#mytonic

[undefinedgirls]

Past two days have felt pretty good !

[polefit]

The gorgeous @simbo_g in her NEW @myfitfab active wear🙌 looking fab Simmy!!❤️ #UnderTheSea #FreeSpinTank #PursuitLegging #MyTonic #FitFab #Tonic

[ginhol]

'Dareverus' (for Tonic)

Chapter 3: "I like to keep moving forward."

Hours had passed. All they had seen was a cloud of smoke that Severus seemed convinced was a 'ghost' (and had dispatched with a shower of gold sparks), a window that had held Daryl's attention for a curiously long time with its complex stained glass figures that seemed to whisper to him(before Severus had shattered them with a wave of his wand), and rubble. Lots of rubble.

No sign of any survivors. But no walkers either. Daryl wondered where they could have gotten to. He was surprised to not even hear the telltale animal like sounds or some sort of gnawing and ripping. Those walkers they had led into the chasm, (and inadvertantly followed) were just gone. But so were Daryl's people. What had happened to them?

He knew what had happened to Carl. Carl who had been the one to walk closer to the edge of the chasm and curiously look over the edge. He was the first to get pulled in. When Rick had leapt forward to try and catch him, and Daryl follwed to grab Rick, some sort of gravity yanked the whole group of them over the edge. The fall had broken Carl's neck. He turned before they could pick themselves up off the ground.

Some walkers got Maggie but Rick shot a bullet through her temple just as they were really getting started on her.

Daryl didn't want to think about what happened next but there was nothing else to distract him. This damn castle, (as Severus had informed him it was), was so quiet it was almost like walking through an ancient ruin, harmless but for its mysterious nature.

He knew Rick was dead. Really dead. Daryl had seen to that.

Three members of the group got separated while they tried to take down the hungry walkers. Daryl was shooting one-handed while the other hand slashed with his knife. The adrenaline kept him going. He took off half a walker's face with one swipe and kicked it in the chest, knocking it backwards. He spit on it triumphantly.

That's when he felt slimy hands on his shoulders. He stabbed behind wildly but did not connect with anything. He heard the gurgling growl of the walker's mouth about to make contact with his shoulder when suddenly the pressure was gone.

He turned to see Rick wrestling the damn thing to the floor.

“Rick!” Daryl saw that Rick had no gun and no knife. He searched the floor but couldn't see in the tangle of limbs and flesh; some rotting and some fresh and...well not alive anymore.

Rick had no weapon. Daryl jumped into the fray.

He rammed his knife into the walkers head and tugged it off his friend. He offered Rick a hand before he saw the jagged chunk torn from Rick's chest.

“Shit.” He knelt down and inspected the wound. He took out his knife deciding right then and there that he was going to cut every piece of infected flesh from that bite and save Rick from the poison spreading.

“No Daryl–”

“Shut up Rick..”

“Daryl, it's–it's right over my heart, no–no way am I–getting' through this–” He panted but showed no other signs of pain. He seemed uncharacteristically calm. Almost peaceful. Like those early days. Before Laurie died.

“Daryl–please–please take care–”

“Shut the hell up Rick!” Daryl didn't even realize that his voice was cracking and tears were streaming mingling with the blood and filth to leave muddy, bloody streaks.

“Take. Care of Judith. Don't let anyone–”

“Ain't nobody gonna touch Little Ass Kicker.”

“Good....good...” Rick's breathing was getting weaker. Daryl knew he was in pain even if he wasn't showing it. He longed to help his friend. Ease his passing.

“C'ept maybe Beth? She's better at changin' her diapers anyway...”

Rick laughed and coughed blood. Daryl pulled Rick's head onto his lap and wept. His friend was about to leave him. Everyone was leaving him.

“Take care of them Daryl–”

“Ain't no one left Rick.” Daryl sobbed softly, “No one lef to take care of...”

“Daryl–you–you have to...take care...you were always the best of us..."

“Naw Rick. It was always you. Always. Don't matter that you went a little crazy. We all went a little crazy. Don't matter.”

“Least I'll...see...Laurie...and Carl...”

And with those words Rick was gone. Daryl didn't waste a second. He shoved his blade into Rick's head crying out with a single sob that wracked his entire body. He slumped over Rick's body and just stayed there, taking gulps of air. No more tears. He was spent.   

After several minutes he realized that no one else, living or dead, was moving in that room. He stood, not looking down at what had once been his closest friend; he used his gory blade to double check that everyone present was not getting up again. The few faces he recognized he quickly dismissed from his mind. Didn't matter anyway. He found his crossbow again and strung an arrow.

He strode from the hall and didn't look back.

[ginhol]

'Dareverus' (for Tonic)

Chapter Two: "Well, well, well..."

“Who was the woman?”

Daryl glanced at his companion. Severus wasn't looking at him. He was striding confidantly; upright to Daryl's low stance. His robes billowed behind him like partially-folded wings.

“What?”

“The woman I saw, who was she?”

“You saw a woman where?”

“In your mind.”

“The fuck?”

Severus sneered sideways. An impressive accomplishment given that he also seemed to be giving his full attention to all their surroundings. The slightest whisper or click and this imposing figure was almost catlike in his attention.

More like a snake–Daryl thought, merely grunting out loud. He also decided, without much thought, that he was not about to tell this guy about Carol. 

They walked/sneaked for almost an hour. Neither talked. The halls were empty. The silence was beginning to become deafening. The dust was all but settled. Everything was clearly in a ruin but there was no longer even a speck of evidence as to what had happened.

“Looks like an earthquake hit this place.” Daryl commented, staring an an old statue that was shaped like an old woman with a hump-back. “Ugly son of a bitch.”

Severus seemed to ignore both these observations. He turned suddenly on Daryl with a billow of his robes. His arm was up again, this time pointing that stick straight at Daryl's face. Daryl who wasn't quite quick enough to raise his own weapon; not with a dislocated shoulder. He stared down the slim piece of wood at the face now glaring at him.

“Oh now you're gonna kill me? You plan on shoving that stick in my eye?”

“Nonsense.”

“Get that thing out of my face–” Daryl swatted angril at the stick which...branded the back of his hand like a hot-iron. He yelled, using some well-chosen, colorful terms and stared at his hand. A thin, long, anry red line now ran diagonally across the back of his hand. It was still smoking.

“What the–?!”

This time Severus full-out smirked. Fucking British–

“Didn't anyone ever teach you not to touch another man's wand? It's....” He sneered, “rude.”

Daryl shook his hand hoping the sting would fade soon, “You're rude. What the hell was that?”

Severus cocked his head. He looked genuinely curious. “You really have no idea where you are? Do you know what this is?” he indicated the “wand.”

Daryl shrugged, “Wand?”

“You didn't know that until I told you.”

“Yeah well I didn't know it was gonna fuckin' sting me either! What, you got some sort of acid on that thing?”

“I have no need of such things.” Thus saying, he made a curious, complicated motion with his 'wand' and Daryl heard clattering all around him. He looked and realized that stones and pebbles were rising from the ground. He looked back at the mysterious man whose eyes had never left Daryl's face.

“How are you doing that?”

“Magic.”

“Hilarious.”

“I'm not quite sure we share the same sense of humour.”

“Yeah well I'm not quite sure we share the same brain activity. Put the damn rocks down huh?”

Severus' hand twitched and hundreds of pieces of rubble crashed the ground raising new dust.

“Jesus–!”  Daryl leapt sideways to avoid a particularly jagged piece of wall.

“Where did you come from?”

“Hell if I know! The roof apparently–”

“That's impossible the roof is shielded.”

Daryl grunted, “Apparently not well enough.”

“You used magic to get in. What kind of magic?”

“Listen I don't know what this is code for but I sure as hell ain't playin' this game with you–”

Before Daryl could spit, Severus had swept upon him. His hooked nose was almost touching Daryl's. Daryl could feel his soft breathing on his lips.   

“The hell man–?!” Daryl muttered but Severus grabbed him by the chin and was staring at him again, his coal-black eyes searching coldly.

Now if there was one thing Daryl did not appreciate, it was being man-handled. He tried kneeing the man in the groin, (or where he though his groin would be under all those folds of robes), but his knee made contact with something hard like before when he rammed the invisible wall and dislocated his shoulder. This time his knee took all the pain.

Daryl staggered and cursed, but Severus was not through with his examination. His fingers, slender but strong, held fast like claws.

Or coils. Like a snake–

“You're...a muggle?”

Daryl wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of asking what the hell kind of british insult “muggle” was. Not while his shoulder ached, his knee throbbed, and this man was still inches from his face breathing all over him.

“Muggle yourself!” with a shove, Daryl finally managed to release himself from Severus' clutches.

Severus sighed.

“Good heavens. That's...disappointing.”

Daryl stared long and hard at the man before him. He had a sneaking feeling. And he didn't what it was making him consider...

“That thing really does magic?”

Severus considered him for a long moment, “Yes.”

“And you can do magic?”

“Yes.”

“And that would make you a–?”

“Wizard. Yes.”

“Man I seen some crazy shit these past two years but this takes the cake.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but let us assume you are capable of....adequate intelligence. Can you defend yourself with that...'weapon'?” He indicated the crossbow as if pointing out a pile of trash.

“Shot you didn't I?”

“No. You did not.”

Daryl shrugged. “Ya gotta admit that arrow was going straight for your left eyeball.”

Severus waited, nothing showing on his sharp features..

“Can't shoot with my shoulder all busted up.”

Without a word, the self-proclaimed 'wizard' made another motion with his 'wand and Daryl heard a crack before he felt the pain.

“Son of a–! Jesus Christ–!” The pain, however, was short-lasted and he had to admit his shoulder was back in place and no one had touched it. He regarded the wand with a bit more respect. The man, he still did not trust. Not after all that shit.

“Thanks.”

“Pick up your weapon.”

Daryl didn't feel like retaliating. He was glad to have full mobility back and did feel like letting this weirdo know he could take care of himself. Quick as a flash he had restrung his crossbow and whirled to find a target. There: up high and off to his right was a small, round window that looked like someone had thrown a small rock through it. He pulled the trigger and his arrow flew straigth through the miniscule hole, chipping another piece of glass off on its way.

Daryl turned and did some smirking of his own.

“Showing off, are we?” Severus whirled around again, (fucking british ballerina), and strode off, his wand held aloft.

He called back to Daryl, "Come, Muggle."

Daryl jogged to catch up, muttering under his breath, "Your mom's a muggle." 

He didn't see Severus' face contort with rage before returning to a smooth lack of emotion.

[ginhol]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONIC! (it's still your birthday on the west coast!)

Chapter One: "I Know What We're Going to Do Today"

Daryl was alone. The stone walls around him shook. The rubble and dust made visibility nearly impossible, but not for an experienced tracker. He took away a hand from the trigger of his crossbow to carefully smooth his hair out of his eyes before returning it to the trigger and continuing on.

He was alone.

He stepped carefully but full of purpose. Checking rooms and alcoves as he went, but always with an eye for the tracks he followed. Someone had come through this way. His stance was low, his footing sure. He ignored the screams he heard in the distance.

He was alone.

There was no denying it. This was more alone than he had ever been. More so than when he thought his brother had been devoured by walkers the first time on that rooftop; and he had resigned himself to living with a group of people that would surely despise him, little knowing that he was to become the very heart of that group...

More alone than when he discovered his brother was, in fact, alive! Only to find out that staying with his brother meant turning his back on those he now loved....little Ass-Kicker...sweet Beth....strong and ever-present Rick....Carol.....

“Carol...” Daryl growled the name under his breath and quickly shook the horifying memory from his already fragile mind before it could take root.

Now was not the time to remember people who had left him. Now was not the time to think of only hours before when his best friend lay gasping; dying in his arms.

“Take care of them Daryl–”

“Ain't no one left Rick. No one left to take care of...”

“Daryl–you–you have to...take care...you were always the best of us...”

Wiping gruffly at the tears that were gathering in his narrowed eyes, he continued to stalk the ever-winding halls.

The screams seemed to be diminishing. How appropriate. Not even the dying or the dead would keep him company. This place was so strange. Almost like the prison but much older...much more mysterious. He would have welcomed the sight of a walker right about now. The irony. He was completely and utterly....alone.

The tracks had stopped.

Daryl froze just as something fluttered out of the corner of his eye.

Daryl whipped around to face his attacker and immediately released an arrow to where he judged the head would be.

A sharp movement, a burst of sparks and an explosion of dust. Then silence. For several seconds the dust was clearing itself and all Daryl could do was remain frozen in place; crossbow raised; heart pounding; chest heaving with adrenaline. His arms bulged with the need to throttle something; or stab it through the head. But he waited. Waited to see what the dust would reveal.

First he saw his arrow...what the hell?!

His arrow was frozen, mid-air, mere feet from where he'd shot it.

Before he could recover from that surprise, he realized that beyond the arrow was a hand. A cold, pale hand.

Dale dropped his crossbow and his knife was already in hand ready to be used. His fingers flexed. His eyes squinted to see where to aim.

The hand was....holding a stick? A long, black-sleeved arm, slender but muscled and contracted connected to the torso...

“Die you son of bitch!” Daryl let the knife fly, sure of where it would embed itself.

The hand with the stick swept to one side so fast and sharp that Daryl almost missed it. But he didn't miss what it accomplished.

The knife froze just to one side of the arrow. They hung in the air like a bizarre display at a museum.

Daryl didn't hesitate. He lunged for whoever–whatever–it was.

“Protego...” a low voice smoothly spoke the words that sounded like child-speak to Daryl's unamused ears.

Daryl smashed into a wall and cried out as he felt his shoulder dislocate.

He gritted his teeth in pain, falling to his knees and then punching the floor. Damn that hurts like a son of a–

“And who...might....you be?” The low, accented voice almost held a smirk.

Daryl's eyes were watering from the pain. “Damn...british..fucking...psycho...”

“Not...to be rude, but who the bloody hell are you?”

“I'm fucking Alice in Wonderland! And you must be the damn caterpillar cause this sure as hell is the damn rabbit hole...”

“I have no idea what you're talking about but....perhaps I can be of some....” The man finally stepped free of the remaining shadows and dust, “...assistance.”

Daryl gazed up at his attacker. Tall. Robed like some fucking priest; with a collar that rose to the bottom of his chin. Long greasy black hair that curtained in front of his face hiding his features except for a hooked nose...hair that was darker...but like his...

“Come on Daryl; We need to do something about this hair! You're startin' to look like my old neighbor Susan before she stopped washin' hers...” her soft hand brushed strands from his eyes. He playfully grabbed her wrist and made a swipe at her head.

“What 'bout you Carol? You're in danger uh lookin' like a real girl with all those curls of yours growin' all long and fancy like a fuckin' princess!”

Laughter. Play. Soft looks. Never a kiss. Never that. Just looks. And strength. And sweet, sweet smiles...then pain...

Daryl shook his head.

“You don't look....well.” When the man spoke his lips hardly moved. His body was still stock-still. His arm was like stone; outstretched and holding that weird-ass stick. Daryl decided it was safe enough to speak. If he was gonna die, he was gonna die. Bout fucking time too. “Nope. Not real well. How you doin' there?”

“Not...unpleasantly. Tell me: what did you and your...” He glanced at Daryl's torn, bloody, and over-all not dry-cleaned get-up, “friends hope to accomplish by attacking this castle?”

“Weren't attackin' nothin'! We just came here. Don't know how. Didn't realize what was goin' on till all the guns started goin' off and–!”

“Guns, you say?”

“Yeah guns! And flame-throwers and shit!”

The hooked-nose man sneered down at Daryl and then at the crossbow.

“Such a crass...simple choice of weapon. And how did you plan on using,” he placed a careful emphasis on the word, “that, to defend yourself?”

“Ain't nobody here claimin' to be defendin'; just good ol' fashion killin'.”

“Or...” With another flick of his wrist, the man was suddenly invading Daryl's vision. His black eyes pierced Daryl's mind. What the fuck–?! Faces. Images. Thoughts. The last few hours. Like a tape on rewind the presented themselves before Daryl with sickening speed...going further and further back...Rick was dying again on that pile of rubble...blood covering Daryl's hands...fuck....back further: they were falling, inexplicably, through the roof of the castle...right into the group of walkers they thought they had herded into a deep chasm...back further...Rick was telling him that Carol had left....

...and then he snapped back to where he was and gasped for breath.

“Not to kill....” The man spoke almost imperceptibly, “...you're here, to die.”

“Fuck you.”

“You Americans have always had an impressive ability to...enhance your inner barbarian, however–” He unexpectedly lowered the arm pointing the stick and reached out with the other. Offering a hand.

“–the English do not posess quite the same...talent.”

Daryl quickly assessed his situation. He was hurt. This man could have killed him...stick or no stick...but had not. This man, strange as he was, was definitely alive. That was something. And Daryl was no longer alone.

Without a further thought he clasped the proffered hand and was heaved to a standing position. The man was strong. Now at eye-level, the two man glared eachother down. Neither smiled. Neither even twitched. Two pairs of eyes, icy blue and black as ink, peered out from behind long strands of unkempt hair.

The man who had lost everything reached out with his uninjured arm,

“Daryl.”

The man who had also lost everything took the hand offered,

“Severus.”

****don't worry more chapters to come!

[ginhol]

SWIGGITY SWAG I'M A STAG!

[ginhol]

The Supernatural Zodiac