mother cried all the time. Konig couldn't believe that his father was just... gone. Not dead, gone. It was a fact he couldn't accept, and he'd ask his mother over and over if his father had called or was even home.

His father never came back, and Konig had to learn that tears solved nothing in life.

The military was where Konig really felt he flourished. He joined at 17, not really knowing what else to do with his life. He found some kind of peace and simplicity even during drills and operations, and he was good at it. Good at carrying out his orders, a good fighter, a good soldier. The military did something to him; it taught him how to deal with his anxiety, how to build up walls to keep everything inside, hidden almost.

He quickly went from a quiet soldier to a cocky and, dare say, arrogant man quickly rising in his ranks. His new mask certainly helped, not only with his own confidence but with his intimidating presence.

He'd tried hard to become a recon sniper, knowing that his sharp eyes and intellect were perfect for the position, but Konig's superiors looked at his size and saw another use for him. They used him as an insertion specialist, essentially a human battering ram that could slam his way through doors and tear through the battlefield. Often, Konig's handiness skills were used in human trafficking situations, breaking prisoners from their cells. It wasn't a job Konig detested, but with every mission, something weighed heavy on him. In many cases, the people he freed were scared of him, refusing to go anywhere near the giant man who had just ripped a door off of its hinges. Not that Konig blamed them. He had done things on the battlefield, seen things, had made decisions that had been detrimental to his team.

At some point, Konig joined KorTac, as a contractor. Taking missions for the highest bidder and leading his team (occasionally Konig took missions from Task Force 141 when they paid high enough). This is where Konig can say he met his first friend, Kim "Horangi" Hong-Jin. They were an unstoppable team. Konig became known for his ability in warfare strategy and his skills on the battlefield. The other operators respected Konig for his skills, his rank.

And this is where Konig meets the main character. I want Konig's romantic headcanons to be a different post, so for now, I'll leave it as is. Thank you, dear reader, for enjoying my Konig headcannons! I'm still working on my little project; every day, I get a little more done with it, and I'm so excited for it to finally be finished I'm shaking.

Until Next Time,

Wren.

#headcanon #creative writing #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #call of duty #reblog #writeblr #wrenwrights

[minervadashwood]

Scars and Stitches, Ch. 10: Home

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Summary: Daryl finds a surprise in the woods, then another at camp. Warnings: nothing notable. Note: This chapter has a major canon divergence. This is also one of my favorite chapters so, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

=======

"Beloved. Heart of mine. I know you are weary. Forgive me. I cannot let you go." ― Christine Feehan, Dark Lycan

Daryl missed you.  Day after day he was out looking for Sophia, motivated by Carol’s tears and the fact that the little girl was going through what he had many years ago.  That should have held all his focus.

But it didn’t.  He’d gotten used to being with you most of the day, having little chats, sharing meals, riding Merle’s bike, or whiling away the evening in comfortable silence.  But now he barely saw you.  It wasn’t the same way he’d missed Merle (both times), instead it was like part of him was absent, back on that farm while he searched in the woods.  Daryl had cared for others romantically before —usually anyone (man or woman) with a little kindness and a cute smile—but he’d never acted on those feelings.  It seemed pretty pointless. He was a no-good drifter, not worth anyone’s time or attention. It also hadn’t helped that Merle would bully Daryl any time he might show the slightest sign of softness or tenderness. Daryl perfected the art of burying any romantic feelings down deep, never to be acknowledged or acted upon.

When it came to sex, Daryl was also hesitant.  Aside from that time Merle hired a sex worker to “make him a man,” Daryl had never been physically intimate with anyone.  Whether it was his natural shyness or the impersonal nature of his first time, Daryl just wasn’t interested in fucking someone he didn’t genuinely care about.  And he didn’t let himself care about anyone because that made life ultimately more painful. It was easier to shut off whatever he was feeling and find other ways to occupy his time.

However, turning off his feelings was harder and harder these days. Merle was gone, and every time Daryl showed someone kindness, especially you, he was met with warmth instead of shame.  Then, at the end of a hard day you would hug him and trust him and understand him even when he couldn’t speak.  When that happened, he lowered his defenses to let the thought of you—and the thought of having you—inside.

As time went on, the more he wanted from you, and not just easy conversations and soothing silences.  Not a day, sometimes not even an hour, went by when he didn’t think about kissing you.  And those thoughts always turned into something more. He imagined you naked as he trailed his fingers over every dip and curve, memorizing parts of you that you would only let him see, only let him touch. He imagined relearning your body with his lips, teeth, and tongue; imagined you moaning and writhing beneath him as he made you his, in every way imaginable. 

Still, when he realized these thoughts had spiraled out of control, he would force the fantasies deep down, until they sat like a lead weight in his belly. He was not good enough for anyone, and especially not you.  It was a practiced refrain, and he’d spent his life perfecting it.

*

While searching for Sophia, Daryl always worked on his own, the way he preferred it.  Every day he left at dawn and came back at night.  He only talked to Rick enough to review the search grid, get his coordinates for the next day, and grab a bite to eat, before collapsing in his bed.

On the fourth day, even he was feeling a bit hopeless, but then he stumbled upon what appeared to be a deserted hunting camp. It was the sort of place where men would gather on weekends to hunt in the morning and then get high or drink themselves to a stupor at night.  The kind of place where him and Merle whiled away many hours when Merle was selling drugs during hunting season.

After checking the perimeter of the small building, Daryl looked in each of the windows.  The place was empty as far as he could tell, so he went in.  Crossbow loaded and out, he made his way quietly through each room.  He found empty beer cans littering every surface, two dead bodies, and one hunting rifle.  Then he started checking closets and cabinets. 

In the kitchen he opened the door to a broom closet and saw a dirty, frightened little girl with Carol’s eyes staring up at him.  Daryl could scarcely believe it.  He reached to take Sophia’s hand, but the girl flinched away from him. 

He put away his crossbow and squat down.  “’member me?  I’m Daryl.  I’ll take you back to your mom.”

Sophia clutched her doll and glanced around.  “Where is everyone else?  Where’s my mom? Where’s Rick?”

Daryl for a fleeting moment wondered if he looked too scary for Sophia to trust him.   He took a knee.  “We found this farm with real nice people.  Your mom’s there, so is Rick, Miss Morgan, Carl, everybody.”

Sophia relaxed a little, and said, “Do you promise to keep me safe?”

“I promise, but you’ll have to stick close an’ do what I say, alright?”  He held out his hand again.

Sophia nodded and placed her hand in his.  They walked a few steps before Sophia swayed on her feet.  Daryl sat her down on the kitchen counter and took a water and protein bar from his pack.  He’d learned from your trip to rescue Merle and had packed provisions that wouldn’t gross out a little girl.

Once Sophia drank half the bottle and finished the protein bar, they set out again.

==

You were helping Carol with the laundry when Andrea appeared, breathless and smiling.

“Daryl found her!” she announced.

Instantly, both you and Carol dropped everything and followed Andrea.  Sophia and Daryl were still two small spots in the distance, but that didn’t stop Carol from going into a full-blown sprint to them.  You stayed near the RV, with Andrea and Dale, and watched the happy reunion from there.  Carol cried and so did Sophia, and in between hugging her daughter, Carol was hugging Daryl.  He stood there like a mannequin, dirt covered and obviously unsure of himself.  Eventually, Carol took Sophia’s hand, then Daryl’s, and led all three of them to the RV.  To your amazement, Sophia let go of Carol’s hand and ran to hug you.  You’d barely interacted with the girl except to read her bedtime stories.

“I’m so proud of you, Sophia,” you told her. “Keeping yourself safe and trusting Daryl to bring you home.”

Sophia let go of you and smiled at you with tired eyes.  For a moment you thought of Duane and the last time you hugged him, of leaving him and Morgan, the only thing close to family you’d had in this world.

Carol said, “C’mon, Sophia, Mommy’s going to get you cleaned up, put you in some new clothes, and fix you a good meal.”  Sophia waved to you and headed to the camp with her mom.

Dale came down from the lookout spot, and Andrea took his place.  He patted Daryl on the back and said, “Well done, son.  You’ve earned a rest.  You can’t know what this means to everyone.  We’re lucky to have you.”

Daryl stared at the ground.  “Kid did good out there. Knew she’d be alright.”

Dale looked at you, “Make sure he gets a good rest. He’s earned it.”

“And then some,” you agreed.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the ground and said, “Goin’ back out to fetch the others.  No point in ‘em bein’ out there longer than they hafta be.”

“But Daryl,” you said, reaching a hand to his elbow. 

He didn’t flinch, but you saw him tense up at the gesture.  You removed your hand immediately.

“’m alright.  Best get everyone in one place again.”

You nodded, knowing he wouldn’t rest if there was something he’d set his mind on doing.

==

That night, when Daryl made his way over to his tent, you were already zipped up in your own space. He could see your silhouette as you read a book with light from a lantern.

He was hoping for one of your amazing hugs but decided not to trouble you. So, he went to his own tent.  He froze on the spot when he saw Merle’s air mattress in there, all made up with a sleeping bag laid open and a couple of blankets spread on top of it, like a maid had provided him turn down service.  This wasn’t right.  You needed the mattress more than he did.

Daryl left his tent and stood just outside yours.

“Ya decent?” he asked.

*

“Huh? Oh. Yep,” you answered Daryl, startled from your reading. You were already dressed in a loose tank top and soft cotton shorts, your go-to pajamas lately. You were grateful the tank was a dark color because you’d also shed your bra right after dinner. Underwires weren’t made to be worn at night.

“I’m comin’ in,” he said.

You dog-eared the page you’d been reading and watched as Daryl opened the door to your tent.

He looked down at you for a moment, then said, “C’mere.”

You furrowed your brow.  “Something wrong?” He nodded at the tent door, no further explanation given. You got to your feet, confused, but also knowing Daryl never did anything without purpose.

He followed you out of your tent, zipping it up behind him. You turned to see him carrying your book and the battery-powered lantern in one hand.  With his other hand, he grabbed your wrist and led you into his tent.

“What the hell, Daryl?” you said, once you were inside.

“Yer sleepin’ there.” Not waiting for your reaction, he put the book on the mattress and set the lantern on an upside-down crate that was next to the bed.

“I don’t need that mattress anymore,” you explained.  “I’m finished with the transfusions. Besides, you’ve been running yourself ragged looking for Sophia then coming home to look after me.  You deserve a good sleep more than anyone else.”

“I ain’t lettin’ you sleep on the ground when you don’t have to.”

You were torn between guilt and pleasure at the way he took care of you, but you would not let him do it at his own expense. “Daryl, I have no problem following your lead when we’re out there, but when we’re home, you don’t need to fuss over me.  You are sleeping on that mattress, and that’s final.”

Daryl turned and zipped his tent closed. Blocking the doorway, he kicked off his boots, took off his belt, and removed his knife holster from it. Then he stripped off his flannel shirt and dingy tank top, tossing them off to the side. You allowed yourself the swiftest of glances at his bare chest, but then forced yourself to stare at the tent wall. Daryl, moving away from the tent door, placed his knife and holster beside the lantern.

 The coast was clear. You said, “I’ll just go back to my—"

Before you could finish that thought, Daryl stalked toward you like a feral beast and scooped you up bridal style. With a yelp, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Without a word, he carried you to the bed and carefully laid you on the center of the mattress. Then, not giving you any chance to move away, he flopped down beside you, flung his arm around your middle, effectively holding you in place. With you on your back and Daryl on his side, his hard body met your soft one, so that your bare arm pressed into the planes of his chest and stomach. You flushed from head to toe. Whatever aesthetic attraction you’d had for him was quickly progressing into something else, something you’d rarely ever felt. You no longer simply wanted to be close to him, but you wanted to touch him, be touched by him.

Daryl chuckled in your ear.  “That shut you up.”

No biting retort came to mind as he held you, and you wished you could find some practical reason to leave this bed immediately. You drew a blank.

After a moment you said, “I know I’m heavy. You could have hurt your back. You don’t take enough care of yourself…” you rambled on, lecturing him like a mother hen, trying to hide the racing of your heart and the newly realized desire worming its way through you.

Daryl loosened his arm from around your middle and put his hand on the side of your face. “You ain’t nothin’ I cain’t handle.”

Your belly was suddenly full of butterflies and your heart was in your throat.  Lord help you, he was sexy and sweet and charming. His words, his voice, his touch, it all trapped you in a silent fullness until your heart, mind, and body only wanted more of Daryl Dixon

Yes, he had indeed shut you up.

*

Daryl, with all he had, restrained himself from slamming his mouth on yours, putting himself between your legs, and claiming you there and then.  He hadn’t expected anything like this happening; he’d just wanted you safe and comfortable. But now, heaven and earth could not move him, neither closer nor farther. He was getting hard, just by having you near and the look in your eyes as you watched him silently. He angled his hips away but kept his upper body close to yours.

Sure, you were heavier than the average person, but it was no extra burden to him, not when you were lush and soft and letting him hold you. He should be grateful enough that you’d let him this close, let him sleep next to you in his truck, in the RV.  He would sleep beside you any time you allowed it.

“You are so fucking soft,” he murmured, more to himself than you, but of course you heard him. Your ear was right next to his mouth.  Come to think of it, your neck and earlobe seemed to be begging for his lips and tongue. No, he told himself.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I’ve always been this way,” you stammered, and it only made him want you more.

He slid his hand from your face to squeeze your plump shoulder.  “It wasn’t a complaint.”

Fuck, what was wrong with him.  Controlling his body was one thing, but apparently controlling his words was a different matter. Here he was, blurting out hidden truths like he’d had five shots of whiskey and no common sense.  Aside from Merle, you were the closest person in the world to him, and he may not even see his brother again.  He needed to be careful not to scare you off or cross any lines that might ruin your friendship.

He removed his hand and found your book on the bed next to him.  He handed it to you and said, “Now hush up.”  He rolled over, both to hide his erection and keep himself from looking at your sexy body and thinking all the things he’d like to do to it.

You scooted away from him, to the other side of the bed, and he, again, had to resist the urge to drag you back to him.

“Ya good over there?” He said over his shoulder.

“Y-yep. Uh…just going to uh…finish this chapter on CIA interrogation methods.”

Daryl huffed, “Yer already good ‘nough at makin’ people talk to you.”

“It’s a book you gave me, so you only have yourself to blame, Daryl Dixon.”

He snorted, clamping down on his urge to draw you into another conversation just to hear your voice. “Jus’ tell me when to turn off the light.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured.

*

You were thoroughly distracted from your reading, only turning pages as a matter of ceremony. The man was practically naked next to you, all hard muscle and coiled strength.  Heaven help you, but you wanted Daryl Dixon unlike you’d wanted any man in your life.  Sex was never something you cared much about, such a distant thought you’d never had any.  Hell, if he didn’t have you rethinking that lifelong pattern. But he was your friend, the best one you had.  Obviously, if Daryl felt some sort of way about you, he wouldn’t be turning away and pretending you weren’t laying right next to him, your body aflame with want just because he said he liked your softness.

You gave really nice hugs. That’s all he meant.

You turned another page, the words but a blur to your churning mind.  This sleeping arrangement was no different than sleeping next to each other in the RV or his truck. You shouldn’t overthink this. Besides, the air was hot—as usual—and it only made sense for Daryl to sleep without a shirt on. You might even have done it if you were him.  So, no big deal.

Yep, no big deal at all.

You rolled over to face Daryl but kept your distance as you handed him your book.  “I’m finished for the night.”

He took the book and turned off the lantern, and the darkness settled around you.

You started counting to one hundred while breathing slowly to calm yourself.

You felt Daryl also roll over, now facing you, and your eyes started adjusting to the darkness. You could just make out the angles of his face and the shape of him lying next to you.

“Been meaning to talk to you about somethin’,” he rumbled, voice low.

“What’s that?” you whispered.

“Back on the highway…that was rough.”

You realized you had never really talked about what happened, about T-Dog or the walker that almost ate you. You said, “Yeah, it was something we’d never seen before.”

There was a moment of quiet until Daryl said, “Don’t mean the group, I was talkin’ about me.  It was rough on me.”

Daryl had done everything in his power to protect both you and T-Dog. “You saved T-Dog’s life. And mine.”

“Nah,” he said.  “I left you alone under that jeep, and when that walker came…” he trailed off in an inaudible rasp. You heard him take a few deep breaths.  Then in a broken voice he whispered, “Thought I was gonna lose ya.”

Your heart swelled and words were trapped in your throat.  Had he been as scared of losing you as you had been of losing him?  Daryl had never been this vulnerable before, and you almost felt yourself splitting open, inviting him in.

“You didn’t,” you told him. With your hand you carded your fingers through his hair, then you traced your way from his temple, to his cheekbone, along his jaw and chin, memorizing by touch the face you knew so very well.  Then, seizing the bit of courage you had, you placed your hand on his bare chest, over his heart.  A moment later, you felt the roughness of his calloused fingers skimming along your hairline, cupping your cheek, and gently rubbing his thumb on your cheekbone. He held you there in the darkness, the only sounds were the distant nightly calls of summer insects and both of you breathing softly.

Your sexual desire was but a whisper compared to the more insistent need to feel close to Daryl the person, not his body. This was frighteningly intimate, and it had you wishing for things you’d rarely wanted.  What you were beginning to feel for Daryl was different than friendship or even kinship.   At first you thought it was mutual loneliness and daily terror that drew you together.  While your friendship may have started that way, it had gradually changed. Now you wanted him. Not just the protection or convenient companionship, but him: his smiles, his thoughtful words, his touch, his scent, his time.

You had no idea how to navigate this, or even if Daryl felt the same, but as he held you so tenderly, you let yourself imagine he did.

Daryl’s hand slowly slipped away, then he placed his hand over the one you’d left on his chest.  He threaded his fingers through yours and rested your hands on the bed between you.

He whispered, “Ya good?”

“I’m good,” you told him.  You watched the silhouette of his eyelashes flutter closed, felt his body relax, and heard his breathing slow.  You watched him for a while, eventually giving in to your fatigue and falling asleep, his hand still holding yours.

======

AN: In case it wasn't clear, Daryl is drunk on sleep deprivation, hence is lapse in self control.

Please feel free to like, reply, reblog; and thank you for reading!

Next Chapter

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #mdop #minerva writes #dd/xm #scars and stitches

[undisclosedstories]

Below the Clouds

[ Currently Unfinished, I just want to share the police interaction ] @vodkabread

Wrath arrived at the DeVale home to see the twins and Red waiting outside of the home. He’d wave at them, knowing he'll probably have to step in as some sort of parental figure. He’s not fit to raise kids alone, especially because of his habit of inviting people to his home. They’d step out of the car and immediately would be tackled by Elizabeth, sobbing profusely into the bottom of her shirt. Good thinking on his behalf to wear a sweater . His amber eyes would trail over to Red. “Did you call 911?” “No fucking shit.” Red’s hair was mangled and his eyes were tired, probably cramming for his midterms. “Of course I called 911 Lex is-” his thoughts were cut short by the sound of an ambulance. The 4 of them looked to their direction as another put formed in his stomach. What if they think he did it? Wrath definitely was threatening at a glance, wearing dark clothing and has a few gritty scars. Following them were the cop cars, and he looked at Red with some concern. Red did seem to pick up on that. “I doubt they’re going to arrest you,” the teenager mentioned.  The paramedics rushed into the building, taking Lex away on a stretcher. “Dad!” Sophia would cry out, trying to fight Red to go see him. Screaming out to the silence, hoping her father would return it. The teenager was successful in holding her back, though tears fell down their eyes as well. There was no time to say goodbye, no time to apologize. A few police would step into the house after the medics, ensuring that they all stay outside. It's a cruel joke that Lex died on the same day as him, maybe their last ditch effort to not have the trauma run too deep. They’d stand in the cold for almost an hour, waiting for a verdict. Wrath would lean over and whisper playfully to Red, “so this is why you hate cops?” Wrath would be glared at by him. “Worse.” 

The police would step out with a slip of paper, and they’d look to Wrath. Surely he was the responsible adult in this questionable family. 

“Do you know anybody by the name of Wrath?” “Yes,” the demon nodded, “that’s me.” The officer nodded and handed Wrath a letter. “Then I think Lex wrote this for you.” They’d walk off with a variety of questionable supplies, probably all the tools and gear Lex was using to pay for him and his vices. Wrath held the paper in his right hand, reading the tear stained suicide note. I'm sorry. I'm sorry i wasted all of your effort and your love.

Maybe in another life i could be worthy of the ability to call what i have mine.

Maybe in another life i could be worth the effort to love.

Maybe in another life i could be a better father. Be a better son.

#i try to write #original writing #writing #writeblr #short story #original work #original story #fiction #original character #fuck the police #be gay do crimes #wip #work in progress

[satoshi-mochida]

The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology announced for PS5, Xbox Series, PS4, Xbox One, and PC

Gematsu Source

Publisher Forthright Entertainment and developer Soma Games have announced The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and PC (Steam). It will launch on December 1.

The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology includes the complete story of The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout as told across three acts.

Here is an overview of the game, via Forthright Entertainment:

About

Step into the epic, story-rich world of Mossflower in the first official Redwall story since 2011. The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology is a linear action–adventure game told in three acts. Play as Liam or Sophia, the newest member of the Lilygrove Scout Corps, as the young mice find themselves on the journey of a lifetime to save their home from ruthless pirates. Will they reach Redwall and save their friends before all is lost?

Story

Act 1 – After months of training, betrothed mice Liam and Sophia are ready to graduate into fully-fledged Scouts: a group of woodland rangers tasked with the protection of the land and trained in the ancient ways of woodcraft. Their initiate ceremonies are cut short when sea rats attack their beloved home. As the senior Scouts rally for battle, it’s up to the Scout Corps’ newest recruit to outwit the enemy, light the beacon, and summon aid from the surrounding woodlands – before there is nothing left to save.

Act 2 – The beacon is lit, troops rally to fend off the invading searats, and Liam reunites with his dear Sophia beneath the Lilygrove Lighthouse, but not all is well. Scumsnout’s vengeful cries can be heard in the distance and it is revealed that our Scout’s betrothed has been poisoned by the wereat’s venomous bite. With no time to spare, the couple race to the Winsome Wraith, where a mysterious and dangerous stoat may have the antidote they seek. As if things weren’t bad enough, the sea rats are moving inland and the shadow of a large predatory bird lurks just at the edge of the woods.

Act 3 – After being mortally poisoned by Scumsnout’s vicious maw, our young Scouts have made it to the Winsome Wraith in one piece, if just barely. While the mysterious stoat’s treatment has bought some precious time, Liam and Sophia must now travel the rest of the way to Redwall Abbey for a more permanent cure. This is the dramatic conclusion of their journey through the murk of Portman’s Slough, the miraculously-functioning puzzles of Grating Gulley, and the ancient ruins of the Otters’ Den.

Key Features

A brand new original story set the winter before the events of the first book.

A stunning woodland world inhabited by charming critters and villainous vermin.

Two characters with divergent dialog for replayability.

Unique real-time scent mechanic fitting for woodlanders who experience the world primarily through their noses.

An assortment of achievements and collectables for the completionist spirit.

Original soundtrack created especially for fans of Redwall.

Fully voice acted by a talented cast of new and established actors.

Engaging puzzles and side stories for those who delight in world building.

Mechanics

The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology debuts a dynamic scent system unlike any game before it. Rather than stagnant, pre-designed paths that imitate scent, particles read the wind and the environment to simulate realistic currents and pools. Scents themselves consist of parts and patterns designed around real scent theory.

When traversing the world of Mossflower, you make use of your mouse agility to explore the world in a unique and wondrous way. Shimmy along ledges, scramble sheer cliffs, and even squeeze through impossibly small spaces. With courage, faith, and friends by your side, Mossflower’s fate rests in your paws!

Rely on stealth, wit, and agility to evade your enemies. Manipulate dull-witted vermin with scent and scent to avoid getting caught in their grubby paws.

Use your trusty way glass to scope the area and identify danger. Rely on your home-made slingshot to solve puzzles, break pots, and activate traps.

Decide if you will prioritize the mission and leave the others to save themselves or take the time to lend a helping paw. Some may praise philanthropy, still others would praise pragmatism.

Watch the announcement trailer below. View a set of screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

#The Lost Legends of Redwall: The Scout Anthology #The Lost Legends of Redwall #Redwall #Soma Games #Forthright Entertainment #Adventure Game #Gematsu #Youtube

[mischicvous]

Hey, isn’t that ROXANNE “ROXY” ALLEYNE. I thought they went away for the summer? Did you hear they might be a WITCH, and have a connection to HEL COVEN? What I do know for certain is that they’re 36, and they’re LOYAL and IRRESPONSIBLE. They’re originally from BRIDGETOWN, BARBADOS, and have been in FENRIRSWOOD for 30 YEARS living in SUNE’S HARBOUR. I wonder if they still work at RUNE INK as a TATTOO ARTIST. Best if they stay safe for now.

Name: Roxanne “Roxy” Alleyne Age: 36 Date of birth: 15th August 1987 Zodiac: Leo Occupation: Tattoo artist at Rune Ink Species: Witch Education level: Combined honours fine arts and graphic design.

Physical Description

Height: 5ft 8’’ Build: athletic, pear shaped. Hair colour: black Eye colour: brown

Personality

Positive traits: loyal, affectionate, easy-going. Negative traits: irresponsible, impatient, sarcastic. Fears: heights and confined spaces. Hobbies: dance, reading, knitting, drawing/painting, she spends a lot of her “free” time working on designs for tattoos.

Background

Hometown: Bridgetown, Barbados. Current Residence: Sune’s Harbour, Fenrir's Wood. Family: Chris and Sophia Woods (deceased) (Adoptive family, biological unknown). No siblings. Pet(s): None

Roxanne was destined for a unique path, already at the time of her birth. She was given up for adoption immediately as she was born to a mother who, under the crushing weight of her own limitations, chose what she believed was best for the child. Roxanne’s early years were a series of temporary homes until she finally settled with Chris and Sophia Woods in Fenrir’s Wood, a couple whose patience and understanding provided the stability she sorely needed.

 In her early years in Barbados, she felt an inexplicable connection to the elements around her, a mystical pull that set her apart from her peers. It was not until she was adopted by the Woods’ and introduced to magic that she truly discovered her identity as a witch. Turns out, Sophia was one herself. This discovery not only explained her lifelong intuitions but also deepened the bond with her adoptive mother, who guided her through the initial stages of harnessing her powers, teaching her everything she needed to know.  

Tragically, six years ago, her adoptive mother passed away, leaving Roxanne with a legacy of witchcraft to continue to master. She threw herself into the study, and frequently finds herself seeking counsel of the Hel Coven – a group of local witches that she considers both friends and a surrogate family.

Her relationship with Chris, though not bonded by magic, grew through shared interests and mutual respect. He supported her magical development as much as he could, often helping her understand the balance between the magical and mundane worlds. This foundation helped Roxanne navigate the complexities of her abilities, with confidence and caution.

Now a dedicated tattoo artist at Rune Ink, Roxanne uses her artistic skills to create intricate, meaningful designs on skin – merging art with the personal stories of her clients. Her work satisfied her creative urges, allowing her to create new designs and share them with the world.

#roxanne alleyne #about roxanne

[sophia-auditore]

Sophia is a lover of beauty - it may be a painting, a garden, or a building. Aesthetics are important to her, and one can tell by looking at her: she keeps herself well-maintained. She likes to express herself through clothing, her blonde, and long hair a valuable accessory.

Her love for anything beautiful and eye for aesthetics shows through her job as a curator in an art gallery. Sophia chooses artists and their pieces with one condition: their art should invoke emotions. Life imitates art and art imitates life. Sophia wants to spread the beauty and emotions art has to offer and leads the gallery with an iron will and high expectations on herself and her employees.

"Sophia" derives from Greek and means "wisdom," which applies to her as she seems wise beyond her age. She evaluates all kinds of situations from a distant perspective, which makes her the perfect choice to ask for advice. Her goal is to consider every possibility and find the most beneficial outcome. However, that doesn't deter her from telling a harsh truth if it is necessary for her counterpart to hear.

You will find her reading in her favorite bakery or taking a walk in the parks of New York. She prefers listening to music on her vinyl player rather than going out to the clubs. Sophia would rather enjoy a glass of red wine at home than champagne in the VIP section. Painting is her way of escape and processing. And she would rather listen for hours than talk endlessly.

#fakevz #userfakevz #personality

[witchhatproductions]

Witch Hat News #3 - Less Is More

by Luke Sophia Watson

This is an archived version of our microfiction newsletter! You can read along on our tumblr, or subscribe here.

Myself and Tata, as you might except, do a lot of worldbuilding and setting creation here at Witch Hat HQ, and I like to think we’ve come to know a thing or two about it. I personally lurk in a lot of worldbuilding communities, so I’m often witness to discussions about worldbuilding advice, what pitfalls to avoid and so on and so forth. Some of it’s useful, some of it’s…less so. With that in mind, dear readers, I’d like to go on a little rant today about what I think makes good worldbuilding and how you too might make a good world in your very own home. 

There’s a lot I’d like to say, but to save this becoming a thesis, I’ll try to keep it brief. In my opinion, the best, catch-all, all-purpose advice I can give any aspiring worldbuilder is to world build less. 

That may seem counter-intuitive, but I mean it! 

There are plenty of people out there who, when they’re making a setting, they detail every little thing down to the amount of food a given town provides to the flags of every municipality everywhere. And that’s fine - great, even! - especially if it’s something you enjoy, but I think what some people forget is that you don’t need to do that. You don’t need to have encyclopaedias about every minute detail of your setting. You can do a lot more with a lot less.

I confess, I’m awful for minute detail (which is a lovely paradoxical Irishism which means I love it). I can’t get enough of micro-worldbuilding: I love making flags, and cities, and weird little social norms. But over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the importance of macro-worldbuilding. Creating the themes, the overarching narratives - the very foundational ideas of a setting.

Tata’s especially good at this latter style of worldbuilding, but I’m getting there myself. It helps to ask yourself what your world is about - what’s its purpose, at a meta level. If the idea is just to have a fun, generic fantasy setting, and leave it at that, that’s fine - but for all the minute detail you give it, it will feel like a generic fantasy setting. If you’ve ever read a book or otherwise encountered a world that felt kind of…flat, I think it’s because it suffers in this department. 

I often encounter people who have reems and reems of details for the worlds in which they want to set their stories, but they don’t actually know much about the world itself, not at the meta level. If you hammer in early what purpose your world serves, and if you isolate a few themes, then no matter what you do or don’t create, it will still have a particular flavour to it. Beyond that, it will even help you pin down what you should and shouldn’t be spending your time creating.

Recently, I’ve been working on my own little setting called Cyberscape. It’s a homage to the JRPGs and the translated anime/cartoons I grew up with. It focuses on one city - the rest of the world exists, in theory, but I’m never really going to talk about it in the story, so I don’t worry myself about what it looks like; those parts of the world just aren’t relevant to the major themes and plotlines I want to explore. Despite the fact that I’m actually doing less creation, I think the setting is still better for that tighter scope.

A world has to be believable, sure, but it doesn’t have to be completely explained. After all, ours isn’t - and even if it was, I doubt any of us would know absolutely everything about it. 

And honestly? It’s quite freeing. It’s nice, sometimes, to remember that you don’t have to detail everything. 

And I think your worlds may just be better for it.

Reviews

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Rescue Rangers by @do9bessa. Pokémon Mystery Dungeon, if you’re familiar with it, is a great example of ‘Less is More’ worldbuilding, and I think its success in this regard is typified in the sheer volume of comics and fan works set in this universe. There’s something about Pokémon being adventurers and heroes that is so charming, even if the world itself is often left unexplained. There’s a lot of PMD fan material out there, but Rescue Rangers is our favourite - and it’s been updated relatively recently! If you’re familiar with the games, this will seem familiar - but not too familiar, as Bessa is very much taking it in its own direction.

Faustian Nonsense’s Audio Dramas by Various. Audio Dramas naturally lend themselves to ‘less is more’ style storytelling, and Faustian Nonsense’s vast catalogue of shows really demonstrates this with creative worlds and interesting approaches to storytelling. Not all of them are fiction shows, but those that are serve as a good lesson in this style of creation. Chain of Being, which we’ve recommended before, is one of the shows in their network!

This Gun That I Have In My Right Hand is Loaded by Timothy West. And on the other side of the coin, for a masterclass in what not to do, this radio play satirises everything that makes bad, dense dialogue and narration so horrible to listen to - all while being genuinely enjoyable for its absurdity. Sources are vague on this, but it seems to date from the 60s and to have been produced for the BBC, but regardless I think it’s quite timeless.

Golden Shadows by…me, Luke Sophia! Golden Shadows does not necessarily fit this theme, but it’s my webcomic and I’ll do what I want with it. It’s a science-fantasy story about vigilantism and justice, and though there’s not very much of it yet, I did finally put out a new page after about 6 months. I’m very much hoping it won’t take that long for the next one!

Your project here. Do you make art of any kind - visual, written, performed? Are you starting a project or recruiting co-creators? We want to hear from you! Email us at [email protected]. A proper submission procedure will be created if needed, but for now, it's open season - show us anything. Fire away.

Until next time!

#witch hat news #microfiction #newsletter #webcomics