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theteasetwrites · 1 year

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The Dixon Problem

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: swearing, mild violence ❧ Word Count: 5k

❧ Summary: Not everyone is happy with the Dixons’ presence in the camp, especially Shane. When things go haywire, the only solution is a compromise, and to let Daryl know you care.

❧ A/N: I realize I’m posting this after a weird little argument over the ethics of zooming in on a man’s crotch but here we are. This is a fanfiction blog, believe it or not. Anyway, here’s another fic set in the same universe as The Beginning (I really like doing these ok), and this one takes place between Chapter 4 and Chapter 5. I really wanted to do some oneshots that would’ve happened before they got together because idk it just seems to cool to read about them before they kissed at the CDC and sort of build up to that. I find it fun to hint at their burgeoning attraction to one another, and how they’re both kind of in denial about their little crushes lol. We all know it was love at first sight. Also I loved writing Daryl fighting with Shane it was so fun. Daryl should’ve punched Shane in the show don’t @ me.

A deep huff escaped your lips as the back of your hand wiped the dripping sweat from your brow. The sun was a few hours from setting, but Georgia summers were unforgiving, and even a setting sun would prove to be dangerous if you didn’t hydrate.

Taking a sip of water from the crinkly plastic bottle, you watched Lori skillfully sew up the rips in one of Shane’s shirts. It was a skill you had neglected, but at one point, you were pretty good with a machine. Hand sewing was something else entirely.

“You’re so good at that,” you said. “How’d you learn?”

Lori smiled as she looked at you, staring in awe. “My mom sewed, my granny sewed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my great granny sewed, too.”

“That’s sweet… Maybe you could teach me sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were trying to get Mr. Crossbow to teach you how to hunt?” She spoke with a crooked smile, on the verge of laughing. You failed to see what was so funny, frankly.

But mostly, you were embarrassed. The warm blush on your cheeks and the butterflies doing somersaults in your belly betrayed you, though you just pretended none of it was there.

“Well, he, uh, said I should learn how to fight first. He said he’d teach me that, though.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm… Why are you laughing?”

Lori lowered her head until her hair covered her face, but you heard a few snorts and giggles from beneath the dark curtain.

“You’re so cute,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Cute? Why am I cute?”

“You just are…” She leaned closer to speak in a quiet voice. “I bet Daryl thinks you’re really cute.”

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off as you awkwardly nudged her shoulder with yours. “Stop. That’s not funny. Not true, either. I think he finds me annoying.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. “What about the little rock he cracked open for you? That doesn’t sound like the actions of a man who’s annoyed.”

That “little rock” was now your prized possession. You had one half, and you’d let Daryl keep the other. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to you. That rock was a geode, something your father would’ve added to his extensive collection. Maybe you were thinking too much into it, and maybe it was cliché, but you liked to think that it represented the last beautiful thing in the world. You kept it by your cot, on full display so it was the first thing you saw each morning. Sometimes, the translucent purple shards would catch the new light that streamed through your tent in just the most perfect way.

“He was just being nice,” you said. “Daryl’s… really nice. I mean, he’s a little… grumpy, but he’s got a good heart. I can tell. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t think so.”

Before Lori could respond with another teasing quip, you both flinched at the sound of Daryl, the man you were just talking, and thinking a little too deeply, about. His voice was raised, one decibel away from being a yell. It sounded like it was coming from the center of camp, near Dale’s RV, so you both jogged over, anxious to see whatever was causing Daryl to yell a series of curse words and a few other words you couldn’t yet make out.

“Stupid cop!” you heard, now getting closer. “Who the hell do ya think you are?! This ain’t Miami Vice.”

You stumbled upon Daryl, with his chest puffed up and his hands moving vigorously along with his hostile words, in some kind of argument with Shane, who only shook his head with his hands on his waist as the bowman hurled insults his way.

“Listen, Dixon,” replied Shane, who was visibly also beginning to lose his temper, “we gotta maintain some order ‘round here. Now, I don’t give a shit ‘bout what you and your white trash redneck brother used to get up to in bumfuck nowhere, but there’s women and kids here, and I don’t want this shit ‘round ‘em.”

Oh, noble Shane, you thought to yourself, but then again, you still had no idea what the men were arguing about, so maybe he had a point. Still, you did take some issue to being compared to a child, but you weren’t about to jump in the middle of a fight between two burly, hotheaded men for the sake of feminism.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! It ain’t nothin’, Merle goes off into the woods to do it! Ain’t no women or children gonna get hurt. You’re just as stupid as you look, Columbo.”

“It ain’t them seein’ the drugs I’m worried about,” Shane replied, getting closer to Daryl until their chests were nearly touching. “It’s you and your ugly ass brother.”

Drugs? You knew Merle had a stash of drugs, including crystal meth, and most others figured it based on, well, everything about him, but you didn’t think Shane would pick a fight with Daryl over it. Maybe Merle himself, but not Daryl. Merle wasn’t even there that day, having taken his turn to go hunting, though he never brought back nearly as much as his brother. You weren’t sure if it was because Merle wasn’t a very good hunter, or because he just didn’t care enough to bring back food for your group, but either way, it was clear which brother was better.

“Man, that’s bullshit,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Shane. “You wanna see a threat then look in the mirror. There’ll be a big arrogant prick starin’ back at ya.” Daryl punctuated his sentence by shoving the other man backwards, but before Daryl could strut away as he planned, Shane shoved him back.

“Watch yourself,” Daryl warned, voice low and raspy. “I don’t want your pig blood on my hands.”

He tried to brush past Shane, but the man was fuming. He shoved Daryl back once more, knocking him to the ground.

A puff of dirt swallowed his body as you let out a small gasp of disbelief. No one in the group had gotten physical with anyone like this yet. Maybe it was only a matter of time before it happened. After all, a group of several strangers under incredible physical and mental stress in the middle of the end of the world was a recipe for disaster, but you’d hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon.

All you could register was the sound of Daryl’s grunting before he sprung back up to sock Shane across the face, disorienting him. He soon struck back, but Daryl ducked and delivered a blow to Shane’s stomach.

Shane had managed to deliver a few blows of his own, but at this point, all you could focus on was thinking of a way to break them up without getting hurt yourself.

“H-hey!” you shouted out, along with Lori and several other women who’d gathered around, yelling to the men to stop. “Stop it!”

Dale was frantically climbing down the ladder of the RV, then greeted the scene with wide eyes. “Hey, hey! Break it up!” He managed to get his arms between the two of them, but he could only keep Shane back. Daryl even tried to get around Dale so he could deliver one last blow to Shane’s face, but T-Dog came up behind and pinned the enraged man’s arms back.

“Get offa me!” he yelled to T-Dog, then turned his attention back to Shane. “I’m gonna beat your ass, you hear me, bacon bits?!”

Dale stood between them, holding his hands out to keep them both at bay. Their chests swelled with heavy, panting breaths as their faces molded into their own unique scowls. Shane’s was terrifying, much more than Daryl’s. His dark brown eyes didn’t need to narrow at all, they were just as terrifying in their wideness. His mouth wasn’t agape, it was sealed shut as the breaths pumped out of his flared nostrils. He stood completely still, like a ticking time bomb. You’d never been more terrified of the man.

Daryl paced back and forth for a few feet on each side of him, his face much more natural looking, but still enraged. At least you could make some sense of Daryl in his anger. He didn’t send a shiver down your spine like Shane did. Well, and maybe you were a little partial to Daryl now, since he’d shown you kindness. In any case, the awkward silence that permeated the stiff, humid air was excruciating.

“Just calm down,” panted Dale, arms still outstretched between them. “What the hell is going on here?”

Shane huffed before speaking. “I was just tryin’ to have a civil conversation about the drug use goin’ on in this camp.”

“Drug use?” questioned Lori. “No, no way. No drugs, not around the kids. That’s the last thing we need right now.”

Daryl turned to look at Lori, not with anger, but confusion. He seemed troubled, unable to reconcile something in his head. His eyes squinted shut as he wiped his nose, which had just begun to bleed from the punch. He spat a glob of pinkish saliva onto the dirt ground, then turned back to face Shane.

“Talk to Merle,” was all he said. His voice was quieter now, almost timid, but still with an air of defensiveness.

He turned back again, in the direction of his tent. You met his glance for a moment, at which point he seemed to stop in his tracks. His foot backstepped, flashes of blue still on you until they averted to the ground. When he regained his focus, he moved quicker, more determined. Still, his confidence seemed drained after he looked your way, but all you could pay attention to now was Shane, who was walking directly towards you, huffing and puffing.

“What the hell were you thinkin’, bringin’ those meth heads here, huh? You stupid or somethin’? I thought you were some kinda… librarian.” He ended his sentence with a sarcastic chuckle.

Before you could respond, Lori spoke up, and thank God she did. You were still petrified by Shane’s aggression, and Lori knew him from before the fall. Maybe he’d actually listen to her.

“Stop it, Shane,” she scolded in an almost motherly tone. Fitting, since the argument between him and Daryl seemed more like that of children than two grown men in their thirties. “It’s done. No point in arguing about it.”

For your part, you took a moment to collect your thoughts, then spoke to Shane with as much bravado as you could muster. “It’s because of Daryl that we’re not starving to death,” you said.

Dale stepped forward, hand outstretched slightly to gesture towards you. “That’s a good point, but what about the drugs?”

You shook your head profusely. “I don’t know anything about any drugs.” That wasn’t true, you knew Merle was getting high, and that he was a dealer, but that honestly didn’t matter to you much at this point. As far as you were concerned, everything that had ever separated the human race from each other was out the window. Drug addicts were no different from Mormons now. Granted, Merle could be unpredictable, and you hated him, frankly, but Daryl and Merle seemed like a package deal, so you’d have to deal with both of them if your group was to reap the benefits of having a skilled hunter.

Plus, you might’ve fostered a bit of admiration for him. Friendly admiration, of course.

“Well, I just ain’t havin’ no crystal meth in this camp,” replied Shane. “And I’m about this close to killin’ your buddy, so’s as far as I’m concerned, this is your problem to solve if you wanna keep them here.”

Diplomacy wasn’t your strong suit, but if it kept Shane from kicking out the Dixon’s, you’d try your best to find some common ground.

“Compromise,” Dale said with a nod. “(Y/N), you should talk to Daryl, ask him to talk some sense into Merle when he gets back to camp. We give them shelter, they get rid of the drugs.”

It sounded more like an ultimatum than a compromise, but you were perhaps the only person who’d had any meaningful contact with the slightly more tolerable brother, so you put aside your reservations to head to the Dixons’ camp, several yards away from the rest of the group.

He was on one knee as he chopped the head off a squirrel on the sawed log he was using as a butcher block. The sound of the axe slicing through the flesh and digging into the wood was so powerful that you flinched, alerting the hunter to your presence.

Though he didn’t look your way. He simply set aside the axe and continued skinning the creature as if you weren’t there.

“You want a piece of me, too, woman?” he asked. “Whatever you gotta say, I ain’t in the mood.”

You bit your lip as you stood still, thinking of what to say. Daryl was tricky, you knew that. Sometimes he was nice to you, and sometimes he wanted nothing to do with you. No one in the camp knew how to deal with him, really. You only knew a little because you somehow found yourself trying to ingratiate yourself with him, but why? You still weren’t exactly sure.

“May I sit down?” you blurted out, thinking that might be the first step to talking to him.

He looked up at you then, with a suspicious glare.

“Why?”

Just as you were still trying to get used to talking to him, he was still trying to get used to your desire to talk to him in the first place. Why would a woman like you want anything to do with a man like him, anyway? Surely you had an ulterior motive, though he couldn’t deny there was something genuinely kind and soft about your face. Maybe even, dare he say, pretty? Not just physically, though he was painfully aware of that, but through and through, you were quite lovely. Well, that’s how it seemed, anyway.

Merle always said that women couldn’t be trusted, that if they weren’t childlike and dumb, they were manipulative and cunning. Nothing else, nothing in between. Of course, Daryl had a hard time believing that. People weren’t that simple, and Merle’s authority on the topic of women was questionable at best. Still, old habits die hard, and maybe he was just a little skeptical of your intentions. After all, no woman or man had ever shown this much interest in talking to him.

Daryl was, for all intents and purposes, a loser. He still felt like one, though he had to admit, when you brought him to your camp, insisting that your group needed him, he did feel a small sense of real, genuine pride, for the first time in his life. Maybe he had something to offer, something good he could do. Maybe you really wanted him there, and he wasn’t just a loser with a bad temper and a meth head brother.

His deeply ingrained insecurity, though, told him otherwise, and that you were only kind to him because of what he could offer your group, not because you actually appreciated him. But then again, the rest of the group had all but ignored him since he arrived, and you were the one who’d spoken more than five words to him at a time. That had to mean something, right?

“I want to talk to you,” you said simply. “So, can I?”

He chewed his lip as he looked you up and down, as if inspecting you. Wordlessly, he nodded, then lowered his head again to focus on the mutilated squirrel.

As you cleared your throat, you sat yourself on a dinky camping chair across from the fire pit. Both of you were silent for a little while, with only the sounds of flesh tearing from the muscle of the little furry critters Daryl was skinning. You watched with furrowed brows, though at a certain point, you had to stop looking, otherwise you’d get a little woozy, so you lifted your gaze to the top of Daryl’s head, covered in short, choppy brown hair.

Surprisingly, just before you were about to say something, Daryl spoke first. “I ain’t no meth head,” he said abruptly. “I don’t touch that shit.” Not anymore, he thought, but something stopped him. Could it be… embarrassment? Maybe shame. All he knew was there was a part of him that cared what you thought, for some odd reason. He’d trained himself not to give a damn about anything, though it was in his nature to. Why was your presence bringing out his sensitivity? It was a blessing and a curse. It hurts to care, he’d always thought. Nothing good could come of it. He cared once, before he knew how cruel people could be.

“I never said you did.”

“S’what you all think,” he replied. “Y’all think I’m some kinda… stupid redneck bastard.” Wouldn’t be wrong, a voice inside him retorted.

“I don’t think that.”

He finally raised his eyes again, glowering at you. “You will.”

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but it did, just a little bit. “I bet you I won’t.”

He shook his head and stood up to retrieve the red rag that was often dangling from his back pocket. Wiping his hands, he nodded towards you. “What’d ya really come over ‘ere for? They send ya over to kick me out?”

You shook your head immediately. “No, no. Not at all. Just… You need to tell Merle to quit with the drugs.”

Daryl scoffed, almost a laugh. “Askin’ Merle to give up crystal’s like askin’ him to cut off his own hand. ‘Sides, ya don’t think I’ve tried? Ain’t no use in it. Might as well jus’ kick us to the curb ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen.”

His apathy frustrated you, and you let out an exasperated, now quite irritated, puff of air. “So you’d rather live out in the woods by yourselves than in a group, with people who will look out for you?”

“None of these people will look out for me,” he scoffed.

“Well, I would.”

He looked your way again, this time not suspicious, but confused. “Why’d ya bring me and Merle here in the first place? All ya got to show for it is bein’ yelled at and bossed around by that asshole Shane.” He spat the man’s name out in obvious distaste.

“I told you,” you said, “I thought you would be able to help us… And you saved me. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

He lowered his head again, busying himself by cleaning between his fingers with the rag in the hopes of distracting you from the obvious blush on his cheeks. When he didn’t respond, you realized you hadn’t asked him a similar question.

“Why’d you save me, anyway?” you asked, your voice a little more quiet, as if afraid of him even hearing it.

After all, you were a complete stranger, why should he have helped you? What you knew from human nature was that people often only helped others if they knew there was something in it for them. True altruism was hard to come by, and often not evolutionarily beneficial. Those who helped others and put themselves in danger often died out before their lineage could carry on. Well, that was your vague memories of anthropology class resurfacing, but it still applied.

Indeed, you yourself hadn’t been acting out of true altruism. You had decided to bring Merle and Daryl into the fold because they were hunters, and they could benefit your group by providing your people sustenance. But Daryl’s motivations were less clear.

He swallowed hard as thought for a moment, himself now forced with the reality of facing that question. Why did he help you?

For the next several moments, he transported himself to that day just a month ago, when he was trudging around in the woods outside Atlanta, listening to Merle ramble on about some drunken memory, a relic of his “glory days” that he seemed unable to forget about. They had no destination, no idea where they were going. They’d tried the refugee center in the city, but that had been overrun about as soon as it was set up. Merle was quite content to rough it, and so was Daryl, so long as there weren’t flesh-eating monsters roaming around.

When he heard the rather faint sound of a woman screaming, somewhere ahead in the maze of aspen trees dotting the humid forest, something in him switched, and though he remembered the muffled sound of Merle’s protesting, all he could hear at the time was the scream getting closer and closer.

Soon he was in a small clearing, setting sight on a decrepit creature. Below it were two squirming legs, belonging to the screaming woman who was just inches away from becoming something’s lunch.

Without hesitation, he lifted his bow to shoot, snagging the creature in the head until it fell less than gracefully onto your chest. Pushing the body off, you faced him, mouth panting and eyes hazy with tears.

He tried to think of what he thought then, but it was difficult to put himself in that position again. He only remembered your face, how scared you were. You seemed so fragile, and yet somehow brave enough to look him in the eye. Most of all, you were peculiar to him, different from anyone or anything he’d seen before. Of course, there was nothing particularly strange looking about you, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. You were just… special, with a calming aura of warmth around you, something he was instinctively drawn to for whatever reason.

So, how was he supposed to explain that? You seemed special, important, warm… Creepy. He knew that would’ve sounded creepy. He was already embarrassed from Shane’s display earlier, and his stomach stung to think of you seeing that cop strike him across the face, to appear weak. Once again, he wondered why he cared in the first place.

He finally settled for a somewhat satisfactory explanation. “S’just what people do.”

Indeed, he would’ve done it for anyone. That wasn’t the issue Daryl struggled with, he knew right from wrong, for the most part. He struggled with understanding why you looked at him the way you did, and why he found himself wanting to keep you safe even after the creature attacking you was long dead.

At least you seemed happy with that answer, as one corner of your lips upturned into a small smile. “Well, I am sure some people wouldn’t have done anything. I’m really grateful… And I really don’t want you to go. Merle… I will put up with him if it means you stay here, but if you could please talk to him, try to get him to at least hide the drugs better and maybe go further away from camp to do it, I’d be even more grateful.”

Though he had no idea how he was going to get Merle to agree to changing anything about himself, he couldn’t deny that you were convincing. Something about your wide, almost pleading eyes. Somehow, making you happy seemed to make him happy, too.

“I’ll try,” he said. “But I ain’t promisin’ anything. Merle don’t care ‘bout what I got to say.”

“Well, he should,” you said as you stood to your feet. “He’s your brother… I have a brother, too. We used to talk all the time, though we sort of lost touch before all this.” You gestured around vaguely, ending your sentence with a small nervous chuckle.

Daryl almost didn’t speak, didn’t want to ask what he was thinking, but the look on your face as your lips began to droop and your eyes became vague made him wonder if maybe you needed to talk about it.

“Where is he?” he asked simply, though he immediately began to regret it when he noticed you shifting awkwardly where you stood. “I mean… I, uh… Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shake of your head. “No, it’s fine. He’s, well… I don’t know where he is. Last time we talked he was in Atlanta. Actually, that’s why I was headed there when it happened.”

It seemed to be a universally agreed upon signifier. The fall, the turn, the apocalypse, the plague… Everyone called it something different, but what it all came down to was The End, or The Beginning, depending on who you asked.

“Sorry,” was all he could reply, though he found himself going further, speaking more than he normally would’ve. “Hope he’s all right.”

That meant more to you than anything anyone had ever said to you since the world turned. You hadn’t told anyone about your brother, and you weren’t sure why you decided to tell Daryl, but it felt right. In a world where everything was suddenly wrong, lots of things still felt right, all of which had to do with him. Strange.

“Thank you. I do too. He means a lot to me… I’m sure your brother means a lot to you, too, so I understand why you care so much about him. He’s lucky to have you as a brother.”

If Daryl wasn’t so strangely calmed by your presence in this moment, he might’ve protested to the assertion that Merle meant a lot to him, but he supposed he really did, whether or not Daryl liked it.

As he shifted his shoulders, he raised his hand to scratch his neck, chewing the inside of his bottom lip all the while. The unique little nervous mannerisms he had were already becoming part of your ever-growing encyclopedia of quirks Daryl displayed, and you had to say you found that quite endearing. Indeed, you truly felt that Daryl could become a friend. You wanted him to be a friend.

It reminded you that Daryl spent almost all of his time alone. Whenever Merle was gone or at the edge of camp getting up to his illicit activities, Daryl was by himself. You figured he had to get lonely, and surely the sole company of a man like Merle would eventually drive him insane, even if he was his brother.

“Daryl?” you asked, moving closer as you tried to telepathically direct his gaze up at you.

He did, and a flash of silvery blue eyes that caught little sparkles of light from the sun looked up at you. His eyes were quite deep set and narrow, making them seem at first glance to be cold and uninviting, but that wasn’t really the case at all. Now that you saw them in full view, there was mystery there, something waiting to be revealed. You had a feeling whatever it was, it was something lovely. Your curiosity made you eager to get to the bottom of it.

“Yeah?”

Even the strange softness of his often rough, gravelly voice struck you. As he licked his chapped lips, you found yourself trailing your eyes to his light stubble, sparse on his cheeks but more concentrated around his lips, which weren’t particularly full, but beautifully sculpted as if by delicate, intentional little hands. You found his face much more tolerable than his brother’s. Handsome, even. Perhaps not an A-list Hollywood movie star (certainly no one so clean-cut as Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, both of whom you had at one point hung posters of on your closet door in the mid-nineties) but he had been blessed with good proportions and a pleasant visage that you only dwelled on for a moment until your subconsciousness took the image into its darkest recesses. The last thing you needed to do today was to admire a man’s physical appearance, though it did tempt you for just a few seconds. Maybe a few more.

“You should really join us for dinner tonight,” you said. “You know, around the fire… Dale’s going to make something special. I have no idea what, he says it’s a surprise.”

When his breath seemed to hitch and his muscles flexed in seemingly anxious response, you quickly tried to explain yourself. “I mean, I know it’s awkward, with the Shane thing… but Shane has watch during dinner tonight. Maybe you can just… talk to me, and Dale, Andrea, Amy, Glenn, Jacqui… We all sort of congregate, talk a little bit. I’m sure they’d like to get to know you more.”

He found himself wondering how to respond, how to tell you that he hated talking, especially to people he hardly knew. Then again, he liked talking to you. That was clear to him.

“Maybe… I dunno.”

Though you didn’t want to pressure him, it was hard not to try to convince him. You were shy sometimes, too, but the older you got, the more you realized that you needed people, and that couldn’t be more evident than right now, when people were hard to come by.

“All we have is each other,” you said. “You told me that the world’s never gonna be like how it was, and you’re right. We should never take people for granted anymore.”

He’d never wrap his head around the way you spoke sometimes, how you could be so articulate and intelligent, and at other times, so high-strung or bubbly or aloof… You were about as hard to read to him as he was to you.

“I’ll try,” was all he replied.

“That’s all that matters.”

When he briefly lurked around the fire that night, exchanging a few brief words with Dale and Andrea (and you, of course), you felt like you’d gotten somewhere further with the temperamental hunter.

He didn’t stay for long, and hardly ate any of Dale’s “mushroom mash,” but it was something, and though the day started with a fight between Shane and Daryl, it ended with the latter feeling just a little more welcome.

Most of all, you had no regrets about bringing Daryl Dixon to your camp. You had a feeling it was the right thing to do.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

#the walking dead #the beginning series #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #the beginning oneshot #theteasetwrites oneshot #theteasetwrites fanfiction #theteasetwrites series

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mastcrmarksman · 2 months

Note

For your crack enjoyment:

Stephen, in the autozone, muttering under his breath, ❝ He's CRINGE FAIL LOSER BOYFRIEND, but he's my cringe fail loser boyfriend. ❞

Meanwhile in another scene on the Sanctum Sitcom ⸻

Lucky is giving a head tilt while Bats agrees that the humans (and one demoness) have really lost it. From both dogs perspective, they were obviously the brightest and superiors of the household. Anton and Aleistr are snuggled up somewhere in Satana's belongings (simps the both of them). Wong is nowhere to be seen, but one can assume he's at the Bar with No Doors or anywhere he can have some semblance of sanity.

⸻ as the Sanctum has turned into a warzone.

Now Clint finds himself closer and closer to professing for how deeply he has fallen for Stephen Strange. It's one of those unlikely match-ups that wouldn't make the most sense to anyone in any universe they come from, but by some strange happenings the multiverse spat them out at each other.

However, the man must have a thing for testing Clint's patience and ability to behave (and not in the fun way). He thought he was an okay landlord, always felt like he hosted the best Avengers barbecues, and so by this logic; he should be good at having a house guest, a new temporary roommate.

He should, but did he? Well, when Stephen told him that Satana would be going to stay with them (he had to mentally whisper to himself; i love this man, i moved in to this man's house); it was not going as swimmingly as it theorically could be. Although, he was Hawkeye after all, and anyone who knows his true colors and reputation, would say that everything was going about as par for the course.

The one of the first issue with Satana was that she was annoying. She took up space, planted herself where Clint normally would plant himself. The demoness ate his food, HIS FOOD, and dumped out the chocolate milk that he kept the refrigerator (he needed that; it was strictly off limits for anyone else).

Satana and Clint were short of throwing literal hellfire and arrows at each other. A few throw pillows and shoes have been lost in several skirmish battles when either of them were in piss poor moods ready to torment the other.

An arguement was brewing as Clint's recently fell for one of Satana's tricks and is currently smelling of rotten eggs and sulfur. He's not happy about it.

Clint's already fumbled with enchanting Stephen over bad pick-up lines and now? He's not getting this smell out with one shower. So much for trying again tonight. He's definitely making his home on the couch (or he could go back to the bed-stuy apartment collecting dust).

He's definitely rigging up a crossbow to shoot putty at Satana later when she gets back from whatever it was Hell's most annoying heiress does. And maybe he'd add more of Stephen's shoes too to the ammo pile.

#[ SHIPS; STRXNGETIMES ] I don't say magic is real but I do seduce you and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades #IM CRACKING UP TOO MUCH #i have so much writing this goofy one-offs #[ ic ] strxngetimes #strxngetimes #once again this is all i want in comic books please #@marvel comics publisher editor in chief vice president LOOK AT ME GIVE ME THIS

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broodwolf221 · 4 months

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welcome to dadwc!! I love the look of varric/solas so how about 'obfuscate - to muddle; confuse; bewilder' since they're both such splendid deceivers?

thank you! this was a fun one uwu ended up being a collection of dialogue btwn them, getting a little shippy right at the end~ @dadrunkwriting 487 words

A series of small deceits.

“So, Chuckles, what prompted all the Fade-walking you do?”

“Hm? Ah, well. There was little of interest for a mage in the small village I was in.”

“Really? I mean, I’m no expert on mages, but they seem more than able to find a purpose wherever they are.”

“Pleased to surprise, Master Tethras.”

“I’m sure.”

“Varric, you knew the rebel mage, Anders?”

“Blondie? Yeah, I knew him.”

“Your book, Tales of the Champion, is purposefully vague on what became of him.”

“Well, it made for a better narrative than ‘I have no clue where Anders is.’”

“Hm.”

“Okay, I know, dreaming and Fade-walking and all. But seriously, how do you know so much about the ancient elves?”

“I have traveled deep into the Fade. Deeper than most Dreamers dare go.”

“Fortunate for us, I guess.”

“So it seems.”

“I find it strange that you’ve named your crossbow, Varric.”

“What’s so strange about it?”

“It is a weapon. I’ve not named my staff. Bull has not, as far as I know, named his greataxe. Is the crossbow named for its inventor?”

“If it was, I wouldn’t tell you. No offense, Chuckles, but we’ve talked about this - I’m not keen on this type of weapon ending up in the wrong hands.”

“An understandable precaution.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“However, it seems... unwise, to possibly name your weapon after it’s creator.”

“Ah, but you don’t know that I did, do you?”

“Will the uncertainty stop people from seeking this ‘Bianca’?”

“Chuckles, you can’t swing a nug in Orzammar without hitting a ‘Bianca’.”

“Ah.”

“You seem awful confident about what Corypheus is planning.”

“It is not confidence so much as it is observation.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve seen his like in the Fade, right? But isn’t he a little different?”

“A tyrant is a tyrant, Varric.”

“Sure, but he’s not just a tyrant, he’s apparently a Magister. Or a darkspawn. Or both. Oh, and I helped kill him. And he’s maybe immortal? Don’t you think that sets him apart? How can you predict someone like that?”

“He is not the first to seek supremacy over other beings. His nature seems less important than his motivations, and how he will seek to achieve them.”

“Sure, Chuckles. You keep telling yourself that.”

“So, Varric.”

“Yes?”

“I noticed you speaking with another dwarf yesterday.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You called her Bianca.”

“Well, that’s her name.”

“Is she the Bianca? The one you’ve named your crossbow after?”

“I told you before, Chuckles-”

“I know, I know. Can’t swing a nug. Not sure why one would try, but that is beside the point.”

“Not my fault that Orzammar isn’t very clever about names.”

“Hm.”

---

“So, Chuckles, you still haven’t unpacked.”

“I told you, I haven’t committed to staying here.”

“Right... yeah, you did tell me that. Two months ago.”

“Your point?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. What’s mine is yours, after all.”

#dadw time #solarric #solas #varric #broodwrites

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dickbaggins · 15 days

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genuinely asking. are you insane. Ive just read The Stakes last night and it changed the chemistry of my brain in a ways that I can't comprehend. i couldn't sleep last night so i am now taking suburban train, eyes blood shot and thoughts racing in my scull like bugs or vampires in the forest searching for someone to bite. I don't even have much to say about the smut except that it was one of the best that i read ever in my life and i found out fanfiction exists when i was like 12 so i read. A Lot. but ... the. the state of their relationship??? jdbdjkdjdjd how do i call it. the way they are insane about each other and Gale ohhhhhh GALE. What The Fuck Gale. What The Fuck DickBaggins. who will take responsibility for all this i am genuinely asking. who will pay for my therapy AFTER THIS. I can't like describe the state of my mind when Astarion left Gale's apartment, taking a train and looking at Waterdeep, the City that took... from him. Feeling like this. Yooooo

now it wasn't surprise that you could capture the nature of Astarion's inner mind very well since i am a fan of your other bg3 works but to do it in an au like this?????????? to extract his utmost self and insert it in what looks like silly hockey au just for it to actually be very complicated world where Gale did such a big mistake when he was younger he's going to pay for it gods above and belong only know how long???? maybe forever??? maybe he'll never wake up feeling Astarion's arms wrapped around him???? And Astarion as an elf he. he relives his memories while he trance yes???? idk if you keep this funky little detail in your au but to think about. It. Losing my mind tbh

what i am trying to tell you. this au brought tears to my eyes and i expected something smutty and juicy and maybe funny and silly and instead you just submerged me in a tragedy so gut wrenching and raw (HA). I am not even exasperating. Wtf.

so. Thank you i guess. I am going to think about it for 30 business days at least :)

That was. Phew. I need to dive in Mithridatism's Gale's weed collection after this because i can't legally find it in my country

Hope you are well, friend

elves are so fucked up. they've just gotta lay there and contemplate all the shit that's ever happened in their lives? this isn't restorative? this is a defect!! and it has to mess them up

and everyone else gets to relax and snore their way through some nonsense dreams every night without the horrible shadow of their past looming over them in razor-sharp, unbidden memories for eight hours straight??

what a raw fucking deal

(and for me canonical vampire spawn astarion doesn't sleep or meditate or any of that stuff UNLESS it's with someone else. otherwise he's up all night prowling and doing his hair and oiling his hand crossbows)

hey I'm glad to have ruined your life a little bit over my hockey au! even though it's uuuh heavy?? it was a lot of fun to write. kinda want to keep finding new aus to throw them into now? there's just so many more situations I want to put them in

#don't wizards have some kind of meditation they have to do?#in dragonlance mages had to be constantly rereading and memorizing spells #because spells were one use only before the words disappeared from your brain #so mages were always reading and studying and just like exhausted husks #but i don't think fr wizards have to study THAT much #that's a little dramatic #but mage gale in those neutral red robes hmmm #no i'm not doing a dragonlance au #i'm just thinking thoughts and filling slots #bloodweave

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thegonse · 11 months

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dialogue tips :)

one of the most frequent aspects of writing that i’ve noticed people struggle with is dialogue, whether it seems stiff, unrealistic, or boring. here’s how to make it seem...less...that.

1. try not to let your characters answer directly to one another. for example, this:

“what are you doing?”

“i’m working on this research paper.”

is a lot less realistic than this:

“what are you doing?”

“i’ve been working on this research paper for hours!”

2. don’t write sentences and sentences of dialogue for one character, especially if it sounds like the second body paragraph of your eighth grade research paper. for example:

“the bad guys are very stealthy, so it’s very important not to let them notice you on this mission. they came together in 2058, and they’ve been the strongest organization in the city ever since then. their leader, the biggest bad guy, has over a thousand minions to help execute his plans, and they’ll slaughter any good guy they see with their collection of various crossbows, nun chucks, and clubs.”

no one talks like that, unless they’re reading off a script. most people are going to be more concise than that. no one wants to read a massive paragraph of dialogue, so allow for pauses and interjections.

“the bad guys are very stealthy, so it’s important not to let them see you. they came together in 2058, and they’ve been the strongest organization in the city ever since then.” [interjection] “the biggest bad guy has a ton of minions to help do his dirty work, and they’ll kill any good guy they see.”

3. this one’s kinda fun! allow for dialogue quirks within your characters. maybe your character repeats themselves often, or every time they ask a question, they have to end it with “yeah?” or “right?”. maybe your character only has one word answers, or they end up going on unrelated tangents. maybe they don’t talk at all. hey, that’s one less character you have to write dialogue for! i like to subtly draw inspiration from real people when it comes to this. don’t be afraid to do that!

4. adding stutters in your dialogue can inhibit your fluidity. of course, if your character actually has a stutter, you shouldn’t worry about this. but if they don’t:

“m-most people d-don’t t-talk like t-this. most people, um, talk like...like this when they are...nervous, flustered or, um...or upset.”

5. your characters can pause within a conversation, especially when it’s rather emotional. for example, this:

“i just don’t see what you’re so upset about,” he said. “i was perfectly nice at the party, and you’re still mad at me.”

“because you were arguing with everything i said!” she replied. “it was so embarrassing. i didn’t even get to finish my sentence half the time.”

“a lot of things you said were embarrassing,” he muttered. “i was just trying to keep you from humiliating yourself.”

“i wish i had known you were going to do this when we got married,” she said.

“i’m helping you, dear.”

is a lot less realistic than this:

“i just don’t see what you’re so upset about,” he said as he was undoing his tie. “i was perfectly nice at the party, and you’re still mad at me.”

she sighed and began to massage her temples as he ambled around the bedroom to hang his clothes back up. “because you were arguing with everything i said!” she replied when he had come out of the closet. “it was so embarrassing. i didn’t even get to finish my sentence half the time.”

he rolled his eyes. “a lot of the things you said were embarrassing,” he muttered as she glared over at him. “i was just trying to keep you from humiliating yourself!”

she didn’t answer and sat down on the bedspread, absentmindedly kicking her heels off. a hard lump appeared in her throat, and she tried to keep from crying. “i wish i had known you were going to do this when we got married,” she said quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear.

he was quiet for a moment before his cold voice came from behind. “i’m helping you, dear.”

get it?

6. last thing, and it’s small: adding too many italics! i know it’s addicting, but a lot of the time it’s just not necessary, and avoiding unnecessary details can enhance your writing so much more! for example this:

“i don’t want to do that. it’s far too stressful, and i just can’t take it anymore.”

seems jolted and disorienting. this:

“i don’t want to do that. it’s far too stressful, and i just can’t take it anymore.”

is easier to read and sounds more realistic.

i hope all of those made sense! feel free to ask questions if you have any!

#writing tips #writing help #writing #writing encouragement #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerblr #writing advice #writing dialogue

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siriannatan · 1 year

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Great Mythland Costume Ball - WitherHusbands

I'm sorry MythicalSausage fans, I seem to have killed our boy here

AO3

Ball. Parties. Social events of all kinds that had little to do with actual politics. Serving only for the host to show off. fWhip avoided those on all occasions. Yes. But when Sausage announced he'd be holding a costume party fWhip found himself more interested than he usually would be - meaning actually interested for once. And of course, the whole WRA meeting turned to a party talk that fWhip ignored in favour of thinking about what he could wear.

His usual 'fancy event' clothes made him look like a vampire from those terrible romance novels Gem read in some sort of an attempt to figure out how to approach her crush on Pearl. He could not go in his usual daily clothes either. Gem would have his head for being too casual. He barely registered Pearl and Sausage mentioning dressing as each other. A fun idea but it'd probably not work too well with fWhip and Gem... But a dress. A dress could work but not just any dress... A very special dress.

"Any ideas fWhip?" Gem asked him once the meeting was done. fWhip kind of missed it. "For the costume," she sighed as he gave her a confused look.

"I think I have something in mind, I'm just not sure how it'd work with time," fWhip hummed with a tiny grin. He was really liking his idea. "It might be involving a very particular kind of a dress."

"That's enough," Gem giggled. She trusted fWhip would do something that would shock everyone gathered at the party. "I have no idea what to wear myself," she sighed.

"We could dress you as 'bad romance novel vampire'," fWhip said, mostly joking but Gem actually liked the idea and ran off to dig through her 'collection' for the worst vampire romance novel she owned. fWhip followed suit by going to his tailors and maybe stunning them a bit with his idea.

Two weeks later fWhip's costume was ready right in time for the event. And Gem was waiting in his living room in her vampire costume that indeed made her look like a bit of a jerk and a lot like fWhip when he was forced to dress as a ruler should dress. Meaning frilly collars and vests and coats. Luckily fWhip's idea was much comfier than that.

Are you planning a murder?" Gem asked as soon as fWhip walked down the stairs.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked. A wide grin on his face, playing with his for once braided, and not just tied in a messy bun, hair.

Gem could have meant a lot of things but the most possible was how Jimmy and Scott would react to fWhip in a maid dress. It wasn't a short and revealing dress popular in indecent literature. No, fWhip's dress was ankle length but there was a long slit on the left side. Short sleeves were compensated by long white gloves with some black frills. And he decided to wear high heels - higher than Gem would ever dare to - and somehow made wearing them easy. And the neckline of the dress was mostly covering his neck. And somehow the Grimlands crown fit with the whole frilly thing.

"You're the worst," Gem chuckled, trying to cross her arms but losing the fight to her massive and very frilly sleeves.

"It's just a dress Gem, the crossbow's for killing," fWhip chuckled but was more than looking forward to Sausage's reaction. "And it's not like I have time to change," he shrugged and made his way to the carriage already waiting for them outside the manor.

Mythland Castle was as grand as ever and very much decorated for the party the local king decided to organise. fWhip and Gem quickly made their way through all the official introductions that unfortunately could not be skipped and went looking for their allies. fWhip was more than happy with himself when literally everyone stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him as he passed by and then struggle to collect their jaws off the floor.

"fWhip!? Wow. Just wow," Peal gasped once she spotted them. "And Gem? Wow, you two look great." She looked great in Sausage's usual kingly vestments. Even with her sunflower crown in her hair. The crowns simply had to be included in the costumes thanks to all the royal rules. Long spiky dragon tail and pointy horns did not help Pearl's outfit translate well to Sausage's physique of a knight.

Speaking of the local king. Next to Peal was an utterly stunned Sausage, looking a bit silly but still great in Pearl's dress. fWhip attributed the silliness to the lack of sunflowers. "We'll be going to say hello to Katherine, you two have fun," Gem said, offering Pearl an arm and fWhip and Sausage were alone.

"Sausage?" fWhip asked after waving after them. "Eyes are up here," he joked, snapping his fingers as well as gloves allowed.

"You look great..." Sausage mumbled. His tail was tentatively moving in excitement under his dress.

"I must, you've been silent for good two minutes. Real rarity," fWhip chuckled, shifting so the slit in his dress got a bit more obvious. His grin only grew as Sausage blushed and struggled with whatever gentlemanly thing his knightly up bring was telling him to do. It would seem the dress had more of an effect than fWhip intended it to have. "How about a dance?" he asked. Sausage always boasted about how great of a dancer he was and was thus bound to be more comfortable with that.

"Could we maybe go to the gardens for a second first? Before I start setting curtains on fire," Sausage said. Something between a whine and a growl.

"Only if you allow me to accompany you, sir," fWhip grinned and chuckled at another whine from his 'friend'.

"Obviously," Sausage huffed, with a mighty puff of smoke and some sparks, and extended an arm - a very bare arm - for fWhip to hold on to as they swiftly made their way outside so the half-dragon could cool down a bit. Not that it helped all that much.

#my stuff #my stories #fanfic #fanfiction #empires smp #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires sausage #mythicalsausage #fwhip #wither husbands

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dndeed · 2 years

Text

Crit Role Miniature Rollout: C3E30 Reunion & Revelation

With Andrew Harshman

An archive and analysis of the minis used on CR.

It’s a regular badlands rumble! Exciting times. We are getting some really unique encounters in this stretch of the campaign. It’s fun to see player characters take the piss out of villains. But sometimes it goes too far and takes the seriousness out of an encounter. Not the case here. The tone of this scene was just right for me.

Well that’s one way to open up negotiations, it’s time for Crit Role Miniature Rollout Campaign 3 Episode 30!

The List

Mats by Mars: Parched Earth Tabletop Wargaming Play Mat

Chest and Trove 5E Condition Rings

Monster Fight Club Barren Hills

Monster Fight Club Tree

Monster Fight Club Fallen Tree Trunk

Wizkids Minis: Deep Cuts Wave 4- 2-Wheel Cart

Campaign 3 Party Minis Wizkids Sculpts

Large Crawler sculpted by Wild Mesh

Night Below #27 Assassin

Guildmasters’ Guide to Ravnica - Companion Starter Set 1 Human Rogue

Maze of Death #07 Pitborn Fighter

Storm King’s Thunder #015 Bandit

Critical Role Miniatures Satyr

Monster Menagerie 3 #06 Goblin

D&D Premium Painted Figure: W4 Human Druid Male

D&D Premium Painted Figure: W5 Halfling Fighter Female

Critical Role Miniatures Rivermaw Stormborn

Waterdeep Dungeon of the Mad Mage #15 Thug Leader

Unknown tree with snake or vine

Assorted scatter terrain

The Nonplayer Characters

Hondir Monster Menagerie 3 #06 Goblin Mini images sourced from minisgallery.com

Lovin’ the outfit on this here goblin. And a little translucent plastic torch fire effect is always welcome in my mini gerblin collection. Great pick for this NPC. Not to victim blame, but maybe if he hadn’t been waving around that road flare looking torch he wouldn’t have been such an obvious gun target.

The Villains

Crawler Gang Fighter D&D Premium Painted Figure: W5 Halfling Fighter Female

So on the one hand, it’s cool to see a high strength halfling miniature, especially one wielding such a haphazard and gritty weapon. But on the other hand, this miniature is pretty lousy. Arguably one of the worst looking Premium Painted models from a casting quality and paint precision perspective. Take a look at the original digital sculpt:

CG render image sourced from nobleknight.com

The finalized miniature looks more like a dwarf than a halfling imo. I thought the neck armor was a beard initially. This sculpt really needed far higher resolution cast fidelity.

Maricris Critical Role Miniatures Rivermaw Stormborn

Ah yes, Riverjaw Strongborn, classic Critical Role character. No wait, that’s not this fella’s name, apparently a Stormborn is a goliath clan designation of some sort. Neato. As someone who has not watched all of Campaign 1, I was not familiar.

So this is an impressive looking goliath model and all, but what does it really add to the prepainted goliath mini-scape? Not much. It looks basically like every other goliath prepaint out there. Furthermore, the pose is not super exciting. But dang does it look epic atop that massive crawler!

Large Crawler Sculpted by Wild Mesh and painted by Iron Tusk Painting Crawler image sourced from Iron Tusk Painting’s Twitter

-though I suppose most miniatures would look epic atop an epic vehicle such as this! Righteous stuff. Digitally sculpted by Wild Mesh, a team of 3D artists responsible for many of the Campaign 3 party and Critical Role miniature sculpts.

Crawler Gang Druid D&D Premium Painted Figure: W4 Human Druid Male

Check out all them stripes! Doesn’t feel very druidy. I kinda thought druids were opposed to angular patterns on principle. Too artificial, too civilized. And that red and white sash? What’s he doin’, runnin’ a barbershop?? Anyway- this mini has a dope billowing cloak and a good paint job. Fine figure.

Crawler Gang Crossbower Waterdeep Dungeon of the Mad Mage #15 Thug Leader

Getting serious anime villain vibes of this dude. Just look at his proportions. And the skull cap he’s wearing looks like bright silver hair! 90s anime goon for sure. Not an amazing model, but it has a certain charm I enjoy. Plus I have a soft spot for crossbowperson miniatures.

Returning Minis

Crawler Gang Dual Wielder Night Below #27 Assassin

Why we haven’t seen the likes of this DDM mini since the Iron Shepherd hideout assault (though it could have possibly been used in a one shot potentially, not 100% sure [I seem to have a vague memory of this mini showing up somewhere, idk]).

Another good billowing cloak. And a good mini to be sure, but that dagger does indeed look like a putty knife or a spoon. I don’t wanna tell an assassin how to do their job, but maybe he should be careful how he’s holdin’ that dagger. The crawler is bound to hit some bumps and you definitely don’t want a knife pointed at your head when the road gets rocky.

Final Thoughts

Sweet combat. Started with a bang and stayed exciting throughout.

See ya next sesh!

#critroleminiaturerollout

#critroleminiaturerollout #criticalroleminiaturerollout #critrole #critical role #criticalrole #crspoilers #wizkids

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rhpsdys · 2 years

Note

🎻👉🏽👈🏽

THOUGHTS FOR STEIN:

honestly i am ROLLING with raine being a weapon. violin crossbow is so funny && your brain is huge. i actually think raine would be a little older than stein but this works well too tbh, there's something really interesting about like... a parallel between spirit n stein as a weapon-meister pair && raine n eda. maybe there's even someeeee mentorship. maybe,,,, i actually think raine could've been a young teacher at the dwma when stein was a student, && now they're both teachers, so THAT'S fun. i feel like a team-up is in order at some point. raine n eda had a falling out at some point so raine doesn't have a current meister, hence why they're just kinda... stuck working at the school. also i think something that's fun for them is they both have their Things™ outside of collecting souls — stein with science && raine with music. i just think that's neat. stein reminds me of a slightly more fucked up darius && i think raine would get a kick out of fondly annoying him. like the way an older sibling screws with a younger one. with all this said give me blackstar too. feral children for raine.

THOUGHTS FOR VEX && GILMORE:

i still haven't seen tlovm (it's at the top of my watch list tho) so i have been scouring the wiki a little but immediate thoughts are: vex && raine half-elf moments... ok actually wait the further i dig the more interesting this gets. what if raine was living in syngorn... they were probably one of the only other half-elves there, working in a library or something... anyway i just (clenches my fists) care a lot about raine being a historian && their library being a sanctuary for all, no matter what verse so anyway... something something raine being one of the only people to be really accepting && maybe they were something of a mentor... one singular friend... i am vibing with this but u tell me if i'm totally off track. as for gilmore, i adore him i've written with a gilmore on another blog before && i just think he's neat, raine thinks he's hilarious, i think they would be besties. like stein, he's probably another one that raine enjoys lovingly annoying. pov ur shaun gilmore && raine whispers is standing outside ur shop playing their violin bc you have a bet going that they'll be able to attract more customers (this bet is one-sided. you did not agree to this.) again tell me if i'm being insane i don't know these characters.

THOUGHTS FOR MIRABEL:

i have to shove all my characters at mira because i love her. put her in toh right now. the madrigals are witches && she was born without magic. raine is teaching her bard magic anyway. raine taught her how to play the accordion. this was too easy. next question.

PLOT & DYNAMIC BRAINSTORMING.

#i have no thoughts on the collector. they are a delightful character but i am so head empty when it comes to plots w them #crossovers ONLY in this house.#also i havent seen strange world yet but when i do im sure i'll have ideas for searcher #bastardzrus #out of.#ask.

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demonboyhalo · 4 years

Text

The Technoblade Conspiracy

Even before Dream claimed there was a traitor in Pogtopia, there's been a lot of...suspicious activities happening in Techno’s streams. Others on the SMP are already distrustful of him, and the fans are as well, but I believe that we’re focusing on the wrong thing here. This thread isn’t quite a traitor theory, but rather a dive into what Techno has been hiding at large. I can say with utter confidence that the extent of what Technoblade has accomplished on the Dream SMP is being greatly underestimated.

I recommend looking at the sus Techno moments thread by @piggytechnobarb on Twitter for some of the stream clips I'll be discussing.

This is going to be fairly in depth, so the rest is under the cut!

1. There is another room under what Techno calls his "secret base"

I won't talk too much on how strange his choice of "secret base" is for now, but please do keep in mind how out of character it is for man-who-tracked-down-Squid's-college to settle for a home base so unprotected and close to Pogtopia's very well known location.

So, for some reason, there is Polished Blackstone Brick under the floor of Techno’s wall. He accidentally reveals this when a donation asks him to mine the exposed redstone in his wall, acts a bit strange for a good 15 seconds, and then never mentions it again. Sight of the brick prompts him to silently zoom in, fill the hole with stone (not cobble), and say "Don't ask questions".

This is only so strange because there's no real reason for him to have stone at the ready, or any blackstone brick at all. Techno is NOT a builder, and if a creeper blew up down there, he'd fill it with cobble and not give a shit about aesthetics. He doesn't use smooth stone in his base, and has never built with blackstone on stream. Not only are they unusual items for him to have, it's unusual for him to make a point to not have the viewers question it. Yes, it could just be Techno being dramatic, but why did he go silent for a straight 5 seconds at the sight of the blackstone?

Considering who he is as a player, it is completely in character for Techno to build a second base. The lake he lives under is incredibly near Wilbur and Tommy, and he's well aware that all an enemy has to do is watch his stream to infiltrate his base. Techno goes to the extremes when they aren't even required (Ex. His insane skill in party games, beating Skeppy in as niche of a game as Grinch Simulator, etc.) So I don't think it's a stretch for him to go the extra mile, and hide a bunker/resources/extra armour and what have you from even his own viewers.

2. The overpowered illegal villager farm

For those of you who don't watch Ponk, he recently stumbled across an area that is supposedly banned on the Dream SMP - a villager farm. In the clip, his voice is astonished and his confusion is palpable, and he goes so far as to say "It's a full scale arms race" because of how many good trades there are. The location is laced with traps, though he doesn't mention what exactly he had to get past to find the farm. Ponk's reaction is far too genuine for the farm to be his, but then that begs the question, whose farm is it?

...Who is willing to risk Dream's wrath by breaking his rules? Or, alternatively, who is capable of making a secret pact with the server owner to allow such a farm? The answer could only be Technoblade.

Ponk says it himself in the video, he does not have the time to build this. Whoever made this had to have carved out a hidden cavern, lead at least 14 villagers down there, breed them until only the ones with the best trades were left - all off stream, and without another player catching them. Whoever made this had to spend hours of work with no content to show for it, and who do we know has been grinding for DAYS on the server? Technoblade. Not to mention, all the villagers are numbered, and all but one are fletchers.

The signs above each stall are so important, because going so far back as SMP Earth, Techno has a history of dispassionately breeding mobs to his benefit, and then killing any mob not performing well enough. For example, his horse farm: where the horses stay in numbered rooms rather than all being named. The villagers in the screenshot above are numbered rather than named.

Wanna hear a fun fact about Fletchers? They're well known for accepting sticks for emeralds, but will also take string for that trade as well! And guess who has been seen waiting at the spider spawner collecting string by Sapnap, Awesamdude, Quackity, and multiple other players? Technoblade.

Technoblade also has every reason to be breeding villagers for special arrows and crossbows, because he's said on stream that he wants to try spamming multi-shot crossbows in combat to take out huge groups of enemies. He said at a later point that he had run into trouble with getting multiple crossbows with the enchantment multi-shot, and implied it wasn't going to happen. But has he ever been the kind of person to be stopped by something being challenging? Absolutely not.

Think of literally anything Techno has done - his Bedwars win streak, beating MC with a steering wheel, the Potato Wars - what I believe is really happening, is that Techno is lying about how equipped he is so that no matter what side he ends up fighting for, his enemies will have no true way of knowing how powerful he is.

3. Dream might be his secret ally (AKA The Glowstone Incident)

This brings us to a...confusing moment in Techno's stream that sparked a lot of questions. It pointed me towards 2 different, but not necessarily exclusive, theories.

The Glowstone Incident precedes as follows: Techno needs glowstone but can't find any in his chests, so he puts on his BRB screen. He says that he is "hacking" and asking Dream to use game mode to give him the glowstone. Typing can be heard, and then multiple chests are opened. Techno takes off the BRB screen and he now has three stacks of glowstone dust. This was absolutely bewildering to watch live, and was one of the most blatantly suspicious things he has done in front of his viewers. (You can find the exact clip on the thread I mentioned, it is...so weird)

Theory A: Though unlikely, Techno could be Dream's secret ally, and Dream really did use creative to give him the stacks. Or, he potentially gave Techno OP permissions so that he could get the glow stone (and any other materials he’d want) himself.

We all remember their meet up on that ocean hill, where Dream gives Techno golden apples, diamonds, and other such materials for the battle against Schlatt. It seemed to be a one-off gift that was more for Wilbur's benefit than Techno's, but there's potentially the chance that Dream saw an alliance to Techno to be more beneficial than working only with Wilbur, and contacted him off screen to make deals.

Going back to the Village Farm - for a player to get the exact enchantment they want for a reasonable price, breeding them is the most logical option. It's the route Techno would take regardless of Dream's rules on the SMP too, as he tends to show little regard for what the creators want (Ex. Taking over SMP Earth, exploiting Hypixel Skyblock, etc.) However, it could also be possible that Dream gave Techno permission to do this, and so the reason Techno is keeping the farm secret is so that the viewers don't know of their alliance.

Theory B: Techno has hidden resources in his base that he doesn't want anyone to have even the chance to see. Whether it is to hide from enemies watching (or to hide from Dream in particular because Techno knows he's breaking the server's rules) there are secret chests that Techno has with extra resources that can be heard loud and clear in the video.

They could be simple ones hidden in the walls...or in the blackstone brick base hidden under his floors. Saying he’s “hacking” rather than the reality of him just checking all his chests again is on par for Techno’s usual dramatics - yet we can clearly see that there’s no glowstone in any of his chests. This is why I believe he got the glowstone from some unseen resource. With the BRB screen on, Techno prevents his viewers from actually seeing how he got the 3 stacks of powder, and it keeps the location of his hidden materials safe.

Personally, I feel theory B is more likely, but there have been moments where Dream has acted Sus so...be on the lookout y'all.

4. Techno not participating in MCC

For those of you who watched Techno during the Potato War, many will remember that MCC 6 had a stressful undertone. Because of how much effort and time Techno had been putting into farming on Skyblock, taking a break to compete in another event was distracting. It ultimately led to him losing time that, from his perspective, would have been better off spent farming.

Techno might not be as blatantly grinding on the Dream SMP as he did with the Potato War, but it's undeniable that other streamers have seen him online for stretches of 10 hours and more. When asked about why he wasn't participating in the next MCC, Techno didn't say he was taking a break - something that'd be entirely reasonable and honestly well earned - he said "I don't want to."

It could be awkward phrasing by virtue of Techno's personality, but what I think is more likely is that Techno has learned from his past mistakes. Rather than "waste" time competing in MCC, Techno might be planning to use the time everyone on the SMP is gone to his advantage. He could sneak into enemy territory, set traps in certain areas, or maybe even perform some illegal acts that Dream would never allow. Either way, I suspect Techno has something planned for the 14th.

Honorable Mentions:

Dream poking fun, or blatantly covering for Techno?

This clip of Techno's secret Something??? next to the spider spawner, undeniably suspicious

Techno had around 5 stacks of wool in his inventory at one point - he absolutely could be bed mining the nether not only so that he has multiple sets of OP netherite, but possibly because he's preparing the gear for another person (cough cough Philza) or people

Techno's collection of ghast tears. He's studied Crystal PvP and made plenty of 2b2t references in the past (Look up FitMC for more info on those things) So it could be possible that Techno is hiding stacks of end crystals so that he can decimate multiple players in an instant

All in all, I'm 100% convinced that Techno has some serious plans hidden behind the scenes that he's not going to share until it's time for him to unleash utter chaos. We know he's keeping secrets, we know he's had the time, and we know he's capable.

I hope you all enjoyed my research and feel terrified of what Techno could possibly have done off camera :D

If anyone else has different theories, corrections to what I wrote, or other moments where Pink was Sus, feel free to comment!

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starlessea · 3 years

Text

Here Comes the Sun: XXI. When You Were Young (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 5907

Chapter Warnings: Language, Insecurities.

You snapped the book shut and looked up at your class, who stared back at you in complete awe. You laughed, taking in their expressions. The first time you had read this novel, your face looked something similar to how theirs did now. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh, uncrossing your legs and standing up from your seat. Immediately, they started to chatter amongst themselves about the ending, and the volume rose as their voices ricocheted off the walls of the small classroom.

In the last couple of months that had passed since the takeover of Woodberry, the prison had been completely transformed. It was barely recognisable from how you'd first found it. The cells each had a bed, and now resembled actual rooms. The field had been tilled and converted into farmland courtesy of the Greenes, and you even kept livestock in wooden pens. Best of all, Rick and the others had set up a classroom for you to teach the children. You could remember it like it was yesterday. It had certainly been a well-kept secret, and almost everybody had known about it but you.

Daryl and his team had scavenged some desks and school supplies, as well as an old blackboard that reminded you of the one you had first written your name on. They'd even brought back a wooden bookshelf - which they had to tie to the roof of one of the vehicles just to get it home. Over the course of the next few weeks, it began to collect books, filling up more and more each day.

Your first assignment had been for your students to create a poster on any book of their choice - and as a result, they also filled the white space of the walls. Before long, the former guards’ office resembled an actual classroom, brimming with colour and, surprisingly, children eager to learn.

"Okay, everyone!" You called out, clapping your hands to get their attention. "Now that we've finished this book, I want you all to write your own short story in response to it."

The group started to murmer amongst themselves again, and you yelled out over the chatter.

"It can be a sequel, or even something different inspired by it." You explained, your voice getting lost in the crowd. "Be as creative as you can."

It was a real learning curve getting used to teaching younger students. Though, it was a lot more rewarding than you thought it would be. You remembered teaching Carl briefly at the Greene farm, which felt like a lifetime ago now. You never expected for your class to grow to the size that it was.

"I'm looking forward to reading them all tonight before bed." You added, once they had settled down enough to do so.

It was a tradition for you to do all of your marking in the evening. It filled up your time and kept you occupied until Daryl returned. He'd been going on a lot more runs recently, and it made you worry less when you had something to take your mind off it.

"Any questions?" You asked, and saw a flurry of hands go up in response.

"Teacher!" A young girl called, waving her arm to get your attention.

You smiled almost unknowingly. If adults had even half the enthusiasm of children, then maybe a lot more would get done around here.

"Yes?" You answered, and nodded in her direction.

The legs of her chair lifted a few inches off the ground as she swung back a little, and you fought every teacher-urge inside of you that said to pull her up on it.

"Is Mr. Dixon going to read them with you?" She giggled, and suddenly you forgot about the chair.

You couldn't contain the snort that left your mouth from the name 'Mr. Dixon.' You'd have to tell him about it later.

"I meant questions about the work." You chided gently, but the smile on your face told another story. "Though, he might. So make them interesting."

Once again, you were unable to control the class as they got rowdy, and you just shook your head.

"You don't want him to fall asleep when I read them to him, do you?" You added, as you started to hand out the paper.

The children spent the next hour or so furiously scribbling out their stories in messy handwriting that you'd be tasked with deciphering later. Daryl had been gone for a few days on a run, but he was due back at some point today. Though, you wouldn't put it past him to conveniently arrive home late, to get out of marking duty with you.

When the time came to dismiss your class, you were given a lot of hugs and waves from everybody as they left. Perhaps it wasn't the most professional, but nothing really was these days. You were lucky to even still have a profession given the circumstances. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure looming in the entranceway, holding the door open for the children as they left the classroom. It was Carol, and she gave you a warm smile when she caught your eye. You beckoned her in after everyone else was gone, and she made her way shyly towards you with her arms behind her back.

The two of you had grown even closer over the last few months - all of you had. Though, you and Carol got along like a house on fire. She had the most brilliant sense of humor tucked away, and you were often lucky enough to get a glimpse of it when she felt mischievous. Daryl had given the pair of you the nickname 'dynamic duo' - and you thought that nothing could suit you both better.

"What are you doing here, Peletier?" You asked in a mock stern tone. "I don't remember giving you detention."

The woman smiled sheepishly at your teasing, before more confidently sitting down on your desk and stretching out her legs. From behind her back she brought out one hand, and placed a fresh, red apple over your paperwork. You laughed immediately, and so did she.

"I've always been a good student." She told you, with a grin.

You hummed to yourself, unconvinced. You started to collect the loose sheets of paper from your students' tables, and the woman hopped off your own desk to help you.

"I caught the end of your lesson. I hope you didn't mind me listening in." She admitted, and you shook your head in response.

Normally, you got nervous if you were being observed. One time, Daryl dropped by to give you some supplies you'd asked for - and you'd gotten so red that the children made fun of you for the rest of the day. Yet, Carol's presence made you calm; she always was the one to have your back.

"They seem to really love you." The woman added, nonchalantly.

The compliment really did warm your heart. Even before the world ended, all you'd wanted was to gain the approval of your students. Except, that was the one thing that adults struggled to give.

"I just want to make it fun for them." You explained, picking up another hand-written story.

You could tell whose it was just by the handwriting. At this point, you'd gotten to know all of the children so well that they felt like part of your extended family; everyone in the prison did.

"I know they should be learning practical skills, too." You went on. "But I can't let them forget how to read and write."

You were mumbling to yourself, and barely noticed as Carol handed you the other half of the papers. You filed them all into a neat stack, and placed them onto your desk. Except, you now noticed a book sitting on it that hadn't been there before.

"I came to give you something." Carol said, pointing. "Well, to return something."

Your eyes widened as you read over the title. It was in pristine condition, with a shiny cover and an unbroken spine.

"It's not the same copy." The woman explained.

You could tell; it was much too neat to be the one you'd brought with you to Atlanta. That one had crinkled pages and a ripped cover even before you had leant it to Carol.

"I asked Daryl to keep an eye out for one on his travels." She admitted, and you perked up at the name. "Thought maybe you could read it to the kids one day."

You held the copy of The Little Prince in your hands, your eyes glancing over the delicate illustration of a young boy lost amongst the stars.

"Carol, you didn't have to do this-" you said quietly.

The woman cut you off before you could go on, nudging you gently with her shoulder.

"I did. I wanted to." She corrected, and you finally looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did before."

She said the words quietly, as though ashamed, and this time you were the one to elbow her back and shake your head. She gave a small smile.

"I liked the part with the fox." She told you. "Where he says that important things can only be seen with the heart, not the eyes."

You looked at Carol with a dumbfounded expression.

"I did read it, you know." She laughed.

So, the two of you did finally get to discuss the book together, just like you'd hoped to do all that time ago - back in the warm summer shade of the Greene farm.

When you spotted that mop of hair from across the courtyard, you knew instantly who it was. Well, the crossbow and that familiar leather jacket also gave him away. You started to run in his direction, before you spotted a group of your students and slowed down to an embarrassed jog. The man eyed you, and you could make out his taunting smirk even in the distance.

It hadn't been that long since you'd last seen him, but your heart still ached to feel his arms around you. You never knew how lonely the nights could seem once you got used to sleeping besides someone you loved.

You approached Daryl casually, feeling eyes on you. There were people working the fields, and others on the fences dispatching walkers. Even if they seemed busy, you weren't oblivious to their side-eye glances every now and then.

"Hey there, Stranger." You finally greeted the man. "Was starting to forget what your face looked like."

With the influx of survivors, Daryl had taken on even more responsibility than before. He was out for longer and home even less, but you knew it couldn't be any other way. You knew that - but it didn't stop you from resenting the fact.

"Too many damn mouths to feed." Daryl grumbled, pointing to the string of squirrels hanging from his belt. "These people are eatin' like kings."

You laughed at that, thinking back to the last harsh winter where you'd all had to survive on some questionable meals, to say the least.

"Ah yes, the luxury of fresh squirrel." You teased, eyeing the dead animals strung up by their tails.

You made a face, and Daryl made one back.

"I'll give yers away if ya gonna keep bein' picky 'bout it." He warned, but it was much too light-hearted.

Still, you held your hands up in defence.

"Okay, okay." You replied, sending him a mischievous smirk. "I'm sorry."

The tension was thick between you, despite the banter. Even as dirty as he was, you wanted nothing more than to fall into the man and press a number of kisses to that face of his. Yet, you refrained. Maybe you could get him into the shower first, away from all these people as well.

"Just take a look at your hair, Dixon." You remarked, once you finally noticed it. "Are you growing it out for me? Because I said I had a thing for guys with long hair?"

It hung over his face, and he pushed the loose strands away from his eyes with the back of his hand. It suited him, but he was definitely in need of a good shampoo.

"Yer really pushin' yer luck today, aren't ya?" Daryl muttered, taking a step closer to you.

You couldn't hide the smile that had spread over your face. Even an exchange as simple as this left you beaming. There really was no one else who could make you laugh quite like Daryl Dixon.

"You've been gone for two days." You reasoned lightly, trying to hide the way it actually made you feel. "Am I not allowed to have missed you?"

He tended to tease you about it, so you tried not to make a big deal whenever he returned home. Yet, you failed every time.

"What d'ya say?" Daryl asked, rubbing his ear.

He'd probably gotten mud stuck in there. It wouldn't surprise you - given how filthy he looked.

"I missed you." You repeated, begrudgingly.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, like he couldn't comprehend what you were saying in the slightest.

"Hmm?" He prompted, waiting for you to explain again.

You huffed and shook your head. You would be dragging him into the showers as soon as he got to the cell block.

"I miss-" you started, before the realisation kicked in.

You immediately slapped the man's chest with the back of your hand, and a smirk spread over his face.

"You're messing with me!" You yelled, and he shrugged his shoulders innocently - like he was completely oblivious.

You attempted to shove him again, but this time he caught your wrist and pulled you in close. Your chest hit his, and you felt the warmth you had been craving. You didn't care anymore about the curious stares, and it seemed that he didn't either. Daryl wrapped his arms around your waist, and you snaked your own over his neck to pull him down to you.

Your noses touched, and you smiled against him. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, just taking in the sight of each other - and the feel. You could tell that you'd unintentionally gathered a bit of an audience. The new members of the community rarely got to see Daryl like this, so you often got quite a few looks whenever you were together - and a lot of follow-up questions when you were alone. You ran your fingers through the ends of his hair, that went all the way down to the base of his neck now.

"Well, if you're not going to let me cut it, the least you can do is let me braid it." You whispered, your face still close to his.

You'd threatened it once before, but you were more adamant this time.

"Ya can fuck off." Daryl grumbled back, but somehow he managed to make it sound affectionate.

You laughed lightly, and finally gave him the shortest of kisses that only left him wanting more.

"I think the words you're looking for are 'I missed you, too'."

Daryl Dixon was a stubborn man. You'd realised it from the moment you met him. He was the type to stick to his guns, even if they weren't loaded. You'd seen him argue his way out of something even when he was wrong, and convince you of his viewpoint even when you were right. Daryl Dixon was stubborn - but he always cracked eventually when it came to you.

"Don' say nothin'." He snapped, and you bit your lip to hold back the laugh.

"I didn't say anything." You quipped, as naturally as you were able.

You plucked another daisy from out of the grass, and handed it to the child. She took it in her small fist, and threaded it through the man's hair - messily between the braids you'd given him.

"Yer face says it all." He grumbled, his own looking like thunder.

Daryl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a few of your younger students. They'd begged him to let them put flowers in his hair after eavesdropping on your earlier conversation, and you'd said yes before he could even reply. He was a stubborn man, but he was also a people pleaser.

"Mr. Dixon, what's your favourite flower?" Another girl asked politely, twiddling a bluebell stem between her fingers. "We'll see if we can find it."

You laughed, but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon." You chimed in. "What is it?"

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. Except, the man didn't look all that intimidating with stray daisies interwoven in his hair, and loose plaits that were in the midst of being braided by clumsy hands.

"Stop bein' a lil' shit." Daryl bit back.

Though, he immediately got punished for it.

"Teacher, he said a bad word!" One of the children exclaimed, pointing to Daryl like he was a shamed dog on the naughty step.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, and watched as the man did the same.

"Daryl Dixon, if you swear like that again we'll have to wash your mouth out with soap." You scolded, in your most teacher-like voice.

The children laughed their high-pitched laughs, and you could see a small fire burning behind the man's eyes.

"'M gonna murder ya in yer sleep." He mumbled below his breath.

You yanked on the strand of hair you were braiding, before half-heartedly apologising and claiming it to be an accident. Daryl flinched, and whipped his head around to glare at you.

"What the f-" he started, but you narrowed your eyes at him. "Frog." He finished, and you lost it.

You let out what was perhaps the most unattractive snort of your life, which was much too bold to be disguised as any sort of cough. You knew you'd pay hell for this later, but for now you just wanted to relish in the power. You had Daryl in the palm of your hand, his hair quite literally wrapped around your little finger. He turned to glance at you, but you tugged again - but more gently this time.

"Jus' watch what yer doin'." He reminded you, before muttering some more underneath his breath. "Are ya tryin' to scalp me?"

Somewhere in the midst of the exchange, Deputy Grimes has sauntered over with an expression equally as smug as the one you wore. He had Judith in his arms, resting over his hip, and looked down at Daryl with a grin as he approached. He was wordless, but when the two of you made eye contact it was hard to remain that way.

"Jus' don't." Daryl sighed, sounding completely defeated.

"I didn't say anything." The officer replied, and at this point you couldn't deny that there were tears in your eyes.

Daryl looked up at Rick and squinted from the sun. He shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Tha's what they all say."

Rick watched the exchange in amusement. It had been refreshing to see him so relaxed during the last few months. You thought that he really deserved a break - and it seemed that he was making the most of it by spending time with his children.

"What did you do this time?" The man asked Daryl.

He shrugged in response, before one of your students reminded him to keep still.

"Nothin'." He grunted, seeming to be at the end of his rope. "Dunno why 'm bein' tortured for feedin' the lot of ya."

The string of squirrels had been passed along to the cook before the children had all but seized Daryl and demanded that he played with them. You may have had some involvement in his kidnapping, but you were only a bystander, really.

"Quit complaining, you big baby." You reminded him, before tucking a flower behind his ear.

Daryl had a vacant stare, but it soon became a warm one when he noticed Judith making some gurgles and smiling in his direction. She had her arm outstretched towards him, and Rick lowered her down so that she could be closer to what she was reaching for. The baby smiled a gummy smile, and ever so gently patted Daryl's head - eyes wide at the array of colourful flowers there. The man stayed completely still and allowed her to do it, and you just watched. You wished you had Glenn's camera during moments like these.

Not long after, the officer said his goodbyes, and left with his daughter. She peeked over his shoulder at the two of you as they walked away, and it made your heart melt as you looked at her.

"She's so adorable." You said, to no one in particular. "I want one."

Daryl choked, and you smirked at him deviously.

"Just kidding." You admitted, as though you hadn't almost caused the man to have a heart attack.

Daryl spluttered again before standing up. Most of your students had left the two of you alone, having gotten bored during your chat with Rick. You watched as the man shook out his hair, letting the flower petals float to the ground like leaves from a tree.

"Jesus Christ, woman." He muttered, looking in your direction. "Calm down, would ya?"

You smiled as you helped him untangle the braids.

"There's only so much a man can take in one day." He went on.

Before long, Daryl’s hair went back to looking just as messy as it had done before, and you once again prompted him that he needed a shower. So, the two of you headed back to the cell block, and you slipped your hand into his to also remind him of how much you'd missed him.

"You never did say which flower was your favourite." You said, once the thought came into your mind.

You glanced over at the man as you walked, but he just gave a small shrug in response.

"Dunno." He said quietly. "Guess I like the yellow ones."

Despite wanting to spend the night alone with Daryl, cuddled up under blankets in your cell as you read him some imaginative hand-written stories, the two of you had been convinced otherwise. Usually, alcohol wasn't permitted inside the prison - something about productivity and sharing that you hadn't really paid much attention to. But, since a lot of people had just returned from a long run, an exception had been made so that you could celebrate.

It was hardly anything, really. There was barely enough to go around to get you tipsy, let alone drunk, and there were only a dozen of you sitting around the campfire - taking swigs from your plastic cups. The spirits had been diluted to stretch it out a bit more, and you were reminded of being a teenager again, swapping out vodka for tap water so that your parents wouldn't notice.

Even so, your body hadn't had alcohol in a while - not since the Jack Daniels you'd all polished off back at Hershel's farm. Already, your head felt fuzzy, and your laughs sounded giddier than you'd intended. You were all sitting on the ground, out in the field. It almost felt like that first night you'd cleared the prison - except so much had changed since then. Rather than tentatively holding Daryl's hand in the dark, when everyone else was asleep, you were now sat in between his legs as his arms held your waist. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel it rise and fall regularly.

You could also smell the alcohol on his breath, but you didn't really mind. It was rare that Daryl did drink - even when it was available to him. You liked the fact that he could relax for once, since he always seemed to bear the burden of looking after everyone else.

"You two!" Tyreese shouted, catching your attention.

Across from you, the man sat beside his sister, Sasha. Vanessa was also next to them. Out of everyone here, you knew the three of them best. Admittedly, you hadn't got around to learning everyone else's names yet.

You looked up, startled, and Daryl chuckled softly at the way you flinched in his arms.

"How'd you meet?" The man asked, and offered a smile in your direction.

If there ever were such a packed question, it would have been that one. It was the type of question that required a whole book to answer - like one of the stories you'd set for your students to write. You glanced back at Daryl, only to find that he was already looking at you. He remained silent, so you raised an eyebrow at him before realising that you'd be the one answering.

"It was really romantic, actually." You spoke after a few seconds.

Everyone else's chatter had died down, and you suddenly felt very exposed as you became the centre of attention. Except, liquid courage always did work wonders where you were concerned.

"The first time I met Daryl, he told me to fuck off and called me a mule." You announced, like you'd been waiting for the perfect moment to do so.

Your audience erupted with laughter, and you took in the looks of disbelief around the campfire - feeling satisfied with your choice of words. Except, it didn't last long. Daryl jabbed you in the ribs with his elbow, and you shot a glare back at him.

"Tha's not what happened." He argued, and everyone fell quiet once again to listen to what the man had to say.

It was rare that they got to see Daryl like this - letting loose and talking without being prompted to do so.

"Jus' fought off two walkers only to have some chick yelling at me, sayin gimme yer hand like the ghost of Christmas past or some shit." He explained, his voice more animated than you'd ever heard it. "Thought my time had come."

A few more chuckles could be heard in response, but Tyreese eventually spoke up.

"Can someone translate for them?" He asked, and it was then that you realised just how much detail you'd need to tell this story of yours.

So much had happened between you and Daryl that you'd need countless sheets of paper to recount it, unlimited words and a number of chapters. You leant back further into the man, deciding how to officially introduce it.

"Well, it all started with this yellow tent." You said, and the others listened.

You went on for a bit, taking sips of alcohol between your words. Everyone seemed enraptured by you, and it even seemed like Daryl was hearing the story for the first time, too. It felt strange to recount it in such a way, and it made you realise just how much had happened since the world had ended.

You smiled as you finished, deciding to give one last summary to your captivated audience.

"So basically I pulled Daryl up from a cliff-face, then hauled his ass halfway across Georgia, before finally taking a bullet for him."

The alcohol had long since ran out, but everyone had stayed to hear the ending. Maybe you were oversharing, but spirits gave you loose lips - and you always did have a bad habit of running your mouth.

Tyreese started clapping slowly, before pointing at Daryl where he sat.

"You, brother, are one lucky man." He remarked with a smile.

You heard Daryl grumble something next to your ear, before addressing him back.

"She leaves out the part where she stuck 'er finger into my wound and sang outta tune next to me for three hours straight."

You bit your lip before finishing off what little was left of your drink.

"Minor details." You mumbled.

Some of the men you didn't know were murmuring amongst themselves beside you, but your head was too foggy to make out what they were saying. Perhaps Daryl could, since he had a scowl over his face. You didn't have time to question it, though, because Vanessa soon interjected with a laugh.

"So you're telling me that you now share a bed with the same guy who had walker ears around his neck when you first met him?" She teased, and you beamed back at her.

"Yeah-" you muttered, before sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I question my own judgement, too."

The walk back to your cell was more of a stumble, but no one had to know that. You and Daryl both made it there in one piece, so no further questions needed to be asked as to why you were missing a shoe, or who you'd tripped over along the way. It had seemed all fun and giggles, until you realised that it had been one-sided fun and entirely your own giggles.

Once you entered the room, you finally noticed how quiet Daryl had been. He toed his boots off wordlessly and threw his leather jacket into the corner. He knew how much that frustrated you, but he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care.

You walked up to the man and snaked your arms around him from behind, so that your chest was pressed to his back. All day, you'd been craving for the two of you to just be alone - but now that you were, he seemed too agitated for his own good. You thought that you must have missed something, because Daryl definitely didn't seem like himself.

You rubbed your palms along his chest slowly, but he stopped you with his own hand, and pulled away. He turned to face you, and you cocked your head to the side as you took in his expression. His eyes were narrowed, and he was chewing at his lip like he always did when he was confused. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Yer too good for me." He stated, like it was a fact. "'M a lucky man." He went on. "Why'd ya want someone who wore walker-"

"Whoa, slow down there." You cut him off.

He was reciting all of the things that had been said over the campfire, you realised - except they'd all been playful jokes, and he knew that. The man sounded like a broken record, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what had made him break.

"Someone's had too much to drink." You reasoned, but raised an eyebrow as you did so.

You weren't convinced yourself, but you had no other explanation as to why he was blurting out the things that he was. Daryl was a big man, and the amount of alcohol he'd drank was nowhere near enough to get him drunk.

"'M fine." He confirmed, but you knew there was more going on. "Jus' the truth, s'all."

The man looked down at his feet as he spoke the words, and you sighed.

"We are not doing this again, Daryl." You warned, and took a step closer to him.

Ever since more people had been coming to the prison, Daryl had seemed to convince himself that there were plenty of better options available to you - all without consulting you about it, of course. It had gotten to the point where you'd snapped at him, almost a month back, and it had escalated into a fight. You understood where he'd been coming from - a few people had gotten a little too friendly with you on more than one occasion. But, you'd convinced him that you were right where you wanted to be, next to his side.

You'd thought that had been the end of it, but something must have happened to bring it back to the surface.

"I see the way they all look at ya. Like they want ya." Daryl snarled, like he was seeing things that you couldn't. "They were talkin' 'bout it right in front of me."

And suddenly, it all made sense. The men you had noticed staring and mumbling had set Daryl off. You realised that he must have heard what they were saying - and that it must not have been good. Yet, part of you still felt frustrated that he had even listened to it. You'd spent the whole night recounting how you met the man, and how much he meant to you, only for your words to be completely unravelled by words of others that were insignificant.

"So?" You finally responded, more forcefully than you intended.

Daryl's head snapped up to look at you, and you met his eyes in return.

"I go through the same thing with you."

The man was silent for a few seconds, like he couldn't fully comprehend what you'd said.

"What?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"Just because you're blind to it, Dixon, doesn't mean that I am." You told him.

You placed your hands over his chest again, but this time he didn't shrug you off.

"They look up to you. You're a hero to a lot of these people." You explained, like you'd truly accepted the fact.

You could feel the heat radiating off the man from underneath the tips of your fingers, and you took another step closer to him so that he could feel you, too.

"You don't think there's days that I hear women giggling about you? Talking about you like you're some knight in shining armour who rescued them from this world?" You said, chuckling a little as you did so.

At first, it had killed you to see. Every time you noticed someone staring at the man, or whispering about him when they thought you couldn't hear, it made your blood boil. But, after a while you became numb to it - mostly because Daryl never even spared them a second glance.

"It makes me feel pretty shitty, too." You admitted, as you let your fingers rest over the first button of his sleeveless shirt.

You looked upwards at him, and he gave you a small nod - so you started to unbutton it.

"But then I come back to our cell, and I'll see that you've left me flowers on our pillow." You went on, smiling in the direction of your mattress, where you had missed the man’s presence over the last few days. "Or I'll notice a new cassette tape in my walkman without you even saying anything."

You reached the last button, and shrugged the material over Daryl’s shoulders so that you could see his bare chest.

"And then I forget about all those other people." You confessed, and pressed your palm over his heart. "Because I'm reminded everyday that you're mine."

Daryl immediately placed his hand over the back of yours, and squeezed it gently.

"I'm yours." He agreed, and this time leant down to give you a kiss of his own without being prompted.

It was soft, but you'd missed the feel of him - and it made you impatient. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, and so you broke away before you became too intoxicated by it.

You hooked your fingers around his belt loops and pulled his body closer to yours - so close that his bare chest was warm against you, and you could feel his heart pounding.

"Then show me." You said, and he did.

A/N: So every time I write a chapter of HCtS, I delete the notes for it from my masterplan - and I’m getting so emotional seeing it get smaller and smaller each week. We’re coming to the end and I can’t deal-

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

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lillywillow · 3 years

Text

For Heart or For Country

Summary: “You’re in line to be the next ruler of your kingdom. But first, you must marry the young ruler of your worst enemy. Would you risk all of your happiness for the sake of stopping a war? Or will you find true love in the town’s pub?”

Word Count: 3089

Pairings: Natasha x gender neutral Reader/ gender neutral Loki X Reader (arranged)

Warnings: Seductive Nat, arranged marriage

Written for @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s writing challenge. Go check out her amazing works!

From the moment you were born, you were destined to take over from your father. You spent countless hours in lessons learning how to be ruler of the kingdom, been taught everything from politics to art, sword fighting to etiquette. Long story short, everything you needed to take the throne and face the challenges that came with wearing the crown.

For years, the kingdom had been at war but recently there was at last a chance for peace but it came with a cost... an arranged marriage. You weren’t so sure about it but if it meant your people being safe, you would sacrifice your own happiness.

Ever since your father had made the announcement of your impending wedding, it had consumed your every thought. You hadn’t even met your betrothed and, yet, you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with them. You had watched the older servants with their spouses and to be honest with yourself it melted your heart. Even your father was a kind and gentle person when it came to your mother. With any luck, the person you were going to marry would be kind to you.

Deciding you needed a distraction; you put on a disguise and managed to sneak out of the palace. Sure you could have gotten drunk in your room but where was the fun in that? You had crept out on a few occasions so you knew that the townsfolk knew how to party compared to those stuffy nobles.

From the moment you stepped inside the tavern named The Nest, the atmosphere was abuzz with excitement. The walls were decorated with purple fabric hangings, crossbows, longbows, arrows and other archery items. A taxidermy hawk was perched above the door, its eyes ever watching. A one eyed dog ran about the patrons, getting pats from some of them and cleaning up pieces of dropped food. People were dancing, singing and drinking, some leaning on each other for support as they swayed. To any other noble, the scene may have looked chaotic but to you, it only looked like fun.

With a grin, you made your way over to the bar and took a seat. Still taking in your surroundings, you barely noticed when the sandy haired bartender stood in front of you.

“What can I get you?”

“Oh! Um...” You tried to think of something that would not give away your identity as a noble. The man raised an eyebrow at you.

“Hey, Clint! Two boilermakers over here,” another patron called.

The man whom you now know as Clint poured them the drinks and turned back to you.

“So?”

“I’ll have... o-one of those,” you said, making a feeble attempt to pound your fist on the counter in an attempt to fit in.

Clint tilted his head and gave you a curious look.

“Alright...”

Clint made the boilermaker and placed it in front of you. Thanking him, you took a swig of the drink and felt instant misgivings about it as the alcohol burned not only your throat but your ears and the very pit of your stomach. Clint laughed as you coughed and spluttered.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“You... might say that,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth.

“You picked the right night to come. Nat’s doing a show.”

“Nat?”

“Wow, you really aren’t from around here if you don’t know Natasha. Just watch,” he advised, nodding his head over to the stage.

The stage was well lit and crowed around the edges by men and women who were eagerly waiting for whoever was about to appear from behind the purple curtains.

Music began and a foot decorated with a silver anklet emerged. The audience cheered loudly as the woman behind her curtain slowly began to reveal herself. She wore a black piece of fabric around her upper body, twisted just a little in the centre of her chest. The bottom of her costume was made up of a red fabric front and back which started out solid but faded to transparent as it went down and held together by delicate chains. Silver cuffs adorned her upper arms and wrists. Her lips were painted sinfully crimson. Sparkly onyx hairpins held her red curls in place. She was absolutely stunning.

The woman slowly began to sway her hips to the music, arms and feet poised. It was almost hypnotic in the way she moved. As the beat picked up, so did her dancing. One of the men near the front of the stage started to get a little carried away and tried to climb up.

Fearing for the safety of the dancer, you tensed and shifted to help her but Clint placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Easy. Nat can handle herself around these drunk idiots.”

You watched as Nat placed her foot on the man’s cheek before kicking him off the stage. The crowd jeered and laughed at the man, some pouring their drinks on him. Despite the interruption, Nat continued her performance.

Her face was calm and collected, never faltering, as the audience got more and more rowdy.

Nat ended her performance by kneeling and giving a graceful bow. The throng of people got even more riled up as she headed back behind the curtain and before you knew it, a fight broke out. You could only sit on your barstool and laugh as the place erupted into bedlam. As a noble, the most you had ever witnessed people scuffle as a heated argument that never went beyond words and even then they never used the language you heard flying around the room. Sure, there was the battlefield but once again that was an entirely different situation.

However, your humour was soon cut short as the royal guards walked in to break up the fight. You felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach.

“You hiding from those guys?” Clint asked, not even fazed by the mayhem around him.

“S-sorta...”

Clint jumped over the bar and prompted you to follow him. You weren’t entirely sure what made you decide to trust a total stranger nonetheless, you followed his lead. As he walked along, he dodged all fists, tankards and bottles that flew his way. You did your best but still caught the occasional projectile to your body, taking great care not to let any hit your face lest there be questions tomorrow.

He stopped to look around before opening a panel in the back wall, just big enough for you to squeeze out.

“Follow the tunnel until the end. That’ll take you to the backstreets. Be fast. The guards will start patrolling the minute they break things up here. Just make sure you close the exit on the other side.” With that, Clint pushed you through the gap and closed the panel behind you.

Just as he said, you followed the tunnel until the end, closing the door behind you and made your way through the backstreets until you had made it all the way home, fortunately without incident.

As you got ready for bed that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about Nat. She was just so beautiful... Could this be just a crush? You had to know for certain.

...

The following night, you once again crept out of the palace and back to The Nest and sat at the bar. The place was busy but nowhere near as packed as it was last night.

“I see the guards failed to catch you,” Clint commented, making his way over to you.

“Yeah... um... is Nat dancing again tonight by any chance?”

Clint gave you a sly look.

“She’s not dancing but she is working. Hey, Nat!”

Your heart began to race as the red head walked over to you. Tonight she was wearing a black, off-the-shoulder dress with a red belt around her waist. Even outside of her dancing costume she was beautiful.

“What?”

“This is the one I was telling you about.”

You felt panic seize in your chest. They were talking about you? What in the world could they have possibly been saying? Nat looked you up and down, carefully examining you before glancing over at Clint who gave an approving nod.

“Let’s dance...”

Before you could protest, Nat grabbed your hand and dragged you onto the dance floor. It was no surprise to you that she was just as graceful on her feet as she had been on stage. As you danced with her, you could feel her brushing her hands over your hips and waist. You found yourself surrendering to her touch. At the end of the song, Nat wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pressed her lips to your ear.

“Tell me... what is a noble doing in a place like this?”

You completely froze.

“Wh-what makes you think...?”

“Everything. From the way you dance, to your posture and your speech. So, answer my question.”

“Is... is there somewhere private we can talk?”

Nat lead you to the backroom after checking the coast was clear.

“Now talk...”

With a sigh, you removed your hood, showing her your face.

“The heir to the throne,” she whispered reverently.

You put your hood back on and looked down.

“You should get out of here. Folks in these parts don’t take kindly to nobles, especially members of the royal family. What are you doing here anyway?”

“I... I wanted to experience as much freedom as I could before I get married...”

“So one last fling before finally settling down. How sweet.” Her voice positively dripped venom as she spoke.

“It’s not like that!”

“Then tell me what it is like...”

With a sigh, you looked out the tiny window on the back wall that let in a sliver of moonlight.

“Ever since I was young, I dreamed of having a perfect wedding with the perfect person I would spend the rest of my life with... but with this war, I’m to marry one of the children of the opposing kingdom as a token of peace... I don’t know what kind of person they are. If they’re good, maybe we could work together to fix some of the broken parts of the city and of course, I would help in their kingdom too but if they’re not a good person, well...”

Nat was quiet for a few moments before finally speaking.

“I really hate it when Clint is right,” she sighed.

You turned to look at her.

“Clint?”

“You see, Clint has this innate sense of finding the good in people and helping them out. He helped me a few years back...”

You held her hand, encouraging her to continue.

“I was in a really bad place... did some really bad things... Clint helped me get out of it. Got me a job, a home... even made me partner. I owe a lot to him...”

You couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy for the man even though you knew it was completely irrational.

“So you and he are...?”

Nat shook her head.

“We tried it once but it didn’t work out. We’re better off as friends.”

You couldn’t help but feel a tiny sense of relief.

“I would like to get to know you better... for however I have until my impending marriage. That is if you’ll let me.”

“What about after?”

“I’ll try and see you if I can... and if not; you can be my one who got away.”

“That was... really cheesy,” she laughed.

“I guess it was... but what do you say?”

“On one condition; don’t make any promises you can’t or don’t intend to keep. I’ve been through enough of that in my lifetime.”

“It’s a deal.”

...

Over the next few weeks, you got to know Nat quite well. You knew everything about her and she knew everything about you and not just as future sovereign but as a person. Eventually the time came when the feuding royal family came to your kingdom, bringing with them your spouse to be.

They introduced you to the youngest member of the family named Loki. Loki was about your age and attractive enough but in the short time you spent with Natasha, your heart purely belonged to her. Your respective fathers left you alone to bond, catching daggers in their backs from the glares from both you and Loki as they left.

“They certainly can be civil when they want to be,” Loki sneered.

“You got that right...”

“You don’t really want to be married to me do you?”

You thought carefully about how to answer.

“I don’t even know you... but how else can we stop this war?”

“I have been doing research on my end. If we can pool our resources, perhaps we can find how it began and how we can stop it. Shall we?”

Loki offered a slender hand which you took.

“We shall.”

...

In the time leading up to your wedding, you and Loki spent every minute of the day together. To anyone else, it looked like a couple bonding and getting to know each other before your upcoming nuptials. To you and Loki, it was a mission; one to find out the truth and put an end to the war.

Your nights were spent with Nat, talking about Loki and what else you could do to stop the fighting. There was one night you had crept in after seeing Nat and Loki had caught you and you thought for sure you were done for but instead, Loki covered for you. Loki was fully supportive of your relationship with Natasha and encouraged you to pursue her once this whole thing had blown over.

Eventually it came time when your wedding was fast approaching. The night before the big event, you were of course with Natasha, wanting to spend as long as you could with each other before whatever happened tomorrow.

“I promise you Nat, we will be together...”

Nat teared up and shook her head.

“Remember the deal you made, Y/N. You said you wouldn’t make promises you couldn’t keep...”

“But I intend to keep this one...”

“Just go!”

Nat turned away so you couldn’t see her cry. You gently turned her back to you and kissed her softly. She kissed back, holding you tight as if she didn’t want to let you go. Eventually you had to break for air.

“If... if this really is our last night together... then let’s make a memory that will last a lifetime...”

With that, you kissed her again, this time with all the love and passion you could muster. It may have seemed scandalous to spend the night before your wedding with another but you wouldn’t give Nat away for the world.

...

The following morning, you and Loki had set your plan into motion. The wedding started out like any other with guests arriving and people all taking their places. Your heart was hammering against your ribs and blood roared in your ears as the ceremony began. Loki remained calm and collected, keeping cool until the right moment.

“If anyone has any objections as to why these two should not wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“We object,” both you and Loki said in unison. The whole room erupted into shock. Instantly, both Odin and your father rounded on the pair of you, absolutely seething.

“Silence!” Loki snarled. The room fell quiet.

“Now, the whole point of this wedding was to stop this ridiculous war. A war that was started over a futile reason...”

Both you and Loki went to where you had hidden two ancient artefacts; one from your history and one from Asgard’s.

“Many years ago, our kingdom was accused of taking this,” you said, holding the item up high.

“But they were wrong. We had our own the whole time,” Loki stated, holding up the other.

“Our two kingdoms went to war when they should have been joining forces as we were once centuries ago...”

The pair of you combined the two items to show they fitted perfectly together.

“We should be united once more. Let us put a stop to the fighting once and for all!”

The gathering all cheered and rejoiced at the prospect of peace. Your fathers sat there sullenly while their wives attempted to gently comfort them. Loki gently turned to you.

“Isn’t there someone you want to see?”

With Loki’s blessing, you ran out of the church.

...

Nat had been drowning her sorrows at The Nest. She had known this day was long coming but it didn’t stop the ache she felt in her heart from losing you to another. Clint did his best to try and comfort her but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t even look up when her name was called but eventually Clint did catch her attention.

“What?!” she hissed. Clint pointed behind her to where you were standing still in your wedding clothes.

“Y/N? What are you-” You cut her off with a kiss.

“Loki and I did it. We were able to restore peace and we didn’t even have to get married. We can be together now...”

“But I’m just a common barmaid. You’re going to take over the throne...”

“And when I do, I can make whatever rule I want and marry whoever I want. I want to marry you one day Natasha... that is if you’ll have me...”

“I...” Nat looked over to Clint who smiled and nodded. “Yes...”

...

Over the next few weeks, you worked in tandem with Nat to fix the rough parts of the city, just as you had told her. There was a lot of gossip surrounding your relationship but neither of you cared. You had also made a point to stay in touch with Loki to find out how things were going in Asgard.

After so many years of war, it was nice to finally see some happiness. Maybe in time, there would be a royal wedding after all. A real one out of love that was formed between two hearts that truly cared for one another.

#cappysforeverchallenge #natasha romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x Reader #loki of asgard #loki x gender neutral reader #arranged marriage fic #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #ROYAL AU #royal marriage #gender neutral reader #war and peace #true love

104 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hi welcome back! Hope you’re doing well. Random question b4 my request, bc I want to give back as thanks for the great writing: are you a coffee, tea, or hot chocolate/cocoa drinker? I prefer hot chocolate and sweet tea.

How would the m9 respond to an SO/friend with a kid? Where the reader is a single parent with a child of at most 10 years old. Thanks :)

- 🐋

This took a while to write so sorry for that 😅. I'm so glad you like my writing! I love writing for you lot. I'm definitely a hot cocoa person. I hope this one turned out to your liking 😘.

----------

Caleb:

You never hid the fact you had a child from Caleb, if anything you’re proud of them. Though, you do know in certain company it’s better to keep that fact a secret for safety reasons. Caleb understands that fully he respects and admires you always put your child’s best interests first.

This is why when you began getting more involved with Caleb you kept your child out of it and took a good amount of time before introducing them to the wizard. You didn’t want to set expectations for both sides and wanted to protect and preserve them both should what you and Caleb had going not work out after all.

It’s no surprise Caleb is good with children. He takes a gentle approach when it comes to all things good in this world to the point of almost being afraid to ‘ruin it’. You assured him many times he was in the clear and how could his heart not warm at the curiosity and search for knowledge your child was already displaying.

With your permission Caleb began teaching your child some things here and there. The theoretics of magic and eventually simple spells. The smile it brought to their faces while they worked couldn’t make you happier. Caleb definitely earned your child’s approval to stick around.

Beau:

At first Beau is surprised. She knows children come from somewhere of course. She’s not stupid but actually tying a child to their parent let alone being very close to that parent is a whole new story. Especially learning you raised your child on your own and seeing you want to provide what’s best for them definitely earns you her respect, not having a parent with the same motivation herself and all.

The day of introductions came along and as expected Beau is the most awkward, trying not to be a terrible influence and be on her best behaviour, makes her very much on edge. An perceptive child picking up on this awkward behaviour calling her out leaving her cursing like a sailor, then apologising for said curses, even less of a surprise. You had to assure her many times it was fine.

Beau makes a promise that no matter what, she’ll make sure you’ll be returning to your child and make sure they get the love and support they deserve. Growing up without loving parents is one thing. Growing up an orphan another. She’d do everything in her power to keep you safe.

It may have began with joking comments such as ‘finish your homework’ to ‘do the dishes’ and ‘be nice to your parent while I’m gone’ but it didn’t take long before Beau was helping them with their homework or cleaning dishes after you cooked.

Absolutely treats your child as someone capable of making decisions of their own and speaking for themselves. No baby voices or cooing like too many adults tend to do even to a child regardless of their age. Your child has thoughts and opinions of their own and for the love of all that is sacred, can speak for themselves. You’re glad Beau treats them with a sense of maturity.

Fjord:

Fjord may have done what can only be referred to as a spit take the moment you said you had a child. Clearly didn’t expect it but giving him time to recover and process he’d ask all sorts of questions. What are they like? What do they like? And of course the dreaded question about your partner.

Supportive Fjord for the win. After finding out you’re on your own he’d always have your back, checking in with you and making sure you’re doing alright amidst the stress of the world and raising a child in the mix of it all. He’d open up to you about his past and being raised without any kind of proper parental figure. What he wouldn’t have done to have someone like you around when it counted for him.

Introducing them went rather smoothly. Fjord is surprisingly good with children. While some might find him intimidating, he nearly melted when your child embraced him as a thank you for looking out for you. Fjord was happy to answer any and all questions your child asked.

Whenever you’d be swept away for a while having to leave your child in the care of your trusted ones, Fjord would tell your child to ‘have the wheel, sailor’ which they would return with a salute before biding you both goodbye. Fjord slowly transcended into a bit of a father role and none of you minded in the least. You were happy.

Veth:

When she spoke of her boy she left behind you pitied her. A child shouldn’t be without their family. They deserved to be loved and sheltered from the darkness of the world until they are ready. When you told her you had one of your own Veth really felt safe to confide in you with her worries and troubles. You bonded over it really, drowning out all the sad stories and struggles with fond memories of both your families. Sadly for you, that would only extend to you and your child, the memories of their other parent perhaps somewhat painful to share.

You wondered what it would be like if your children ever got to meet in person. Then the day came. Nicodranas really had a way of bringing families together didn’t it? First time may have been a bit strange, your child being fully aware of Veth’s need for a disguise with her son, played their part well. Both you and Veth may have wiped away some tears when Luc claimed your child their big sibling from now on, and you his third parent.

Work and life are a difficult combination for Veth. She wants nothing more than to be with Yeza and take care of her boy but as long as the world’s in peril and her other family needs her just as much if not more, she’ll have to leave them behind. Knowing that you and your child are with her husband and son when she can’t be eases her mind a lot and she’s forever grateful.

It goes unsaid that Veth’s time away from children and in the presence of adults, specifically the Mighty Nein may have left her a bit out of the routines of raising a child as shown by giving Luc and your child fireworks, promising them to teach them how to shoot a crossbow and more. You did have to hold her back a little with the help of Yeza and keep things a bit more contained for their safety, but mostly yours.

Jester:

Of course upon learning you’re raising your child all by yourself Jester goes onto a rant about how her and her mom were always alone and how Marion used to read stories to her and do you read stories to your child and do you sing to them and draw with them and give them hugs and cuddles after nightmares and… You have no idea how that girl doesn’t run out of breath.

Jester couldn’t be anyone but herself when meeting your child asking about their interests, do they like to draw and sing and dance and… You ran out of breath just listening to her talk and your child replying in similar fashion. Everything went quite well and the two of them got along. Jester would be singing them songs and teaching them how to draw resulting in many dick drawings randomly appearing in your books, notes and other places, followed by mischievous giggles.

Having bought your child a lovely green cloak and letting them pretend they’re the Traveler here to spread mischief and fun and leave behind many phallic shaped objects drawn and carved wherever possible sent you all in laughing fits but you swore you heard a more masculine chuckle and saw a green cloak fade into the shadows. Odd.

What only can be summed up as the combination between big sibling, fun wine cupcake aunt and mom, remained a constant in your life and you couldn’t be more thankful to have that ray of sunshine be there for all of you.

Caduceus:

Caduceus is very calm and collected about learning you have a child. Less of a response than perhaps anyone else perviously unknowing. “That’s nice.” He’d nod. You’d almost start thinking he may have been able to read it off you for some reason. He confirmed he was, the tired eyes, and the recovery of exasperation at times but sense of accomplishment and reward was a look he had seen from his own mother many times.

“You’re weird.” A stare down ensued. “You’re weird too.” Eyes sharpened. “I like you.” The ice broke and smiles followed. For a moment you were afraid that maybe your child wouldn’t like the odd firbolg and thinking about how you would keep friends and family separate but a wave of relief went over you knowing that all was well between the two most valuable people in your life.

You’d be handed a fresh cup of tea by your child, a plate of snacks by Caduceus, all too innocent smiles on their faces but all it took was a raised eyebrow from you to have them come clean about the kitchen being covered in soil from the two of them potting new plants, turning your home and garden in what can only be described as a greenhouse and rather ask for forgiveness than permission. You weren’t mad of course, but did make them clean the mess they made.

You’re still unsure whether or not it was a good or bad idea introducing your child to the extended Clay family as you got some insight in the chaotic prank wars between the siblings and all together sibling rivalry among some of them. It’s all fun and games of course but some moments you were glad you weren’t the one pelted with mud pies by Calliope or pushed into the spring by Calliope herself. Instead you could just enjoy Clarabelle’s bug collection with your child while laughing at the other’s being covered in mud and soaked to the bone.

Yasha:

Poor Yasha doesn’t recall much of a family. In reality she never really felt like she had one until the circus, and after them the Nein. When she saw you and your child together, the unconditional love you had for each other, she felt like she finally realised what she had been missing, and something she perhaps would never have. She learned the value of such a relationship.

Yasha has no idea how to interact with children at any level and by default tends to treat them as either adults, or cute animals. No in between. It took her some time to get the hang of it but you couldn’t deny both you and your child rather enjoyed the unconventional relationship.

The wastes and hardships of Xhorhas may force a child to grow up quickly in the tribes but that doesn’t mean children outside of those regions have to learn how to wield a sword and what bugs you can and cannot eat or how to best skin an animal before eating it… It took some convincing why that was not a necessary skill to learn at the tender age of ten.

You compromised with Yasha on the fighting in the end, persuaded by the woman and your child to allow her to teach them some fighting basics because someone’ has to have your back when Yasha’s not there. You did manage to hold them off on purchasing a sword perhaps too large for your child despite the ‘they’ll grow into it’ reasoning and instead settled on training equipment instead.

Mollymauk:

Oh Mollymauk, nothing surprises this one. He felt rather sorry for you going through the struggles of raising a child alone. He may not remember his own family but he’s traveled far and wide enough to know the hardships. He knows poor Toya and he admires you for being able to do what so many can’t or won’t.

It goes unsaid that Molly is perhaps the worst of influences when it comes to people but you’ve seen him interact with Toya before and know well enough he’s a kind and caring soul who wants only the best for those who can’t just yet fend for themselves. It’s a good foundation that leads to a better person. He jokingly claims himself proof of that through the carnival and him ‘being an absolute asshole’.

Molly’s soft side really does come out whenever he’s around your child. He doesn’t deliberately censor himself but tries to contain certain words and avoid certain subjects that should never be discussed around your child knowing you’d appreciate it and if he does let something slip and your child ask questions he’d gently explain it as certain things should definitely not be described in gory detail to someone of their age.

This circus man is not afraid to put on a show in any circumstance and will happily do so to cheer you or your child up whenever you’re feeling a bit down or overworked. Whether he’s making a fool of himself, giving you bogus card readings, juggle his swords or tell the most ridiculous stories ever he’d do it without a second thought because it brings you and your child joy. You’re part of his family and he’d go to hell and back again for you.

#critical role #critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader #critrole x reader

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libraryofsouls · 4 years

Note

The slashers reacting to someone who isn't fazed by gore and blood. Something like the slashers walking into the house covered in blood and the s/o is all like "Don't leave blood stains on my carpet, thank you very much."

changed it up a bit per slasher if that’s cool with you. loved writing this by the way. thanks for requesting!

slashers reactions to: a s/o unfazed by gore and blood

Asa Emory / The Collector

...you’re not screaming your head off? he was sure you’d leave him right then and there when he had slit an intruder’s throat right in front of you.

would you like to see his collection? beware my dear, it’s not for the faint-hearted! watches for your reaction with great intensity. do you still love him? are you positive?

tests out just how much violence you can witness before you crack. unfortunately for you, asa might have forgotten to give you a head’s up beforehand.

was he threatening you...? it’s hard to tell. he doesn’t seem to want to hurt you though. all the displays of violence were presented to you almost. was he showing off, then?

once he had even brought you along to a victim’s home (fully-rigged) to watch him work. when you dismissively asked him what he wants for dinner after the whole escapade he’s left stunned. oh, he’s definitely keeping you.

Billy Lenz

bad billy, stupid billy! he’s done it now. why did you have to walk in at the worst possible time? now he’ll be all.... alone...? y..you’re still here?

approaches you cautiously and makes sure you haven’t gone in a trance of some sort. when he realizes you’re of sound mind (sorta?) he still has trouble comprehending it.

oh well. billy’s not gonna try too hard to understand you. he just knows you’re okay with it and that’s more than he can possibly ask for. now, would you let him cuddle you? please?

the stains bother you more than witnessing the murder? this little piggy makes his head hurt. if it means that much to you he’ll change and then you two can cuddle, right? right?

basic hygiene aside, attic man is full-on lovestruck. you smell nice and you don’t scream at him? he’s hit the jackpot! would keep you with him for as long as possible.

Bo Sinclair

“huh. you’re all sorts of fucked up too, aren’t ya?” just.. take it as a compliment.

if you previously weren’t on body-retrieval duty, then congratulations! now that bo’s sure you won’t freak out over a corpse, he’s gonna put you to work.

things are turning out great for him! less work and less bullshit. thank god. now.. how good are you with a crossbow?

if you aren’t actually up for some murder, he’ll begrudgingly teach you how to dress wounds instead. “gotta pull your own weight somehow,” he’d say.

this gross ass man would wipe some of the victim’s blood on your face while you’re patching him up just to tease you. he’ll even laugh at you as he does it. (that’s just his way of being friendly.)

Brahms Heelshire

struggling to understand at first. run him through this again - you’re mad at him for ruining the rug and not for disemboweling a man in cold blood?

doesn’t believe you in the slightest. prepare for some bloody shenanigans! uh-oh, it seems he accidentally got all messy when he was getting rid of the body. would you please clean him?

you’re scolding him for ruining his clothes? are you not about to throw up? .....have you finally lost it? oh god no, what has he done?! immediately starts checking you whilst still in the bath.

no, don’t swat him away! please tell him you’re alright! did you hit your head perhaps? was it psychological damage? he’s not qualified for this!

once he’s past the manic state, he’d still look at you weird from time to time. this is a huge relief for him but ...really? he got this lucky with you? are you sure you didn’t hit your head?

Bubba Sawyer

so hear this: it’s been people... all this time. that’s the secret to good chili. cue bubba nervously shuffling behind you, mentally preparing himself to pick you up and lock you in his room in case the others start attacking you.

“huh. you don’t say,” ....everybody’s surprised at this point - even grandpa sawyer! after a moment of silence there’s a lot of hollering and yipping. bubby found himself a keeper! how lucky!

this has literally never happened before so bubba himself is pretty shocked. the rest of the family is just about ready for an impromptu celebration though! tonight’s special guest: you!

unless you’re against being a cannibal, you’re sure to have lots of fun! if you are - well then, be prepared for an unfortunate demise. (bubba would be upset, but he wouldn’t go against his own family.)

immediately accepted by the entire family. the gore doesn’t bother you and you love bubba as he is. what more is there to ask? actually, maybe do some chores too.

Jason Voorhees

how long have you been standing there? jason immediately drops the victim, frozen in place and silently pleading with you not to run away.

when you reach out to wipe some blood off of his mask he tenses, but he’s too afraid to make another move. were you... cleaning him? after you had just seen him crush a man’s head with his bare hands?

very emotional. if you ask him if he’s hurt - there goes his heart. it’s gone. it’s yours now. smile at him and he might actually fall to his knees. a huge weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.

incredibly relieved. all this time he’s seen himself as a monster but you? what has he done to deserve you? he’s so thankful.

still keeps you away from the gore as much as possible but it’s more of his overprotective side taking over. now that he’s sure you aren’t afraid of him, he’ll be so soft with you.

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

not shy about his job but makes sure you have little to no involvement in it. impulsively comes home blood-soaked one night just to test you.

your reaction, or lack thereof, has him fascinated. merely tilts his head at you when you warned him about making a mess. cheeky.

sees it as an open invitation to be more himself around you. but he’s not about to drive you over to where his victims are just to show off. (as tempting as it may be.)

starts off as subtle as possible. bartender asking for your number? check it babe, his head’s on the floor now. you discover very quickly that being subtle is not one of his many talents.

his kills may be messy but jesse himself is a very well-groomed man so you don’t need to worry about him embracing you whilst covered in gore.

Michael Myers

did you just yell at him for tracking in blood? are you serious?

mikey here would be confused enough to actually listen to you for once, kicking his shoes off by the doorway, eyes fixated on you as you rush to clean up the mess. how odd.

beware this man’s morbid curiosity. the gears are turning in his head as he approaches you, babbling on about fresh clothes or something of the like. mikey suddenly decides he has selective hearing.

his hands shoot up and you freeze immediately. he cups your face in his hands as he stares you down, his touch disturbingly gentle.

it would have been endearing if not for the fact that he was actually wiping his bloody fucking hands all over your face. there’s not a hint of emotion present and yet, you feel as though he’s having fun.

Thomas Hewitt

ah, shit. why did he have such horrible timing? he stops dead in his tracks in front of you, freshly out of the basement where he had been working on the meat all day.

this is it. this is the part you leave him, realize how much of a monster he is. any moment now, you’ll start screaming bloody murder. he’s--

“you want some sweet tea?”

huh? did he hear you right? when he doesn’t respond, naturally you repeat yourself. sweet tea? you’re offering him sweet tea? he’s in shock. maybe he needs to sit down.

he stares at his hands, then down his apron - all blood-soaked and disgusting. then he looks back up at you, offering him a cold glass of sweet tea with a smile. nervously clears his throat before taking a swig.

the loud beating of his heart is distracting. why is it so hard to look you in the eyes all of a sudden? he’s glared at many people before, no problem. ah yes, the mortifying ordeal of falling in love.

Vincent Sinclair

anxiety powerhouse vincent would slowly back away, blood-soaked and apologetic. don’t look at him! he doesn’t deserve your love. he-- ....oh, the floor?

quickly runs off to clean himself, dodging all the furniture best he can in his flustered state. did he hear you right? you were worried about the floor?

checks back to see if he’s made a mess. if so, he’ll clean it up himself. just sort of stares at you in confusion for the rest of the day.

the next time he kills someone in front of you, he’s cautious. when you respond the same way he’s visibly relieved. thank goodness. vincent is a lot more relaxed around you now.

begins to make a conscious effort to be as clean and efficient with his kills as possible. it would take some time to adjust, but now he’s much more dangerous.

#requests #slashers #my writing #reacts #asa emory #the collector #billy lenz #bo sinclair #brahms heelshire #bubba sawyer #jason voorhees #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #slasher party #hmm yes bastard hands mcmike being a bastard #as usual

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thatslikely · 3 years

Text

Detention - D.M.

Detention- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (gryffindor)

Warnings: none! just more fluff <3

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: A fun Draco fic with an enemies to lovers type of situation! I’m really happy with how this one turned out and I hope you guys enjoy it too! I’m definitely going to make a Seeker part 2 so don’t worry, but I also have a George Weasley x Reader idea in the works too! Please feel free to send me your feedback (and you can always send me an ask or message for the taglist).

Just a Reminder: Y/N is Your Name

----

“Detention! For both of you!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang loudly through her office. The countless living paintings that speckled the candle-lit stone walls shook at her declaration.

She disappointedly looked at you before marking your name on a piece of parchment that lay on the desk in front of her. You felt guilty that you had forced your favorite professor (and the head of your house) to give you a detention. Especially detention in the Forbidden Forest with none other than Draco Malfoy.

You couldn’t even bear to look at the pouting Slytherin’s face beside you. It was his fault that you now had to spend your Saturday night roaming through the eerie trees of the Dark forest. If he hadn’t snatched your Charms essay mid-sentence then maybe you wouldn’t have shot a hex in his direction! Fortunately for him, however, your clever hex missed the mischievous Malfoy by a single blonde hair, and now poor Neville’s shoes are glued to the worn hardwood floors of the library.

Your forest escort arrived promptly. You were thankful Filch was busy with other duties, so one of your Gryffindor prefects was chosen instead. McGonagall sent your prefect a nod and as he signaled for the two of you to follow him, you finally made eye contact with Malfoy, shooting him a murderous glare. He quickly responded with a scowl before walking out the door and into the familiar hall towards the forest.

After several minutes of awkward silence, the three of you finally reached the inviting entrance of Hagrid’s hut. The warm glow emitting through the windows of the stone shack contrasted greatly against the clear, pitch-black sky.

Judging by the disgusted expression on Malfoy’s face, it was clear that he wasn’t fond of the half-giant or his home. Maybe Hagrid would be a little sympathetic for your cause, and you could get away early.

After a few moments, Hagrid emerged from his hut, a homemade wooden crossbow strung across his chest and a woven basket in hand. Fang sat lazily at his side, drool dripping from his snout. The groundskeeper tiredly said, “Tonight, you two’ll be searchin’ in the forest for some knotgrass. Once this basket ‘ere is full, yer free to go.”

Draco begrudgingly took the woven basket from Hagrid’s large hands with an eye roll. Shortly after a bit more detailed instructions from Hagrid, you and the blonde reluctantly embarked towards the winding dirt path leading into the woods. The only thing illuminating your late-night journey was the pearly full moon overhead and the small beams of light emitting from the ends of your wands.

You two walked through the spooky trees in silence, annoyed looks plastered on your faces. Once the both of you had been walking around with the irritatingly empty basket for a while, you finally asked with a grimace, “Do you even know what knotgrass looks like?”

“Of course, I know what knotgrass looks like. Do you take me for an idiot? Do I even have to remind you that I’m top of the class for Potions?” he spat, defensive and rude.

“How is your expansive Potions knowledge going to help us here in the middle of the Forbidden Forest? It’s your fault I’m even here in the first place!”

“My fault? Says the girl who nearly killed me after I so much as glanced at your pitiful Charms essay! You’re a bloody psycho!” His over-exaggerated recounting of what happened in the library would surely be a hit with his Slytherin worshippers, but not with you.

Instead of disputing his accusations, you tore the straw basket from his ring-adorned hands, hissing, “Fine. If I’m so insane, just leave me alone and let me collect it myself!” You turned the opposite direction, speeding up your pace, leaving Malfoy alone in the dark.

Draco stood, mouth agape, for a moment before quickly dashing up behind you, grabbing hold of your wrist. “Where do you think you’re going. I’m not gonna die in this stupid forest because of you! Give me that basket.”

He spun you around to face him, his grip on your wrist as tight as ever. His hand was cold and strong; the silver snake rings that wrapped around his fingers dug into your skin. You looked up into his captivating silver eyes, and for the first time, you didn’t see pure malice. The starlight made his eyes shine nicely, which you hated to admit.

Your gazes were interlocked for a few electric seconds, which felt like hours, before Draco raised his eyebrows in shock, realizing how close his face had gotten to yours. In one swift motion, he freed your arm from his grasp, and the basket was now in his control. He awkwardly turned away from you, simultaneously wiping his palm up and down his black robe. You caught a quick glance of his face, which was a pronounced shade of pink, visible even in the dim moonlight.

You noticed your breaths became heavier, and your cheeks were scorching hot. What just happened? you thought, why did that feel so… strange? Nothing should’ve felt different. It was just another irritating interaction with your Slytherin enemy. He’s just the same old spoiled brat.

You tried to get the intrusive thoughts of your strange interaction with Draco out of your head by focusing on finding the elusive plant. You weren’t too sure what it was supposed to look like, so after minutes of searching, you were left with a fistful of mismatched stems and leaves.

Once you couldn’t hold any more of the mismatched plants you had collected, you silently stepped behind the bent over Draco, reaching down to dump the stems in the basket which he firmly grasped at his side.

Draco, who was lost in thought, didn’t realize you were right behind him until a loud twig cracked right under your shoe as you were mere inches from the back of his head and the basket.

Frightened by the sudden noise, he hastily turned around with his hawthorn wand ready. Only, instead of being face to face with a rabid werewolf, his elbow was met harshly with your nose. You immediately recoiled from the Slytherin with a roaring yelp. You instinctively reached for your nose, where blood was slowly dripping out and onto the ground. Great.

While you were tilting your head back to alleviate the blood flow, Draco stared at you dumbfounded. The situation at hand eventually sunk in, and he ran to your side, his hand on your shoulder, concernedly. After you groaned in annoyance for a few seconds he asked, “Are you okay?”

You cocked an eyebrow, taken aback by his oddly sympathetic question. He quickly realized the tone of what he said, withdrawing his hand from your shoulder. With a significantly icier tone, he said, “You should’ve been more careful, Y/N.”

You embarrassedly turned away from Draco, ready to wipe off your blood-coated hands on your robe when you felt a timid tap on your shoulder. Draco stretched his arm to you, a white silk handkerchief with the initials D. L. M. embroidered in emerald green between his fingers. He kept his head turned sharply away from you, his nose in a scrunch.

You eyed his handsome punchable face suspiciously before you slowly accepted the handkerchief. Before you put it to your nose, you bluntly stated, “I’ll get blood on it, you know.”

“I’m not stupid, I know that. I gave you my cheap one, so keep it. Don’t want your filthy germs anyway.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t hexed your brains out yet,” you said with a sly smile.

He mimed himself looking mockingly scared at your comment, but a satisfactory smile soon crept onto his face at the sight of your nose softly pressed into the ivory silk. He was probably just glad to not hear you complain anymore.

----

The basket was nearly full of what you hoped were knotgrass stems, though it seemed your “expert Potions student” also couldn’t pinpoint the plants. Both of you had also grown very tired, out for what was probably hours. At long last, Draco plucked one final handful of leaves, making the basket full enough to your standards. You and Draco simultaneously let out a sigh of relief, finally being done with this grueling punishment.

Normally, post-detention, you would attempt to send Draco some of the Weasley twin’s dangerous concoctions for extra revenge, but he was being abnormally kind to you tonight, in his own Malfoy way. Plus, this night had taken a huge toll on you both; you don’t even know if you had the energy to still be mad at him.

The two of you slowly trudged back to Hagrid’s, a joyful feeling in your chest since this strange night was finally over. As you continued down the dimly-lit path, the platinum blonde who was previously at your side was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he had snuck up ahead, ready to jump out at you from behind one of the towering black trees. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d try to scare the hell out of you, to say the least.

You kept following the path, your eyes darting around at every noise. You were on high alert for your Slytherin rival, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of scaring you. The further down you went without seeing Draco though, the more nervous you got. Not just for the possibility of him scaring you, but for his safety. You’d heard so many horror stories about the Forbidden Forest you could probably write a book.

Finally, you mustered the courage to call for Draco. You repeatedly yelled “Draco!”, slightly louder every time you didn’t receive a response. Now you were really worried. He was your sworn enemy, sure, but you didn’t want him dead in the forest.

After more minutes of shouting and worrying, you heard some rustling around you. “Draco? Try and scare me! Don’t think I won’t hesita-”

You were quickly cut off by the noise you dreaded the most: the piercing howl of a werewolf. You, and seemingly the whole forest, froze within an instant. You rapidly placed your hand over your mouth, hoping that even your breaths couldn’t be heard.

Your thoughts immediately went to Draco, alone in the forest, with a werewolf on the prowl. While you should have been much more worried about yourself in such a vulnerable position, the blonde Slytherin couldn’t seem to leave your brain.

Your head was so clouded with Draco that you didn’t pay attention to the sound of claw-steps growing closer to you by the second. By the time you realized that you should shoot some crimson sparks up for help, a loud and intimidating growl emitted from the shrubbery right in front of you.

Without hesitation, you bolted away from the bushes as fast as your feet would take you. You couldn’t get far though, as the silver, moonlight-drenched werewolf stood ahead of you once again, this time on full display.

Its sharp, horrendous fangs resembled the pointed stalactites of underground caves; its violent yellow eyes were a match for Hufflepuff robes, though Hufflepuffs were probably slightly less vicious.

The werewolf stared at you, almost mockingly. The snarl of its mouth could almost be described as a smirk, similar to the one which your blonde detention-mate often wore. Your final thoughts before death at the hands of a werewolf would be, of all things, Draco.

The werewolf reared its arm back, ready to claw you to death, and a single tear ran down your face. It was too late to run, too late to hide, too late to do anything but die.

Draco Malfoy, however, had other plans. He bolted between you and the werewolf, rapidly pointing his wand out at the beast. He yelled “Stupify!” at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse and his lungs out of breath.

You were too shocked by Draco’s sudden reappearance and act of heroism to notice the protective and caring grasp Draco had around your hand. His touch felt different than when he held your wrist, his hand was now warm and soft.

Your eyes were blurry with tears, and coupled with the dark night sky, you could barely see. The only thing guiding you was Draco’s hand, pulling you towards the outskirts of the forest.

You were too scared to look back in search of the werewolf, but Draco didn’t express worry that it would come back. Instead, he pulled you closer to him, your head leaning on his chest. His chest rose and fell quickly, his heartbeat rapid and quick.

After what felt like hours upon hours of running in the pitch black towards nothing, you and the not-so-bad blonde were back safely in front of Hagrid’s hut. The tears in your eyes had finally dried, though you definitely weren’t looking your best.

Under the light from Hagrid’s windows, Draco could see your matted hair, smudged mascara, and a bit of dried blood under your nose. He could have easily made a snide comment at your expense, but instead, he reached to your face, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your eyes.

You looked up from your feet at the handsome blonde in front of you. He held a guilty smile on his face, but he seemed to be okay. You’d been so terrified these past few hours that all you could think to do was practically jump onto Draco, giving him a tight hug.

At first, he didn’t know what to do when you latched your arms around his chest in a tight hug. The last hug he ever got from someone was his first day of Hogwarts, at Platform 9 ¾. His mother tightly embraced him before sending him off to proudly strut onto the train.

His body apparently missed the feeling more than it let on, for butterflies exploded in his whole body the moment your soft skin wrapped around him tightly. He could faintly smell your shampoo as he hesitantly latched onto you.

The feeling of his arms around you was like nothing you’ve experienced before. Sure, you’d hugged people in the past, but this felt different. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and your whole body felt warmer. You felt secure and comfortable.

Little did the two of you know, Hagrid stood in the doorway of his humble abode, a knowing smile painted on his lips. He let out a small “ahem” before the hug was broken. You and Draco swiveled to face the half-giant, who reached out his arm expectantly.

Only then did Draco realize that he left the basket behind after the werewolf encounter, and a look of shock and embarrassment coated his face.

“I must’ve left it back in the forest. I’ll come back tomorrow night to regather the knotgrass. Just let Draco off the hook, please?” Your face had a pleading expression, a slightly pained look in your eyes.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Y/N. I know all ‘bout yer werewolf encounter, I’m ser Snape can live without a bit of knotgrass fer a few more days.” Hagrid warmly smiled at you.

The castle felt miles away from the outskirts of the forest. Draco was back to being his usual cold self, facing away from you as you both trudged to the school.

Eventually, you finally stood at the large wooden doors of the main entrance to Hogwarts. Within moments, you would be back within its comforting walls, which would surely soothe the new pounding sensation in your head.

You reached for the large, rusted metal doorknobs, ready to be greeted with the castle’s uplifting energy, when Draco grabbed your free hand, pulling you away from the handle.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be rude to the Slytherin, after all he did for you, so instead, you asked calmly, “What is it?”

The glow of torches which adorned Hogwarts’ stoney outer walls made Draco’s hair look magnificently golden, contrasting the way the pale moonlight made his locks seem almost silver. His silver eyes stared into yours, and for a moment you swear you saw his gaze flicker to your lips.

Your face heated up at the sight of his charming gaze and smile. You hadn’t even noticed how close his face was to yours until you felt the heat radiating from his pale cheeks. He quickly closed the minuscule gap between the two of you by passionately connecting your lips.

The electricity in the air was hard to ignore. The late hours of the night just added to the rush of feelings you got when your and Draco’s lips touched. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer; one of his warm hands cupped your cheek and the other sat around your waist.

After several moments of slow and loving kissing, your lips disconnected. Your lips missed the feeling of his’, but you were still satisfied. Draco pulled the large wooden door open, stepping inside with you, your fingers intertwined.

“I might just have to steal another one of your pathetic essays soon,” Draco said, a genuine look of love in his eyes accompanied by his signature smirk.

“You’re such a git, Malfoy. Though, I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with you, as long as there’s no werewolves involved, okay?”

And with that, you pulled him closer for another quick, affectionate kiss before giddily walking up to the Gryffindor common room.

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

For We Are Afar With the Dawning: A RQG Fic

Also on AO3. Contains spoilers for Episode 207.

Augusta is floating. Both literally and metaphorically.

Mentally, she’s floating on a peachy-pink cloud of euphoria and warmth and happiness and contentment. It’s an absolutely perfect day, the kind of day she never gets to experience anymore. The sky is a clear blue dotted with puffy white clouds, the sun bright enough to illuminate the scene but not so bright to hurt the eyes, and it’s pleasantly warm without being oppressively hot. The gentle, cooling breeze brings with it the faint scents of something floral; Augusta’s never been all that great with scents per se, but she thinks it might be roses or something.

Physically, she’s in a rowboat in the middle of a glassy lake, lying on her back with her arms folded contentedly over her chest and her head resting on a lap that seems to mostly comprise of white illusion. Augusta herself is wearing a loose-fitting lawn shirt and a pair of trousers, her feet bare. A pair of oars rest in the locks on either side, but nobody is using them.

“You know, Gus, I think you’re going to have a curly crop when this grows out a bit.” Delicate fingers run through Augusta’s delightfully short hair. “You’re going to look quite rakish.”

“Just so you don’t try to get me to wear one of those dreadful outfits you were talking about that boy wearing in your book.” Augusta smiles. “Really, Lou, where’d you come up with that? Nobody actually dresses like that.”

Louisa laughs. “I wanted it to be really clear that there was no way Jo would ever fall in love with him. Why would she love someone who dresses like that?”

“You should have given one of the girls who came to the Christmas play a name,” Augusta says. “And a personality. And a reason to come back.”

“Are you suggesting I should have put you in the book after all? I thought you didn’t like publicity, O Best Beloved.”

“I don’t like being tied to my brother. Being tied to you is different.” Augusta punctuates this by reaching up and twirling a strand of Louisa’s dark hair around a finger.

Louisa swats her hand away, but she’s laughing again. “Are you going to row us back to shore at any point? Mary and Emma should be here soon. Your Sasha was going to take the carriage and go get them.”

“She’s not my Sasha,” Augusta protests.

“She could be, if you asked, I’m sure. You know we’re all just yours for the asking.”

“Oh, stop it. That’s not how this works.”

“You can’t tell me the idea doesn’t appeal to you,” Louisa says relentlessly. “Having your own personal harem of beautiful and brilliant women. Mary for those delightful scientific discussions and Emmuska for solving puzzles and mysteries and Sasha for going on daring adventures and robbing tombs with and me for...well, when you want to be lazy and bored, I suppose.”

“Louisa May Alcott.” Augusta sits up and takes both of Louisa’s hands in hers. “You have no idea how happy I am. Right here. With you. I don’t need anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Sasha and Mary and Emmuska and I love having them around...and you’re right, Sasha’s so much fun to go poking around places we aren’t wanted with. But if none of them were here, I’d be happy just the same. Maybe more so. Being with you?” She brings Louisa’s hands up and kisses them tenderly. “This is perfect.”

Louisa blushes beautifully, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to row back to shore.”

Augusta laughs. “You wound me. Right here.” She places one hand over her heart.

She’s joking, but suddenly, it feels like Louisa—or someone—has wounded her. There’s a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in her heart, and the last thing she sees is Louisa’s sparkling eyes and sweet smile before the world goes white.

It resolves after a moment. Now instead of sitting in a boat, Augusta is sitting on a rock in a clearing in a verdant forest. Looking up, she can see the night sky and the stars, so many stars, more than she’s ever seen, and the sweep of the Milky Way looks almost green. The moon shines down on the clearing and illuminates her.

Augusta looks down at herself. She’s wearing more practical clothes now—boots, trousers, tunic, leather jacket—actually, it’s a lot like what Sasha Rackett wore when Augusta first met her, nearly two years ago now, except newer and neater. Across her lap is a well-made crossbow.

A big beast swoops overhead, one Augusta can’t identify (she grew up in a city and the only kind of hunting really considered proper for young ladies of her station was foxhunting). A moment later, there’s a rustle in the undergrowth, and a figure pops out into the clearing, a short figure with outsize ears and a drawn bow.

“Wotcher,” the figure says. “Seen a big beastie go by here?”

“It went that way,” Augusta says, pointing the direction she saw the beast fly. “What is it?”

The hunter—she presumes—shrugs. “Dunno. Still haven’t figured it out. Haven’t caught it yet. Maybe once I do, I’ll know. For now I just call it The Beast.”

He doesn’t seem particularly put out by this. He has a hunt, and what exactly he’s hunting doesn’t seem to matter much; he’ll find the answers when he finds the beast. It’s something Augusta feels an odd kinship towards. “How long have you been hunting it?”

The hunter shrugs again. “Dunno. What year is it?”

Augusta tells him. The hunter draws in a breath, then nods. “Well, then...two thousand years, give or take a couple hundred.”

“Ah.” Augusta looks around her. “We’re dead, then.”

“Probably, yeah. Well, I know I am. You probably are too. What were you doing?”

Augusta thinks for a moment. “Dreaming.”

The hunter snorts. “Not the best way to go out.”

“It’s not like I chose to go out that way. I’d rather have gone down fighting.” Augusta sighs. “At least it was a pleasant dream, though.”

She touches her chest, out of habit, and has a moment of panic when she can’t find what she’s looking for. Frantically, she scrambles at her neck until she finds the fine chain, then pulls it out and breathes a sigh of relief when the heavy silver locket lands in her palm. Just to be sure, she pops it open, and Louisa’s eyes stare back at her.

Augusta smiles back at the picture, then looks up to see the hunter staring at her inscrutably. She coughs and closes the locket. “Sorry. Just...checking.”

The hunter reaches into his own clothing and pulls out a photograph, but doesn’t show it to her—which startles Augusta, as she didn’t think photographs were that old—before putting it back. “It’s important to hold onto these things. Until you find them. Everything dies, after all.”

“That...probably shouldn’t be comforting, and yet…” Augusta takes a deep breath. “Everything does die, doesn’t it? I don’t know that this is exactly her idea of paradise, though.” Then again, she hadn’t realized it was hers, either.

The hunter shrugs. “Probably not theirs, either. But they all connect. I’ve got a camp set up.” He gestures off to one side. “Check in there every few...decades, maybe. Just to see if they’re there yet. It’ll be nice to have a home to come back to, someday, but for now...there’s the hunt.”

Augusta considers that as she tucks the locket back into her shirt, then looks down at the crossbow on her lap. “I’ve never really hunted in forests before, but I’m not bad at hunting in general.”

“I’d be willing to teach you some tactics. If you’re interested. Just until we both find what we’re looking for.”

Augusta stands up, shoulders the crossbow, and holds out her other hand. “My friends call me Gus.”

The hunter grins, red eyes sparkling, as he accepts her handshake. “Grizzop.”

~*~*~*~

Sumutnyerl soars, buoyed up by a thermal, then banks to one side and swoops low, skimming over the grass. This is their favorite form; they love to fly, and it’s a perfect day for it.

Beside them, another eagle tacks and swoops playfully, then sheers off. Sumutnyerl beats her wings to gain a bit of altitude and follows. For a moment, they race one another straight up into the air. Then the other eagle dips backwards into a loop. Sumutnyerl screeches in delight and goes into a spiraling dive, weaving around the other.

They continue this sky-dance for several minutes before the other leads up to the branches of a tree; Sumutnyerl follows and lands on a branch, then transforms back. They’re already laughing with delight. “I never get tired of that.”

“Nor should you.” Oblaitko smiles warmly, their eyes soft and kind. “The day one grows accustomed to the gifts that have been given is the day one ceases to live and begins to only exist.”

“I mean doing it with you.” Sumutnyerl looks out over the rolling meadow. “I would that we could do this forever.”

“We can,” Oblaitko answers. “Our duties are...light. And not incompatible. We needn’t go back to the town at all. You can attend to the Garden, I to the River, and we can spend the rest of our time here.”

Sumutnyerl considers. The idea is...not unwelcome. She feels an utter sense of peace here, with Oblaitko by their side. More than that, they feel like herself, like an individual and not just part of a collective.

“I would like that,” they say at last. “Very much.”

Oblaitko tucks a strand of Sumutnyerl’s hair behind their ear. “As would I.”

“A bargain, then.”

“A bargain,” Oblaitko agrees. “We can ask permission in the morning, but I hardly think the Council will object. It will save resources, after all.”

Sumutnyerl sighs and leans their head on Oblaitko’s shoulder. They place their arm around her shoulders and pull them close, one hand idly resting over their heart.

For just a second, Sumutnyerl wonders if Oblaitko is concealing a blade, because they suddenly feel a sharp, stabbing pain in their chest. They look up in shock, but there’s nothing on Oblaitko’s face to indicate they’re doing anything...and then the world goes white.

When Sumutnyerl’s vision clears, they are no longer in the branches of a tree, but somewhere else, somewhere far too familiar. Awareness settles on Sumutnyerl’s shoulders as they look around the Garden of Yerlick, but not as it is in life—currently or under ordinary circumstances. The flowers bloom as they past, trees put out their hands like old friends, and the spirits of the dead are instantly visible, smiling and calling to them.

Ah. This again.

“Sumutnyerl?”

Sumutnyerl turns and smiles again. Oblaitko stands before them once more, not in the same form as a moment ago—no longer young, their hair white, their back bent with age and the weight of their position—but their eyes are the same warm, kind brown they have always been .Right now, they are wide with shock and not a little sorrow.

“Hello, my dear friend,” Sumutnyerl says.

“Sumutnyerl,” Oblaitko says again. “Why...how are you here? Like this? You—you mustn’t. It isn’t your time.”

“Perhaps not,” Sumutnyerl agrees. They touch their heart, where the phantom pain is fading fast. “I—I believe I may have been stabbed in my sleep.” Like Nik, they think, with a mingling of regret and anger.

“You will be given another chance.” Oblaitko states this quite calmly, as if it is a given fact rather than an opinion...or a hope. “The Garden needs you. Our people need you.”

“Perhaps I shall be given the offer,” Sumutnyerl replies. “And...perhaps I will accept. But...well. There is much that has happened. Perhaps if I am not needed...perhaps if my last great task has been fulfilled after all…” They hold out their hands. “Would you allow me to stay?”

Oblaitko takes Sumutnyerl’s hands, and stares into their eyes, and no other words are necessary.

~*~*~*~

Hamid knows, on some level, that he’s dreaming, if only because Zolf isn’t really one for parties. That doesn’t stop him from being happy, though. Hamid’s sleep for the past few months has been dreamless at best, teeming with nightmares more commonly, and occasionally non-existent at worst. A part of him has started to believe he’ll never have beautiful dreams again, so the fact that this is a good dream means he’s going to enjoy it for all it’s worth.

And the others all look happy, too. Aziza sings beautifully, her eyes sparkling and face expressive, and her husband gazes on her with a proud, adoring smile. Saleh, his wife, and Hamid’s mother are listening to Oscar tell some story, gesturing dramatically with his drink, his other hand being occupied holding Zolf’s. Zolf has a faint smile on his face as he listens to a story he’s probably heard a hundred times—hell, it’s probably one he was there for, those are Oscar’s favorite stories after all—but that he never gets tired of hearing Oscar tell. Hamid’s father looks more relaxed and content than Hamid has seen him...well, ever since he started paying attention anyway, deep in conversation with Saira and Apophis. Azu, wearing the gown she and Hamid designed together for the opening of the so-called Bow Bar, is making a valiant effort at letting Ismail teach her one of the fancy dances he’s learned, while Ishaq enthusiastically does the same with Cel. Skraak and Grizzop have become fast friends, which Hamid isn’t surprised by, and he wonders what they’re talking about and if he’s going to have to help Zolf clean it up later.

Hamid dances. He loves to dance, almost as much as he loves to fly, and he doesn’t really mind that he doesn’t have a partner at the moment. As he spins, putting in one of the fanciest twirls he knows, he catches Sasha’s eye across the room and grins; she grins back and shoots him a double thumbs-up.

Hamid starts in Sasha’s direction. She’s so good on her feet, he thinks, she’ll be really good at dancing, and she’ll love it. Aziza’s just wrapping up the song she’s currently working on, and Hamid’s pretty sure she’s going to go into the aria from Act I of Carmen, which was her first leading role and one she’s quite proud of. Hamid knows with absolute certainty that Sasha will kill it at a tango.

Before he gets to her, he passes his mother and gets a kiss on the cheek. Saleh gives him a friendly poke in the chest as he passes, which actually hurts a lot more than Hamid is expecting, but he tries to laugh it off, especially as Saleh is laughing, too.

Zolf turns to face him. Letting go of Oscar’s hand, he reaches over and touches Hamid’s forehead with one thumb. He’s still smiling a little, and the look in his eyes is one he hasn’t given Hamid in a long time—not since the beach south of Calais, after they survived the storm sailing from Dover. It warms Hamid all the way to his toes.

“It won’t end this way,” he says, and while he sounds like he’s talking at an ordinary volume, Hamid somehow gets the feeling that nobody can hear Zolf’s words but him. “I won’t let it. Your heart’s too big to be destroyed by something like this.”

Hamid feels simultaneously stronger than he has in ages and like something’s being sucked out of his lungs. His wings unfurl from his back before he completely registers that the music is gone.

He blinks. Someone is holding him—it feels like Cel—and it’s dark. The memory of the lights dimming and then going out comes to him...and they’d been heading to the lab, he remembers, because of the tunnel, but what—?

Zolf’s voice comes from not very far in front of him. “Get in in the door, and get safe.”

Hamid blinks again. That’s an order, they’re in the field—he promised he would follow Zolf’s orders in the field, so even if he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, he’s going to do what he’s just been told and he can ask questions once they’re all safe. Surely Zolf will be right behind him.

He takes in a breath to acknowledge his instructions—and sucks in a lungful of sweet-smelling gas. Instantly, he drops unconscious back into Cel’s arms.

He blinks and he’s at the party again. Zolf is still standing in front of him, smiling as he turns back to the conversation—did he leave for a minute? No, surely not, Hamid’s been here the whole time, he thinks fuzzily.

The song wraps up on a triumphant sting, and there’s a smattering of polite applause, and then just as Hamid suspected, the music starts up and it’s “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” from Carmen. He hurries over to Sasha and holds out a hand. “Sasha, come on, you’ll love this!” he cries.

Laughing, Sasha takes his hand and lets him pull her onto the ballroom floor. She’s a natural at the tango. Hamid would never have dared ask anyone else to do this dance with him; it’s a fiery dance of passion, usually, but this is Sasha and she’s just his favorite sister, as far as he’s concerned, even if she’s not his sister by blood. There’s no romance behind what they’re doing here, no heat. They’re just two kids having fun, really, laughing and taking increasingly flamboyant chances with the flashier moves.

He ends the dance by dipping her, somehow, despite the fact that she��s two feet taller than he is, but they’re both flushed and laughing and having a great time. It doesn’t even matter that they overbalance and fall onto the dance floor. Nobody’s really watching them anyway, which is just the way Hamid wants it right now. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention all the time. Not even most of the time.

“I like your wings,” Sasha says, poking one of them, and when did they come out? Hamid genuinely can’t remember. “This ‘cause you’re a Meritocrat?”

“I’m descended from a dragon,” Hamid corrects her. “I’m not a Meritocrat.”

“Good. But the wings are cool anyway. Do they work?”

“Oh! Yes. Want to see?” Hamid gets to his feet and manages—somehow—to pull Sasha up too. “I can cast fly on you and we can—”

“No,” Sasha interrupts, surprising him. She pulls him into a tight hug, and, oh, Sasha gives the best hugs. Hamid’s always suspected she would, but she’s always been iffy about being touched. If his wings hadn’t already popped out with joy—apparently—they would be bursting out now. He hugs her back just as tightly as she lifts him off the ground with the force of her embrace..

“Don’t you give up, Hamid,” she says in his ear. “Don’t you do it. There’s no dream so good it’s worth losing the whole world for. You get back out there and you fight to make the world this good. Because this right here? This is worth fighting for.”

Just a little of the euphoria peels back from the edges of Hamid’s mind, and he clings to Sasha a little tighter. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“’M always with you, mate. Just like you were always with me. We’ll meet again. But right now, you’ve got to go save the world for me.” Sasha pulls back enough to smile at him, and her eyes are wet. “Make it a good one.”

Hamid’s eyes snap open.

~*~*~*~

If you had asked Oscar even a year ago, he would never have described this as the most perfect moment of his life. He would have said that the most perfect moment he could imagine is a gala celebrating the opening of his greatest work, a play that will be talked about through the ages and mean his name lives on long after he does, resplendent in his finest clothes, a rapt audience listening to him declaim his opinions—finally being the center of attention for art instead of admin.

But no. He enjoyed that, yes, and he’s looking forward to reading the description of it in the newspapers. But the truly perfect moment is this one. Just a simple, quiet family breakfast the morning after.

Azu is at more or less the opposite side of the round kitchen table they’re using instead of the formal dining table, nursing a hangover bigger than she is; she’s got a glass of tomato juice and a cup of strong black coffee and isn’t really talking to anyone. Cel is scribbling on a piece of paper and muttering under their breath, probably trying to improve or refine the special effects they and the kobolds designed and built for the production. Zolf presides over the stove as usual, his beard done up in one of the intricate braids he only does when he’s in an especially good mood and his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Sasha stands a little way down the counter, beaming as she slices and chops meat and vegetables for him; she’s the only one Zolf allows to help him in the kitchen, and even then only on special occasions. Hamid sits to Oscar’s left, a pile of newspapers between them, his pre-breakfast snack actually half-forgotten at his elbow.

“The reviews look really good, Oscar,” he says, sounding almost as delighted as Oscar feels as he hands over the Times, folded back to the Arts page. “All the criticisms I’ve seen so far have been about the acting, not the play itself.”

“I told you to cast Barnes in the lead instead,” Zolf calls from the stove.

“Not my call, darling. I’m not the casting director.” Oscar reads the article Hamid is handing him, a broad smile blooming across his face as he reads. Hamid’s right, the reviews are glowing, and this is from a critic who’s notoriously hard to please. A particular phrase about halfway down the column catches his eye: Wilde’s masterful words and turn of phrase makes even Johnson’s leaden performance turn to the purest gold.

Turning a few pages on, Oscar opens the society page and is delighted to see that most of it has been given over to a description of the party celebrating the opening. There are even a couple of pictures accompanying the article, and Oscar very carefully folds the paper back so that one of them is more fully visible—Oscar at the center, smiling broadly and holding a drink in one hand, his other arm draped around Zolf’s shoulders, the others arrayed around him looking pleased and proud.

“Have you thought about your next project?” Cel asks, looking up from their notes.

Oscar shakes his head before Cel can launch into an elaboration of the question. “No, not yet. I think I’ll take some time to see how this one does first. It may have opened well, but that doesn’t mean it will end well.” He sighs, a bit dramatically but not entirely put-0n. “Things so rarely do.”

“Things rarely stay good the whole time they’re happening, but that doesn’t mean they won’t end well,” Azu points out. “We got here, didn’t we?”

“And you’ve earned it,” Hamid adds encouragingly. “Happy endings feel a lot better when you have to work for them.”

“Cheers to that.” Sasha tosses her knife into the air; it flips four times and then returns to her hand without her even looking at it, and she goes back to her chopping.

“Have a bit of faith, Wilde,” Zolf chides him.

Oscar smiles fondly at his dwarf as he sets aside the paper. Azu’s faith in Aphrodite is a certainty you can cut your teeth on, but Zolf’s faith in Hope is nearly contagious. Like their happy ending, Zolf has worked for his faith, he’s earned it, and it’s never betrayed him. It’s the only reason any of them are still here, really. It’s the anchor that kept Cel from spiraling with guilt, it’s the keel that steadied Azu when she doubted herself (not her god, never her god), it’s the beacon that led Sasha back to them. And it’s the only reason Oscar and Hamid are still alive, albeit with matching scars—

Wait. Where did that come from?

Shaking his head slightly, Oscar pushes away from the table and passes behind Zolf, touching him first on the shoulder, then the cheek. “I have plenty of faith, dearest. In you if nothing else.”

“Get away from my workspace,” Zolf grumbles, though without any heat.

Oscar smirks and moves down the counter towards the cutting board, ostentatiously reaching for one of the ingredients waiting to be added to whatever Zolf is preparing. Sasha jabs playfully at his chest to make him back off.

She’s too good at what she does to accidentally stab someone when she’s only pretending to, and she wouldn’t stab him, especially not with Zolf’s good tomato knife; she has too much respect for both Zolf and blades to do that. And yet, pain suddenly erupts in Oscar’s heart, as though she’s driven a blade far bigger than the serrated one she’s holding into his chest. He inhales sharply, and the world goes white.

For just a moment, it resolves itself into his flat in Paris from when he was in university, or something similar anyway, but then it swirls into a pink mist. He feels something solid holding onto him, something anchoring him firmly in reality, and warmth floods his entire being. He feels safe and protected and cherished, and it gives him strength.

His eyes open, and he finds himself lying more or less on his back. Zolf kneels next to him, one hand tenderly cradling his jaw, the other pressed to his heart, which hurts like anything.

“Wh—huh—?” Oscar tries to sit up, his mind scrambling to fit this dark and rather crowded antechamber or wherever it is they are in with the light and airy kitchen-slash-breakfast nook he remembers from just a few...moments ago? What’s going on?

Zolf’s face is pale, his blue eyes intent, and there’s a trickle of blood near his hairline that worries Oscar in a vague and distant way. But he doesn’t have time to ask about it before Zolf looks into Oscar’s eyes and says in a voice that crackles faintly with an emotion he can’t place, “Get the others out, and get safe.”

Before Oscar can question it, or protest, or even figure out what it is they’re supposed to be safe from, Zolf half-shoves, half-throws him through a door that’s barely open wide enough for him to get through. He slides a few feet until he’s able to at least drag himself on his hands and feet a little further into the room. Someone runs past him and takes hold of the door, but doesn’t close it.

Oscar blinks hard, shaking his head to clear it. There’s a sweet smell in the air and he almost sniffs at it, almost tries to see what it is, but then his eyes fall on the crumpled figure not far from where he is and it acts like a dash of cold water across his brain. Hamid. Hamid is flopped in a pitiful heap, his new wings draped across the floor, his eyes closed.

He was dreaming. Oscar realizes that in the same moment that he takes in Hamid’s unconscious (oh, gods, please let him only be unconscious, Oscar cannot have failed him a second time) form and the sounds of something that is definitely not making breakfast in the other room. He pushes himself to a standing position and looks around the room. It doesn’t take long to spot the tunnel Hamid spoke of, at the back of the lab. That must be both out and safe.

“Tell the others to follow us,” he calls over his shoulder to the person he now recognizes as Ada, hurrying over to Hamid’s side and hefting him into his arms. The wings make it awkward, but Hamid sort of nestles into Oscar’s arms. Thank the gods, he’s alive.

Oscar runs. He heads down the tunnel, the light fading behind him, but he can’t spare a hand to cast any sort of spell to help him, so he just gets as far as he can. There’s just enough light left for him to see the gate before he runs headlong into it, and he checks, then looks over his shoulder. The others will be coming any moment now, he tells himself. They just have to wait a moment.

He sets Hamid down on the ground and looks him over quickly. He looks...fine, really. A bit disheveled, but fine. Then Oscar notices the bloodied tear in his shirt. Underneath the rend is a scar so new its edges are still shiny, directly over Hamid’s warm and generous heart.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened. And, touching his own chest briefly, Oscar feels the same thing.

He checks Hamid over quickly, and even though he’s a bit rattled, he realizes that the sweet smell he noticed earlier is probably what knocked Hamid out; other than that, he looks fine. Oscar sniffs the air experimentally. It’s a bit fresher down here, so he should be able to…

“Hamid,” he says urgently, shaking the halfling, then slapping his face as gently as possible. “Wake up!”

Hamid’s eyes snap open. There’s a moment of disorientation before his eyes clear. “Oscar?” he says, his voice a bit higher-pitched than normal as he sits up. “What’s—what happened?”

Oscar still has no idea, actually, except for one absolute certainty so strong he sensed it even in his dreams, maybe even before it happened. “Zolf saved us.”

The confusion on Hamid’s face melts into fierce determination. “Then let’s go return the favor.”

#ollie writes fanfic #rusty quill gaming #rqg 207 #207 spoilers #minor character death #grief mention #violence mention #augusta leigh (rqg)#sumutnyerl #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #oscar wilde (rqg)

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