I'm Alex, you may know me from some fics that I made (mostly about Daryl) or an old post of mine of a cat (old account). Currently I'm 17, still going to school and posting here and there.
Here will be all my own posts (from oldest to newest).
Get ready for bed with the Sweet Dreams Collection, a whimsical sleepwear set designed for cozy nights and sunshine-filled mornings. This collection brings playful elegance to your sims’ bedtime wardrobe with 9 pieces which include 3 tops and 3 matching bottoms, one night gown, a jumpsuit and a pair of slippers. Enjoy, happy simming and good night! 💤💗
Depending on your sim's mood, the sleep pose could change from arm under pillow (Happy, Embarrassed, Sad, Shy, Silly, Bored, Depressed) to arms stretched out (Passionate, Dazed, Furious, Flirty, Angry) They can do the same sleep pose if their moods are similar.
DO NOT use this if your sim uses those beds where the blanket doesn't cover your sim. You will be horrified.
Sleeping Animation by Zlostudio: Sleeping Pack
Arm Under Pillow Pose by @herecirmsims: Sleeping Ugly Pose Pack
✨Pillow Talk Override ✨
I really liked this kiss animation by Igor_Santos_Adonai, so cozy after a steamy night. And also Cuddles On The Couch By d'Violet, cute and comforting after giving up the goods.
*Its not perfect but I tried my best with overriding this*😭 (Vid shows both animations)
🚨Take out any other pillow talk mod mod you have if you wish to see theses animations🚨
Mealtime is Served: Edible Food Mod & Clutter Drop! 🥣🍼
The kitchen is officially open! The next installment of our Engawa collection is officially here!!! We may or may not be writing this at 5AM right now.
We put our best effort in creating this set, but the real magic are the Functional, edible food mods! We've created a custom toddler food maker alongside two brand-new, completely edible custom meals for your little ones: a cozy Onigiri plate and an adorable Dino meal. We also packed the set with baby clutter, from puree jars and yogurt packs to milk and water bottles that make your nursery look even cozier!
How to Install the Mod
2 edible custom meals for Toddler
Must download Toddler Meal for the food to show up in-game
Accessible via any highchair or through our Little Chef Toddler Food Maker
The Little Chef Toddler Food Maker food making interaction will only show up if you have a highchair on you Lot. The food will be delivered directly to any highchair available, which means easier access for your Toddler sims to the food
These should not conflict with other food or recipe mods.
Daryl thinks you're too young for him, despite the fact that he's already half in love with you.
season 10 Daryl (late 40s-early50s), 25 year old reader
The first time Carol noticed it, Daryl was sharpening a knife that didn’t need sharpening.
His eyes kept lifting from the whetstone every few seconds, drifting across the Alexandria courtyard toward you.
You sat on the church steps with Judith tucked against your side, helping her braid wildflowers together while RJ climbed all over your back like you were a human jungle gym. Your laughter carried across the afternoon air—bright, warm, alive in a way that made people stop and smile without realizing it.
Daryl looked away the second Carol smirked at him.
“What?” he muttered.
Carol bit into an apple. “Nothin’.”
“Ain’t nothin’.”
“Mhm.”
He scrubbed harder at the blade.
Carol watched him for another long second before saying casually, “You know everybody already thinks she’s yours.”
That made his hand stop entirely.
His jaw flexed.
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I absolutely am gonna start.”
Daryl sighed like a man approaching execution.
Because the truth was worse than Carol even knew.
He was already gone for you.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
And it terrified him.
You had arrived at Alexandria a little under a year ago.
Twenty-five years old. Alone. Covered in walker blood and stubbornness.
Daryl remembered opening the gates with Aaron after a run and finding you sitting against the outer wall with a knife buried in a walker skull beside you and a sprained ankle swelling purple beneath torn jeans.
You’d looked exhausted.
Not weak.
Not helpless.
Just tired down to the bone.
Aaron had crouched carefully. “You alone?”
You nodded once.
Daryl remembered how your eyes tracked every movement around you. Smart. Careful. Ready to fight if needed.
Most people were scared when they first saw him.
You weren’t.
You looked at him for a long moment before saying, “You got any clean water in there, crossbow?”
He’d blinked.
Then snorted unexpectedly.
And that had been the beginning.
You fit into Alexandria like you’d always belonged there.
You helped in the infirmary when Siddiq got overwhelmed. Helped repair walls. Went on supply runs. Read stories to the kids. Learned how to fight from Rosita. Learned tracking from Daryl.
That last part had become dangerous for him.
Because you looked at him like he mattered.
Not like a legend.
Not like some hardened survivor everybody whispered about.
Just… Daryl.
You’d sit beside him during watch shifts and ramble softly about old-world things you missed. Bad coffee. Cheap shampoo. Terrible reality TV.
He’d pretend not to care while secretly memorizing every word.
And somewhere along the line, the quiet companionship turned into something sharp and aching.
He started noticing little things.
The way your nose scrunched when you laughed.
How you always touched his arm when passing him something.
How you trusted him without hesitation.
How your face softened every single time you saw him walk back through the gates safely.
It hit him slow.
Then all at once.
He was in love with you.
Which was a damn problem.
Because you were twenty-five.
And he was…
Old enough to know better.
Old enough to remember a world before the one you grew up in.
Old enough that sometimes his shoulders hurt when the weather changed.
You deserved somebody younger. Easier. Somebody who wasn’t carrying decades of scars and grief and blood under his skin.
Not him.
Never him.
So he buried it.
Or tried to.
It would’ve worked better if you weren’t also painfully in love with him.
You tried not to be.
God, you tried.
But Daryl Dixon was impossible.
Impossible in the quietest ways.
He brought you wildflowers without acknowledging he’d done it, leaving them beside your porch like some skittish forest creature.
Three weeks later he came back from a run holding a dusty can of peaches like he’d discovered buried treasure.
“Found these,” he’d grunted.
You’d stared at him.
“Daryl…”
“Wasn’t usin’ ‘em.”
Liar.
Then there was the way he protected you.
Not in a condescending way.
Never because he thought you were weak.
But because the idea of losing you genuinely frightened him.
You saw it every time walkers got too close.
Every time gunfire erupted.
Every time you came back late from a run and he paced Alexandria like an angry caged animal until you returned.
And yet—
He kept distance between you whenever things started feeling too real.
Like he’d catch himself wanting to touch you and force himself to stop.
Like he’d look at your mouth for half a second too long and immediately retreat afterward.
It hurt.
Because you knew.
You knew he felt something.
But every time you got close to crossing that line, he’d pull away like he was scared of himself.
The breaking point came after a supply run gone wrong.
A small herd had separated your group near an abandoned gas station.
It happened fast.
Too fast.
One second you were fighting beside Carol.
The next, a walker grabbed your arm and slammed you hard against concrete.
You stabbed it through the skull immediately, but not before your head cracked sharply against the wall.
By the time Daryl reached you, you were dazed and bleeding from your temple.
And he lost his mind.
“Move!” he barked at the walkers between you.
His knife tore through them brutally.
Desperately.
You barely had time to stand before his hands were on your face, checking your pupils, your shoulders, your neck.
“You hurt?”
“I’m okay—”
“You blacked out?”
“No.”
“Lemme see.”
His voice shook.
Actually shook.
Carol saw it.
So did you.
Daryl pressed his forehead briefly against yours like he couldn’t help it.
Like relief physically weakened him.
Then he realized what he was doing and jerked backward immediately.
His walls slammed back up so fast it almost gave you whiplash.
“I’m fine,” you said quietly.
He wouldn’t look at you.
“Need Siddiq t’check yer head.”
“Daryl—”
“We’re goin’ back.”
The ride home was silent.
Painfully silent.
That night, you cried about him for the first time.
Carol found him outside the next morning.
He sat on the steps behind his house smoking a cigarette like it personally offended him.
“You’re an idiot,” she greeted.
Daryl grunted.
Carol leaned against the railing. “She cried herself to sleep.”
His head snapped toward her instantly.
“What?”
“She cried.”
His face darkened with immediate guilt.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
Carol softened slightly.
“She loves you, you know.”
Daryl looked physically uncomfortable.
“She’s twenty-five.”
“So?”
“So?” he echoed incredulously. “Carol, I’m damn near fifty.”
“You’re forty-something, not dead.”
“Ain’t right.”
Carol stared at him for a long moment.
Then she asked quietly, “You think she’s too young because of her age?”
He frowned.
“Or because you think somebody like you doesn’t deserve to be loved by somebody like her?”
Silence.
There it was.
Carol knew him too well.
Daryl looked away first.
“She deserves better.”
Carol snorted softly.
“That girl looks at you like you hung the moon.”
He swallowed hard.
“And for the record? She’s a grown woman. Stronger than half the people here. Stop acting like she doesn’t get to choose what she wants.”
“She don’t know what she wants.”
Carol’s expression turned flat.
“She crossed a state during the apocalypse alone and stabbed three Whisperers in the throat last month.”
“…Yeah.”
“She knows what she wants.”
Daryl said nothing.
Carol stepped closer.
“You know what I think?”
He sighed heavily.
“I think you’re scared,” she said gently. “Because if you let yourself have her, really have her, then you’ve got something left to lose again.”
That hit too close.
His jaw tightened.
Carol smiled sadly.
“You already love her, Daryl. All you’re doing now is hurting both of you.”
Then she walked away, leaving him sitting there with the truth lodged painfully in his chest.
That evening, there was a knock at your door.
You opened it to find Daryl standing there awkwardly holding a mason jar.
Your brows lifted.
“Is that… moonshine?”
“Might be.”
You laughed softly despite yourself.
“What are you doing here?”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Can we talk?”
Your heart immediately started racing.
You stepped aside to let him in.
The silence stretched once the door closed behind him.
Daryl looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
You’d seen him face walkers, guns, storms, even Alpha herself with less visible fear than he had standing in your living room.
That alone made your chest ache.
He set the jar down carefully.
Then rubbed the back of his neck.
“Been thinkin’.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
A tiny huff of laughter escaped him.
God.
Even that tiny sound made you melt.
Daryl looked at you for a long moment before speaking.
“When I met ya… thought you were tough as hell.”
You blinked.
“Okay…”
“Still do.”
His eyes held yours now.
Steady.
Raw.
“I tried not t’feel this.”
Your breath caught.
Daryl swallowed visibly.
“Thought I was too old. Thought you deserved somebody better’n me. Somebody younger. Easier.” He shook his head faintly. “But then every damn time somethin’ happens t’you, feels like my heart’s gettin’ ripped outta my chest.”
Tears immediately burned behind your eyes.
“Daryl…”
“And I know it ain’t fair.” His voice roughened. “Know I ain’t exactly—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—prince charming.”
You laughed wetly through your tears.
He stepped closer.
Tentative.
Like he still expected you to pull away.
“You got a whole life ahead of ya,” he murmured. “Could have anybody.”
“I don’t want anybody.”
His breathing stuttered.
You stepped closer too.
“I want you.”
The words shattered whatever restraint he had left.
His eyes closed briefly like the confession physically hurt him.
When they opened again, every emotion he’d been burying for months sat there naked and terrified.
“You mean that?”
You cupped his face gently.
His scruff scratched your palms.
“You are the kindest man I’ve ever known,” you whispered. “You protect people. You care about people. You make me feel safe. You make me laugh. You make me feel loved even when you’re trying not to.”
Daryl’s eyes went glassy.
“Nobody’s ever looked at me the way you do.”
“Get used to it.”
A broken little laugh escaped him.
Then he kissed you.
Finally.
And it was nothing like you expected.
Not rushed.
Not hungry.
Reverent.
Like he’d spent months denying himself this exact moment and still couldn’t fully believe it was real.
His hands trembled against your waist.
Yours slid into his hair.
He made this soft rough sound against your mouth that nearly ruined you.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“You sure?” he whispered.
You smiled through tears.
“So sure.”
Daryl looked at you for another long moment.
Then he kissed you again harder this time, deep and emotional and full of everything he’d been too afraid to say aloud.
A month later, Alexandria stopped pretending not to notice.
Mostly because Daryl had apparently decided if he was finally allowing himself to love you openly, he was going to do it fully.
The man who once barely touched anybody suddenly couldn’t stop touching you.
A hand on your lower back.
Fingers brushing yours.
Kissing your forehead absentmindedly during conversations.
Pulling you into his lap during evening bonfires while everybody tried very hard not to stare.
You caught Carol grinning at the two of you constantly.
“Don’t,” Daryl warned one afternoon when she smirked knowingly.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yer thinkin’ it loud.”
You laughed into Daryl’s shoulder while he grumbled under his breath.
But he was smiling.
Actually smiling.
And at night, when the world quieted and the walls fell away, he held you like something precious.
Like something he still couldn’t believe belonged to him.
One evening, lying tangled together in bed while rain tapped softly against the windows, you traced the lines of old scars across his chest.
“You know,” you murmured sleepily, “you never answered something.”
“Hm?”
“How old were you when the world ended?”
He groaned immediately.
“Oh, c’mon.”
You giggled.
His arms tightened around you.
“Brat.”
“You love me.”
Daryl pressed a kiss into your hair.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
And this time, there was nothing fearful in the words at all.
So I am working at a daycare atm (as an intership) and I swear, those kids are my life😭 They are so sweet and I just want to take some home with me.
I'm there on thurdays and fridays, and especially thursdays are hard (8 am - 5 pm) because I'll be so tired at the end of the day, not only because I'm tired but also just so overstimulated from the kids. But those kids, especially some, make it worth it. Like I can see their progress so clearly even tho I only see them twice a week and it just warms my heart.
There's one boy and he is the cutest toddler that I've ever seen, he has like brown curls and big brown eyes and still has that "baby toddle" when he walks and runs. I just want to take him home at the end of the day
I want kids myself and seeing all these cuties makes it even worse😭
Anyways I love this intership, I'm currently doing a study on it and I'm going into my second year in a few months!! Anyways that was my rant 😗✌️
summary; in which daryl dixon becomes absolutely smitten with your three year old daughter
authors note; okay, this may have gotten away from me a little, but, also why does this concept have me in a chokehold? like imagine the big, grumpy and scary daryl dixon absolutely melting for your three year older daughter.
Daryl has never been comfortable with affection. He swears it's how he's lasted this long at the end of the world. But that doesn't stop your three year old toddler attaching herself to him both physically and emotionally.
It's simple enough. Daryl is sitting alone, eating in peace, when your daughter plops herself down next to him uninvited. Daryl shifts awkwardly where he's sat, mumbling a "...uh", when her big, round eyes continue to look up at him, not blinking. Only when you come over, apologising, does she look away from him and up at you before casually stating: "Stick man." Pointing her chubby little fingers at Daryl's crossbow which was propped up next to him. She then looks back up at Daryl, pushing herself to stand on her feet, reaching to tap his cheek before declaring: "Stick man. Friend."
Daryl just stares at her: “…Do I get a say?” Your toddler just shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she does. "Nope." And by the end of the day she's told everyone that Daryl, the Stick Man, Dixon is her friend now. Despite Daryl acting annoyed, he absolutely doesn't correct her.
Or when your daughter is walking with her tiny hand in yours across the streets of Alexandria and getting tired halfway and dramatically collapsing on the ground, making grabby hands at you, her bottom lip sticking out and trembling slightly: "I too little. Legs broken." Before you can even respond Daryl is walking by, she clocks him immediately, her arms reaching for him. "Stick man. Up." You try to encourage her to stop, that her legs are fine, that they're not broken. But you're silenced when Daryl sighs like he's being deeply inconvenienced but still crouches to pick her up immediately. You don't miss the glee on her face as he settles her on his hip, or the tiniest tug of the corner of his lips when she reaches to pat his cheek, resting her head against his shoulder.
The first drawing your daughter draws for Daryl absolutely doesn't destroy him. Don't be ridiculous. The picture is just scribbles, but it doesn't stop her from proudly explaining: "Dat you." Pointing at the terrible recreation of him on paper. Daryl looks confused, but holding the piece of paper like it's worth it's weight in gold. "Why's it got sticks?" She doesn't hesitate, "din-saur gun". His crossbow. Daryl pretends he doesn't care. But you clock him tucking it safely into a pocket in his vest when he thought no one was looking.
But what gets him is the morning your daughter proudly marches up to him whilst he's messing with his bike, leaving you behind like she does now whenever Daryl is around. "Stick man!" Daryl doesn't even look up anymore, just a sigh and a "what, kid". He only looks up when she stops beside him, opening her tiny fist to reveal a slightly crushed dandelion, and her voice is soft when she says "for you." And when Daryl clears his throat and sets his wrench down carefully, slowly turning to face her, she doesn't hesitate to place it carefully in his big hand. Daryl just stares at the flower in his hand. Because what do you mean she saw this… and thought of him?
When Daryl clears his throat, his ears turning red and suddenly interested in the ground, he mumbles a quick "thanks" he doesn't miss how your daughter beams so brightly at him, making something in chest crack.
Later, you catch Daryl tucking the flower into one of the seams of his bike where it won't get crushed. He notices you watching, his entire body stilling before he grumbles a "don't". You just grin at him.
Never mind the affectionate nickname Daryl gives her... Bug. She had developed a habit of bringing him 'gifts' that consisted of rocks, leaves, but mostly bugs - those were her favourites to bring him, making it her mission to find new ones to show him.
And her reaction when she finds a new one? The cutest things ever. She lets out a tiny squeal as she tears through Alexandria on her tiny legs, curls bouncing, hands cupped carefully like she's carrying treasure. Daryl is crouched outside his house, working on his bike when he hears: "stick man!!" He barely looks up before she's skidding to a stop in front of him, breathing hard and grinning so wide her chubby cheeks hurt. "Look! Look what I finded!" Daryl is immediately suspicious but carefully peaks at her small hands, and very, very carefully she opens her hands and tiny beetle crawls across her tiny palm.
She gasps like she's just seen the most amazing thing, her eyes wide and glinting with excitement. "Bug!" "...Yep. S'definitely a bug."
Whereas most kids would've lost interest in a couple of seconds, she doesn't. Instead she plops down right next to him on the porch steps, holding the beetle carefully. Silence. A minute passes, then two. Then Daryl mutters, almost under his breath: "Careful, Bug. Don't squish it." That makes your daughter freeze and look up at him with huge eyes, her curls falling over her eyes at the sudden movement. "...Me Bug?" And Daryl immediately looks like he regrets opening his mouth, turning his attention back to his bike and keeping it there. "Didn't say nothin'." But then she scoots closer to him anyway, smiling to herself before mumbling a: "otay, Bug."
But the real kicker? Daryl returns from a run injured, nothing life-threatening, but enough for everyone to notice when he walks back through the gates. And before anyone can say a word, your daughter sees him, her tiny feet hitting the ground as she runs over to him, her face crumpling instantly. Daryl stops walking, "what?" The group goes quiet around them when her tiny voice asks: "why you broke?" Daryl doesn't hesitate to kneel down in front of her, despite the pain. "Hey, hey... I'm alright." He doesn't even realise his voice has gotten softer, his expression just as soft. But everyone else does and they can't stop their smiles, some pressing their lips into thin lines to stop small laugh escaping.
Daryl's breath hitches when she grabs his vest in both tiny fists, telling him he has an 'owie' and asking if someone hurt him, and that, that breaks him, his resolve breaking: "yea, but I'm ok." She stares at him for a long second before reaching up with one tiny hand and patting his cheek. Before asking if he "needs a kiss?" Making Daryl completely freeze, and you press your lips together, trying not too laugh. And before Daryl can respond your daughter leans forward and presses a loud, messy kiss right onto his bruised cheek, telling him simply: "makes it better."
Yeah, Daryl would be completely gone for your daughter.
summary; in which daryl dixon becomes absolutely smitten with your three year old daughter
authors note; okay, this may have gotten away from me a little, but, also why does this concept have me in a chokehold? like imagine the big, grumpy and scary daryl dixon absolutely melting for your three year older daughter.
Daryl has never been comfortable with affection. He swears it's how he's lasted this long at the end of the world. But that doesn't stop your three year old toddler attaching herself to him both physically and emotionally.
It's simple enough. Daryl is sitting alone, eating in peace, when your daughter plops herself down next to him uninvited. Daryl shifts awkwardly where he's sat, mumbling a "...uh", when her big, round eyes continue to look up at him, not blinking. Only when you come over, apologising, does she look away from him and up at you before casually stating: "Stick man." Pointing her chubby little fingers at Daryl's crossbow which was propped up next to him. She then looks back up at Daryl, pushing herself to stand on her feet, reaching to tap his cheek before declaring: "Stick man. Friend."
Daryl just stares at her: “…Do I get a say?” Your toddler just shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she does. "Nope." And by the end of the day she's told everyone that Daryl, the Stick Man, Dixon is her friend now. Despite Daryl acting annoyed, he absolutely doesn't correct her.
Or when your daughter is walking with her tiny hand in yours across the streets of Alexandria and getting tired halfway and dramatically collapsing on the ground, making grabby hands at you, her bottom lip sticking out and trembling slightly: "I too little. Legs broken." Before you can even respond Daryl is walking by, she clocks him immediately, her arms reaching for him. "Stick man. Up." You try to encourage her to stop, that her legs are fine, that they're not broken. But you're silenced when Daryl sighs like he's being deeply inconvenienced but still crouches to pick her up immediately. You don't miss the glee on her face as he settles her on his hip, or the tiniest tug of the corner of his lips when she reaches to pat his cheek, resting her head against his shoulder.
The first drawing your daughter draws for Daryl absolutely doesn't destroy him. Don't be ridiculous. The picture is just scribbles, but it doesn't stop her from proudly explaining: "Dat you." Pointing at the terrible recreation of him on paper. Daryl looks confused, but holding the piece of paper like it's worth it's weight in gold. "Why's it got sticks?" She doesn't hesitate, "din-saur gun". His crossbow. Daryl pretends he doesn't care. But you clock him tucking it safely into a pocket in his vest when he thought no one was looking.
But what gets him is the morning your daughter proudly marches up to him whilst he's messing with his bike, leaving you behind like she does now whenever Daryl is around. "Stick man!" Daryl doesn't even look up anymore, just a sigh and a "what, kid". He only looks up when she stops beside him, opening her tiny fist to reveal a slightly crushed dandelion, and her voice is soft when she says "for you." And when Daryl clears his throat and sets his wrench down carefully, slowly turning to face her, she doesn't hesitate to place it carefully in his big hand. Daryl just stares at the flower in his hand. Because what do you mean she saw this… and thought of him?
When Daryl clears his throat, his ears turning red and suddenly interested in the ground, he mumbles a quick "thanks" he doesn't miss how your daughter beams so brightly at him, making something in chest crack.
Later, you catch Daryl tucking the flower into one of the seams of his bike where it won't get crushed. He notices you watching, his entire body stilling before he grumbles a "don't". You just grin at him.
Never mind the affectionate nickname Daryl gives her... Bug. She had developed a habit of bringing him 'gifts' that consisted of rocks, leaves, but mostly bugs - those were her favourites to bring him, making it her mission to find new ones to show him.
And her reaction when she finds a new one? The cutest things ever. She lets out a tiny squeal as she tears through Alexandria on her tiny legs, curls bouncing, hands cupped carefully like she's carrying treasure. Daryl is crouched outside his house, working on his bike when he hears: "stick man!!" He barely looks up before she's skidding to a stop in front of him, breathing hard and grinning so wide her chubby cheeks hurt. "Look! Look what I finded!" Daryl is immediately suspicious but carefully peaks at her small hands, and very, very carefully she opens her hands and tiny beetle crawls across her tiny palm.
She gasps like she's just seen the most amazing thing, her eyes wide and glinting with excitement. "Bug!" "...Yep. S'definitely a bug."
Whereas most kids would've lost interest in a couple of seconds, she doesn't. Instead she plops down right next to him on the porch steps, holding the beetle carefully. Silence. A minute passes, then two. Then Daryl mutters, almost under his breath: "Careful, Bug. Don't squish it." That makes your daughter freeze and look up at him with huge eyes, her curls falling over her eyes at the sudden movement. "...Me Bug?" And Daryl immediately looks like he regrets opening his mouth, turning his attention back to his bike and keeping it there. "Didn't say nothin'." But then she scoots closer to him anyway, smiling to herself before mumbling a: "otay, Bug."
But the real kicker? Daryl returns from a run injured, nothing life-threatening, but enough for everyone to notice when he walks back through the gates. And before anyone can say a word, your daughter sees him, her tiny feet hitting the ground as she runs over to him, her face crumpling instantly. Daryl stops walking, "what?" The group goes quiet around them when her tiny voice asks: "why you broke?" Daryl doesn't hesitate to kneel down in front of her, despite the pain. "Hey, hey... I'm alright." He doesn't even realise his voice has gotten softer, his expression just as soft. But everyone else does and they can't stop their smiles, some pressing their lips into thin lines to stop small laugh escaping.
Daryl's breath hitches when she grabs his vest in both tiny fists, telling him he has an 'owie' and asking if someone hurt him, and that, that breaks him, his resolve breaking: "yea, but I'm ok." She stares at him for a long second before reaching up with one tiny hand and patting his cheek. Before asking if he "needs a kiss?" Making Daryl completely freeze, and you press your lips together, trying not too laugh. And before Daryl can respond your daughter leans forward and presses a loud, messy kiss right onto his bruised cheek, telling him simply: "makes it better."
Yeah, Daryl would be completely gone for your daughter.
I love love loveee getting headaches (jk) ive been getting them when i wake up or at school, i think i need glasses due to me needing to stare at screens 24/7 for lessons (either for school work or instructions from the teacher via a powerpoint).
Anyways i went to the beach yesterday with a friend and she took a photo as a joke but it is lowkey good
This takes place shortly before the humans return to Pandora.
♢ Pairing: Jake Sully x Neytiri, Mom!Neytiri x Oldest Daughter!Reader, Dad!Jake Sully x Oldest Daughter!Reader
♢ Word count: 2.3k
♢ Genre: Family fluff, mother-daughter fluff, protective older sister
⌲ Description: A look at the Sully children through the loving eyes of Neytiri, and how you as the oldest daughter fit into this puzzle piece. Also a slight rediscovery of Neytiri and Jake’s relationship after the war cause it’s not talked about enough.
Pairing: Aonung x Sully!Reader
Warnings: none, fluff, deep feelings ? i love intense lover aonung idk
Summary: During Aonung long patrols and hunts, he spends his time searching the tide pools and deep reefs for sea treasures for his favourite forest girl.
A/N I haven't edited this so there could be spelling or grammar mistakes!!
Aonung was distracted. While the others boasted of the size of their fish, his eyes were scanning the tide pools and the sun-bleached shallows. He spotted it—a fragment of deep-purple coral, smoothed by years of crashing waves until it looked like a teardrop of frozen sunset. He bent down, snatching it up and tucking it into the small pouch at his waist.
"Another one, Aonung?" Rotxo’s voice was dripping with mischief. He leaned over, trying to peek into the pouch. "That's the third one today."
"It is nothing," Aonung muttered, swatting Rotxo’s hand away. "Just a curious shape."
"A curious shape for a certain forest girl, right?" another hunter chimed in, grinning. "We see where those shells go. You’re like a sea-bird bringing gifts to a nest."
Aonung felt the heat rise in his chest, a flush of blue darkening his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes, his tail lashing behind him. "Shut up. It's just... If she is to live here, she must look like us. Her Omatikaya beads are falling apart in the salt. I am... helping her... adapt?"
"Right," Rotxo laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "And the bioluminescent pearls you found yesterday? I suppose those were for adaptation too?"
Aonung ignored them, rolling his eyes and splashing them. They could tease all they wanted, but they didn't see the way your eyes lit up when he brought you something rare. They didn't see the focus on your face as you sat on the docks, your nimble fingers weaving the ocean’s discarded beauty into something precious.
-
The sun was low, turning the water into liquid gold, when Aonung finally found you. You were sitting on the edge of your family’s pod, your legs dangling over the water, a mess of colorful fibers and sea-glass spread across your lap.
"You're back," you said, not looking up, though a small smile tugged at your lips. You had learned to recognize the specific rhythm of his swimming.
"The patrol was long," he said, pulling himself up onto the dock beside you. He was dripping wet, his skin shimmering. He reached into his pouch and held out his hand. "I found this. It reminded me of the forest flowers you told me about. The ones that only bloom at night."
He dropped the purple coral and a handful of iridescent sea-snail shells into your palm. You ran your thumb over the smooth surface of the coral, your breath catching. It was perfect.
Reaching into the small woven bag at your side. "I was waiting for you to get back."
"mh? Yeah? Why?" He titled his head looking curiously at your bright entusiasm.
You pulled out a thick, intricately braided bracelet. It was made from dark, waterproof fibers and featured a singular, polished black stone you had found weeks ago, flanked by the very first shells he had ever brought you. It was sturdy, designed for a hunter, but the patterns were delicate—a map of the forest woven into the soul of the sea.
"Give me your hand," you murmured.
Aonung felt his breath hitch as he held out his wrist. You worked the clasp, your cool fingers pressing against the pulse point of his arm, which was hammering a frantic rhythm. When the bracelet was secure, it looked like it belonged there, a dark contrast against his teal skin. "There, perfect."
He turned his wrist, watching the way the shells caught the fading light. He had spent weeks bringing you fragments of his world, hoping to see you wear them. He hadn't expected you to weave a piece of yourself into something for him to carry.
"It is... I have never seen a weave like this," he whispered, his voice thick. He looked at the bracelet, then up at you, his golden eyes searching yours with a raw, quiet vulnerability. "You spent your time on this? For me?"
"You spend your time looking for shells in the deep," you countered softly, your cheeks warming as you took his hand and played with his fingers, admiring how good the bracelet looked against his skin. "It’s the least I could do."
Aonung smiled, an unfamiliar tingling sensation settled in his stomach, as if a whirlwind of emotions were invading his body. He intertwined his fingers with yours, caressing your hand with his thumb and placing a kiss on your temple. "Thank you, sevin."
-
The weeks turned into months. You were sitting on the beach, mending a fishing net, when you saw the hunters returning from a grueling multi-day scouting mission near the barrier islands.
Aonung was leading them, his chest heaving as he hauled a heavy spear. As he raised his arm to signal to his father on the shore, the sun caught something dark and coiled on his wrist.
Your heart gave a little skip.
The bracelet was there. It was darker now, seasoned by the salt and the sun, but it hadn't left his skin. You realized then that you had seen him in every state over the last moon—diving from the highest cliffs, training in the mud, even during the formal ceremonies where the Olo’eyktan’s son was expected to wear only the finest traditional regalia. Not once had he untied the cord.
Later that evening, you caught him as he was washing the brine from his skin near the fresh-water pools.
"You haven't lost it yet," you teased, gesturing toward his arm. "I thought it would have snapped it off by now, or you would have tired of wearing a 'forest-braid' that doesn't match your war paint."
Aonung stopped, water dripping from his chin. He looked down at the bracelet, his expression softening into something private and intense. He reached over, tracing the worn fibers with a thumb, his gaze lingering on the black stone at the center.
"I told you," he said, stepping closer until he blocked the light of the setting sun, his shadow falling over you. "I don't take it off. Not when I hunt, not when I sleep. When the current is strong and I am far from the reef, I feel the weight of it on my pulse."
He looked at you, his gaze steady. "It reminds me of who is waiting for me on the shore. Why would I ever take that off, yawne?"
The teasing words died in your throat while he claimed your heart with a deep long kiss. That day you realized that he wasn't just wearing an accessory. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve for the whole village to see.
