#judith.... sniper..... how it Informs.....
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honest to god i nearly made myself weep with this one (it is! once again! that collaboration with @chiropteracupola)
light on (gone the rainbow, gone the dove)
The day Julien returned to France was much like any other.
Salt burned his lungs as he stood on the docks of Boston Harbor, sun struggling to find its way through the meager gaps in the cloud cover, and the snap of the canvas sails intermingled with the chatter of the crouds and the crashing waves into a pleasant drone. Julien clutched his bag tight, and watched a weather-beaten ship standing proud over the pier begin its long loading process.
“Enjoying the view?”
At first it was unclear that anyone was speaking to him in particular, but then Julien felt a gentle pinch at the fabric of his coat, and turned to see Judith Thornton standing beside him, unreadable expression on her face. The meager sunlight brought out thin veins of gold in her hair.
Julien sighed. “What are you doing here, cherie?”
“Well, when I woke up this morning, you were quite thoroughly disappeared from my home,” she replied, running her thumb over the embroidery on her sleeve hem, “and I wondered whereabouts you would have gone.” Grimacing, Judith at last turned to face him, cool blue eyes unyielding as steel. “It didn’t take long to find you.”
“Am I really that predictable?”
“You really are.”
Together, the two of them lapsed into a less than comfortable silence, watching the passersby with a calculated interestd. Well, Judith appeared to be watching the people; Julien was primarily watching her. He truly had not meant for her to know, had assumed it would have been easier to simply disappear. After all, she would be in far more trouble if he stayed, and he had duties elsewhere whose importance far superseded his affections for one woman and her as yet unborn son.
Of course, Judith had very quickly wedged her pretty satin shoe in the door of his plan, and here she was, glowering at the early morning sky. Curiously, her hand still found its way to Julien’s, and she clasped it gently, tapping his knuckles with gentle rhythm.
“Do you have to go?”
The question came completely expected, but Julien was still taken aback by the wave of shame that rose in his chest, battering his ribcage with a horrible insistence. There was no way he could reasonably be expected to stay, to raise a child with a woman whose husband had passed a man of honor, but still, a not insignificant part of him yearned to throw down his bags and carry Judith all the way back to her little shop on the square and fix her the breakfast she had clearly skipped to meet him here. Mystery would save her life, her reputation, but with the way she was looking at him, Julien knew he would never escape this woman cleanly. She had her hooks in him, and all he longed for was her tug on the wire.
“What would you have me do instead?” was all he had to say. Judith took a deep, shuddering breath, and squeezed his wrist.
“We never even gave him a name,” she murmured. Around them, the throngs were slowly funneling up the gangway, settling in for the journey ahead, and Julien’s pulse began to pound in his ears. There was so little time to choose, to explain everything he had never bothered to tell her, and now his ship out of Boston was getting ready to leave without him.
Whirling, Julien gripped Judith’s shoulders tightly, pristine fabric wrinkling under his gloved fingers.
“Promise me you will keep him safe,” he said insistently. “Raise him well.”
“What would you have me do instead?” Judith parroted, squirming under his grasp. “I am his mother, Julien, I cannot simply step away when the burden of a son is no longer convenient for me.” Her words rang like the peal of a bell, ricocheting throughout Julien’s body and echoing in perpetuity, and her fury was plain to all around.
“We both know this is for the best.”
“Have you considered I may not want the best anymore?” Chest heaving, Judith threw Julien’s arms off of her and stuck an accusatory finger to his chest. “I am sick of the best! My husband died, my sons have left me, and all I have left is you and this godforsaken shop!” She sniffed, swiping at her nose with a vicious fervor. “I have always had the best, but what if I want something for me?”
Julien stared. “My love, that will ruin you.”
“Do you think I am unaware?” Voice like ice, fire in her eyes, Judith pulled Julien into a vice-like embrace, mouth to his neck. “Stay with me, sweet. Please stay with me.”
With Judith’s heart hammering against his chest, breath ghosting over his neck, Julien wondered if he would ever find the strength to leave. He placed a feather-light hand against her back, looking out over the ocean, knowing how far they would drift, unsure how to leave, yet unable to remain.
“Je suis désolé,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Merci, ma petite chou-fleur.”
“What?”
But before Julien could lose himself in her face, lovely though streaked with tears, he snatched his bag off the docks and bolted toward the ship, every step of his boots against the wood a gunshot to his ears. Judith’s shrieking was almost lost to the noise of the crowd. And still, still, Julien refused to look back.
Only when they had lifted anchor and were well on their way did Julien face the pier, scanning for Judith in the crowd. He expected her to be furious, if she had even remained at all, but when he found her again, she bore nothing but a soft, mournful smile, waving a handkerchief he vaguely recognized as his own in the breeze.
Something awful was building in his stomach, clawing its way into his throat, longing to escape.
“Ma lune!” he found himself calling over the roar of the waves. “My father’s name was Jeremiah!”
Although it was highly unlikely Judith had heard him, she nodded nonetheless, and turned on her heel, disappearing into the sea of bodies cloaked in fine fabrics milling about, and grieving just the same.
“Promise me you will write!” Julien cried once more, but she was already gone, leaving him with nothing but the bitter sting of salt.
#leave it to me to get attached to a second string side character so much i cry about her#judith i love you so much#she is my everything to be sure#and i really do think about the tragedy of this love So Often#and how it parallels the love to come#judith.... sniper..... how it Informs.....#in a less serious tone: whoa he's bisexual! i didn't know that!#as for jeremiah being an aggressively english name i think he was either lying or his father immigrated to france#so take your pick#title is a combo of lyrics from light on by maggie rogers and the folk song johnny has gone for a solider#btw#flintlock fortress#team fortress 2#the spy: julien laurent#the widower: judith thornton#my writing#radio free junebug
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Chapter 18 of Nona the Ninth
After 18 chapters, something genuinely exciting is finally happening. You know, it's funny, I got pulled in by Gideon the Ninth because starting with Act 2 there were interesting and exciting things and weird mysteries happening like every chapter. Harrow the Ninth wasn't exactly action-packed, but there were like, interesting reveals and general world information coming out in most chapters, and it was also building towards something because there was the upcoming fight with Number Seven looming in the background at all times. This isn't a bad book or anything like that, but so far it's been: Nona goes to school and there are kid antics, everything sucks, it's hot, Nona refuses to eat food, it's dangerous to go anywhere because of the high concentration of people with guns, necromancy witch hunts, dead body burning, here's John monologuing about climate change and streaming necromancy on twitch. We get a little bit of Corona and brief glimpse of Judith, maybe we'll get to see Gideon/Gideon's body and Ianthe at some point, but so far it's just been the broadcast, and the most interesting stuff was all stuff that Nona didn't understand. I was ready for something to happen
I was promised I would find out what animal Nona drew, but I still don't know what animal Nona drew. Her saying that it started out living in a river and then got "cold" so it had to get large must mean it's a reptile of some kind, but I can't think of any reptile that has visible ears and a mouth that you might not draw at all. What does she mean by "large" here? Did she draw a dinosaur? The Angel mentions archaeology talks, but archaeology is the wrong field for studying dinosaurs, or any animals at all, really, it's the study of physical evidence of humans. (I mean, unless the "animal" that Nona drew was a human and it's now being revealed that everyone is actually a strange-looking alien...) It's also really hard to study Earth via archaeology when you are not actually on Earth, if you can't actually go dig up and date real artifacts it's just regular anthropology at that point. Or are BOE secretly sending teams of archaeologists to Earth now? That doesn't seem like it would be a high priority for them, but who knows, they did immortalize Eminem lyrics in their commanders' names, and we know they've been to Earth on unauthorized missions before, namely to abduct all of the non-Lyctor survivors of the first book
Presumably "cradle creature" means that it lived on Earth before John's apocalypse
Ok, so, I thought "Aim" must be like a nickname for Amy or some spelling thereof, but I see now that it's actually the first word of a BOE name. So, this bit requires that there is a word which means "Angel" in some language which sounds like "Aim" in (presumably) English, which also means something to the kids. But I guess we're meant to assume that "Angel" here is also in modern English, which again, doesn't make sense, since modern English should be long gone at this point. But maybe it's a translation convention thing
I'm curious what the implant is, why Palamedes is in a big hurry to find out what it is, and why the Angel doesn't want Nona to hear about it? Of course, she doesn't know who Nona is yet at this point. I'm guessing it's some kind of anti-necromancy device, given that "my dead body is designed to deny you answers"
It's true, he can't really swear on his own life, since that ended two books ago now
So I gather once the Angel accepted that Palamedes was not a Lyctor, she somehow gave whatever order to Merv Wing to kill Camilla and Nona, since she knows that regular necromancers can be killed like normal people? BOE's MO for necromancers is a sniper headshot per the last book. But I don't know how Palamedes survived this, I feel like we're about to find out that he and Camilla are a Lyctor now, or possibly some new and "improved" version of a Lyctor
Was this something that happened on screen that I should remember?
Is that what Nona's building is? I'm not sure exactly what that means, or if that tells me anything more about the building that I didn't already know. It didn't seem like it was specifically a BOE building, since there were cops and militia living there, too
Well, there's something important about that implant
This seems like a counter-productive rule to have if they want Pash to be her bodyguard, though. At some later point there is a mention of "electrics" and implication that Merv Wing is not going to fire any guns as long as Aim/the Angel is in the room, so possibly some other types of weapons are involved here. Nona misses the entire battle, but there were gunfire sounds, so I guess someone disregarded whatever rules there are about not shooting guns around the Angel
I guess Pash subscribes to the theory that Hot Sauce mentioned that necromancers have to be killed in a very particular way to stay dead?
For the first part of this I was like, that sounds a lot like Pash, but hasn't Nona heard her voice before? But then I remembered that Nona has only heard her speak through the voice modulator
It's also hilarious how Nona thinks Pash is just so cool throughout this chapter
Are we then to understand that Pash was driving the car the previous day when the Angel rescued Nona and Hot Sauce?
They again. Still unknown if this is a gender thing or a plural thing, because who knows what is going on with the implant
This is honestly straining my suspension of disbelief here, that someone actually read Nona's lips from the top of a building a block away. If they thought it was a radio call, there are easy ways of intercepting those if you can guess what frequencies might be being used, you don't have to guess what someone is saying by reading their lips
Pash gets all the best lines
Oh, this is a fun one!
There's a weird thing here where we first get this:
But then in the next paragraph it says:
So it's not actually clear exactly how munted Nona thinks the classroom is?
Yeah, this was obviously going to happen at some point from the point where Hot Sauce was introduced in the first place. Honestly, I feel so bad for Hot Sauce, she's 14 and she's already been traumatized several times over before this book even began, I think, and then she saw Nona die in front of her and actually got successfully gaslighted into thinking she didn't for about five minutes and from her perspective Nona is definitely some kind of evil eldritch creature. But how many time does Nona have to get shot today? This would also be a lot more of a cliffhanger if Nona wasn't immortal
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Something something each person who works with the Combine have given up a core value return for working with the Combine, something they used to draw a hard line at is now something they will turn a blind eye to. Breen used to care about people, Hahn was against forcing people into things, Judith believed that humanity would be free...I dunno I just find that kinda thing. Interesting.
OH MY SOMETHING YOU’RE SO SMART.
And Sequel!Mitchell breaks this rule by prioritising his core value, his loyalty to his family, be it his sibling, Nick, or the 50something children he inexplicably managed to adopt, over anything the Combine could have possibly offered.
Sequel!Adam’s core value was in keeping promises and secrets. He was a Black Operative, a sniper, a covert fighter, because he knew how to hide his tracks, and that taught him to hide other things too, and Mitchell trusted him. But by handing over all of Mitchell’s plans to the Combine and ultimately using the information to backstab him, he broke his promise and thus submitted to the Combine.
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“Beth” Daryl Dixon x Beth Greene w/ Unrequited!F!Reader
Request: anonymous: can i please please request a heather by conan gray song fic where reader is jealous of what daryl and beth had ( basically daryl x reader but onesided 💔👄💔 ) omg pure damn angst that'd be immaculate 😭😭 thank u very much 💔💔
Word Count: 3540
Warning: Unrequited Love
Song I Wrote To: “Heather” by Conan Gray
Note: I hate to say that I know exactly how our reader felt and man does it fucking suck to feel that way. thank you for the request. NOTE: I see Beth and daryl as platonic soulmates, not romantic.
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I still remember third of December
Me in your sweater, you said it looked better
On me, than it did you, only if you knew
How much I liked you, but I watch your eyes
It hadn’t rained in days and you were almost out of water.
Since saving Beth from the Grady ordeal and discovering Noah’s home was gone, it was a mix of emotions within the group. After Terminus, there hadn’t been much hope on the horizon. Rescuing Beth had brought some light into your family’s eyes, but there was still the question of what happened next.
The prison was gone and you had lost people, but you had found each other again and that was better than nothing. Walking alongside Glenn and Maggie, your eyes were on the duo in front of you.
Daryl and Beth.
You didn’t know what had exactly happened between the two of them after the prison fell, but whatever it was had changed them. Two very unlikely people were now attached at the hip every moment of every day. Daryl never had Beth out of his sight if he could help it. The only time he did was when Beth was with her sister.
Daryl Dixon was the one that always made sense to you. You had met him the day he had walked into the camp with Merle. He tended to keep his distance from everyone else, but eventually, you had gotten him to talk to you and it didn’t take long for your feelings to form.
There had been small moments between the two of you that you thought had meant something. The slightest of glances, his hand on your arm when he needed your attention, or even when he had found you alone in the CDC and checked in.
It wasn’t until you were safe on the farm and Andrea had nearly killed him that you realized the feelings you had were more than a simple crush, you were falling for him and you were falling hard.
As she walks by
What a sight for sore eyes
Brighter than the blue sky
At the prison, you became his partner for all the supply runs. You were quick on your feet and didn’t care too much for small talk so he preferred to hunt with you. You hadn’t noticed that he and Beth were getting closer at all. The prison had offered Beth a boyfriend, though he didn’t last long and died on a supply run with Daryl.
When the prison had fallen, you had been with Maggie, Sasha, and Bob. The four of your had traveled down rickety roads searching for Glenn and the others. When you had encountered Terminus, you weren’t sure if you were going to get out of there alive. There had been too many variables and you were still missing people.
She's got you mesmerized
While I die
That is until Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl had entered the train car and you had immediately grabbed Daryl into a hug. His arms had been hesitant at first but then hugged you back, burying his head in your hair. When he had pulled back and spotted Maggie, his face had fallen and he had told her what happened.
Beth had been taken.
The reunion was short-lived as Gareth and his people dragged Rick, Daryl, Bob, and Glenn from the train car. Both you and Maggie had yelled as the men you loved were torn from your grips. Sasha had to hold you back, keeping her arms locked around your torso as you fought against her.
Everything after that was a blur and then the next thing you knew, there was an explosion and you and the rest of your family began to fight back. It wasn’t until Abraham had taken your hand and dragged you into the woods that you were finally reunited with Daryl and the others.
Still reeling from almost being dinner for cannibals, everyone tried to remain calm, but there was still one more thing you and the others had to do: Get Beth back.
Why would you ever kiss me?
I'm not even half as pretty
You gave her your sweater
It's just polyester
But you like her better
Wish I were Heather
Daryl wouldn’t stop talking about her. He couldn’t believe he had lost her at the funeral home. He thought he was protecting her when he told her to run, but then she had been taken anyways. Daryl told Maggie that he had screamed for her sister, running after the car that snatched her, but they never slowed and they never stopped.
“Beth is strong and she’ll survive anything these assholes throw at her,” you had told him, trying to offer comfort after you had found the church. Daryl had been sitting alone on watch when you had found him. You could tell he was becoming restless and that it was only a matter of time before he went after her. What he said next had confirmed your theory.
“She is strong,” Daryl had agreed, “but she can’t do this alone. Someone’s gotta go get her.” After that, you knew there was no stopping him.
It wasn’t long after that when Daryl had left to go after the people who had taken the young Greene. You had informed the others of what had happened and Rick had ordered everyone to stay put. Daryl, and Carol, who had joined him, were more than capable of getting Beth and Rick knew that if they needed you, you would be there to help.
The entire exchange at Grady felt as if it didn’t even happen. One moment Daryl had come back saying that Carol had been taken as well, and then suddenly you were all on your way into the city to go after your people. Rick had you and Sasha act as snipers on the overpasses to get good vantage points for the initial meeting.
From watching him through your scope, you could see how restless Daryl was getting. If Rick hadn’t of been by his side, you were almost sure that he would have gone into the hospital alone to get her back and probably would have killed them both in the process.
You soon realized that Dawn Lerner was no different from the other threats you and the others had faced. She was proud and naïve at the same time. The woman believed that she was helping people, saving them for when help arrived. However, everyone knew the truth, nobody was coming. Nobody was ever coming.
Watch as she stands with her holding your hand
Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder
You had joined Rick and Daryl in the exchange, keeping your weapon ready in your hands. Carol was brought forward first and then Beth. As soon as she rejoined the group, Rick had pulled her behind him and Daryl stood in front of both of them, creating a shield. Beth stayed close and placed her hand on his back lightly, making sure he knew she was there.
When Dawn had asked for Noah, Beth had walked forward with determination, trying to make the woman see reason, but the former officer wasn’t backing down. Nobody saw the pair of scissors in Beth’s hand until it was too late.
The younger Greene plunged her weapon into Dawn’s chest just as the latter pulled her gun. You flinched, waiting for the gunshot, but the pistol had jammed. Beth stared at the barrel pointed at her head in shock. Just before Dawn could try to explain, Noah pulled Beth back and Daryl pulled his own gun, shooting Dawn in the head without a second thought.
Everyone, including yourself, had then raised their weapons, but the other members of Grady had surrendered, not wanting any more people to die. Rick had then ordered everyone out and back down to the others. You helped Carol stand and she leaned on you as you walked from the hospital.
But how could I hate her? She's such an angel
But then again, kinda wish she were dead
Ahead of you, Daryl had Beth pressed into his side, his arm firmly around her. Beth’s arms clutched at the vest on his back as if she were afraid he would slip away from her again. You were glad that she was okay, but you couldn’t ignore the pang in your heart as you watched the man you loved hold another. The heartbreak only continued after that as your group headed back out onto the road.
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Coming back to the present, you hadn’t realized that a Walker had begun stumbling after you or that Maggie and Glenn had stepped away to talk amongst themselves. The rest of the group was a few paces ahead of you, unaware of the lurking Dead behind them. Turning slowly, you pulled your knife, trying to stay on your feet. You were exhausted and at this point all you wanted to do was lay down and sleep, but that was no longer a luxury in the new world.
The Walker gnashed its teeth at you as you waited for it to catch up. When it was on you, you lazily shoved its arms off of you. The smell of rot made your eyes water as it tried to bite you. Its crumbling fingers tangled in your jacket as you raised your arm and plunged the blade into its eye socket. The creatures dropped to the ground with a heavy thud that finally got the attention of your group.
“(Y/N)?” Carl called. You waved off the concern in his voice and sheathed your blade, turning away from the corpse. You caught up with the others, trying to keep both of your eyes open. As you walked alongside Tara, you felt a hand on your arm. Looking to your left, you saw Beth looking at you with a furrowed brow.
As she walks by
What a sight for sore eyes
Brighter than a blue sky
She's got you mesmerized
While I die
“You okay?” she asked. Daryl was right next to her, his hand in hers as always.
“Yeah, Beth,” you assured her. “I’m just tired.” She nodded in understanding. Everyone was tired, everyone was hungry, and nobody knew what was going to happen next. Beth looked like she wanted to say something else, but you just gave her a small smile and went to catch up with Rick who was walking with his children, Judith tucked under his chin, and Carl dragging his feet next to his dad. “Need a break?” you asked, gesturing to the little one.
“I got her,” Rick said, “but thanks.” You nodded and continued to walk alongside your leader in silence. Rick was watching you out of the corner of his eye, easily reading your body language. Whether you were aware or not, he could see what Daryl couldn’t and that was the fact that every second you watched him with Beth felt like a dagger to your heart.
“We should find a spot to stop for the night,” you suggested, your eyes scanning the road ahead.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Rick said with a sigh and then glanced over his shoulder. “Daryl,” he called and the archer let go of Beth for a moment to jog up to Rick’s side. “Why don’t you and (Y/N) go scout ahead in the woods, see if you can find a place to set up camp for the night.” Daryl was hesitant at first, but then nodded.
“Alright,” he said and then looked back at Beth, “I’ll be right back,” he called and she nodded with a small smile. He then turned back to you, gripping his bow tighter, “come on.”
------
You followed after Daryl in silence. Since knowing the hunter, you learned how to move with him through the woods. On the farm, Daryl had taken you under his wing and taught you how to walk without making a sound and how to spot things that were out of the ordinary. You were the only person he trusted to go sneaking through the woods with and that meant a lot to you.
The two of you walked for a little while longer before he slowed down and began walking beside you, instead of in front. “You’ve been quiet girl,” he observed. You just shrugged, not really wanting to get into it right now. “(Y/N),” Daryl said, knocking your shoulder with his.
“I’m just sick of wandering,” you explained. “At least the last few times we have been on the road, we had a vague idea of where we were going or at least trying to go.”
“I know ya didn’t like being back in the city,” he said quietly. You shrugged again.
“Not like I was going to stay behind,” you told him. “Beth and Carol needed us.” Daryl nodded.
“Thanks for helpin’ to get them back,” he said, looking over at you, and you nearly melted under his gaze.
“What else is family for, right?” Daryl gave you a small smile and then nodded.
You continued on through the woods until you found a small enough clearing that would work well for the night. You volunteered to stay behind and start getting the camp ready while Daryl ran back to bring the others. You needed to be alone with your thoughts.
As soon as Daryl disappeared back through the trees, you began gathering firewood. The whole time, you watched for Walkers, but the Dead stayed away for the moment. You tried to focus on your task, but every time you had a second, you thought of him. Your hands went into your hair and tugged as if you could pull the thoughts out by force.
You didn’t want to feel like this.
You had experienced unrequited love before, but never to this extent. Daryl Dixon had consumed you and no amount of “moving on” was going to fix it.
Why would you ever kiss me?
I'm not even half as pretty…
The others arrived quickly and you all worked together to get the camp set up for the night. Rick, Abraham, and Michonne set up Walker traps while Carol and Glenn fixed something for dinner from what Daryl was able to catch in the nearby trees.
Once everyone had eaten, you had stepped away and placed yourself on a boulder, watching over the group, a rifle in your lap. Your eyes couldn’t stop wandering to Beth and Daryl as they sank into their own bubble.
She was never far from his side by the fire. Since Grady, she had slept by his side, walked in his shadow, and they even took watch together when they had the chance. You also knew that while Beth and Daryl may have been oblivious of their newfound relationship, everyone else in the group had noticed.
Daryl joked around with Beth, carried her on his back when she was tired, and he had even begun training her with his bow, something you had always wanted to do. Jealously rushed through you at the sight of his hands on her shoulders and under her arm, helping her balance the weapon.
Any time she would make a perfect shot at a nearby tree, he would smile at her with pride in his eyes. Those eyes never left her if they could help it and you didn’t blame him because you were the same way when it came to him. He cared about her and while it may have been a different way than how you felt about him, it didn’t feel much better.
You gave her your sweater
It's just polyester
Watching as Daryl wrapped his leather jacket around Beth’s shoulder, you gripped the barrel of your gun tighter. A movement to your left had you turning to see Maggie approaching you. She hopped up on the boulder and gave you a small smile.
“Are you okay?” she asked and you knew what she was referring too. Maggie Greene or rather, Rhee, was as observant as they came.
“I’m good,” you told her, turning your attention to the wall of trees that was before you.
“I know how you feel about him,” Maggie whispered and you closed your eyes at her words. She reached over and took your hand. “I saw it the first night on the farm, the way you look at him. I even thought that the two of you were together before Andrea mentioned that you weren’t.” You sighed.
“Maggie…” you began as you looked at her, your eyes begging for her to drop the subject.
“I could talk to Beth,” she offered, but you were already shaking your head.
“No, no, please,” you said, glancing over at the two survivors cuddled up by the fire. “He and her...that’s fate. You know Daryl, he’s not the romantic type, but Beth is the closest thing to a soulmate he’s got. Platonic and all. Besides, look at her. She’s an Angel.”
But you like her better
I wish I were Heather
------
Later that night, Glenn had joined you on watch.
You knew that you should get some sleep, but too many thoughts ran through your mind and you couldn’t quiet them down enough to sleep. Glenn didn’t say anything, but he knew. You knew that Maggie had told him, but you also knew that he wouldn’t offer his opinion, at least not when anyone could hear him. Still, he slung an arm around your shoulder and you leaned into him, feeling the warm embrace of your friend.
Eventually, you had to get up. After Glenn had gone to sleep next to his wife, Rosita tagged you out for watch and you slid off the boulder, stretching your arms above your head. As you walked back to the rest of the group, you ran into Daryl.
“Ya alright?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow.
“How many more times are you gonna ask me that?” you asked, crossing your arms. “I’m the same since the last time you asked.”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Something has been off with you since Grady, maybe even before that.” All you wanted to do was scream at him. You wanted to grab him by that damn vest of his, tell him you loved him, and kiss him until the sun came up and that fantasy alone was enough to make you turn away from him.
“I’m tired of losing people, Daryl,” you admitted and you didn’t think he caught your double meaning, but it was the truth. You had lost him even though he was never yours, to begin with.
“I get that,” he said, “but you never know who you’ll find, ya know?” he said glancing over at Beth who lay curled up near her sister and brother-in-law. You followed his gaze and then your eyes landed on Rick who was looking at you with sadness in his eyes. You looked away quickly, trying not to let the tears back in. “What is it?” Daryl asked, noting your shift in demeanor.
“Nothin’, I’m gonna do a perimeter check,” you informed him.
“Alone?”
“Yeah, alone,” you said before turning and walking away, fighting the tears with every step.
Wish I were Heather
(Oh, oh)
Wish I were Heather
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It didn’t take long for you to crumble.
Falling to your knees, you rested on the forest floor, your back against a tree as you cried. You knew you needed to be quiet, but you couldn’t stop the tears that choked you. He would never look at you the way he looked at her and you had to accept that, but it didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt like hell. You pressed your face into your arms as you cried, trying to muffle the sound.
Why would you ever kiss me?
I'm not even half as pretty
You gave her your sweater
It's just polyester
When your sobs had calmed, you stared out into the darkness with bleary and red eyes. A flashlight beam caught your eye as Rick approached you, his boots crunching the dead leaves that scattered the ground. He didn’t say anything as he joined you on the ground.
“I didn’t mean to walk off,” you explained, but he waved you off. It was another moment of silence before he finally spoke.
“I know that look,” Rick said. “The others, they may not see it, but I do. I know what it looks like to want someone you can’t have,” he said. You kept your gaze forward as he spoke. “Shane had the same look when it came to Lori. Hell, he loved her and I knew it and so did she. So, I know (Y/N).”
Nodding, you wiped at the tears on your chin and took a deep breath. “I want to hate her,” you whispered.
“But you can’t,” he said and you shook your head.
“I could never,” you admitted. “Not her. She’s not even doing anything.” The tears came again and this time Rick pulled you against him and you sobbed into his chest.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, rubbing his hand down your back. “It’s okay.”
A part of you believed him. It was going to be okay. The end of the world had happened, but it didn’t mean that you had lost everything. Daryl had found his person and while you would always love him, there was a point in time when you just had to let go.
And so, you did.
But you like her better
Wish I were...
TAGS: @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner@felicisimor @amaroho
#daryl dixon x beth greene#daryl dixon#daryl dixon imagine#beth lives#reader insert#unrequited romance#twd imagine#Heather#song fic#twd#the walking dead#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead imagine#walkerwords
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Treat Your S(h)elf: Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging by Sebastian Junger (2016)
“Humans don’t mind hardship, in fact they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary. It's time for that to end.”
- Sebastian Junger, Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging
The phenomenon of tribal solidarity is the subject of Sebastian Junger’s enthralling book, Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging. Junger offers a rich but unevenly researched patchwork of history, psychology, and anthropology to explore the deep appeal of the tribal culture throughout history. The result is less of a tour de force book that I would have expected from the likes of Sebastian Junger than an interesting and thought provoking read. Certainly it should be read by anyone interested in the human condition.
As a British ex-military veteran and a fan of Junger’s other books I naturally found it fascinating.The memory of my most recent tour in Afghanistan was still raw upon my return to Britain. Although the book really focuses on returning American army servicemen and their integration back into the American ‘tribe’ there were several themes that I and many others who had seen war could readily identify with.
“Tribe” is not a typical Junger book. He doesn’t tell one knockout story, as he did in the “The Perfect Storm,” which made him rich and famous, or as he did in “War,” which — along with his documentaries “Restrepo” and “Korengal” — established him as one of the world’s most mesmerising chroniclers of the Afghanistan war. Rather, he gives us an extended-play version of an article he wrote for for Vanity Fair — one that’s part ethnography, part history, part social science primer, part cri de coeur. Junger previously served as a war correspondent for Vanity Fair, embedding for long stretches at remote American outposts in Afghanistan’s frightful Korengal valley. This experience may help explain his interest in the intimate bonds that define tribal societies as well as the despair that can come from being wrenched out of a situation that makes those bonds necessary.
Junger’s premise is simple: Modern civilisation may be awesome, giving us unimaginable autonomy and material bounty. But it has also deprived us of the psychologically invaluable sense of community and interdependence that we hominids enjoyed for millions of years. It is only during moments of great adversity that we come together and enjoy that kind of fellowship — which may explain why, paradoxically, we thrive during those moments. (In the six months after Sept. 11, Junger writes, the murder rate in New York dropped by 40 percent, and the suicide rate by 20 percent.)
“I do miss something from the war,” Bosnian journalist Nidzara Ahmetasevic tells Sebastian Junger halfway through the book. Ahmetasevic is talking about the wartime closeness she shared with friends in a basement bomb shelter in besieged Sarajevo. “The love that we shared was enormous,” Ahmetasevic says. “I missed being close to people, I missed being loved in that way.”
The sentiment lies at the heart of Tribe, a book offering a surprising thesis about the ways humans have traded communal belonging for excessive safety.
Junger gets a considerable amount done in a quick 133 pages: Tribe posits a reason why white settlers found life among Native American tribes appealing, theorises about false PTSD claims among returned U.S. veterans, and conveys the author’s equality-minded view of how heroic behaviour varies between genders — all in addition to remarks on hitchhiking, attachment parenting, Junger’s dad’s opinion of military service, and more. It’s an awful lot of ground to cover in such a short book, and it’s inevitable that Tribe would either feel inchoate and sketched or else aggravatingly dense. Because Junger is an adventurous storyteller (rather than, say, an academic theoretician), he opts for the former.
It’s not necessarily a good thing. The book’s lightness makes it accessible, an easy entry point to weighty subject matter. But its concision can make Tribe feel breezy even as it discusses life and death — if not sometimes confusing.
As a former anthropology major, Mr. Junger takes a special interest in tribal life. He notes that a striking number of American colonists ran off to join Native American societies, but the reverse was almost never true. He describes the structure and values of hunter-gatherer groups, including the ones that lasted well into the 20th century, like the !Kung in the Kalahari.
Unfortunately, these parts of the book are also the dullest and most problematic. There’s a numbingly familiar quality to much of the social science research he cites. It is not exactly news that nations with large income disparities are less happy than those without them, or that group cooperation increases levels of oxytocin, the bonding hormone. He notes, for example, that American mothers in the 1970s had a level of skin-to-skin contact with their babies that traditional societies would consider criminally low. Fair enough. I wonder, though, if he realises that in saying this he’s crashing open the gate for every helicopter parenting (or attachment-parenting) demagogue out there? And that parents who actually have to go to work for a living - and therefore can’t have their babies pinned to their chests all day long for three years straight - will read these words and start rolling the eyes back in disbelief.
Though Junger cautions against romanticising tribal cultures, he sometimes does exactly that, and in ways that can be annoying. Tribe aptly opens with Benjamin Franklin’s observation, decades before the American Revolution, that more than a few English settlers were “escaping into the woods” to join Indian society. Franklin noticed that emigration seemed to go from the civilised to the tribal, but rarely the other way around. White captives of the American Indians, for instance, often did not wish to be repatriated to colonial society. At this distance, it is simply astonishing that so many frontiersmen would have cast off the relative comforts of civilisation in favour an “empire wilderness” rife with Stone Age tribes that, as Junger notes, “had barely changed in 15,000 years.”
The small but significant flow of white men — they were mostly men — into the tree-line sat uncomfortably with those who stayed behind. Without indulging the modern temptation to romanticise what was a blood-soaked way of life, Junger hazards an explanation for the appeal of tribal culture. Western society was a diverse and dynamic but deeply alienating place. (Plus ça change…) This stood in stark contrast to native life, which was essentially classless and egalitarian. The “intensely communal nature of an Indian tribe” provided a high degree of autonomy — as long as it didn’t threaten the defence of the tribe, which was punishable by death — as well as a sense of belonging. Tribe is then essentially a critique of modern civilisation, beginning with Junger’s observation of the inexorable appeal of Native American way of life to early settlers (“The intensely communal nature of an Indian tribe held an appeal that the material benefits of Western civilisation couldn’t necessary compete with”).
“The question for Western society isn’t so much why tribal life might be so appealing - it seems obvious on the face of it - but why Western society is so unappealing.” Junger is making a provocative point, but he is no provocateur. He swiftly justifies this jarring idea:
On a material level it is clearly more comfortable and protected from the hardships of the natural world. But as societies become more affluent they tend to require more, rather than less, time and commitment by the individual, and it’s possible that many people feel that affluence and safety simply aren’t a good trade for freedom.
All of these points have been covered in other, heavier books. Jared Diamond’s The World Until Yesterday examines traditional tribal lifestyles’ usefulness in the present day. The entanglement of war with human closeness and purpose is the focus of Chris Hedges’s War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning. (Both Hedges and Junger include the same anecdote, in fact, about a teenage couple in besieged Sarajevo, that dies, sniper-shot, on the banks of the Miljacka River.) Junger also briefly mentions the work of seminal disaster researcher Charles Fritz, noting that Fritz could find almost no examples of mass panic during large-scale disasters. This plays into his overarching point that difficult experiences can be unifying rather than shattering. The exact same studies by Fritz and fellow researchers — and that exact same, crucial point — are detailed in Rebecca Solnit’s brilliant A Paradise Built in Hell.
Junger uses these insights towards another point. “Because modern society has almost completely eliminated trauma and violence from everyday life, anyone who does suffer these things is deemed to be extraordinarily unfortunate,” he writes. “This gives people access to sympathy and resources but also creates an identity of victimhood that can delay recovery.” This is an important observation. It, too, resonates quite closely with previous work - in this case Harvard psychiatrist Judith Lewis Herman’s seminal book Trauma and Recovery, which remarks that “to hold traumatic reality in consciousness requires a social context that affirms and protects the victim and that joins victim and witness in a common alliance.”
At best what Junger tries to achieve, then, is to assemble parts of all those books into one slim volume. So much the better for the busy reader. Unfortunately, Junger’s quick look at violence, trauma, and modern anomie also omits important information from other books, and as a result ends up on shaky ground, failing to consider counterpoints or bring its own arguments to a close.
Junger in the second half of the book proceeds through an examination of how disastrous or violent circumstances can create similar human closeness, and includes a discussion of how our society’s distancing itself from such harsh conditions has inadvertently sharpened those events’ capacity to traumatise the people who endure them.
War is hell, so this scourge of loneliness may seem the inevitable price for those who fight in them. The second half of Tribe insists that this impression is gravely mistaken. “Studies from around the world show that recovery from war is heavily influenced by the society one belongs to,” Junger observes. Iroquois warriors, for instance, did not have to contend with much alienation because the line between warfare and normal Indian society was vanishingly thin. This is not to deny that the Iroquois were traumatised by combat, but it was generally acute PTSD, limited in duration and distress. Their trauma was ameliorated by the fact that the trauma was shared by the entire tribe.
War, then, for all of its brutality and ugliness, satisfies some of our deepest evolutionary yearnings for connectedness. Platoons are like tribes. They give soldiers a chance to demonstrate their valour and loyalty, to work cooperatively, to show utter selflessness.
Is it any wonder that so many of them say they miss the action when they come home?
Part of the takeaway from this book is that regarding military service as a source of permanent psychiatric disability is incorrect for most (American) soldiers. Junger includes a lengthy discussion of how the U.S. Veterans Administration mishandles former soldiers’ mental health issues, and how America’s cultural misunderstanding of war plays into that deleterious milieu. The information isn’t wrong per se, but what it has to do with the rest of the romanticising of foregone tribal way of life, etc., or why that necessitates anything more than the 2015 Vanity Fair article from which the book sprung is never quite made clear. Worse, Junger says that the low rate of combat engagement among U.S. soldiers means their diagnoses of post-traumatic stress disorder often aren’t real - but he fails to consider that some soldiers develop PTSD from military sexual trauma, or from other adverse experiences outside of combat or before their enlistment.
Worse, he seems to misunderstand the diagnosis entirely. Here, as in the Vanity Fair article, Junger describes his own bout with what he calls “classic short-term PTSD,” departing from this insight to further dissect trauma and the ways modern society misunderstands it. The problem is, there really is no such thing as “short-term PTSD.” It sounds like what Junger had was post-traumatic stress, a weeks - or months - long psychological adaptation to adverse events (in his case, exposure to war) that typically resolves on its own.
Although psychological care can sometimes be relevant, most mental health professionals don’t regard this as an illness. (Tellingly, Junger’s approach to his diagnosis involved little more than an acquaintance’s ad hoc comment at “a family picnic.”) Post-traumatic stress disorder is only diagnosable after three to six months, does not often go away on its own, and can endure for a lifetime if untreated. The implication that Junger’s case is typical PTSD is misleading - and to some extent, calls his conclusions into question.
The problems in his argument go even deeper. “In Bosnia — as it is now — we don’t trust each other anymore; we became really bad people,” Ahmetasevic tells Junger. “We didn’t learn the lesson of the war, which is how important it is to share everything you have with human beings close to you.” Junger’s thesis is that other cultures (the “Stone-Age tribes” white settlers once joined) did learn that lesson. But he assumes that violence is innate to humans and necessary for human closeness, never parsing evidence that it is not. And he doesn’t examine what this Bosnian journalist means by “really bad,” and how becoming so after the war might have arisen directly from the painful, long-lasting effects of the severe trauma Junger doesn’t quite seem to believe in.
If there is any doubt on this point, consider the alarming rates of PTSD among our warrior class, and the desire among many of them to return to war — a subject on which Junger has been at the leading edge of the public discussion. When combat vets return home, the alienation and aimlessness of modern society aggravates their psychological traumas and prompts them to yearn for the brotherhood of combat. It’s not for nothing that a recent book on post-traumatic stress is entitled The Evil Hours.
Many soldiers actually miss war. “Adversity,” he writes, “often leads people to depend more on one another, and that closeness can produce a kind of nostalgia for the hard times.” Soldiers go from a close-knit group in which everyone has a purpose to a society in highly individualised lifestyles are “deeply brutalising to the human spirit.” Soldiers who come home to situations in which there is no social support from family and community are more likely to suffer PTSD than others.
Thanking veterans for their service aggravates the problem, in Junger’s opinion. “If anything, these token acts only deepen the chasm between the military and the civilian population by highlighting the fact that some people serve their country but the vast majority don’t.” Tickets to games and other such perquisites can incentivise veterans to see themselves as victims, making their reintegration into society much more difficult.
What they really need is the one thing that will make them feel like valuable members of society: jobs. In their tribe-like military units, they each had a specific function without which the group could not perform. The worst thing that can happen to them when they return is to feel useless, marginalised. The suicide rate in America mirrors the unemployment rate, Junger points out. The best protection against devastating depression is meaningful work.
“Ex-combatants shouldn’t be seen - or be encouraged to see themselves - as victims,” writes Junger. Lifelong disability payments for PTSD, which is treatable and usually not chronic, actually debilitate veterans, Junger claims. In war, the passivity of victimhood can be deadly, he explains. Turning veterans into victims when they return is not only confusing but also destructive because it erases their sense of self. Instead of sympathy, “veterans need to feel that they’re just as necessary and productive back in society as they were on the battlefield.”
Of course much of this book is really around the American experience of war and the experiences of American veterans returning home. So some points don’t quite stick with either British or European experiences. For example neither British or other European societies thank veterans for their service as a matter of course. Of course there are special days to commemorate major war events and even an armed forces day but on a general day to day basis one doesn’t go up to a military person to thank them for their service probably because British and European servicemen and their service don’t enjoy a privileged standing. Respected and admired yes, but not deified. How British and other European countries take care of their returning veterans is hard to detail as the experience varies in terms of disability allowances and other measures. Certainly a misunderstanding of mental trauma or PTSD of returning veterans has led sometimes to a criminal mismanaging of taking care of those most affected. Again, it varies from country to country.
Contemporary America is a considerably less consolidated society than it used to be. Cultural diffusion and economic stratification have increased the isolation felt by those who have borne the heat and burden of battle. I won’t a forget photograph shown to me by an older brother who had served with distinction in Iraq. He made a few American friends from the US soldiers serving there alongside and one day he was shown something that captured the dark humour and cynicism of war. The photo captured a graffito scribbled on a wall in Ramadi, Iraq, that read: “America is not at war. The Marine Corps is at war. America is at the mall.”
Multiple studies demonstrate that “a person’s chance of getting chronic PTSD is in great part a function of their experiences before going to war.” The relationship between combat and trauma seems to be a murky one. For instance, “combat veterans are, statistically, no more likely to kill themselves than veterans who were never under fire.” Junger says that even a significant number of Peace Corps volunteers report suffering severe depression after their return home, especially if their host country was in a state of emergency when they did. In Junger’s telling, particular burdens endured by socially disadvantaged Americans - from a poor educational background to chaotic broken family life - can make a candidate especially susceptible to PTSD. Indeed, these risk factors “are nearly as predictive of PTSD as the severity of the trauma itself.”
The decline of social order and solidarity has contributed to a loss of what researchers call “social resilience.” This has simultaneously supplied more potential candidates for PTSD and impaired society’s ability to help them recover. The United States must place a premium on boosting its levels of social resilience. Americans should no longer be content to simply thank veterans for their service; sporting events are not places of healing. Nor should they seek to outsource the responsibility to the federal government. The solution lies closer to home, in the mediating institutions of civil society — from families to churches to community and professional associations. I think this echoes the views of quite a few veterans in my experience with them.
More sensitively and perhaps controversially, ex-combatants shouldn’t be regarded, or encouraged to regard themselves, as victims. This I also agree with. America is still a tremendously affluent country, Junger writes, that can afford to perpetually care for a victim class of veterans dependent on government largesse, “but the vets can’t.” They have generally performed exemplary service for which they should be honoured, and they must know that their service is not over.
Next, Junger says, veterans (like most social animals) depend upon a sense of purpose that begins with a job and a position in society. Here the “hire vets” initiatives and retraining programs are necessary but insufficient. The traditional means of securing social resilience has been egalitarian social provision. Individualist America may blanch at that notion, but it should at least act to build a more open economy and inclusive culture where individuals can reliably advance by merit and develop social capital.
Not being an American I don’t wish to speak out of turn but as a veteran and especially in speaking with other British and foreign veterans I think Junger is on the right path. Victimhood and a lack of purpose are the unseen enemy that the returning veteran will continue to fight when he or she comes home.
To all this I would also that - arguably perhaps in America especially - a revival of national cohesion is needed if - as a nation that pays lip service to honour the sacrifices of its servicemen - it is to arrest the full savagery of battlefield trauma. This will require what Edmund Burke called “a revolution in sentiments, manners and moral opinions.”
One clue about how to achieve this can be found in the early pages of Tribe, when Junger tells an affecting anecdote about his father. Not long after the end of the Vietnam War, the author had received a Selective Service registration form in the mail, in case the United States government ever needed to conscript him into the military. When he announced that, if drafted, he would refuse to serve on political grounds, his father’s reaction caught him off guard. Although sternly opposed to the war in Indo-China, Junger’s father insisted that American soldiers had “saved the world” from fascism during World War II and many never came home. Junger writes;
“‘You don’t owe your country nothing,’ I remember him telling me. ‘You owe it something, and depending on what happens, you might owe it your life.’” This did not oblige anyone to enlist in an unjust war - “in his opinion, protesting an immoral war was just as honorable and necessary as fighting a moral one” - but it did mean that the country had just claims on its citizens, and refusing to sign a registration form constituted a dereliction of duty.
Year after year, Americans hear arguments for taking the stink out of their sulphurous political rhetoric. It would be better for congressional productivity. It would be better for our international dignity. It would be better for their national literacy, their local advocacy, their general civility and the future etiquette of their children. But the one argument I had not heard, until reading Junger’s book is that they should clean up their act for the sake of their returning troops.
Junger never makes this point explicitly. What he writes, simply, is this: After months of combat, during which “soldiers all but ignore differences of race, religion and politics within their platoon,” they return to the United States to find “a society that is basically at war with itself. People speak with incredible contempt about - depending on their views - the rich, the poor, the educated, the foreign-born, the president or the entire U.S. government.” Soldiers go from a world in which they’re united, interconnected and indispensable to one in which they’re isolated, without purpose, and bombarded with images of politicians and civilians screaming at one another on TV and cable.
It’s a formula for deep despair. “Today’s veterans often come home to find that, although they’re willing to die for their country,” he writes, “they’re not sure how to live for it.”
With that, Mr. Junger has raised one of the most provocative ideas for bitterly divided Americans to grapple with without mentioning a single political candidate, or even a president, by name.
In this age of social and economic fragmentation, many of America’s disadvantaged fellow citizens have begun to chafe against an elite class - left and right - that often behaves as if it were exempted from the national compact. Junger only hints at the necessary leap beyond a social-psychological view to a political-economic analysis. He writes, "As great a sacrifice as soldiers make, American workers arguably make a greater one…. [w]orking in industries that have a mortality rate equivalent to most units in the US military." He suggests, "It may be worth considering whether middle-class American life - for all its material good fortune - has lost some essential sense of unity that might otherwise discourage alienated men from turning apocalyptically violent."
Nobody then should be surprised if the ranks of disaffected citizens – not least those who have borne arms in our name and in their defence - ultimately decide that the sensibility of the tribe is superior to their own.
As a proud Brit who is guilty at times of poking fun at America but borne out of sincere fondness and respect for America I do sincerely hope during these turbulent times that they are capable of coming together and recognising their tribal identity is to be Americans first and other labels (liberal or conservative or red state or blue state) whilst not inconsequential are not important enough to undermine the primary American tribal identity. They did it so marvellously after 9/11, but that feeling as we all know soon dissipated. It can’t afford to be a house divided from within when there are predatory wolves pawing at the door (I’m looking at you Russia and China). Junger correctly writes America is a strong nation, “The only one who can destroy us, is, well, us…..which means that the ultimate terrorist strategy would be to just leave us alone.”
Tribe is an important, thought-provoking book that encourages Americans to see its veterans and American society in a fresh light. Policymakers of all political stripes would do well to consider Junger’s arguments, for as long as they fail to fully integrate returning soldiers, everyone will continue to pay a high toll for their incredible service and sacrifice.
Junger’s “Tribe” even if it was written in 2016, remains relevant and serves as an important wake-up call. Let’s hope we all don’t sleep through the alarm. But this too brief and too scattershot book with an important message won’t get us all the way there. There is an old South African Zulu proverb, ‘If you want to go fast, go on your own. If you want to go further, go together’. It’s up to all of us.
#treat your s(h)elf#book review#books#reading#sebastian junger#junger#tribe#war#battle#america#army#society#culture#anthropology#native indian#iroquoi#veterans#PTSD#integration#civilisation#state
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Sucker for Pain ( Daryl Dixon x Reader)
Summary: Everyone has demons, some louder than others and some, like yourself, who use blades to silence them. Before the world died, you were an assassin and thought you were better off alone, until you kept running into the same blue eyed archer who changed your mind.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Assassin!Reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of self harm and physical and sexual assault and rape in a few chapters
Chapter 7-
The group of you unloaded your gear in the church, every claiming various benches for themselves.
You picked the one by the front door, wanting a way out if things turned bad, but also wanting to be the first point of contact for anyone who tries to break into the place.
You doubted that would happen, but with Carl and Judith inside, you wanted to the first line of defence against any bad guys.
Daryl must have been thinking the same thing because threw his bag and the rope of squirrels he had caught earlier onto the bench across the aisle from you.
Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Bob and Gabriel left to go on a supply run to some place that Gabriel said he hadn't cleaned out yet. The priest said it was overrun and by 'overrun' he meant only a dozen or so walkers which Carl could easily take down with a single knife if he wanted to. But, Rick wasn't taking any chances and bought the others with him, along with Gabriel who he still didn't trust and neither did you.
Daryl and Carol had disappeared a while ago while you were cleaning your sniper. Daryl mentioning something about going to find water to you before they both walked out the building.
Not long after Glenn, Maggie and Tara had disappeared out the church as well after looking through the phone book and apparently finding a gun shop that they wanted to check out.
You doubted there'd be any guns or ammunition left in the store, but told the group of them if they found any .50 calibre bullets that you called shotgun on them.
You were starting to run low on rounds for your sniper. There was still the spare magazine strapped to the side of your gun, along with the other two spares strapped to your belt, but the rest had been kept in your backpack that no doubt went up in flames back at Terminus.
It didn't take long before you got bored of sitting inside the church. You stood up and made your way outside, telling Tyreese that you were just going out the back for some fresh air so he knew where you'd be if there was any trouble.
You passed Abraham who was lying under the front of the bus trying to fix it while Rosita passed him whatever tools he needed. You nodded towards the other woman and she smiled with a small nod back as you walked past them around the building.
While the others were out scavenging and getting water, you figured you might as well make yourself useful and double check the perimeter and keep watch, although Rosita and Abraham were outside and could probably keep watch, but you needed something to do.
As you walked along the outside wall of the church, checking the various windows to make sure they were locked and secure.
However, when you reached the second window you froze.
Knife marks.
Someone had tried to get inside, using their knife to scratch away at the wood and paint, but it clearly didn't work since the window was still secure.
You stared at the knife marks for a few seconds before you continued walking to see if the other windows had them too. Suddenly, you spotted something carved into one of the wooden planks of the Church and you frowned.
'YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS' Had been carved through the white paint of the church, clearly by a knife by how deep and boxed the letters were. You did not like this, not one little bit. Gabriel was definitely hiding something and by the look of it, it was something bad.
After another sweep of the outside of the building, it was clear that those were the only markings on the outside and you weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
You stayed outside by the window, staring at the knife grooves as you tried to wrack your brain for any reasonable answers.
"Hey, Tyreese said you were out back. Come on in, you don't need to distance yourself from the group. You've earned your place, Y/N." Rick's voice suddenly called out.
You glanced to your right spotting the former Deputy walking over to you and you smiled kindly at him. You were relieved that he'd excepted you into the group, but if he knew who you really were than you were almost certain that he would kill you.
"I appreciate that, but I need to show you something." You said, pointing towards the window as Rick reached your side and followed to where you were pointing and you could see his body tense when he spotted the marks. "The scratches are too deep, they have to be from knives which meant someone was trying to get in."
"Shit." Rick sighed, running his fingers over the grooves before you nodded for him to follow you and walked around the corner and pointed towards the sentence scratched into the wall.
"I could be wrong, but I think Gabriel was trying to keep someone out. Now, the question is; who and why?" You asked and Rick turned towards you with an unreadable expression before looking back at the writing.
"We keep this to ourselves for the time being, I still don't trust the guy and this is not helping his case." Rick responded and you nodded in agreement before the two of you went back inside.
-
That night the inside of the church was lit up by candles as you all sat around together eating the canned food that Rick and the others had gotten from the supply run. As well as Daryl's squirrels and a glass of wine from Gabriel who you were shocked actually let you guys drink the church wine.
You sat on the ground between Daryl and Carol, most the others spread out across the carpet around the front of the church. A few were seated on some of the benches as you all talked and laughed together.
It was probably the first place you had actually felt safe in since all this started. You couldn't remember the last time you sat back had a drink and laughed like you were now as Carl told you and Daryl about the time Rick broke the kitchen sink when he was a kid.
"I'd like to propose a toast." Abraham suddenly announced, tapping his glass of wine with a fork and everyone instantly stopped talking as you all looked over at the man who was now standing up and glancing around at everyone.
"I look around this room and I see survivors. Each and every one of you has earned that title. To the survivors." He called out, holding his glass in the air.
"Survivors." You all cheered, holding your glasses up before taking another sip as others tapped their glasses together before Abraham continued talking.
"Is that all you want to be? Wake up in the morning, fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse and repeat? 'Cause you can do that. I mean, you got the strength. You got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do, that's just surrender. Now, we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the dead die and the living will have this world again. And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip." Abraham said and you just stared at him in confusion as you tried to figure out what the hell the bigger man was trying to say, but you couldn't wrap your head around it.
"I'm so confused, what are you trying to say?" You asked, breaking the silence as Abraham looked over at you for a second and seemed to debate what to say next.
"Nobodys informed her yet? Well, I got good news for you. Eugene here, has a cure and we need to get him to Washington." Abraham explained and your eyes widen slightly as you stared at him. A cure? Yeah, I highly doubt that.
"Eugene, what's in DC?" Abraham asked.
"Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even to this fubar magnitude." The man answered, but you barely understood a word of that as you absently rubbed your wrist out of habit.
"That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart. However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started." Abraham continued, but you just shook your head.
"Bullshit. There isn't any cure, this is the world now." You responded, everyone's eyes flashing over to you as they continued to eat their food, but you didn't miss the way Carol glanced down at your hand that was rubbing your wrist, but you knew she couldn't see anything since your jacket was covering the cuts and scars.
"It's not bullshit, sweetheart. Eugene was part of the Human Genome Project, this is as real as shit gets and we're gonna end it." Abraham replied and you couldn't stop the chuckle that left your lips as you shook your head.
"A. Don't ever call me 'sweetheart' again and b, you don't seriously believe this do you? Rick?" You questioned, turning away from Abraham as you looked over at Rick who was sitting opposite you with Judith in his lap.
Usually Rick was on the same page with you, but when you looked over at him it was clear that this time you two were on entirely different chapters.
"Ain't gonna hurt to try." Daryl muttered quietly from beside you.
You looked away from Rick and over at Daryl who was still sitting beside you and you sighed, but nodded. Whatever. This smelt like total bullshit and way too good to be true, but might as well try.
"Come with us. All of you. Save the world for that little one. Save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there who don't got nothing left to do except survive." Abraham spoke up again, focusing his attention between you and Rick.
Judith suddenly cooed in Rick's arm causing him to chuckle.
"What's that? I think she knows what I'm about to say. She's in. If she's in, I'm in. We're in." Rick responded and the whole group erupted in cheers and high fives and you smiled softly at their excitement before standing up.
"Where are ya goin'?" Daryl quickly asked about to stand up himself before you shook your head.
"Just need some fresh air, sit and enjoy the night. I'll keep watch while I'm outside." You answered and Daryl stared at you sceptically for a few seconds before he nodded.
You picked up your sniper that was leaning against one of the benches before making your way outside.
The moon was shining brightly in the sky as you scanned your surroundings before sitting down against the wall of the church, resting your sniper against the wall beside you.
You didn't want to get your hopes up about a cure. It was too good to be true and you weren't going to let yourself believe it until it happened. You'd be okay if it wasn't true though, this new world may be hard, but it was survival and survival was the only thing you knew, even in the old world.
You sat there for a few minutes with your own thoughts as you pulled out your hunting knife, tilting the blade slightly as the moon light reflected off the stainless steel.
You twirled the blade between your fingers for a while as you debated what to do, but you knew there was only one thing you needed to do. You needed that pain.
Without another thought, you rolled up the sleeve of your left arm and pressed the blade of your knife against your skin.
You slowly draw the blade down, welcoming the sharp pain and line of blood as you moved onto another section of clear skin and repeated the same action.
Suddenly, the front door to the church opened causing you to jump in surprise and accidentally bumping your knife as you sliced deeper into your wrist causing you to wince as blood began to pour from the cut.
"Shit." You cursed softly, pulling out a rag you kept in your jacket pocket.
You quickly tied it around your wrist to try stop the bleeding and cover it from whoever walked out the front door.
"What are you doing out here?" Bob's voice suddenly asked and you looked up to find him walking around the corner towards you. But, you didn't miss how he was limping slightly and you figured he must have hurt himself during the supply run.
"Not much, what are you doing?" You asked, keeping your hand wrapped around your wrist, already feeling the blood starting to seep through the rag.
"I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later." He answered and you nodded, not bothering to ask why he wanted to go for a walk in the middle of the night because you kinda needed him to go away so you could deal with what you just did.
To your relief, Bob began to walk off and once he disappeared through the trees you quickly looked back down at your wrist, wincing at the blood seeping through the rag. Shit, that definitely needs stitches.
"Damnit." You muttered to yourself, rolling your jacket sleeve down as you stood up and walked back towards the front door, knowing Rick had the bag with medical supplies sitting by the door.
You opened the front door and sighed with relief noticing everyone still sitting around the front of the church talking and laughing amongst each other.
You quickly slipped in and went through the bag until you found a needle, thread and bandages. You shoved them into your pockets, glancing over at the group who hadn't even noticed you'd enter the church before you ducked back out.
You sat back down beside your sniper, pulling the items out your pocket and onto your lap as you lifted the sleeve of your jacket up.
Carefully you untied the rag with shaky hands as you stared at the deep gut that was oozing blood.
Quickly you covered the cut back up and got the needle and thread ready. Hating how much your fingers were shaking as you tried and failed multiple times to thread the needle before you finally got it.
"Toughen up, Y/N. It's just a scratch." You muttered to yourself, although it definitely more than just a scratch.
Carefully you pulled the rag back of and began stitching up the cut. You had to constantly wipe the cut to clear the blood so you could see what you were doing, but the blood just seemed to keep reappearing within a second.
It took longer than you'd like to admit, your hands still shaking as you finished the stitches and wrapped a bandage around your wrist.
Not a second layer you heard the front door to the church open.
Seriously? Why can't this group just sit inside for 20 minutes and not come outside? Was that too much to ask?
Quickly, you tucked the medical supplies into your pocket and rolled your sleeve down. You grabbed your sniper and rested it across your lap to make it look like you were keeping watch and not stitching yourself because you were a fucking idiot.
You heard the footsteps coming and glanced up to find Carol walking towards you. Her hands were on her hip as she stared at you, catching you off guard slightly, but with her tight posture and the way she was glaring at you it started to make you feel uneasy.
"What?" You asked, looking at the woman in confusion.
"Y/N, I saw." Carol spoke up, stopping as she stood in front of you and pointed towards your left wrist which was now covered up.
How'd she see? You were pretty certain that nobody saw you go inside, let alone see the blood.
"I hit my arm, it's no big deal, just an accident." You lied, unable to think of anything else to say because your usual response of 'my cat scratched me' doesn't really work in this new world anymore.
"Okay, then why don't you show me where you accidentally cut yourself?" She asked and it wasn't hard to figure out that she saw straight through your lie as you stared at her before shaking your head and looking away.
"It doesn't matter." You muttered, keeping your attention on the woods behind Carol so you didn't have to look at her.
"Bullshit. You're cutting yourself and you don't think it matters? Does it feel good or what?" She questioned and your eyes glanced over at her trying to figure out if she actually wanted you to answer or not. "Just tell me why?"
"I don't know why, it just helps." You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands ignoring the pain that flared through the cut on your wrist as you did so.
Carol didn't say anything for a seconds as she stared at you, clearly contemplating what to say. You were just waiting for her to run back inside to tell Daryl and the others, but to your surprise she didn't.
"I don't know you very well, but Daryl has taken a liking to you. I've never seen him act the way he does around you before. So, whatever's going on between you guys, that's between you guys, I don't care. But, if you ever hurt him, then I will put you into the ground, am I making myself clear?" She questioned sternly and you just nodded.
"Crystal."
"Good." She replied and began walking off back inside leaving you sitting there still trying to process that conversation.
First she grilled you about the cuts, then she gave you the shovel talk for crying out loud and then just went back inside. What the hell?
You sat there for a few more minutes before you heard the church door open and close and you watched in confusion as Carol began to walk off into the woods.
Maybe she was going after Bob? You honestly had no idea nor did you really care at the moment as you rubbed the bandage on your wrist under your jacket sleeve.
Another minute or so passed before the door opened again causing you to roll your eyes because apparently this group didn't like sitting in the safety of the church and wanted to be out wandering the woods during the night.
To your surprise the person didn't go towards the woods, instead you heard the footsteps heading in your direction and you looked up to find Daryl walking towards you.
"Carol needs to mind her own damn business." You mumbled, knowing she must have told Daryl everything when she went back inside, if the concerned yet angry expression on his face indicated anything.
"Show me." He instructed, walking over to you causing you to scoff and shake your head.
"I'm fine, I just cut a little too deep by accident." You answered, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to cover your wrist despite the bandage being covered by your jacket sleeve.
"That ain't fine. Doin' that to begin with ain't fine." Daryl muttered as he stood a few metres in front you, his features lit up by the moonlight as he stared at you.
"I already got an earful from Carol, I don't need to hear it from you."
"Why do ya do it?" He asked, his tone gentler as he spoke, but you just shook your head. If he had to ask that question then he wouldn't get it.
"You wouldn't understand."
Daryl sighed and knelt down beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he spoke.
"I don't wanna wake up one mornin' to find that you've killed yourself, Y/N." He said softly and you tilted your head towards him, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently.
"You don't need to. It's not about wanting to die, it's more about wanting to live... I don't expect you to understand, but I'm fine. You should be worried about your friend, Carol. She disappeared into the woods a few minutes ago." You commented, hoping that it would get the his attention away from you which seemed to work because his head quickly snapped towards the woods before he looked back towards you.
"Which way?" He asked.
"She went that way. Bob went for a walk too, she might be looking for him." You suggested and Daryl nodded, standing back up as he began to head in the direction you pointed to.
You were about to stand up to go with him before he spoke up.
"Stay here. I'll be back soon." He instructed and you sighed, wanting to argue, but you just nodded and leant back against the building as you watched him disappear in the direction Carol had gone.
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NEXT CHAPTER
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A/N- Link to Masterlist in my bio. I will reblog with my Daryl Dixon Tag List, if you want to be added to the list just comment below.
Well, that happened. Daryl knows about the cuts and Carol knows too and i think you all know whats coming up soon regarding the cops in the hospital. But, next chapter shit hits the fan and it’s not what you’d expect, so stay tuned.
Until next time, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx
#Daryl Dixon#Daryl Dixon x Reader#The Walking Dead#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic#twd#the walking dead fanfic#the walking dead fanfiction#norman reedus#assassin reader#reader insert
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Learning to Love Chapter 155 Birth and Death
The enter Kabul and meet up with the marines already there. "We know where they are. We have had them under surveillance for a month." They are told.
"How much security is there?" Marcus asks.
"Outside perimeter has between five and six guards. We don't know about the inside."
"Okay. We will go in tonight. The guards will be taken out and Chief here will get as much intel from the inside then we will go in."
That is what they do. It is so easy it is almost a joke. The five terrorists they are after inside are reliant on their outside security. When Rifleman and Tex take them out, they are helpless. The Team quickly take them out.
"That was to easy." Liam says what they our all feeling.
"I agree. We need to be prepared for more resistance." Their next stop has 10 terrorist they are after. They rest the next day before heading out.
"Owe!" Grace is awakened that same night with her first true contraction. She had been having increasingly strong Braxton Hicks contractions for days but this was qualifiably different. It is stronger, more focused. She gets out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen to get a glass of water, knowing false labor could be caused by dehydration. After drinking it, she waits. Ten minutes later, she feels another. It is then she calls Amy.
"Hello," Willy sleepily answers.
"Willy, sorry to wake you but I need Any. I think it is time."
"Wow, hold on," she hears him gently waking Amy. "Grace, what is happening?" Grace is instantly awake, alert, and in coaching mode.
"A contraction woke me up about ten minutes ago and I had another ten minutes later and, oh, here it goes again." Grace is unable to talk through it.
"Grace, I am on the way, hold on." An hour later, they are on the way to the birthing center. Daniel, meanwhile, is on the way to trouble.
They find a completely different situation there. The house that holds the ten remaining terrorists is well guarded. There are twenty perimeter guards and, the house itself is more secure, with bars on the windows and doors with double dead bolts. "Yep, this one isn't going to be as easy." Daniel says, with a sigh. He is trying to concentrate with Grace heavy on his mind.
"Grace, you are definitely in labor. You are four cms dilated. They are on the way." Grace tries to smile at this wonderful news but Daniel"s absence and the pain going through her, make it hard.
"Look at me Grace," Amy directs, "breath through it."
"Okay, do we know if there is roof access?" Marcus asks the marine commander who's unit has been doing surveillance.
"Not that we are aware of. We have seen no one enter or exit from there."
"We will take out the perimeter guards but leave one or two alive for intel."
"Very good Grace. You can do this." Amy encourages her sister as she does the hardest work of her life.
"I want Daniel!" she calls out, knowing it is impossible but unable to help needing him.
"I know Grace. He is doing his job and you are doing yours." She nods, unable to speak. Another pain tears through her and she grabs Amy"s hand.
Within a few hours, working with the marines, they have the perimeter cleared. "Chief, Red, go check out the roof while we question these two. Cowboy, Rifleman, cover them."
Moving silently and invisibility through the early morning darkness, they approach the quiet house. From the back, they rapidly scale the fire escape on that side. They are covered by Rifleman and Cowboy, the marine sniper. They have no way of knowing the true danger is on the roof.
"Almost there Grace." Ainsley tells her as the contractions start coming two minutes apart, "you are in transition."
"I know." Grace grumpily calls out.
"It is the hardest but quickest part." She gently reminds her. She is unfazed by her anger. Everyone gets that way at this stage.
"I can't do this. I can't. I want to go home, rest, and come back tomorrow!" She is frantic as the pain becomes almost relentless.
"You are doing this. You can get through this. You are strong and your body knows what to do." Amy tells her.
"Errrr!" Yelled out as her body tightens up again, relentlessly pushing her children forth, into the world.
Daniel and Liam approach the roof, weapons hot. They scan the open area before climbing up the rest of the way. Special attention is paid to the places a person can hide. Seeing nothing, they enter the rest of the way with Liam taken point and Daniel covering him.
"I have to push!" Grace yells out about the same time.
"Fully dilated. Push as your body directs." Ainsley calmly directs. She has been monitoring the twins heart rates as Grace's labor progressed. She checks again as their mommy starts to push. "Very good Grace. Babies are doing well." Grace nods, to focused to talk. She has pulled herself into a squatting position with Amy"s support. "Very good. I can see a time sized amount of hair."
"What color?" Grace asks.
"Dark." Ainsley replies with a laugh.
While his children are being born, Daniel follows Liam up on the roof. They scan for threats and access to the house. Walking carefully across the flat roof, they know their six is covered by the snipers but they still feel horribly exposed. They approach what looks like a roof access door. As the cautiously walk up to it, there is a sudden, "boom!" An explosion! Daniel feels himself being pushed. He falls back ten feet hitting his head hard as his momentum is stopped by the hard tile of the roof. Everything goes black.
"Daniel!" Grace suddenly yells out. Amy gasps, knowing something has happened, having been through this with Willy.
"Grace push. Judah or Judith is ready to meet you." She focuses all her fear for Daniel on pushing. "Here comes the head, shoulders, and it is Judah!" Ainsley slips him on his mommy's chest.
"Judah Ethan Windtalker, hello happy birthday. I love you." Grace greets her second son through her tears. His hair is dark and curly but Grace sees streaks of red through the black. His skin is russet colored except his feet that are still slightly blue where his circulation hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are hers, clear blue, and very alert.
Daniel slowly becomes alert. His head is pounding and ears are ringing. It takes him a moment to reorient himself. When he does, he remembers the explosion and Liam. "Red!" He works his way back and doesn't see him at first. Finally he finds him laying limp on the other side of the flames. Working his way over, he walks around the fire to his fallen brother. "Red, can you hear me?" He falls down beside him. As soon as he sees his eyes, he knows he is gone. His brother's blue eyes look into eternity. He isn't here anymore. "Oh Liam." Daniel whispers through his tears. He pulls himself together enough to report to Marcus. "Boss, Red is down. There was an explosion."
"Down?" Marcus has a hard time excepting what Daniel is telling him.
"He is gone Boss."
"I need to push again." Ainsley tenderly transfers Judah to the isolette by the bed.
"Okay Grace, let's get Judith out." She tries to put aside her concern for Daniel and focus on delivering their daughter. "Good Grace, just like that."
Marcus and the rest of the Team join Daniel on the roof. The explosion has blown the roof access door open and the furious Team takes advantage of it. They head into the house weapons first, ready and very willing to shoot anything that moves. Within an hour, with the assistance of the marines, all ten terrorists are dead as well as, twenty other guards.
They spare no one and ate glad they find no women or children. The house is soon free of the terrorists and the premise, secure. The marines take over, searching for intel and weapons, so the Team can get Liam home.
"Here comes Judith," Ainsley excitedly announces. She slips the screaming baby unto her crying mommy's chest. Judith Erin Windtalker has her mommy's red curly hair but her daddy's eyes and coloring. She is as healthy as her brother. The babies weigh 5'1 and 5'0 respectively. They are 17 and 17 and a half inches long. Gorgeous, healthy, and loud. Grace is head over heels in love with them. She can't wait for Daniel to meet them then she recalls the feeling of danger and says a fervent prayer that he can.
"Please God, bring their daddy home."
The Team gently removes Liam from the roof. He is laid in the C 30 and a flag placed over him. His brothers sit solemnly around him, crying and praying for Ella and the children. They make a stop at Ramstead to get a casket. Daniel and the others take turns calling their wife's to prepare them for the visit Ella will be receiving.
"Daniel, oh thank God. I had the worst feeling that something had happened to you."
"I am okay baby. How are you and our babies?"
"Judah was born first. He weighs 5'1 and is 17 inches. He has black curly hair with a bit of red in it. He has your skin but my eyes. Judith is five pounds even and is 17'1 inches long. She has my red curly hair and your eyes and skin." She says with a smile.
"Oh man,I missed them being born. But they are healthy?"
"Very healthy. You are okay?"
"Yes, but Grace, Liam isn't. He was killed."
"Oh no! Oh Lord! Ella and those babies!"
"I know Grace. They will be informing her soon. We will be back home in six hours."
"Poor Ella." Grace is freely crying. Amy enters the room sees her tears, and thinks something has happened to Daniel.
"Grace!"
"Can you tell Amy?" She whispers.
"Yes, put her on." Daniel informs her about what has happened. "We will be landing in six hours and will be meet by an honor guard. Ella and the children will need as much support as possible." she assures him she is on it. "Thanks Amy for being there for Grace and the babies. Are they as cute as Grace says?"
"Cuter. Wait until you see them."
"Will be soon. Will you put Grace back on?" She hands the phone back to her. "I love you. I am sorry I wasn't there for their births."
"So was I. But I am glad you were there for your Team. I am so sorry about Liam."
"He was a great man. We will feel his loss forever."
Amy gets ahold of Willy and tells him about Liam. Her strong husband cries so hard she has trouble understanding him. They arrange for all the wives but Grace, along with Willy and Team Six to meet the plane bringing the Team and Liam home.
Amy gets Grace and the babies home and settled. Their Uncle Willy come over to meet them. He holds them and cries. Then they leave to welcome Liam and the Team home.
They find Ella and her children and enfold them in their arms as the plane carrying her husband and their daddy, lands. The Team carries his flag draped casket out. The flag he has died for. She approaches it and the Team stands at attention as Ella and her children touch the casket. Their isn't a dry eye among them.
Daniel makes it home to his wife and newborn children. He cries a different kind of tears as he holds them. Life and death all in one day. As he holds his children, he says prayers over them. Prayers for them, for Ella and her family. He prayers for himself and everyone grieving Liam's loss. He also holds his wife tight so happy to see her alright after the twin's birth. He spends two days with his family before Liam"s funeral.
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Twelve Information You Never Knew About Magic Selfie Mirror Photo Booth Hire Leeds.
Great Guide On How To Effectively Take Better Photos
Your photography can highlight every one of the beautiful things in your life, along with this world. Once you know how to make good pictures, you can accomplish it professionally. The next article contains some terrific information on how you can start taking wonderful looking photographs.
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Help make your subject feel comfortable, particularly if don’t know them. Many people are camera-shy and avoid pictures without exceptions. Ask permission before you begin getting the pictures. Be friendly, and don’t be afraid of any little conversation. Make people understand photography is definitely an art rather than an invasion with their privacy.
When you arrive for a wedding photography job, it is possible to warm-up by looking for poignant, unplanned vignettes: a new centerpiece, an abandoned purse, a jacket thrown over a chair. Of course, there’s even the possibility that you’ll catch a lovely, spontaneous shot or two.
Patterns have a natural capability to draw people’s attention.
Patterns add an attractive aspect to your photograph, particularly if they are repeating patterns. Learn how to utilize this to generate new backgrounds and perspectives with your pictures.
Don’t miss out on capturing a fantastic image because you’re fumbling together with your camera’s settings. However, you additionally don’t want to enable the camera decide everything for you personally. Get informed about the digital camera options prior to starting photographing, therefore you know which settings will suit each subject and situation.
Silhouettes really are a wonderful photography technique. Numerous methods exist which can be used in silhouette creation, but plenty of photographers just use sunsets. To produce a silhouette, you simply need to make sure that your background is significantly brighter than your subject. Employing an “off” camera flash behind your subject or employing a bright window behind them can cause your perfect silhouette. Do not forget that a glaring outline might be distracting or unflattering.
Any subject can make an appealing photograph, however, for some subjects, to make a great photograph, you may need to adjust your camera’s setting, modify the angle that you capture the graphic from or modify the surrounding lighting. Try these options prior to taking actual photographs so that you have a better handle on how they are going to affect the shot.
As you now happen to be brought to some photography skills and concepts for obtaining great shots, you should be able to impress your friends and family along with your photography skills. With time, you could possibly also be sufficiently good to photograph professionally..
The post Twelve Information You Never Knew About Magic Selfie Mirror Photo Booth Hire Leeds. appeared first on Judith Journal.
from Judith Journal http://www.catholicsandsurvivors.net/twelve-information-you-never-knew-about-magic-selfie-mirror-photo-booth-hire-leeds/
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Blood of Eden Memorandum for Record
I wonder if this memorandum is from Wake's tenure, or from afterwards. It sounds like BOE tactics may have changed significantly after Wake's death, e.g. John saying that BOE never would have used nukes against his fleet under Wake's command
I totally thought the exception was going to be that the Ninth House necromancers are still obvious goths, but it was actually the Lyctors, haha
If this is really the official BOE position on this, that death is 100% final and the soul is completely destroyed on death, then why did they believe that Wake had returned as a revenant, as stated in the previous glossary? Surely, if Cytherea's body had stood up at Canaan House and told BOE that it was Wake returned, they would have dismissed this as being some kind of ruse by a necromancer to fool them?
After extensive detailing of what necromancers can do, this is completely hilarious, actually
This can't possibly be remotely true. If any of this was at all true about regular non-Lyctor necromancers, the plot of Gideon the Ninth would have been very different and Cytherea never would have gotten away with killing anyone. Actually, if this was at all true, no one in the entire Nine Houses could reasonably expect to get away with murder under any circumstances, just imagine living in a world with this kind of all-seeing necromancer cops who instantly know all the details of any murder you could commit. Also, the Ninth House would have known how Wake had died and maybe even what she had come there to do, and probably a lot more people would have known about Harrow's family murdering the 200 children. Necromancers can speak to ghosts and find out things from them after their deaths, but this mostly seems to involve a ritual of some kind that seems inconvenient on a battlefield, and anyway, they can't get information from the ghosts that the ghosts don't actually have, such as "where was the sniper who killed you standing"
I have to wonder what actual powers or tactics the Cohort uses that make BOE think this is a thing. Lyctors can sense living humans and thus would know where the snipers are regardless of whether or not they actually shot someone, but I don't think Lyctors have gone out with the Cohort in recent times
So Lyctors did at one point in time actually engage with BOE (beyond Gideon's mission to assassinate Wake) rather than simply hanging out with John and fighting resurrection beasts for him. Since it took them like 1000 years or so to figure out that the resurrection beasts were out there, maybe it happened during that time? They weren't in the low single digits back then, but they probably have updated information on that from Wake
I have to wonder if they can recognize Lyctors, and would have recognized Harrow and Ianthe as Lyctors when they came to Canaan House, or if they just thought they were dead. It seems unlikely that they would have recognized them as Lyctors given that even actual necromancers were unable to identify Corona as not being a necromancer
It is interesting that necromancers are referred to exclusively using it/its pronouns throughout this whole document, and in a couple cases I think "human" is being used to mean "non-necromancer", as if necromancers are not actually human. This sort of makes me wonder if whatever contingent of BOE that arrived at Canaan House ever even realized the Judith was a necromancer. From the way they talk about them in this document, I don't think they would have taken her captive if they had realized that
It's also interesting that BOE doesn't seem to have ever realized that regular necromancers are kind of useless in space
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“The Savior Sessions” Part 5 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader
IMAGE CREDIT: Jackson Lee Davis/AMC
SERIES MASTERLIST
Summary: With a storm approaching, you offer to house Negan for the duration and maybe in the process deal with all the nagging thoughts that have come up during all the sessions so far.
Word Count: 2232
Warning: None
Song I Wrote To: “Keeping Your Head Up” by Birdy
Note: This one is more like an intro to the next one, but I thought I’d post it cause I’m posting these in between some angsty stories!
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The constant arguing was finally getting on your nerves.
Sitting in the meeting hall, you listened to the council and other key members of Alexandria argue about the same thing as always: Negan. This week’s issue was that there was a storm coming in that would most likely bring lots of rain, at least that’s what Eugene was thinking. Whether he was right or not, there was still the question of where they were putting their prisoner so he didn’t drown in his cell.
There were those such as Aaron and Rosita who couldn’t care less about what happened to the man, but then there were people like Gabriel who were still mildly concerned. They had locked him up, kept him fed, and Gabriel didn’t think it was fair to keep him in such a vulnerable position during the potential downpour.
Nobody wanted to leave him alone in an empty house and Aaron had even suggested tying him up in the watch post, but Michonne had shot that down immediately.
You sat in the back row of the hall, waiting for them to stop hollering at each other. The last conversation you had had with Negan hadn’t ended well. You were tired, he was curious, and you were not in the mood for his...negan-ness at all. The realization that you and the former leader were similar had rocked you a bit. You weren’t sure what to do with the information.
There was a part of you that wanted to just walk out the front gate and not look back. Running away had once been a pattern for you before the world had ended, but you had fought to break that streak once you joined up with this group of survivors. However, spending a few days in the woods alone seemed not too bad right now. Daryl did seem to have the right idea at times, you thought.
The hum of arguing continued and you fought against everything you had not to yell at them. If Alexandria didn't have strong walls, you were sure the Dead would have been called from miles away with this volume.
"I'll do it," you said, more to the wall than anyone. The yelling continued so you stood up and projected your voice louder, "I'll do it!"
Everyone in the room turned to look at you, Michonne pausing mid-sentence. "What?" Aaron asked.
"I said, I'll do it. Negan can stay with me at my place for the duration of the storm." Nobody knew what to say as you offered your home to be Negan’s temporary cell.
"(Y/N)," Gabriel began, unsure how to continue.
"I have an extra room," you explained, "my fireplace works, I live alone, and I'm already his therapist, might as well be his warden too."
"It's not your job to...house him," Rosita said.
"No, it's not," you agreed. "It's probably Michonne's considering she's head of security, but she has two little ones. Now, I doubt Judith and RJ would care if Negan stayed in their living room, but this way I keep him from all of you and y'all can stop bickering like a PTA meeting."
"And if he tries to leave?" Aaron asked, but you rolled your eyes.
"He won't," you assured him, "though, if he managed to sneak past me, all the other houses, and get over the walls in the storm, then hell, he would deserve the escape."
"Let's try not to let that happen," Michonne said and you nodded. "Are you going to need extra supplies?" She asked simply. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at how easy it was to take on the responsibility. You knew it was just a matter of time before someone spoke up and you also knew that person was going to be you.
"I think we'll be okay. I'll wait until the sun goes down and then drag Alcatraz on over.”
You didn’t wait for a response before grabbing your jacket and exiting the hall. All around Alexandria, people were prepping for the storm. There wasn’t much they could do considering there was only a few hour warning. These were the days when you missed The Weather Channel the most. Since the world had ended, it was the small things that you missed about the old world rather than the big ones.
Waving to Gracie who was sitting on the steps of her house, you continued on your way to your small home near the South wall. It wasn’t much and it was smaller than the rest of the homes, but you preferred it. Rick had once called it your “crows nest” which was appropriate considering your time as a sniper.
Rosita’s house was locked up tight as you passed it and jogged up your front steps. There wasn’t much more to do as you tended to keep your house secure most of the time.
You spent the next couple of hours taping down the windows, grabbing firewood from the communal supply, and taking inventory of your food stock. The whole thing was becoming...odd. It was as if you were a kid again, making sure the house was clean for company so your parents didn’t feel embarrassed.
The thought alone made you chuckle as you finished off your chores by grabbing extra blankets from the hall closet. Glancing outside, the sun began to dip and droplets of rain were already spattering against the windows. With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and began the walk over to the cell.
There were very few people out on the streets and you had a feeling Gabriel and Michonne had spread the news that public enemy number one would be lead out on his leash tonight. Walking by the Grimes’ house, Judith looked at you through the window. You sent her a wink and she grinned back, giving you a thumbs up.
You often wondered where her constant optimism came from because it definitely didn’t come from being raised by Rick or by her biological father. Shane was never one to see the glass as half full for as long as you knew him. However, now that you were thinking about it, Lori did have that little spark deep down...very deep down. Perhaps Judith Grimes was one of a kind after all.
Pulling the keys from your belt, you shuffled down the steps and unlocked the large door. Stepping inside the cold room, you were surprised to be met with silence. You stepped closer to the bars and then you understood why.
Negan was fast asleep.
You took a moment to watch the sleeping man. There was something so innocent about the way a person slept. It was like a reset button for a night and right now he didn’t look like the monster Alexandria and others feared, he was just a man trying to get some rest in a screwed-up world. Rest that you felt bad about interrupting.
Pulling the right key, you inserted it into the cell door and pushed it open. Negan remained asleep as you crept forward. Leaning down, you gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him. Negan’s eyes flew open and his hand tightly gripped the arm that was resting on him. “Ow,” you grunted at the pressure, trying to pull your hand back.
“What’s going on?” He muttered, blinking in the darkness.
“I’ll tell you if you let me go,” you hissed. Negan finally focused on you, his brows furrowed.
“(Y/N)?” he asked.
“Negan, hand,” you reminded him.
“Oh, right,” he said, releasing you from his grip. You stepped back, rubbing at the skin that was sure to be bruised later. He slowly sat up and glanced at the open cell door before looking back at you. “What? Has the Queen of Alexandria finally agreed to a public execution?” he asked bitterly.
With a roll of your eyes, you reached over and grabbed the thick jacket Gabriel had gotten for him a few weeks ago. You threw it at him.
“There’s a massive storm rolling through and Eugene thinks it’ll flood some areas. You’re staying with me until it passes. No more than two days,” you explained, crossing your arms. Negan was silent as his fingers played with the thick material of his jacket.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?” you asked, exasperated.
“Why would anyone care if I succumbed to the elements?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“You don’t want to come? That’s fine. I don’t mind being alone,” you said with a challenge in your eyes. Negan quickly stood, shaking his head.
“No, no, a warm house sounds very nice,” he quickly said. “I’m a great house guest.”
“Right,” you said, still feeling the awkwardness that remained between the two of you from your last conversation. Negan shrugged on the jacket and then you walked to him, producing a pair of cuffs.
“Seriously?” he asked, staring at the chains with disdain.
“Either this or learn to swim,” you said, dangling the cuffs. Negan huffed but offered you his wrists anyway. You quickly fastened them and then took hold of his arm. “Come on, it’s already started to rain.
Negan followed you out of the cell, hesitating on the threshold for a moment. You squeezed his arm briefly and he kept walking. The two of you pushed out into the damp air and you let go of him for a second to close up the room tightly, trying to reduce the amount of water damage that was sure to come.
Turning back to Negan, his attention wasn’t on you, but on the overcast sky. His head was tilted back as he breathed in the night air. A look of content was on his face and you almost thought he was smiling slightly. It was then that you realized this was the first time he had been outside in...you didn’t know how long.
Taking his arm again, you pulled him away from his thoughts and tugged him after you. Negan kept pace with you as you began the walk home. The streets were completely empty now, but it didn’t stop Negan from looking around with those curious eyes of his.
You didn’t know what compelled you to do it, but you easily slowed your pace, letting the walk take twice as long as usual. Looking up at Negan who was completely focused on Alexandria, you let yourself feel a bit sorry for the man. Obviously, Michonne had her reasons for keeping him locked up. You knew them and so did Negan, but you thought that perhaps he should be let out a bit more often.
Michonne had asked you to start visiting him because she thought all the isolation was bad for him, but she also didn’t realize that it wasn’t just being alone that wasn’t good for him. He needed to be out and even if it was starting to pour, you were going to let him have this moment.
Sliding your arm off of his, you let him wander ahead of you a bit, keeping him close, but not so much him being a dog being lead on a leash. He took the paths with grass on them and ran his hands down light posts and across fences. It was like watching someone rediscover the world and it made you oddly happy.
“This way, genius,” you called when he began walking down another street. He quickly walked to your side with a grin on his face. “What?”
“I just never imagined you’d be taking me home so soon,” he joked and you rolled your eyes.
“Well, I didn’t think you would enjoy spending the night in the stables,” you explained, kicking at a loose stone on the road.
“And Michonne and Gabe probably told you that I needed a babysitter.”
“That too,” you agreed. You finished the walk in silence. There were moments when you had to steer Negan in the right direction, but overall, you let him walk on his own without a guard. Arriving at your house, you pulled him up the steps, ignoring Rosita who was glaring at him through her window. Negan didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
“Home sweet home, huh?” Negan said as he stepped into your house. The fire was already burning as your pulled of your jacket and lay it across a chair near the flames. Negan was looking around at the warm room when you walked to him and grabbed his wrists, the key to the cuffs in your hand. “Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Did you expect me to keep them on?” you asked, removing the cuffs.
“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted.
“Well, this is not the cell, it’s my house. My house, my rules, and I say that nobody needs to wear handcuffs. So, here you go. Two days of whatever you want. The kitchen is stocked, there’s decently hot water, and the spare bedroom is the final door on the left. However, you touch my weapons and I will put the cuffs back on, deal?” Negan stared at you for a second before nodding.
“Yeah, no problem,” he said and you gave him an awkward thumbs up before leaving him be in your living room. Walking into your kitchen, you wished for whiskey, another small thing you missed from the old world.
“This is going to be a long two days.”
TAGS: @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @sophia-gwendolyn @ritajammer21
#walkerwords#savior sessions#twd fanfiction#twd#twd imagines#negan x reader#negan imagines#The Walking Dead#reader insert
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