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dixons-sunshine · 4 months ago

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Unholy | Vamp!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While on a run for some supplies, you and Daryl stumbled across some of his old “friends”. Something happened that struck up an old hunger in the archer. However, with the strict “no feeding on humans” rule that Deanna enforced on Daryl, that hunger wouldn't get satiated. Well, not without your help, at least.

Genre: Smut.

Era: Early Alexandria.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, dry humping, ejaculation (male).

Word count: 5.5k.

A/n: Um, so this got way longer than I had originally planned lol. Whoops. Anyways, this was written for two of the loveliest people I have the pleasure of knowing. @darylssunshine and @lazyneonrabbitt. I hope I did your ideas justice. (Although I feel like I failed because the plot is all over the place.) Also, before anyone comes at me for the way I wrote Daryl as a vampire, I know the lore isn't factual. I just wanted to create a version of him that resonated with me, y'know? Anyways, apart from that, I hope y'all enjoy!

“Christ, woman. Ya gotta be more careful. One wrong slip and yer tumblin' down, and somethin' tells me the landin' ain't gon' be soft.”

You chuckled as Daryl tightly wrapped his arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the platform that you had been attempting to hoist yourself onto only a mere five seconds prior. The platform wasn't that high and the climb wasn't that difficult, but your partner was being extremely overprotective that day. Well, you guess you couldn't blame him. You had just been given the go-ahead to go on runs again by the community doctor, so his overprotectiveness came from a place of good intentions.

“Careful, Dixon. It's starting to sound like you actually care about little old me,” you replied, a playful edge to your voice. You extended a hand and helped hoist Daryl onto the platform. You knew your help wasn't needed, but your partner would never make that known to you.

Daryl straightened his vest and rolled his eyes at your playful comment. “Nah, I dun' care.” He walked off and allowed himself a small smile at the sound of your hurried footsteps to keep up with his speed. “M'only keepin' ya 'round 'cause ya make a mean deer stew. If it weren't fer tha', I would'a gotten rid'a ya a while ago.”

You scoffed and hit the archer on his chest, before bringing your hand to rest over your heart in mock-offense. “How dare you?” you started in a dramatic, over the top fashion. “I'll have you know that I have a million different qualities for people to want to keep me around. I can't think of specific examples right now, but I'm sure I have other qualities.”

Daryl chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a tender kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, ya do. I was jus' playin'.” He pulled back and took your hand in his, allowing you to intertwine your fingers together. “And I can think'a specific examples. For one, yer incredibly smart. Yer loyal, a good friend, and ya—”

Daryl suddenly cut himself off, making you frown. The archer pulled his hand away from yours as he took a few steps forward, his eyes darting all over the place. His head was slightly cocked to one side, a clear sign that he was trying to hear something, something that you couldn't. His body was visibly tensed up, and his entire defensive demeanour had you on edge.

“Daryl, what's wro—”

You never got to finish your question, because in a matter of milliseconds, Daryl was rushing towards you and wrapping his arms around you, before throwing the both of you over the edge of the platform you were on. Your mind could hardly comprehend what was happening, so no screams or anything escaped you. Before you knew it, the two of you landed on the ground, with Daryl laying flat on his back and you on top of him. The archer had clearly situated himself in a way so that he would take most of the damage the fall caused. Before you could even begin to comprehend what had happened and ask him why the hell he did what he did, an array of gunshots echoed through the air, the bullets ricocheting off of the metal on the platform you and Daryl had stood on a few seconds ago. As quickly as the bullets started flying all over the place, just as quickly, they stopped. In their place, all that could be heard were the bloodcurdling screams of the perpetrators.

Your heart was attempting to pound out of your chest. The screams were dying out one by one, and you could only assume that the walkers had gotten to the people who had shot those guns. The feeling of Daryl's hands gently yet firmly lifting you off of him snapped you out of your thoughts. “Daryl, wha—”

“No time.” In one, swift movement, Daryl was on his feet and he had tugged you up as well. He grabbed your hand and started pulling you behind him, clearly in a rush to escape the building. “We gotta go. They can't see ya. They're gon' kill ya. I can't let that happen.”

“The walkers?” When Daryl didn't respond, you harshly yanked your hand out of his grip. The pain spread through your body at the movement, but you couldn't think of that. The archer spun around to face you, his eyes showing how panicked he was, something extremely rare to see. The panic in his eyes stirred up a sense of dread in you. “Dar—”

A few whistles echoed through the room, effectively startling you. Daryl cursed under his breath and hurried to stand in front of you, shielding you from whatever danger lurked in the shadows. Your heart sped up considerably, the fear in you spiking through the roof. Daryl clearly sensed it, and apparently, so did the danger in the shadows.

“Aah, yes,” a deep voice ominously snarled from the shadows. “She smells fucking good.”

“So good,” another voice chipped in. “She'll make a nice addition to our feast tonight.”

“We're adding her to the rain?”

“Hell yeah. Everyone should have a taste. We're not selfish, Stevie.”

“Holy shit,” another voice chipped in, this one much higher and more feminine. “Boys, look at that. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?”

“We sure are, Janine,” the first voice agreed. “It's Daryl motherfucking Dixon, back from the grave.”

With that, the voices made their visual presence known. From the shadows, three bodies appeared. Two guys and one woman, all sporting smeared blood on their mouths, emerged from the shadows. Daryl visibly tensed and shifted in front of you, forming a protective barrier between you and the unknown people.

“Hey, guys,” Daryl drawled out hesitantly, his body still acting as a protective barrier in front of you. “Where's the others?”

“Holy shit, it really is him,” one of the guys laughed, clapping his hands together twice for added emphasis. “Daryl Dixon. What's up, man? Last I heard, Tommy told us you were dead. Told us that asshole brother of yours got mixed up with some hunters and killed you. Glad that isn't true. The gang's still going strong, believe it or not. The others are out searching for food. They will be thrilled to see you. We missed you around here.”

“Speak for yourself, Stevie,” the woman—Janine, you guessed—scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “This asshole left us to die all those years ago. We should kill him and that bitch he's trying to protect.”

“What, that human?” the guy barked out with a laugh. “Please, Daryl here is too smart to be hanging around with humans. He's keeping her alive to feed on her. You know how tough it is to get decent food nowadays. The flesh eaters are beating us to it.”

“Please, don't make me laugh. Dixon?” the other guy piped in. “Guy's too much of a pussy to keep a human around for that. You know how hard it was to convince him to feed on humans. Son of a bitch was planning on going vegan and drinking animal blood. It wouldn't surprise me if the little human is his friend or something.”

As the two guys started arguing, with Janine rolling her eyes and trying to break up the argument, Daryl started whispering to you. “Ya see tha' openin' there, righ' between those two pieces'a metal?” When you nodded, he continued. “I'mma need ya to stay real quiet, head tha' way and hide, alrigh'? Thing's are gon' get messy. I need ya outta the line'a fire. I know ya have a bunch'a questions, and I'll answer 'em all later. I jus' need ya to do wha' I ask, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled quietly. “I love you.”

“Love ya too. Now go.”

Following his orders, you slipped away from behind him, praying harder than you ever had before that you didn't capture the attention of the others. You weren't stupid. You knew exactly what these “people” were—vampires. And based on that little interaction, and Daryl's panic, you were certain that they weren't exactly the friendly type of vampire, either.

You were nearing the opening that Daryl had talked about, succeeding in not making a sound, until you felt a whoosh beside you. You stood face to face with one of the men, the guy giving you a creepy smile. “Where do you think you're going, baby? The fun is just beginning.”

Before you could make a run for it, the guy had pushed you and you were flying through the air, your back soon making harsh contact with the wall. All the wind got knocked from your lungs, and your vision got a bit spotty. Bringing a hand up to the back of your head, you could feel the stickiness of the red liquid before you saw it. You were bleeding.

The scent of your blood filled the air, and hunger instantly dawned on every vampire's face—every face except Daryl's. In seconds, they were all lunging for you, only stopping short because Daryl used his body as a protective barrier again. “Don't,” he warned them.

Janine laughed wickedly. “Looks like Derek was right after all. You're still the same fucking wimp you were all those years ago. Still protecting your precious little humans.” Janine licked her lips, her fangs elongating. “I'm gonna have so much fun watching the life drain from her eyes.”

The last shred of the archer's patience snapped, and before anyone could properly see what he was doing, he lunged for the woman, snapping her neck effortlessly. The woman's life drained from her eyes—temporarily, as Daryl had told you that the only way to properly kill a vampire was by getting it in the heart—and that was enough to send the other two into a fit of rage.

“You motherfucker!”

Daryl grabbed the guy that was charging at him and threw him to the other side of the room. He briefly turned to look at you, quickly helping you to your feet. “Go! Get to tha' openin'!”

You definitely didn't need to be told twice. Walkers were predictable. They were loud, clumsy. You could handle walkers. Vampires were an entirely different ballpark. Daryl could easily overpower you without even using his full strength. You definitely did not want to find out what a vampire using its full strength could do to you. Ignoring the pain in your body, you bolted for that opening, wanting to get out of the line of fire. You didn't want to leave Daryl alone with these psychopaths, but you knew you didn't really have much of a choice. You'd be more of a liability than much help. Being safe would ensure that Daryl had a clear mind. He could defend himself. He'd be okay.

When Daryl saw you crawl into the opening, all hell broke loose. The guy—who Daryl knew from his life before the outbreak to be Derek��met a cruel, agonizing end. He had made the mistake to try and get to you. Daryl rushed over to him, grabbed him and pushed him forward, right into one of the metal rods sticking out of the wall. The rod impaled him in the chest, right through the most vital organ that kept him alive. Derek yelled as the rod drove right through him, but as soon as his heart was touched, he fell deathly silent—emphasis on the deathly. Two down, one to go. Daryl turned around and faced Stevie, the biggest and strongest vampire of the three. The archer knew that he had his work cut out for him.

Stevie approached Daryl threateningly. “What the hell are you doing, man?” he asked in a low, dangerous tone of voice. “That one human can't be worth more than years of friendship with us. All can be forgiven. Hand her over, add her blood to the rain, and everything will be fine.”

Daryl practically growled, his eyes alight with a fiery glare. “Ya add her blood to tha' fuckin' rain yer talkin' 'bout, I'll fuckin' kill ya.”

Stevie shook his head in disappointment. “Matt was right,” he began. “I never should've turned you. I should've left you to die on the side of that road.”

“Yeah, ya prolly shoulda.” The two men lunged for the other, the two colliding against each other harshly. However, by some stroke of luck, Daryl quickly got the upper hand. He unsheathed his knife and plunged it deeply into the other man's chest, eliciting a scream from him. Daryl firmly gripped the shirt of the man, bringing his face dangerously close to his. “Nah, scratch tha'. Ya definitely shoulda let me die tha' day. Guess s'a bit too late for tha' now, huh?”

With that, Daryl withdraw his knife and threw the almost lifeless corpse away from him. However, what the archer didn't know was that he threw the body right into a lever, the same lever that activated the rain the other vampires had been talking about—a blood rain.

Human blood sprayed out of the sprinkler system and rained down on Daryl, drenching him in seconds. The scent was extremely overwhelming to him, and when Daryl lifted his head to see where the blood was coming from, a few drops fell onto his lips. Against his better judgement, he licked his lips, the taste of human blood filling his taste buds for the first time in years. The taste overwhelmed his senses completely, and it took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to just open his mouth and greedily absorb every droplet of blood that fell from the sprinkler.

“Daryl?”

The sound of your voice instantly caught his attention, and he forced himself to snap back to reality. Janine would only be out cold for a few minutes more at best, and he had no idea when the others would return. He had to get you out of there. “C'mon, we gotta go,” he spoke up hoarsely. He quickly walked over to the woman and plunged his knife into her heart, ending her life completely, before making a beeline for the door you had come through earlier.

You quickly followed behind him, confused by his haste, but you refrained from saying anything. Your head was still throbbing painfully and your body was aching all over. Plus now you were drenched in blood, so that added to your discomfort. You silently climbed into the truck you had brought out with you for the run and started it, watching Daryl climb onto his newly-assembled bike and speed off. You shifted the truck into drive and followed behind him, leaving the factory behind you.

The drive back to Alexandria was long, and all you had to accompany you were your own thoughts. You had a million questions you wanted to ask your partner, and you needed answers. One problem you encountered when you finally got home, though? Daryl wouldn't be near anybody, not even you. When you got showered and wanted to settle down, Daryl was nowhere to be found.

The only thing that was left in his absence was an open window and a short note explaining that he'd be fine and not to worry about him.

Three days. It had been three days since that incident at the old factory. Three days since Daryl had disappeared. Three days since you were promised an explanation.

As quickly as you were given permission to go on runs again, just as quickly you were placed on bed rest again. That vampire had thrown you with quite the force. According to the doctor, Denise, you had bruised your ribs, and rather badly, too. She told you that you were lucky they weren't broken. Your back was also really badly bruised. It made sleeping rather hard, and without your partner there, your own personal space heater, sleep completely eluded you.

The house was relatively quiet that day. With you being placed on bed rest and banned from helping out around the community, you laid on the bed while staring at the ceiling, the only thing occupying your mind being the memory of you hugging Daryl for the first time; it also happened to be the first time you had commented on the warmth his body emitted, despite his “undead” nature. However, the archer had simply chuckled, vowing to explain it to you another time.

The sound of the window to your bedroom opening had your senses peaking to high alert. You grabbed the knife that rested under your pillow and hurriedly sprung up from the bed, clutching the weapon tightly. However, you calmed down once you saw who it was; your partner, gripping his crossbow while holding a dead squirrel between his teeth.

“Daryl, oh my god,” you breathed a sigh of relief and helped him through the window. However, once he was inside, Daryl firmly pushed you to the side and tried to put as much distance between the two of you as he physically could without having to leave the room. That made you confused. “Daryl, what—”

“Dun' come any closer. Please,” he mumbled out weakly, removing the dead squirrel from his mouth and tightly clutching it in his hands. “I dun' wanna hurt ya. Jus' needed to see if ya were alrigh'.”

“Hurt me?” You took a small step forward, stopping short when Daryl tensed up. “What do you mean hurt me? That's impossible. You can never hurt me.” You took a tentative step towards the archer, determined to show him that you didn't fear him, despite the warning that he could hurt you. You didn't believe that. He could never hurt you. Of that you were certain. “I don't know what's going on in that amazing mind of yours, but I want to understand. Please. Talk to me.”

Daryl let out a shuddered breath when your hand made contact with his cheek, unknowingly dropping the dead animal on the ground. Your scent was heavily intoxicating, like some drug he could easily get addicted to, and it made it extremely hard for him to keep his hunger at bay. Still, he tried. He tried his hardest. He would never willingly hurt the most precious thing in his life. He'd much rather have his own heart get ripped out than hurt you.

His instincts somewhat got the better of him. Daryl slightly turned his head and kissed your wrist, his teeth barely scraping against your skin. You inhaled sharply at the contact, your mind instantly flooded with thoughts that Gabriel would declare unholy, but you forced yourself to think straight. There would be time for things like that another time. For now, you had to get through to your partner. You had to figure out what was going through his mind. And you had to figure out why his gorgeous ocean coloured eyes had adapted that crimson colour when he was actively feeding not even five minutes prior.

“Talk to me,” you begged, pleaded, in a soft tone. “What's going on?” A few beats of silence passed. Daryl withdrew from your touch and took a few steps back, and you were convinced that he was going to shut you down, but you were pleasantly surprised when he let out a deep sigh and nodded.

“Ya remember those vamps tha' we encountered three days ago?” When you nodded, he continued. “I guess ya can say tha' they were my “friends”. When I got bitten by Stevie way back when, they took me in, showed me the ropes. They told me tha' if I wanted to survive, I'd have to live according to their customs. I'd have to feed off'a humans. For a while, tha's all tha' I knew. I mean, they've been alive for decades. I was a nobody, jus' some kid they took in. It didn't mean tha' I liked it, though. I wished more than anythin' for a way out.”

Daryl stopped for a moment and sat down on the bed before continuing. “But then they said tha' to prove myself, I'd have to kill my brother, drink his blood. Tha's when I jus' couldn't do it anymore. I got some vamp to pretend to have gotten into a scuffle with me and to tell everyone tha' he had killed me. I got my act straight and searched for alternatives, and tha's how I started becomin' “vegan”. I haven't had human blood again since then. Well, not since...” Daryl cleared his throat, his breath hitching when he inhaled too deeply and caught a whiff of your intoxicating scent again. “Not since tha' whole ordeal with those bastards. The blood tha' rained down on us was human blood. I made the mistake of tastin' it. Now nothin' s'satisfyin' my hunger. Not deer, not squirrel, nothin'. M'so goddamn hungry and I dun' know wha' to do.”

Silence. It got so silent that one could hear a pin drop. It got so silent that you could hear someone fiddling around with the pots and pans in the kitchen, that someone being Gabriel. The priest, although not very liked by your group, had been allowed to stay in your home. You were sure that if he had heard Daryl's confession, he'd run to Deanna first chance he got. But that wasn't your main focus at that moment.

Nothing would satisfy his hunger. No, that definitely wasn't something you believed. No animal would satisfy his hunger. However, you were sure that you could think of an alternative to his problems; you could be his solution. Seeing your man in such a state broke your heart, and if you could help him out of his terrible predicament, how could you say no?

With your decision made, you moved over to Daryl. You slowly straddled his lap and looped your arms around his neck. Daryl inhaled deeply and moved to grip your hips and lift you off of him, not trusting his own instincts, but you didn't allow him to do so. “Don't,” you whispered, gently brushing his hair away from his eyes.

Daryl's now blood red eyes stared at you, a small whimper escaping him. God, you smelled so good. It was getting to be too much to handle. If he didn't put some distance between the two of you, he'd most certainly do something he'd end up regretting. “I dun' wanna hurt ya. Ya smell so good and m'not sure I can control myself much longer. I have to go. I—”

“Don't,” you repeated your earlier statement. “No matter what you do, nothing satisfies your hunger, right?” When Daryl nodded, you continued. “No animal blood satisfies your hunger. My blood will.”

“Nah. I ain't doin' tha',” Daryl denied your offer, his breathing starting to fasten at the idea. He had to admit, the thought of tasting your blood sounded extremely appealing to him, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he'd be able to stop.

“It's either with me, your partner who won't snitch on you for this, or some innocent person. If you don't feed now, some innocent person is going to die. We don't want that.”

“Nah, I can't.” Daryl's words rung through the air as his breathing became more erratic. Although he was steadfast in his denial to your gracious request, his fingers tightened their hold on your hips. “I haven't drunk from a person in years. Wha' if I can't stop?”

“That won't happen,” you told him reassuringly, your fingers gently working through his hair. “I trust you. You'll know when to stop.”

Daryl inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as his self-restraint started to dwindle even more. “But, Gabriel's here. He's gon' hear everythin',” he mumbled, lowering his head to rest on your shoulder. “Ya've heard me when I feed on animals. Increase tha' by ten when it comes to human blood. He's gon' tell Deanna and m'gonna be kicked out, maybe even killed.”

“Well,” you began with a seductive smirk. You pulled back, moved your hands down to grip the edge of your shirt and tugged it over your head, leaving your upper body completely bare to your partner's now lustful gaze. “I guess you need some motivation to stay quiet, huh?”

Daryl let out a shuddered breath, his eyes trailing over your body. Any ounce of his self-restraint flew out of the window. All he thought about was you, and how absolutely amazing you'd taste, and he didn't want to admit that the thought sent blood rushing straight down to his dick. “Wha' do ya have in mind?”

Your smirk widened slightly at the feeling of him growing hard beneath you. Your hands moved to the back of his head, your eyes alight with mischief as your idea came out to play. “I'm gonna give you what you told me was your favourite thing and pair it with feeding you,” you began, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips before pulling back. “This.” Without even giving him time to process your words, you gently yet firmly brought his face down to your boobs, stuffing his face between them. “Drink.”

To say Daryl was surprised would be an understatement. He definitely hadn't expected that. Even just offering to help satisfy his hunger by drinking your blood was unexpected, and then that happened? However, he knew that you weren't about to take no for an answer, so very slowly and gingerly, he pressed a few kisses to your now bare chest, mentally preparing both you and him for what was about to transpire.

The small action had a white-hot fire shooting down through your body, all the way to your core. Without even fully registering what you were doing, you moaned softly and slowly ground yourself down against his erection, eliciting a broken groan from the archer. His self-restraint fully dissipated. His fangs elongated and he finally sunk them down into the flesh of your boobs, right above your nipple.

You yelped at the unexpected pain that came from his fangs penetrating your skin, but you refrained from pulling back against the pain. The pain would soon go away, you reassured yourself. The thought barely had time to sit in your mind until it was proven correct. The pain very quickly dulled into something more manageable and, dare you even say it, something way more pleasurable. The feeling had you rolling your hips against his, a desperate attempt to relieve the ache that formed at your core.

Daryl groaned at both the feeling of the pressure you bestowed on his clothed cock and the taste of the delicious crimson that filled his taste buds. You tasted better than anything he'd ever had before in his entire existence, human or animal. It was almost unbearable. His senses were acutely aware of you. Only you. He couldn't focus on anything else.

Subconsciously, Daryl started moving his hips up against yours, begging for any sort of friction to relieve the ache in his pants. You moaned at the feeling, grinding yourself down against him harder. Daryl wasn't going to last long, and you knew it. You knew his tells for when he was close. And for some reason, the thought of him falling apart simply by the taste of you and the little bit of friction pressed against him was so incredibly hot to you.

Daryl was close, in more ways than one. He was close to coming. He was close to retracting his fangs from your flesh as to not take too much of your blood. He was close to metaphorically dying. He was on cloud nine at that moment, and he never wanted to come down. Your blood was an addictive drug, one that he never wanted to get clean from. There was no rehab for him when the drug he was consuming at that moment was so damn good. He couldn't get enough of you. And after this whole ordeal, he doubted if he'd ever be able to go back to his former animal-drinking ways.

One last suck, one last mouthful of your delicious crimson liquid and one last grind of your hips had him tumbling over the edge. His body shook at the powerful feeling of his orgasm, white, hot spurts of his release coating the insides of his jeans. Daryl whimpered against your flesh, the intensity of it all making his mind incredibly foggy.

“That's it. Good job, Baby. You did so good,” you whispered soothingly, your mind also hazy from both the blood loss and the loss of your approaching release. However, you wouldn't tell Daryl about that last part. He could take care of you another time. Besides, even if he was willing to help you out at that moment, you doubted that you would be able to. You felt very light-headed, and all you wanted to do was collapse into your partner's arms.

Daryl withdrew his fangs from the skin of your breast. He looked up at you with his now-blue eyes, only small specks of red still coating the beautiful irises. “Ya alrigh'?” he asked you quietly, warily eyeing the way you eyes started to droop. “I didn't take too much, did I?”

You slowly shook your head. “No. I'll be okay. Just a bit light-headed.” You forced your eyes to focus on Daryl, desperately wanting to reassure him that you didn't regret a thing and that you were indeed just fine. “I promise I'm okay, Dar. You didn't take that much. I just need to rest and I'll be fine.”

Daryl hesitantly nodded before lowering his head to the wound his fangs had made onto your flesh. He gingerly licked at the blood that poured from the open skin before going back to the source, gently licking at it. “This'll help it heal faster,” Daryl explained, although he didn't have to. You were well aware of the healing attributes his spit carried. He had “magic spit”, as you had jokingly called it once before.

When he was done, he gently lifted you off his lap, placing you down next to him. He grabbed your shirt from the ground and helped you to put it on. “C'mon, in bed with ya. Ya need to take it easy.” When you complied with his request, he took it upon himself to clean up the mess he made in his jeans. He shuddered as he slowly undressed himself, his release sticking to him in a way he didn't like. He grabbed his rag and cleaned himself up, before grabbing a fresh pair of sweatpants from the dresser and putting them on. When everything was done, and with the immediate risk of hurting you gone, he clambered into bed with you. He wrapped his arms around you, cuddling you from behind. He was certain that you had fallen asleep, but he was pleasantly surprised when he heard your voice.

“Should you be this hot?” you asked him, turning around to place your head on his chest.

“Wha' do ya mean?” Daryl asked you in confusion, his arms adjusting to hold you close to his chest.

“Well, vampires are considered to be dead, right? Dead things are usually cold. You're not. I wanna know why.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “I dun' really know why. There are a bunch'a different types'a vamps. M'guessin' the reason I have human heat s'cause I didn't fully complete the “transformation” process. Yer supposed to drink the blood'a the vamp tha' bit ya to fully transform into one. I never did tha'. Stevie didn't want me to and said it didn't matter whether or not I did. Guess tha's wha's keepin' my human traits in check.”

“What happens to those that don't fully transform?”

“Not much. We dun' become immortal. Tha's why m'agin' jus' like everyone else. Tha's a huge plus for me. I definitely dun' wanna live forever. We need human food to survive jus' as much as we need blood. Can't survive purely off'a blood and can't survive purely off'a food. Need to have both.” He stopped, placed a tender kiss on your forehead, and continued. “We can walk in the sun without dyin', so tha's good. And, uh, we can make babies who are completely human, but I dun' know how true tha' is. Never tried it 'fore.”

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his clothed chest. “Well, I'm always up to try it. To test out that theory. Just tell me when.”

Daryl's breath hitched in his throat. You couldn't be serious about that, could you? “This yer way'a tellin' me ya want a baby?”

You shrugged and closed your eyes, letting out a contented sigh. “I'm not getting any younger. I kinda want to start a family. But it's okay if you don't want to. I'd never force you to...” you trailed off, your breathing evening out.

Daryl looked down at you in surprise at your revelation. You wanted to start a family? With him? The thought both scared and excited him. “Ya really want tha'? With me?” he asked you. However, he got no reply. You were fast asleep. He chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. “We'll talk 'bout it when ya ain't delirious from blood loss.”

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Red Sky At Morning | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Discussions of healing from a sexual assault (proceed with caution if this is triggering for you!!! I love you!! Take care of yourself!!!), canon violence, canon gore, spitting insults back and forth with Bela, discussions of dead family members

Word Count: 7523

A/N: I snuck a New Girl reference in here… see if you can catch it ;) Also… there is heavy homoerotic subtext between Bela and (Y/N). Giving my loyal subjects what they deserve lmfao

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Your mind refused to let you rest after seeing Sam leaving in the middle of the night. Despite your exhaustion, you stayed near the window until you saw the car return to its original parking spot around three in the morning. And sure enough, Sam walked out of it, looking severely pissed off.

‘I’m guessing he didn’t just have a bad hookup,’ you mentally remarked. You stewed for a few more minutes on what he could’ve possibly gone to do before sleep finally came to claim you. You settled into bed next to Dean with a yawn, and his lips twitched upwards in his sleep when you wound your arms around him.

***

The next morning around seven, you woke up to see Dean shuffling around and packing.

“Look at you, early bird,” you said dryly, stretching.

He turned slightly over his shoulder and smiled at you. “We gotta talk about Sam.”

You sat up, immediately alert. “Yeah, I know. I saw him leave last night.”

“And now, one of the bullets is missing from the Colt,” Dean huffed. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Let me take the lead on this one, okay?” you urged Dean, moving to the bathroom to brush your teeth and messy hair. “Promise I’ll let you get your two cents in, but I wanna see if he’ll fess up to it first.”

Dean seemed hesitant, but you saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror nod anyway. He approached you and gave you a kiss on the side of the head; you assumed in assurance that he would do what you said.

***

Night fell, and none of you had said a word to each other. You sat in the back seat, of course, and Sam was in the passenger’s. You leaned back on the cool leather with crossed arms, waiting for someone to break.

Finally, you’d had enough. “Got somethin’ you wanna tell us, Sam?”

He turned to you, and it was evident he was playing dumb. “It’s not your birthday, is it?”

You quirked a brow, unamused. “No.”

“...Happy Purim?” he laughed. “Dude, I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about—”

Dean cut him off, seeming not to be able to help himself. “There's a bullet missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened? I know it wasn't me. I know it wasn’t her. So unless you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans—”

“Dean…” Sam sighed.

“You went after the crossroads demon, huh?” you said as more of a statement than a question.

“After I told you not to,” Dean added harshly.

“Yeah, well…”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” Dean roared.

“I didn’t,” Sam argued.

“And you shot her.”

“She was a smartass!”

Dean waited a moment, trying to gain his composure. “So, what? Does that— Does that mean I'm out of my deal?”

“Don't you think I might have mentioned that little fact, Dean?” Sam scoffed. “No. Someone else holds the contract.”

“I do believe I already told you that,” you reminded the boys. “And no one will fucking say who.”

“Of course, our best lead would be the crossroads demon. Oh, wait a minute…” Dean snarked.

“That's not funny,” Sam said dryly.

“No, it's not!” Dean yelled. “It was a stupid fuckin’ risk, and you shouldn't have done it.”

“I shouldn't have done it?” Sam challenged. “You're my brother, Dean. And no matter what you do, I'm gonna try and save you. And I'm sure as hell not gonna apologize for it, alright?”

The rest of the drive to the next case you’d stumbled upon was completely silent.

***

You and the Winchesters posed as detectives once more to interview the great-aunt of the woman who’d drowned in the shower. The witness seemed particularly interested in Sam, which you were struggling to hold back a smile over.

“But I don't understand,” the elegant, elderly woman said. “I already went over all this with the other detectives.”

“Right, yes,” Dean replied. “But, see, we're with the sheriff's department, not the police department – different departments.”

“So, Mrs. Case—”

“Please.” The woman’s voice had suddenly dropped an octave, likely attempting to seem sultry. “Ms. Case.”

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “Okay. Um, Ms. Case, um, you were the one who found your niece, correct?”

She nodded. “I came home; she was in the shower.”

“Drowned?” Sam asked.

“So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?” Ms. Case’s eyes refused to leave Sam.

“How would you describe Sheila's behavior in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary, or—”

Ms. Case suddenly cut Sam off. “Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?”

Before you could voice your confusion, Dean started talking. “Yep. Absolutely. That's—” he laughed, “Alex and us, we're like this.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Ms. Case grinned. “Alex has been such a comfort. But I’m sorry, I thought the case was solved.”

You shook your head. “No, not yet.” “I see.” The woman seemed a bit dazed.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, anyways, we were talking about your niece.”

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat,” the woman explained.

“A boat?” you questioned.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a…” the woman trailed off, seeming to search for the word, “—ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” You noticed that the elderly woman’s eyes still had not left Sam.

The younger Winchester seemed thrown off by her intensity, and he coughed awkwardly. “Well, um, could be.”

“Well. You let me know if there's anything else I can do for you—” she traced her hand down Sam’s slowly, and you and Dean had to bite back smiles— “Anything at all.”

***

Your laughter burst out as soon as you got down the street and far enough away from the house that the old woman couldn’t see you.

“What a crazy old broad,” Dean chuckled.

“Why? Because she believes in ghosts?” Sam scoffed.

You and his brother laughed louder. “Look at you, sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.”

“Bite me,” Sam grumbled.

“No thanks,” you smirked, “bet she will, though.”

“So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?” Dean questioned.

The brunet shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job.”

“And what looked like a ghost ship, right?”

“Yeah. It's not the first one sighted around here, either.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Really?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Every thirty-seven years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every thirty-seven years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.”

“So, whatever's happening is just getting started,” Dean sighed. “What's the lore?”

“Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman; almost all of them are death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?” the older brother snarked.

“Basically,” shrugged Sam.

“Next step?” you asked him.

“I gotta I.D. the boat.”

“That shouldn't be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?” you replied.

“I checked that, too, actually. Over one-hundred and fifty.”

“Oh, great!” you sarcastically noted.

You and the Winchesters approached an empty parking spot, and you got increasingly confused as you did.

“This is where we parked the car, right?” Dean asked.

“For sure,” you nodded.

“Where's my car?” Dean growled.

“Did you feed the meter?” Sam questioned.

Dean’s voice began to rise in a panic. “Yes, I fed the meter. Guys, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!”

“Whoa, Dean!” you said, grabbing his arm and trying to keep him from pacing.

“Somebody stole my ca—” Dean bent over to clutch his knees to calm down.

“The '67 Impala? Was that yours?” A familiar voice slyly asked.

“Oh, you bitch,” you grumbled, looking up to see Bela Talbot.

“I'm sorry. I had that car towed,” she said.

Dean shot up. “You what?!”

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone,” Bela replied simply.

“No, it wasn’t!” Dean argued.

“It was when I finished with it,” she smirked.

“What the hell are you even doing here?” the older brother questioned pointedly.

“A little yachting,” she responded flippantly.

You clicked your tongue, realizing something. “You’re Alex. Workin’ with that old lady.”

“Gert's a dear old friend,” Bela nodded.

“Yeah, right. What's your angle?” Dean cut his eyes at her.

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats,” Bela grinned.

“And let me guess, it's all a con, none of it's real.”

“The comfort I provide them is very real.”

Sam jumped in finally. “How do you sleep at night?”

“On silk sheets, rolling naked in money,” she scoffed. “Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?”

“You shot me!”

“I barely grazed you.”

“She is right,” you murmured.

Bela turned to you. “Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?”

“You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real,” Dean pressed.

“I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way,” she said.

Dean looked at her like she was stupid. “It isn't.”

“She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment, and she's demanding some real answers. Look, just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you. Before they find the arsenal in the trunk.” Bela turned around and smiled over her shoulder. “Ciao.”

You and the Winchesters watched her go.

“Can I shoot her?” Dean growled.

“Not in public,” you and Sam replied.

***

You encountered Bela once more the next day when another man had been killed. She was posing as a reporter, but you and the brothers managed to shoo her away from the victim’s brother. Unfortunately for him, he’d seen the ship as well.

Thankfully, you’d gotten the car back, and you headed over to it after questioning the man. It was parked a distance off from the buzzing crime scene, enabling Dean to begin loading shotguns in the back of his car.

“I see you got your car back,” Bela’s frustratingly beautiful voice cooed.

“You really want to come near me when I got a loaded gun in my hands?” Dean growled.

“Now, now. Mind your blood pressure,” she quipped. “Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat.”

“That guy back there saw the ship,” you explained.

“Yeah? And?”

You blinked at her, slightly stunned by her coldness. “And he’s going to die. We have to help him.”

“How sweet,” she mockingly pouted.

“What is wrong with you, man?” you asked her.

She ignored you. “He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time, and you know it.”

“But why not at least try?” you argued.

“Yeah, well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun,” she grinned tightly.

Sam and Dean moved to either side of the car, but you weren’t done with her yet.

Dean seemed to know what you were up to as he watched you intently, saying,

“(Y/N)—” but it was too late.

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you to make you such a heartless bitch, but I really and truly hope you heal from it soon. ‘Cause you’re a completely miserable person to be around,” you called after her.

She turned around to you sharply with her arms crossed. “Don't you dare look down your nose at me. You're not better than I am.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I am. In fact, I know I’m not. But at least I own it and try to be better.”

“Come on,” Bela scoffed. “You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're all a stone's throw from being serial killers. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job, and I do it. So, you tell me, which is healthier?”

“Oh, god, if I didn’t hate you so much, we’d be such good friends,” you said, a lilt of sincerity in your voice. “But I gotta tell you, man, I’m really not concerned with which is healthier. I’m not even concerned with which is more “morally ethical.” What just… puzzles me about you is how you think that nasty attitude shields you.

"These two might not be able to see it,” you continued, nodding at Sam and Dean, “but I do. You are quite genuinely disappointed in yourself. I get it. The economy sucks, the bees are dying, and movies are all pretty much sequels now. Gotta put food on the table some kind of way. But why do it your way when you can’t even stand to look at yourself in the mirror? Pride. Because without your money and your attitude, you know you’re not half the woman you claim to be.”

“You talk too much,” Bela spat, clearly affected by your words. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” you smirked. “See ya around, Alex.”

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters decided to stake out the home of Peter Warren, the man you’d spoken to earlier. He was next on the chopping block, and you desperately hoped you’d be able to stop the ghost in time.

You knew that whatever Sam and Dean were talking about, they would catch you up later. And so, you decided to let your thoughts drag you into your own mind.

You were aware of how harsh you’d been on Bela. The truth be told, you didn’t hate her at all. In fact, you admired her ambition. However, everything you’d told her had all been your real perception of her. You knew that everything about her was a facade. And for some reason, she really got under your skin.

You supposed it was because you saw yourself in her. Maybe, if things had been different for you, you would have ended up just like her. Maybe you didn’t like seeing your reflection in her.

“Hey, you!” someone called from outside the Impala.

“I think we've been made,” Dean said to you and Sam.

You followed him across the road to where Peter stood, yelling.

“What are you guys doing?! You watching me?”

“Sir, calm down. Please,” Sam coaxed, but to no avail.

“You guys aren't cops!” he continued. “Not dressed like that. Not— Not in that crappy car.”

“Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty.” Dean cut his eyes at Peter.

“We are cops, okay? We're undercover,” Sam bluffed easily. “We're here because we think you're in danger.”

“From who?!”

“If you just settle down, we'll talk about it.” Sam led you and his brother into the gate, backing Peter closer to his car.

“Look, you guys just stay away from me!” Peter exclaimed, getting into the vehicle to drive it toward the gate.

“Wait!” you called.

“Hey, you moron! We're trying to help you!”

“Not helping, Dean!”

As the car approached the gate, it shuddered, coughed weakly, and died.

“That can't be good,” Dean noted.

“Not at all,” you replied. “Get the salt gun.” Next, you ran to the car to help Peter. In the seat behind him, a man with sunken eyes and dripping wet, long, black hair dressed in old sailor’s clothes appeared. Then, it was next to Peter in the passenger’s seat. You tugged on the handle with all your might, but it wouldn’t budge. Horrified, you watched as Peter slumped to the steering wheel with water pouring from his lips.

“(Y/N)!” Dean called from behind you.

You ducked just in time for Dean to fire at the ghost from the passenger’s side door.

Reaching through the broken glass, you hurriedly unlocked the door. You immediately dragged Peter out onto the concrete and put your head to his chest, listening for a pulse. He had none, but you tried CPR anyway. Of course, it was no use. Defeated, you looked up at Dean with sad eyes.

“Dammit!” he growled, kicking the car in frustration.

***

You hadn’t spoken much after leaving Peter behind. It felt awful to leave him on the ground, but there wasn’t much you could do with his body if you wanted to evade suspicion.

Luckily, Dean had found a house to squat in a few days earlier, and that was where you were readying for bed.

The house had clearly not been lived in for some time, and you were thankful you made the brothers start keeping air mattresses on them for instances like these.

You and Dean took the upstairs bedroom, and Sam slept in the one downstairs. The house was still furnished, but dust covered every surface. You decided to leave the cleaning for tomorrow and opted for a “ho bath” as your mother used to call them since you refused to step foot in the unclean shower.

Cross-legged on the air mattress, the hair you were in the midst of combing through waved gently in the wind coming through the open window.

“You wanna say it, or should I?” Dean raised an eyebrow at you as he entered the room after his shower.

You tilted your head at him, confused.

“You can’t save everybody, sweetheart,” he reminded you.

“Dean—” You rolled your eyes.

“What? Don’t gimme that. I know you were thinkin’ it,” Dean said, getting down onto the mattress next to you. He lounged back on the crook of his arm behind his head, leaning against the wall.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and kept your body facing the open window on the adjacent wall. “I just… It feels like I can’t save anybody lately.”

Dean stared at you intently; you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head.

You returned to brushing your hair, and he sat up to sweep it all over your shoulder opposite him. Dean kissed your newly-exposed neck gently, as if he was savoring the way you felt against his lips. Your brushing slowed, and you tilted your neck further to give him more access.

He kissed up to your mouth; his kiss gentle there, too. When he broke away from you, Dean leaned his forehead against yours.

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart?” His voice rumbled lowly in his chest, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear him say that.

You responded by nudging his nose with yours and then pecking his lips.

Something in the way the two of you kissed felt somber. Granted, almost every day recently seemed to have a somber element. Every day meant one step closer to Dean’s time being up. It was the elephant in the room that was only acknowledged for fleeting moments. And when one did acknowledge it, the other would beg for it to be over. While both of you knew talking about the situation was necessary, neither of you could bear it for longer than a few minutes every once in a while.

You brought this up to Sam the next morning, who sat with you on the couch as the sun rose while Dean continued to sleep.

“I think he just wants to be with you,” Sam said. “I mean, with Jess… when I was dreaming about her dying, all I wanted to do was be with her. To… reassure me that wasn’t real. Or, wasn’t real yet, I guess.”

You nodded. “And I don’t necessarily want to talk about it for extended periods of time. Talking about it makes me feel more in control, I think. I just don’t like feeling fucking helpless.”

“Trust me, I don’t either. And Dean definitely doesn’t. I tend to micromanage more than he does, but…” he shrugged, trailing off.

“I have something else to tell you,” you began, wondering if you should even continue.

“Go ‘head.”

“Back at that… prison. The guard I beat up? He, um, he raped me.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam breathed out. “God, (Y/N/N), I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. That’s not the point.” You scrubbed your hands down your thighs anxiously. “I’m telling you because I don’t wanna talk to Dean about it. I mean, with the deal and everything else going on… I almost don’t wanna burden him with it? I mean, he knows, obviously, but… I don’t know, I just feel like I have no right to be struggling compared to him.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Sam scolded gently. “(Y/N), neither of us could ever imagine what that’s like. And if my idiot brother is making you feel that way—”

“No, no, he’s not—”

“—Good! ‘Cause I’d kill ‘im if he was,” Sam finished. It was honestly the most riled up you’d seen him in a while.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you smiled weakly. “It’s just… it’s all so much right now. I wanna enjoy every second of my time with Dean. But between the deal and hunts and… that and everything else on the goddamn planet consuming me every second of the fucking day, it’s really hard to.”

Sam eyed you sympathetically.

Before he could respond, you took in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “Anyway, what’s up with Peter and his brother? I know you researched ‘em yesterday while I was zoned out in the back of the car.”

Sam still seemed like he was wrapped up in your earlier conversation, but he knew better than to force you to keep talking about. “Oh, yeah, uh… they came into, like, a hundred and twelve million after their dad passed. That was really the only thing interesting. Everything else about ‘em was clean,” he informed you.

“Huh,” you considered. “Any connection between the vics?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Far as I can tell, no.”

“Awesome,” you dryly stated.

You then heard a groan come from upstairs as someone began to descend the staircase.

“Morning, Dee,” you called up.

All you got was a grunt in response.

***

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, wrapped by Dean’s arms as he held you to his side. The two of you were just sitting with each other and thinking; a pastime that you were becoming quite fond of.

Dean’s lazy circles he was tracing on your outer leg stopped at a knock on the door.

You shot Dean a look and stood, grabbing your gun off the worn coffee table. You pressed it to the back of the door and peered through the peephole to unfortunately see Bela. At this revelation, you made a face at Sam and opened the door.

She strolled right in. “Dear... god. Are you actually squatting? Charming.” Her self-satisfied smirk never left her face. “So, how'd things go last night with Peter?”

You refused to dignify her with a response as did Sam and Dean.

“That well, huh?” she taunted. “If you say 'I told you so,’ I swear to god; I'll start swinging,” Dean growled.

“Look, I think the four of us should have a heart-to-heart,” she sighed.

“Oh, sure. We can sing kumbaya while we’re at it,” you quipped. “Cut to the chase, Bela.”

“Temper, temper,” she tsked. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Such as?” Sam questioned.

“I've ID'd the ship.” She unwrapped a leather case containing a quite elaborate file. She spread the papers within it across the table. “It's the Espírito Santo: a merchant sailing vessel; quite a colorful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was thirty-seven.”

“Which would explain the thirty-seven year cycle,” Sam noted.

“Aren’t you a sharp tack?”

You snapped, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She ignored your comment. “There's a photo of him somewhere…” she flipped through the file and finally settled on a picture of a much drier version of the man you’d seen last night.

Dean looked to Sam. “Isn't that the customer we saw last night?”

“You saw him?” For once, Bela seemed surprised.

“Yeah, that's him, except he was missing a hand,” the older brother nodded.

“His right hand?” Bela questioned.

“How'd you know?” you returned.

“The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory,” she explained.

Dean childishly laughed. “A hand of glory? I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage last week.”

“Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object. It's very powerful,” Sam lightly chastised.

Bela rolled her eyes. “So they say.”

“And officially counts as remains,” Dean considered.

Sam’s eyebrows pinched together. “But still, none of this explains why the ghost is choosing these victims.”

“I'll tell you why. Who cares?” Bela said curtly. “Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing.”

“I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?” you asked.

“Because I know exactly where the hand is,” she nodded.

“Where?”

“At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help,” she said, closing up the file.

Sam crossed his arms. “What kind of help?”

The woman smiled. You hated how charming her smile was. You wanted to hate her so badly, but she was growing on you.

‘Definitely like a wart. Maybe a fungal infection,’ you thought.

***

“I hate this plan,” you said.

“I don’t think you realize how often you say that,” Dean returned.

You glared up at him while you helped adjust his tie. He looked completely beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than to keep him here with you and ravish his body.

Bela’s brilliant plan was bringing Dean as her date and forcing Sam to go with Ms. Case to a charity event. However, given Bela and Ms. Case could only take one guest each, you were forced to sit this one out. Or, at least, that was what Bela thought; you knew she could’ve gotten you in if she really wanted to. You knew she was attempting to humiliate you or put you in your place after what you said to her. However, if there was one thing you knew, it was how to crash a party.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Dean asked you.

“You,” you smiled lopsidedly up at him.

He smirked down at you and kissed you. He held you by your waist as close to him as he could get you, and you returned the gesture by gripping his lapels.

“What is taking so long?” Bela called up the stairs, forcing you and Dean apart. “Sam's already halfway there... with his date.”

“So not okay with this!” Dean yelled back, and you giggled, resting your forehead on his chest.

“What are you, a woman? Come down already.”

Dean looked at you— for approval? For reassurance?— and headed down the stairs. He adjusted his cufflinks with you trailing just behind him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Bela looked beautiful in her evening gown and glittering jewels, of course, and you hated her all the more for it.

“Alright, get it out,” Dean encouraged you and Bela. “I look ridiculous.”

“Not exactly the word I'd use,” Bela sighed.

Dean’s nose crinkled in disgust. “What?”

“Y’know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex,” Bela stated plainly.

“Don’t objectify him!” you cut her off; perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

Both Dean and Bela stared at you in questioning.

“Let’s go,” Dean told Bela. “See ya, sweetheart,” he called back to you as he followed Bela out the door. He tossed one more longing look at you over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

You immediately sprinted back up the stairs and took out the evening gown you’d been hiding in your duffel bag.

***

After having snuck into the party through a window on the back of the museum that security had neglected to cover a door anywhere near, you casually slipped down the hall into the ballroom.

You could see Dean, Bela, and Sam bickering near the entrance to the grand ballroom, and you smiled lopsidedly at the sight. Sam then caught sight of you moving through the crowds of people toward them thanks to his superhuman height, as did Bela and then, Dean. Bela crossed her arms angrily, but you were focused on Dean and trying to fight a smile off your face.

Dean seemed to be breathless. “Damn, (Y/N).”

“Damn, yourself.” You turned to Bela. “Great party,” you commented, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

“Thought you were supposed to be waiting back at the house,” Bela replied.

“And miss all the fun? No thanks,” you smirked, taking a sip and staining the glass with red lipstick.

Ms. Case then came up behind Sam holding two glasses of champagne. Before he knew it, he was being whisked away by his date. You giggled at the sight, and Bela rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she told Dean.

You were delighted, actually. For once, you got to enjoy a fancy party without having to partake in the hunt or any sort of planning the heist. All you had to do was make sure no one got arrested.

You hung back on a far wall, sipping your beverage and watching a disgruntled Sam dance with a very handsy Ms. Case.

‘Dean would be pissing himself,’ you thought, giggling at the sight.

The next thing you knew, the old woman was whispering in Sam’s ear. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep the laugh from bursting out.

And then, your joy was smothered.

“Hi, gorgeous,” a man said, having come up next to you.

“Go away, please,” you snapped, beginning to feel tension grip your throat. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but he was reminding you of what happened to you at the prison. Perhaps it was the way he approached you?

“Okay, then, Jesus,” he muttered and was gone soon after.

Your breathing began to slow, but your discomfort continued. Your heart rate remained elevated, and your mind felt in a fog. You returned your focus to Sam and Ms. Case once more trying to keep your mind grounded in the present.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your elbow. You whipped around and threw a punch, catching the attention of several people around you.

“Whoa!” Dean said, catching your wrist and dodging your fist.

Gaze landing on those beautiful green eyes and freckles that you had come to love so much, your breathing finally slowed. You began regaining awareness of the world around you and tried not to shrink under the stares of the wealthy around you.

“Way to not draw attention there, (Y/N),” Bela commented.

Eyes like daggers, your head snapped toward her. “Watch your fucking mouth,” you hissed.

She seemed to realize she’d crossed a boundary, and she backed off. “I’m gonna go get Gert a cold shower,” she quipped, her pride refusing to admit she knew she was wrong.

You stared after Bela mindlessly, and Dean put his first and middle finger under your chin to turn your face back to him. Your eyelashes flickered, and he searched your face for clues as to what triggered you.

Sam came up beside you and Dean. “Guys? Uh, hate to interrupt, but… let’s get outta here.”

You and Dean followed his gaze to one of the women you’d seen whispering and pointing at you after you threw a punch at Dean talking to a security guard and pointing at your trio. Dean instantly grabbed your hand and began leading you out of the museum.

When you arrived at the car, Sam turned to you. “You okay? Saw you try to deck Dean back there.”

“Yeah, uh… this guy just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed— “Nevermind. Let’s see the hand.”

Both boys dropped it, although you knew Sam would probe you further later.

“Yeah, tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing,” the younger brother commented.

“I got it... Mrs. Who?” Dean wondered.

You giggled. “Great Expectations?” you prompted.

Dean just stared at you blankly.

“Charles Dickens?”

He blinked.

“Dude, did you pay any attention in high school English?” Sam scoffed.

“Sure I did!” the older brother defended. “Caroline Stone sat in front of me; she was my tutor. Fucked her in the janitor’s closet and everything—”

“Oh, yeah, you were definitely paying attention to something,” you deadpanned, lightly flicking him on the shoulder.

He rustled around in his suit jacket, rolling his eyes, and took out something wrapped in a handkerchief. Dean’s amused expression soon melted into aggravation as he did so.

“What?” you and Sam asked worriedly.

The older Winchester held up a glass bottle with a miniature ship rocking around in it. “I'm gonna kill her.”

Behind Dean, you saw something on the horizon line. The museum was expectedly located near the water given its emphasis on seafaring history, and your heart dropped when you realized what was happening.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered under your breath. “Dean— Dean, I see it.”

“See what?” he asked, following your gaze.

“The fucking ship, Dean. It’s the fucking ship,” you breathed out.

“(Y/N), that’s it,” Sam realized.

“What’s it?” you questioned frantically, eyes still on the water.

“Ms. Case said the Warrens? The brothers? It was rumored they killed their father for his money. And Sheila? She got in a car accident. Her cousin Brian was with her, and he died. That’s the pattern.”

You nodded slowly. “Killing family members. Awesome.” You shook your head, turning to the expensive car next to you. “Fuck!” you yelled, punching the door of the car.

***

You paced around the room, Sam trying his best to keep you and Dean calm while he researched.

“Y’know what, you’re right. I'm not gonna kill her. I think slow torture's the way to go,” Dean growled. “I’ll fuckin’ string her up, I swear to—”

“Dean, look, you gotta relax,” Sam sighed, although he seemed stressed as well.

“Relax!” Dean laughed coldly. “Oh yeah, yeah, I'll relax. My fuckin’ girl’s just on Davy Jones’s hit list, and I can’t do anything to stop him because I lost the only fuckin’ thing we could use to save her. Fuck!” There was suddenly a frantic knocking on the door. Disgust burning in your eyes when you looked through the peephole, you opened the door for Bela.

“Just let me explain,” she said. “I sold it. I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.”

Dean was completely furious, and he stalked around her. He made a shooting motion with his fingers which would’ve pulled a smile for you had it not been for your situation.

“So you needed a cover for the charity ball,” you spat. “And we were convenient.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back,” Sam implored.

Bela shook her head woefully. “It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time.”

“In time for what?” Dean questioned.

Realization struck you, and you began laughing coldly. “Oh, okay. You saw it, too.”

She looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d met her, Bela looked terrified.

Dean whistled lowly. “Wow, you know, I- I knew you were an immoral, thieving, con-artist bitch, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower—”

“What are you talking about?” she cut him off.

“We figured out the spirit’s motive,” Sam began, putting a photograph in front of Bela. “This is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy.”

“So?” she prompted.

“So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target – people who've spilled their own family’s blood. See, first, there was Sheila who killed her cousin in the car accident, and the Warren brothers, who murdered their father for the inheritance. Then, (Y/N). And now you.”

“Oh, my god,” Bela breathed out, seeming to breeze right by the fact that you’d seen the ship, too.

“So who was it, Bela? Hmm?” Dean taunted. “Who'd you kill? Was it Daddy? Your little sis, maybe?”

“It’s none of your business,” she defended weakly.

“It is our fuckin’ business,” Dean snapped, suddenly leaning on the arms of her chair. “(Y/N) saw it, too. And I don’t give a damn about you. But (Y/N)... is…” he trailed off, shaking his head and hanging it low, seemingly overcome with emotion. “And you just sold the one thing that could possibly save her life.”

“Well,” Sam said, “maybe not the only thing.”

All three of you turned to face Sam questioningly.

***

Kneeling on the soft grass beside the grave of the captain, you helped the boys set up a ritual circle under the light of the full moon.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Bela asked worriedly, standing to the side. She pulled her jacket around her shoulders tightly.

“Almost definitely not,” Dean grumbled, looking over at you.

You smiled weakly at him trying to reassure him that you would be okay.

Thunder clapped unexpectedly, and the wind whistled around you. Rain began to pour, soaking you to the bone in an instant.

“Sammy! You better start reading!” Dean ordered, pulling you up from the ground and shielding you with his body.

The younger brother obeyed, and then, Bela shouted, “Behind you!”

Dean was immediately flung through the air away from you, and you wheeled around to see the ghost you’d seen at the Warren’s house. Before you could raise your gun to shoot him, he put his hands on either side of your head. Immediately, you began coughing up water. It felt like your throat was closing as the air slowly left your panicking body.

Dean staggered over to you and tried to support you through your heaving, shuddering breaths. “Sammy, read faster!”

Black spots began to form in your vision, and you were sure it was the end. Then, the rain died down. The wind billowed gently, and the spirit’s head turned slowly toward a creaking sound.

“You... hanged me!” the spirit cried at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” the captain responded pitifully.

“Your own brother.”

“I’m so sorry!”

The spirit charged his brother, leaving you a sputtering mess on the floor. You heard the two men scream, and then, they both went quiet.

***

After parting ways with Bela for the evening, you returned to the house for a few hours of sleep. However, laying next to Dean— the moon illuminating his freckled skin and occasionally-fluttering eyelashes, breaths deep enough to move his chiseled shoulders along with his chest— you couldn’t sleep. Since he’d drifted off about an hour ago, you’d been lazily stroking his hair; the two of you facing each other.

Then, Dean took in a deep breath, stretching out on his back. It became clear to you that he’d woken up, though his eyes remained closed, when he kissed the inside of your wrist. Soon enough, his breathing became steady once more. He kept you snuggled tightly into his right side; legs intertwined and breathing beginning to mirror each other’s.

And then, it hit you: you’d felt oddly at peace, as much as you’d tried to deny it, when the ghost put his hands on the sides of your head. Even when you were in excruciating pain— lungs burning and eyes watering— you were almost relieved. Because if you’d died tonight, that meant you wouldn’t have to live without Dean.

***

Given your realization the previous evening, you wandered around in a daze all morning. You had never enjoyed depending on others. Needing help was so pathetic in your mind, and you refused to ask for it. Despite the way you encouraged Dean to open up and accept help, you couldn’t take your own advice. After your mother’s devotion to your father led her to standing by idly while her two children were beaten black and blue, you swore that you would never let a man rule your life in any sense of the word. And now, Dean was consuming you.

However, this devotion didn’t feel hopeless. It didn’t feel messy. You didn’t feel your essence deteriorating while he hacked away, carving space and indelibly marking your soul. This devotion was welcomed. Allowed. Encouraged. You were willingly handing your beating heart to him, and you knew you could take it back at any time.

Before Dean, you never trusted anyone. You would never have allowed someone to walk beside you through Hell before you met him. Try as others might have, Dean was the only person to mesh harmoniously with your body, mind, and soul.

When Bela came to say her goodbyes, though, you forced yourself out of your thoughts. After she’d thoroughly amused Dean with the ten thousand dollars she gave the three of you to repay her debt, she swaggered out of the door. You surprised even yourself when you followed her out.

“Bela!” you called.

She turned back to you. “Sorry, darling, all out of goodies for the day—”

“I don’t want your money,” you cut her off. “I wanted you to know that… whatever you did, I understand. The boys may never, but I saw the ship, too. Whether we like it or not, we’re pretty similar; you and me.”

She seemed stunned by your admission.

“Take my number,” you told her, pressing a piece of paper into her hand. “If ever you feel like slummin’ it for a crappy beer in a dive bar. Or if you run into any more ghost ships.”

That stunned Bela even more as you turned on your heel and headed back inside.

*** “Seriously? Atlantic City?” Sam scoffed.

Dean had you speeding toward a casino with the money Bela gave you as night fell that evening. “Hell yeah! Play some roulette. Always bet on black.” He paused for a minute, allowing the air to shift in the car. “Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um... I want you to know I understand why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon.”

Sam sighed, much to your surprise. You figured he’d be thankful to hear Dean’s admission.

“Y’know, situation was reversed,” Dean continued, “I guess I'd 've done the same thing. I mean, I'm not blind, I see what you're going through with this whole deal; me going away and all that. But you're gonna be okay.”

Sam looked upset at that. “You think so.”

“Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know, you live your life. You’re stronger than me.” At Sam’s scoff, Dean exclaimed, “You are! You are. You'll get over it. But I want you to know I'm sorry, I’m sorry for... putting you through all this, I am.”

“Y’know what, Dean? Go fuck yourself,” Sam spat.

“What?” Dean questioned. You were stunned as well.

“I don't want an apology from you! And by the way, I'm a big boy now, I can take care of myself,” Sam continued his tirade.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Dean grumbled.

“So would you please quit worrying about me?” Sam shouted over his brother. “I mean, that's the whole problem in the first place. I don't want you to worry about me, Dean, I want you to worry about you! I want you to give a crap that you’re dying!”

“He does, Sam, knock it off!” you jumped in for the first time. After all, it was you that had planted the seed to Dean that he should have apologized to Sam.

Dean said nothing, and you could tell by the smirk on his face that he wouldn’t be displaying vulnerability with Sam again for quite some time.

“So, that's it? Nothing else to say for you?” Sam pushed.

“I think maybe I'll play craps,” Dean stated.

Outraged, Sam just stared at him in complete disbelief. He turned to the window, and you continued to watch Dean. His smile faded to a steely, difficult-to-read expression.

Sighing, you settled stretched out across the seat and crossed your arms over your chest. Dean’s eyes met yours briefly in the rearview mirror, and you saw a flicker of his real feelings— hurt, betrayal, fear— cross his face before his expression returned to unreadable.

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daddydixonscrossbow · 3 months ago

Text

Summary: After reader does something to ‘save the group’, it’s still seen as a problem by Rick.

Warnings: TWD themes, walkers, blood, killing/death, weapons, arguing, reader’s in their 20’s, Daryl and reader have something going on, Rick and reader don’t get along, gorey/horror-ish

I’ve had this idea stewing in my head for days

Word Count: 2.4k | unedited

»»———-　　———-««

You watched the walker drop to your feet as you withdrawal your knife from its skull, “Are there anymore?”

Maggie shakes her head, “No, I think that’s all of ‘em, for now, at least.” She lets out a sigh, “I just wanna get these kids to the kingdom. Who knows what’s going to happen with hilltop.”

You nod, “We will, okay.” You reach out and squeeze her arm, “These kids are my number one priority right now.”

“Alright. Let’s keep it movin’.” Rick announces, “Should be about another hours walk.”

Maggie moves to walk next to the carriage and you fall back to walk next to Daryl, “What’s going on with Rick lately?”

“Whatcha mean, darlin’?” He asks as he glances over at you.

You shrug, “He’s just been, how do I put it without sounding too mean.. mm.. a major ass?” Daryl chuckles at your words and you scoff, “I’m serious, Daryl. Maybe it’s just me but-“

“Nah, it is just you. I ain’t gon’lie.” Daryl smirks, adjusting his strap on his shoulder, “He don’t like how y’go against him sometimes.”

“All for good reason.” You mumble, and Daryl nods, “I know, I know. But it’s-“

“Just how Rick is.” You glance over at Daryl and he sighs, “He’ll come around, y’jus gotta fall back a little.”

“Fall back a little.” You laugh and shake your head, “You must not know me at all.” You smirk at him and he shrugs, shaking his head, “Know y’better than y’know yourself.”

Everything comes to a halt and you and Daryl quickly snap into action.

His cross bow up, and your pistol tight in your grasp, “What’s going on?” You whisper and Maggie turns around, “Rick see something.” She shrugs, “I don’t know, he just put his-“

“Everyone. Woods. Now..” Rick motions to the tree line and you, Sasha and Glenn instantly start helping Maggie get the kids out.

Luckily, there were only five on this trip, and most were old enough to understand what was happening. You motion for them to follow Maggie and you follow behind them.

“Maggie.” She looks at you and you motion towards a fallen tree and she nods, guiding the kids and in the direction.

Rick and Daryl stay back, closer to the road to see whats going on. You turn to Sasha, “Go with Maggie. I’m going to stay in between, watching for anything around us.”

“You sure?” She asks and you nod, “Yeah, just protect those kids.”

She nods and moves back with Maggie.

You look around, staying at the ready. Your blood was pumping as you seen an old car come to a stop, four people stepping out at once.

“Oh ho ho. What do we have here?” The one says from a distance, “Looks too fresh for it be left here, right?”

That wasn’t people from the kingdom, hilltop, or even Alexandria.

You glance back at everyone by the tree, and your attention is caught by some old sheds that are taken over by overgrown weeds.

You motion for Sasha and Maggie to look behind them and they both quickly pick up on what you’re saying. As they get ready to move, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn move to where you are and you can hear Rick sigh, “Why are they moving?”

“There’s some old sheds back there. I figured it would be sa-“

Rick cuts you off, “You think it’s best to move them when they’re literally right there on the road?”

“A’right, a’right, we don’t have time for this.” Daryl glances back towards the me and you watch as Maggie and Sasha get the kids into the sheds, them following.

Rick doesn’t say a word, he just looks down, shaking his head.

“Shit. They’re comin’.” Daryl pushes you against the tree and stands in front of you. Rick and Glenn move to different trees and you wait.

“They gotta be around here somewhere.” The one says, “With somethin’ like that, they can’t be too much further.”

“How many ya thinkin?”

“Probably a few. Ain’t no way someone solo is travelin’ like that.”

Daryl glances down at you, giving you a nod and you nod back. He leans out slightly and looks, leaning back in. He looks over at Rick and motions and Rick nods, mouthing, “Don’t. Move.”

You hear the footsteps get closer then they stop.

“Hey, Lyle. Over here.”

The footsteps depart and Glenn quickly makes his way to the sheds. Rick moves over to you and Daryl, “We need to wait them out.”

“They know we’re here, jus’dont know where.” Daryl shrugs, “We can take’em out, there’s only four of’em.”

“And risk open gun fire into the sheds, no.” Rick motions to the buildings and shakes his head, “No way.”

“I have a plan, but I don’t think either of you are gonna like it.” You look between them, “I’ll distract them. Two of them are bound to follow me. You guys get the other two, then go with Maggie, Sasha, and the kids.”

“You ain’t doin’ that alone.” Daryl argues and you shrug, “What other choice do we have?”

Rick stays quiet, and you sigh quietly, “I’m fast. I’ll lose them then loop around to the kingdom. Just tell them I’m coming and let them know about what happened.”

Before either one of them can stop you, you take off, running back the way you came from.

“Hey! Hey! There’s one!”

You were running as fast as your feet could carry you.

You ran for a few more minutes before you dive down behind some large rocks, giving yourself a few seconds to catch your breath before you get up. You peak around, looking to see if they’re coming.

Two of them are following. Just like you said they would.

You heard faint gun shots from where you left Daryl, and you can only hope that it was successful shots from your side.

“I think she went this way.”

“We gotta go back man, they probably killed Lyle and Paul.”

You being your gun around, firing off a quick shot which hits one in the arm, “Ah! Fuck!”

“Shit, shit, shit! Brian, hold on.”

You take your moment and keep going, ducking down when you hear the gun fire. You stop behind another big tree, panting as you check to see how many rounds you have left, and thankfully you have more than enough.

“Come on out, sweetheart. We just want to talk.” The man chuckles, “If anything.. I think we need to work on your aim.”

You roll your eyes, snapping your head over when you hear a few walkers making their way towards all the noise, “Shit.” You whisper quietly, resting your head back against the tree as you think quick.

“I promise I won’t hurt’cha.” The man sighs, “Here. I’ll even take care of these living dead shitbags for you.”

As he fires his gun, the guy you shot comes around the tree, only to be met with your gun to his face, “If you want your friend here to live I suggest pu-“

The guy fights back, slamming your wrist against the tree. You drop the gun, groaning as he pushes you against the tree. You kick out, catching him in his side and he groans, stumbling back, “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You drop down, picking up your gun and firing at him. His stomach takes the bullet and he drops to the ground, yelling for his friend, “Get her, Derek. Fuck, she’s right here.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder and it’s a walker. You grab its arm and push it towards the guy on the ground. His screams fill the air and you back up, waiting for the other guy to show his face.

A bullet smacks off the tree next to you and you turn to run. You duck down behind a fallen tree and aim, waiting for the perfect time.

The guy peaks his head out from behind the tree and you fire. You instantly hear the gurgling scream and that’s when you know, your aim is fine.

You walk back up, knifing the walkers in the skull as you make your way to where the guy was laying, choking on his own blood.

You bend down, taking his pistol, “Looks like my aim is just fine.” You walk back, killing the walker that ate half of the guys face. You grab his gun and keep walking.

As you make your way back to the sheds, a part of you hoped they were still there, but a part of you hoped they got the kids and ran.

You go to each of the shed doors, whispering before opening each one, and there was no trace of them. You let out a sigh of relief, walking up to the other two bodies that were lying on the ground.

One had a hole from an arrow and you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

The other one, you assume, Rick shot in the chest. You bend down, knifing him in the head before picking up the knife laying next to his body.

You make your way out to the road and start walking towards the kingdom.

If you had to guess, you were about a half hour or so, behind them. So it wouldn’t be long until Rick was tearing your head off.

You were tired, so you weren’t rushing to catch up to them, you knew you’d be fine. And you were. As soon as you walk up to the kingdom, you’re met with the guards and they let you in.

Sasha and Maggie run up to you, “You okay?” Maggie asks as she looks over your face, “Ya aren’t hurt are you?”

You shake your head, “I mean, my wrist might be a little bruised, but here.” You pull the two guns from your waist band and hand them to Sasha, “They were on the two that were following me.”

“You are one badass bitch.” Sasha laughs as she takes them, “Glad you’re good. Seriously.”

You nod, looking over at Daryl who’s leaning up against the one house and you give him a smirk.

That smirk is quickly taken away when Rick steps into your line of sight, “Can we, uh.. talk for a minute?”

“You mean yell at me for a minute?” You roll your eyes and look over at Maggie and Sasha who are walking away.

“You could have gotten everyone killed.” Rick grumbles, “Do you not think?”

“Oh no, Rick. I thought about it. I thought about the lives of those kids who made it here in one piece. I thought about just taking a shot at all of them. I thought about shoving you out in the open and letting them fire at you. Trust me, Rick. I thought about a lot of things out there.” You go to walk away and Rick keeps going, “I had a plan, y/n. Okay? I had a plan to get us all out of there without having to separate like that.”

“What? You were going to talk our way out of it? How many times has just talking your way out of it work? Huh? The, the, fuck. Terminus? Um, those guys on the road? Rick you bit a guys fucking throat out.”

“We’re not talking about terminus or the guys on the road. We’re talking about children, and how your actions about got them-“

“Don’t you dare put that on me.” You shake your head, walking up to him, “I made it easy on you. I ran, took two with me. From the looks of it, you and Daryl had it easy, or at least Daryl did. The chest, Rick? Really.” You laugh slightly, “I don’t understand why you have such a fucking problem with me.”

“You don’t listen to anything anyone says here.” Rick scoffs, “You’re rebellious. You’re thoughtful and you just do what you think is best. You crossed damn like, y/n.”

“I crossed a line?!” You laugh slightly, your anger boiling up even more, “You do what you think is best, right? Rick, I always have a plan. No matter who the hell I’m with. I always have a backup plan. An escape plan. Whatever.“ you shrug, “I’m a person of action.”

You turn to walk away but stop, “Oh, and they didn’t start firing until I was a good distance away from the sheds, so fuck off, Rick.”

“I want you out of here.”

You stop, looking up at Daryl who’s now walking over with his attention now turned to Rick.

You turn back, “What?”

“You heard me. You can leave in the morning.” Rick shrugs, “If you’re not going to consider everyone else’s safety then-“

“Those kids were and will continue to be my number one priority, Rick. Why are you so blind to see that I put my life on the line so you could get those kids here?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I told you to not move and what did you do?” Rick tilts his head and you squint, “Those kids are safe. I’m okay. You’re okay. What is the big fucking issue?”

“The issue is-“

Daryl cuts Rick off, “A’right, that’s enough. Drawin’ a crowd.”

Rick walks away and you purse your lips to try and not laugh, “someone’s gotta pull the stick out of his ass.”

“I told ya to lay off.” Daryl stares at you and you sigh, “Can we do this later, I need something for this wrist.”

“Yeah, c’mon. You can tell me what happened then I can give ya the whole spiel.” Daryl chuckles as he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“You know I’m right, Daryl.” You smirk up at him and he shakes his head, “I’m not sayin’ you’re not. I’m just sayin’ you can’t be doin’ what you did all the time, y/n.”

“You’re worried about me.” You tease with a smile and he scoffs, “Whatever ya wanna call it, a’right.” He leans in to kiss your head and you glare at Rick as you walk by him to go to medical.

»»———-　　———-««

This was just an idea off my head, I needed to write it. Sorry if it sucksss. Love yas!

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and reloggin’💋

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boygiwrites · 5 months ago

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Harley D. Dixon 35

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Cue my giddy snickering.

"So, what'd you do?" My Dad asks the prisoners, as we're eating breakfast in the courtyard the next morning. "Whose life you ruin?"

All the walker bodies have been dragged into a pile over by the dumpsters and burnt into nothing more than a few lumps of charcoal, leaving the courtyard as quiet as it's been since we got here. With the snarls and growls finally gone, I can hear birds chirping on the roofs of the cell blocks, the beautiful sound of silence beyond them. It might be the first time we've been completely sealed away from danger.

If Rick wasn't still inside with Lori, Carl, and the baby, I think he'd feel the same way.

"Nobody's but my own, man," Oscar chuckles dryly. He shakes his head, spooning some stewed corn and beans into his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. "There's nothing more to it than my people were poor as dirt. Got to be that I was dumb and desperate enough to steal from a Walmart. I should'a been handing my resume in, or something, but no. Sentenced three years over a pack of diapers."

I look up from my bowl to study the regret on his face, finding myself surprised. Shop-lifting diapers?

That wasn't what I thought he was in prison for at all.

"Sorry to hear that," Glenn says sympathetically, exactly my thoughts. "World wasn't exactly fair before all this, either."

"Me, I got caught with, y'know," Axel gestures vaguely, "Drugs and stuff. In my car. I was parked outside a police station, and I ain't had a home at the time. I think wanted to get locked up, if that makes sense. I'd been in and out a bunch of times. Only thing I knew."

"Sounds like someone I knew," Dad scoffs, and I know he's talking about my Uncle Merle. "The dumb bastard."

"So, you ain't, like," I frown at the prisoners in confusion, "Bad?"

Oscar laughs a little. "Not everybody who ends up in prison is bad, kid."

"I know that," I argue as I eat another spoonful of stew. "My Daddy was in prison, and he ain't bad. But some of 'em is."

"We ain't had the best track record when it comes to strangers," Maggie explains to them, putting it lightly. "Or even friends."

"Hey," He shrugs. "No offence taken. You gotta be careful out here."

"There were some seriously bad eggs in there, though," Axel agrees with me. "You bet'cha. Made life a livin' Hell for the rest of us."

Oscar looks at my Dad. "You're her Dad, right? You went to prison, too?"

"Arrendale State Prison," He nods, slurping up the stew in his bowl. "February of '04. I was released far before all this shit started."

"What crime?"

"Aggravated manslaughter."

Axel's eyes widen. "Damn, mister. I ain't sayin' you don't look the type, but I would'a thought you stole a car or somethin'."

Wiping his mouth, he smirks. "Who says I ain't did both?"

"Skills like those sound like they'd come in handy nowadays," Oscar says, "So, Hell. We ain't here to judge anyone in your group."

"You gotta stop saying, 'your group'," Maggie scolds him, smiling. "We got off on the wrong foot, but for all intents and purposes, there's only one group here. We ain't have to be best friends or anythin', and we'll be watchin' you, but you've proven yourselves."

"But I thought you said—...?"

Yesterday, we served 'em a death sentence by forcing them outta the gates — Today we're eating stew together.

"Listen. There was a man named Shane," Glenn levels with them. "He was the first one. He was Rick's best friend for fifteen years and we all watched him go crazy without any power to stop it, until he tried kidnapping Harley. He was shot and beaten to death."

There's the loud, BANG, and the sound of my crying spilling out afterwards. That was one of the worst days of my life.

The prisoners share a glance with each other.

"The second man was Jim," He continues. "He didn't have the best interests of the group at heart and we kicked him out for that. And when we ran into him a few months later, we saw that hadn't changed. He threatened to ruin what we'd built. We hung him in a barn."

That one didn't make much sound at all — Barely a, snap.

"Your friends, Tomas and Andrew. And there were so many others. A group that took over a town near our old farm, people on the road, assholes, thieves. We've got good people here. We're family. But we haven't let our goodness make us idiots."

I'd almost forgotten the violence we'd committed over the past year, the deaths, a hundred little wounds scarred over with time.

Axel and Oscar remain silent as they stomach his words, the underlying threat there — We've killed better men for less.

Shane was Rick's right-hand man, a brother, and one of the most important people to the group, but even that couldn't save him in the end. Jim was a father, a resilient little weasel who worked harder than anybody else back at the quarry, and I saw him die, too. I saw all manner of men die. The prisoners risked their lives by leavin' this place, but they also risked them by comin' back to help us. They chose to do that. I'on know too much about what makes a trustworthy stranger, and I ain't even sure if such a thing exists, but I imagine it's a start.

"Ya ain't idiots," Axel agrees, looking between Dad, Glenn, and Maggie with his honest eyes. "You can trust us."

Oscar puts on a reassuring smile. "We get it, man."

For two fellers who've just been threatened with torture and execution if they misbehave, they don't look so frightened.

I guess they don't plan on it, then.

"Good," Glenn slowly nods at their answers. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to you, by the way. You're welcome."

Axel's moustache skews to the side as he smiles. "Thank you, dudes."

"And it ain't just kiss-ass for a bowl of stew," Oscar warns us, gesturing with his spoon. "'Cause this shit tastes like ass."

"I'll let the chef know," Maggie jokes.

It looks like our group just got a little bit bigger.

"Go on, then." Dad juts his chin out in the direction of the cell block. "My guess is you ought'a get outta them scrubs if yer stayin'. Just ask for a lady, Carol — She can sort that out for ya. T-Dog's old stuff should fit ya, but I ain't so sure about Stringbean."

"'Stringbean'?" Axel complains, looking down at himself.

"Maybe you can find somethin' in Glenny's wardrobe," Maggie smiles, poking him in the ribs. "Ain't that right?"

"Hardy, har."

As they stand from the table with their empty bowls, Axel adds, "We really appreciate it. Thanks for not letting us die."

"Sure. Git," Dad grits, watching as they make their way back into the prison, before looking at me. "What'chu thinkin', chicken?"

Chewing my stew, I garble, "I gesh dey don't sheem sho bad."

"Nah, they don't," He agrees, reaching out with his spoon to clean the dribble off my chin. "You don't gotta worry about 'em, okay?"

I swallow as he pulls away, warning him, "But I'on think Mouse is a fan. He was growlin' at 'em."

"I'm sure they'll figure that out," Glenn reassures me, chuckling. "If that's the only problem they have, I'd say they got off lucky."

"Not if they screw this up, they won't," I exclaim, raising my spoon like a knife. "That happens, I'mma knife 'em in the knee!"

"Hey, and I'll let'cha," Dad jokes as he puts his hand over mine to lower the spoon. "But right now, I want'chu to finish all yer food."

"Okay, Dad."

Breakfast goes by slowly, like any good morning should.

The baby — Until the Grimes agree on a name, that's what I'll call her. The baby — loves to sleep.

I guess being born takes up just as much energy as giving birth, because Lori says until she's a few months old, this is all she'll do. I can't exactly play soccer with her right now, or even teach her to draw a picture, but I don't mind waiting. She's cute enough just like this, with her eyes closed, small tummy rising and falling with softs breaths as she dozes off in my arms, hopefully dreaming of something sweet.

What do babies dream of? Milk? Sheep, prancing in circles? They even got enough memories to form a nightmare, yet?

Watching on with a fond smile, Lori muses quietly, "I told you."

The baby makes a grunt, squirming around in the tightly swaddled blanket before she relaxes, content.

No. No nightmares.

Looking up at my Dad, I ask him, "Was I like this?"

A faint smirk tugs at his mouth, as if he's recalling a memory. "Nah, you was a fiend. Your Momma and I couldn't get'chu to sleep for nothin'. Had to pace around with you for hours on the porch just for a wink. Sing, hum. Let'chu listen to the rain, cars, birds."

"Sounds like she was a fussy one," Lori smiles, reaching out to stroke her thumb across the baby's smooth head.

"I ain't never met a baby who could pull an angry face quite like Harley could," He scoffs. "Had the temper of a stick of dynamite."

Under the weight of his tired gaze, Rick smirks a little. "So, not much has changed, then."

Sticking my tongue out at them both, I look back down at the baby, gasping as her eyelids begin to flutter.

"She's openin' her eyes," I exclaim with excitement, handing her off to Lori. Her Momma should be the first thing she sees. Not me!

"Oh, my gosh," The woman breathes.

All at once, with her forehead wrinkled against the brightness of the room, she opens her eyes for the very first time. Green. Wow. They're the same colour as Lori's, dark and pretty like the wet leaves on a forest floor, staring curiously up at the matching pair.

Rick scoots closer and grins down at her, a chuckle escaping him as she studies his face next.

Even though I love my Mom and Dad more than anything in the world, and I wouldn't trade them for anybody else, I can still say with certainty that this baby is real lucky to have a Dad like Rick and even luckier to have a Mom like Lori. She got gentle hands, a voice made for telling fairytales, and the patience of a saint. Her smile is the type that nobody could be mad at when they're on the receivin' end of it.

My Gramma Dixon ain't had one of them smiles. In all the photos I've ever seen of her, she had a smile like a row of yellow piano keys, black holes left where her rotten teeth had fallen out from smoking so much and so often, but I had never seen it in person.

When my Dad was thirteen years old, the same age as Carl, the smoke of a stray cigarette caught onto his Momma's bedsheets while she was sleepin' and she, the house, and everything that was in it went up in flames, with a single black smear to prove it ever stood.

That's why whenever my Dad finishes a cigarette, he spends a second longer than anybody else would making sure it's out.

Glenn's got it right — World wasn't exactly fair before all this, either.

Havin' any Mom, let alone a Mom as good as Lori, was a special thing even before the world went to shit.

"She gon' love havin' you as her Momma," I smile to Lori.

And if you were my Momma, I'm too embarrassed to say, I'd be lucky, too.

As if I've just minced her heart between my fingers, the woman pouts, managing a smile. "Thank you, honey. That's nice of you to say."

I don't ever remember dreaming of milk or sheep or soft things with gentle colors, but I'm glad this baby will, even if just for now.

The sound of the toilet flushing fills my ears as I push past the stall door, approaching my Dad who's waiting for me by the sinks. He lifts me by the armpits onto the little plastic foot stool that Glenn found a few days ago, carefully setting me down on it.

"You sure I can't stay up just a little longer?" I ask as I tweak on the water, pumping soap into my hands.

"How much is, a little longer?"

"Hm... Five minutes?"

"I already let'chu finish yer card game with Carl and Beth," He reminds me. "My generous mood's run out, now. It's late, y'know."

"Okay, Captain Obvious," I sigh, scrubbing my hands together under the water before shutting it off.

"Watch it, Captain Smartass." He takes my hand and helps me jump off the stool, leading me through the door and down the corridor, before he randomly comes to a stop. As I turn around to face him, he crouches down to my level. "But I gotta talk to you first."

"About what?" I pout, worried I might be in trouble. "If Carl told you I cheated at cards, it ain't tru—"

"I ain't talkin' about that," He reassures me, raising his brows. "And you're lucky I ain't, 'cause I'on believe you for a second."

"Okay. Maybe I peeped at Beth's cards."

"Yeah. Maybe." With an empty chuckle, his expression slowly dampens, turning serious. "It's about Axel and Oscar."

"Huh?"

"I trust 'em," He begins, but I got no idea where he's goin' with this. "What I always saw in Shane and all the other douchebags like 'im, I'on see in them. Some folks, you can just tell. Axel's a sorry loser just like yer Daddy and Uncle Merle used to be, and Oscar's a Dad."

My Dad's what some people call, a good judge of character. Nodding along in agreement, I let him continue.

"If I thought they was any sorta threat to you," He promises, "Even if it was just breakin' yer favorite crayon, then—..."

"Then, you'd kill 'em," I finish, remembering the sight of his shadow swinging down on Jim's face through the slats of the shed wall, the big, black bag the paramedics wheeled outta the woods, the way Shane's blood pooled out across the dirty tiles. "I know."

"So, I guess this ain't really about them, 'cause they ain't gonna hurt you. It's about you, baby."

"M—Me?"

"You ain't in trouble." He says again, soothing my nerves. "I prolly should'a had this conversation wit'chu months ago, but you know I ain't so good with 'conversations', so it's happenin' now. I need you to know what happened with Shane weren't your fau—"

"Why are you sayin' that?" I cut him off, feeling like it's wrong for Shane's name to be in his mouth. "I d—"

"Just listen to me." He grabs my shoulders, stern and strong. Quips and hot venom brew on my tongue, but I bite it down, knowing that if I lash out, I'll actually be in trouble. I can't stop him from mentioning Shane, violating him even in that way, like he used to do with my Momma's name when he threw insults at her and told lies about her to strangers. I have to remember — Shane ain't my Momma. They was both sick, but only one loved me. I'm pretending to know which one that was. "It weren't. But we could'a done things differently."

Don't talk to strangers, He and Merle always told me. Is that what he means?

"I-I don't get it," I shake my head in confusion. "I'm allowed to talk to Axel and Oscar. They ain't strangers."

"Neither was Shane, baby." He counters. "Spent so much energy teachin' you not to trust assholes like Ronnie, I ain't never taught you not to trust assholes like Shane — Typa guy that makes it past yer doorstep and tries to be yer friend."

I temper my glare. "What'chu gettin' at, Daddy?"

"You know grown men can't be friends with little girls." He explains patiently, his grip on me tightening. "Rick and Glenn, they're different. They's like yer Uncles. Ya get along with 'em, but they're there to protect ya, just like I am. Axel and Oscar ain't like that. You ever meet anybody like 'em, you don't do anythin' that makes you uncomfortable. You don't give 'em anythin' they want. You don't let 'em trick ya."

Shane. I did all those things with Shane. He did all those things with me.

"And you always tell me if any of that happens. Always. Ya ain't never gon' get in trouble for what other people choose to do."

"The prisoners ain't tried to be my friend," I assure him. "And I ain't tried to be theirs. Promise."

"I know. I'm proud'a you for that." His grip loosens, fingers sliding down my arms, dropping in his lap. "But do you understand me?"

"I think so."

"I'mma somethin' better'un, I think."

Frowning, I think. Shane weren't my fault. Dad said that since the beginning. I guess he only wants to make sure it never happens again, like how it ain't yer fault if a dog bites ya, but you can always learn to recognize a violent animal and turn your back on its teeth.

I shouldn't have let Shane corner me in the car while the rest of the group was distracted in that supermarket.

Shouldn't have played into his stupid game, neither, by punching him in the face when he asked me to.

Definitely shouldn't have agreed to be his friend.

Dad's always gonna look out for me, but, "I understand."

"Okay. Good girl. Smart girl," He nods, standing and taking my hand in his, leading me down the corridor. "I love you, chicken."

"Love you, Daddy. But I thought you said I was allowed to knife 'em?"

"You can knife 'em first, and then I'll kill 'em," He jokes. "Deal?"

"Deal."

He chuckles to himself. "Let's get'chu to bed, then."

"Easy, boy," Axel smiles, scratching Mouse's ear as he watches him gobble up the meat in his hand. "There ya go."

From my seat nearby, as I wait to leave with Dad and Glenn for a supply run, I don't bother callin' Mouse over yet. The dog ain't my toy or nothin', but I should still share him with the prisoners. I know they ain't seen one in years, so I let him have the moment.

When Carl walks past me, I ask him, "You sure ya don't wanna come with us?"

"Thanks, but I'm sure. I'm just tired today," He turns to send me a smile, before continuing toward Axel. "Hey. Got more food."

"Oh, thanks, dude," He says happily, accepting it.

"He really likes this stuff."

It's taken almost a full month not only for Mouse to warm up to the new members of our group, but for the others, too.

We ain't best friends or nothin', like Maggie said, but it turns out they're a better fit for our family than I first thought.

Axel really is just a sorry loser with a good heart, who I've learnt over the past couple days wasn't kiddin' when he said he loved dogs. He's almost never more than a few feet away from Mouse, bribing him with treats or scraps of his own dinner, sometimes accidently calling him, Goober, the name of his old dog. When I look at him, I see all the other sorry losers we used to live with in our trailer park, his twangy accent and his stories of punking the police when he was younger weirdly comforting to me. Dad don't seem so offended by him, neither.

Oscar's the type of person who talks a lot around the dinner table, just like Carl and Maggie are. He's always got a snarky, good-natured joke to throw in here and there, or a reassuring tidbit to share when somebody opens up about something in their past.

When it comes to his own past, though, he suddenly ain't so much of a chatterbox no more.

I can only assume his wife and baby are among all the people we've lost, too. I wouldn't wanna talk about 'em, neither.

Rick watches Oscar standing there with a guarded look on his face, my Dad drawing his attention away by nudging his elbow, holding two guns out to him. With another glance at Axel, who's giggling like a small child at Mouse's enthusiasm for the food, he takes them.

"Axel. Oscar," Rick calls out, coming to a stop in front of them. As they look up at him, he offers a gun to each of them.

Axel's eyes widen as he stands up. "You serious, Mister?"

Oh — That's another thing. Axel doesn't call people Ma'am or Mister to butter 'em up. It's just his Southern manners.

"Daryl and Glenn are leaving for a few hours," He explains as Axel hesitantly reaches out for the gun, treating it more like a live grenade. For all the petty crimes he's committed, I'on think he's ever actually held a gun. Oscar takes his slightly more confidently, knowing exactly where to put his fingers, though he don't seem to like it. "With them gone, I think it's time you stepped up, helped us protect this place."

"Sure thing," Oscar nods, checking the mag is empty before stuffing the gun in his pants line. "Happy to, chief."

"Now, you mentioned you got experience," He reminds him, before turning to look expectantly at Axel.

In the silence that follows, the man offers, "I shot a slingshot, once. Busted in some rich old lady's Rolls-Royce window with it."

Rick's expression remains stoney. "A slingshot?"

"Yeah! Real cool one."

"A slingshot."

Awkwardly, he says again, "Yeah."

"Right." Rick gives him a friendly pat on the back, almost knocking him off balance. "We're gonna have to train you up a bit."

"Well, have fun," Glenn muses as he slings his backpack on, with Dad gesturing for me to stand up. "See you guys later."

Carl smiles, "See you later."

"C'mon, boy!" I call out to Mouse, clapping my hands. "Time to go."

"Remember, she doesn't handle the whole-wheat blend very well," Lori warns us, rocking baby Judith in her arms. It's good to finally see her outta bed again, to have her sitting around the breakfast table next to Herschel just like she always used to do.

"We'll look around for somethin' different this time. Trust me. I remember," Dad reassures her as he leads us up the concrete steps and pushes past the exit door, letting it close behind us before he mutters to me and Glenn, "She only threw up on my face twice."

"Eugh," I giggle, walking alongside them down the corridor. "That's gross."

"You ain't gonna talk to me about gross, missy," He jokes. "Who's that kid that spat chewed-up salami into my lap again, Rhee?"

Glenn chuckles at that. "Oh, yeah. I think her name was—...?"

"Somethin' beginin' with an, H, right?"

"Shut up," I giggle even harder as Glenn opens the main door, turning to lock it behind us. "It was an accident!"

"Ha—? Harriet," Dad pretends to struggle guessing, completely ignoring me. "Holly? Harley—?"

"Ohhh. Harley," Glenn exclaims as he stuffs the key back in his pocket. "That was it."

"Yeah, that's ringin' a bell."

"Shut up," I complain again, dragging him over to the gate. "C'mon. Me and Mouse wanna go!"

Agreeing, the dog lets out a, ruff.

This might only be the fourth time I've been on a scavenge this month, but I'd be lyin' if I said it ain't just as excitin' as the first time. Sure, the adults watch over me and Carl the whole time, and we only ever go to the same store, but everybody says we been doin' a good job and it's true. The worst thing that's happened to us is getting spooked by a rat running across our path, and even that was fun.

"Okay, we're comin'," Dad chuckles raspily, letting me pull him along. "We're comin'."

"What do you wanna play this time, Harley?" Glenn asks.

As Dad opens the gate to the field, Mouse is the first one out, running ahead of us down the path.

I kick a pebble down the hill, thinking. "What about eye-spy?"

He locks it shut. "Didn't we do that one last time?"

"Yeah, but I lost," I argue as we follow after the dog.

"So, a re-match," Glenn says in understanding. "Sure. Who's going first?"

"Me!"

"Is it that leaf over there?"

"Nope."

"What about that leaf over there?"

"Still nope."

"That leaf?"

"You can't just guess every single leaf you see, Harley," Glenn chuckles. "The game would never end."

"So, it's not a leaf?"

"Not a leaf," He agrees. "Come on. You can do it."

Walking down the side of the highway, I look around for anything, Small and green. If it ain't leaves, or any of the hundreds of other things I've guessed so far, I'm screwed. In the distance, the tall sign for the strip mall pokes out from the trees, growing closer.

"Can't just look at what's in front of ya," Dad says helpfully, squeezing my hand. "Hunter's eye's gotta see everythin'."

Humming in concentration, I look down instead, noticing it instantly — The green beetle clinging to my shorts.

A giggle escapes me as I rest a finger near the insect's tiny head, letting it crawl onto me, holding it up to my face. "It was you!"

"Point for Harley," Glenn smiles as we step over the curb, entering the dumpster area behind the strip mall. The forest falls away behind us, making way for concrete and scattered litter. "You were taking so long; I was worried it was gonna fly away."

I turn a suspicious eye on my Dad. "Hang on. Did you let me win?"

"I might'a noticed it a couple minutes ago," He muses.

I flinch as the beetle's pearly wings whip out from under its shell, flickering into a blur, before it takes off into the trees.

"Aw." I pout, distracted by its disappearing shape as we approach the side of the building. "Bye, beetl—"

"Stop."

Stop?

Dad drops my hand. He slings his crossbow off his shoulder, training the sights ahead of us as Glenn grabs me, forcing me up against the wall with him. The warm brick presses against my back, Glenn's thick heartbeat thudding rhythmically beneath my fingers as I grip his wrist. I hold my breath. Suddenly, we're hiding — From what? From who? — and I couldn't care less that we didn't finish the game.

What's wrong, I desperately want to ask them, instead clinging tighter to Glenn, cowering, making myself small.

I try to get a glimpse of what's going on in the main parking lot, but I'm not close enough.

With his shoulders tensed and footsteps light, Dad creeps forward, peeking around the wall.

"It's okay," Glenn whispers to me, turning to scold a growling Mouse, "Shh, boy. Shh."

I focus on the nearby sounds — Someone's car engine idling, boots scraping against tarmac, hushed voices. People. It's people.

As Dad pulls back behind the wall, Glenn asks him, "How many?"

"I count three," He exhales, glancing down at me for a moment, before shaking his head. "We gotta go."

"Okay. Come on." Glenn gently tugs me by the hand, pulling me along with him in the direction we came. "It's okay."

"C'mon, chicken," Dad encourages.

We stick close to the wall, Dad scanning the back parking lot with a slow sweep of his sights, before giving us a nod, letting us know the way is clear and leading us down onto the tarmac. Everything opens up. My gaze darts from the dumpsters pressed up against the chain-link fence, to the trash littered across the ground, to the distant trees, the sky, the back of my Dad's head, Mouse at his heel.

Dad takes one step back over the broken curb, his boot hitting the grass on the other side.

My fingers tighten around Glenn's as I lift my foot to do the same.

I'm taking a sigh of relief — The forest is right there. We can slip away — but the breath in my lungs is stolen from me. I stumble backwards into Glenn. A man shoots out from behind a rusted car, tackling my Dad, and a gasp escapes me, loud and sharp.

"Daddy!" I shriek, watching him tank the sudden impact with a grunt.

"Boys!" The man shouts over his shoulder. "Over here!"

Squeezing my hand, Glenn draws his gun, acting unsure if he should run with me or stay and fight. "Daryl?"

"Stay with Harley!" He orders.

We watch as Dad shoves the man off him in one powerful movement, sending his stocky body tumbling.

The man lands against the car door. The window cracks under his elbow, glass shattering, tinkling, falling at his feet. He groans like an animal, blood trickling down his forearm as he rears it back again, knife in his hand, about to stab Dad wherever he can.

Dad's crossbow comes down on the man's arm and the knife goes flying, clattering loudly across the parking lot.

"Fuck—" He cries, disarmed, before Dad takes a step back and — FWIP — unleashes a bolt into his face.

The man's legs give out, body slumping to the ground.

"What's going on back here?!" A voice shouts, footsteps approaching. "Eric?"

Glenn whips his gun around, shoving me behind him so fast; I only catch a glimpse of the — two? — men pouring into the parking lot before I'm pressing my face into the back of his shirt, squeezing his hand so tight I think I might break a few of his bones.

"Holy shit," One of the men exclaims as their footsteps come to a stop in front of us. "Eric! God, he's dead!"

"You'll be dead, too, if ya don't back the Hell up!" Dad barks at them, taking a step forward. "Back up!"

"You fucking killed him!"

"He attacked us first!" Glenn counters. "Put the guns down!"

"Oh, my God!"

"Who's that behind you?"

"Hey! You keep yer eyes on us and put'cher fuckin' guns down!"

The arguing, shouting, — Mouse's relentless barking — gets louder and louder with each second, ruminating into one big cloud of noise around me as I squeeze my eyes shut. I only wanted to help them scavenge some baby formula, enjoy the sun and the breeze, maybe win at eye-spy. Home is only a ten-minute walk from here. No, no, it wasn't supposed to go like this. It's never gone like this.

"Put that goddamn crossbow down!"

"I ain't doin' shit!"

"Everybody, shut up!"

The parking lot falls silent. I hear the footsteps of a third man approaching, slow and calm, like an angry teacher.

"They killed Eric," One of them exclaims. "We heard him shout for us."

"And this piece of shit here killed him. I saw it."

The footsteps slow to a stop, and no response comes. I wait for a gunshot or a punch to be thrown, but that doesn't come, neither.

After the pause has gone on too long, the man hesitates to ask, "Boss, what's wrong? Are we killing 'em, or not?"

"I said, shut up, Gavin."

Oh.

That voice.

Mer—?

No.

Merle is dead.

Merle was chained to roof and eaten by walkers and he's dead and he's gone and I mourned him and ghosts ain't real.

My movements in slow motion, I loosen my grip on Glenn's hand, my body going numb as I dare to peek out around his hip. As the scene reveals itself to me, a curtain pulled over a window inch by inch, everything hits me like a ton of bricks, years, names, memories.

The man standing at the front of the small crowd stares, gawking, at my Dad, unbothered by his confused friends.

When he glances down at me, his arm pointing the gun at us falters.

Our eyes lock, and suddenly ghosts are real.

I can feel myself start to cry, I think.

Merle.

Author's Note.

It's Merle! Is there anything more to say? He's back!

I'm going to have my work cut out for me in the coming chapters. Trauma, emotions. Here we come.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, everyone. 💙

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon #fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon twd #rick grimes #angst #fluff #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl dixon #norman reedus #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x oc #oc #glenn rhee

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swamp-chicken · 1 year ago

Text

ethubs won against the ranchers in the shipping poll, so as promised here is a little ethubs somethin' somethin!' inspired very heavily by this insane video edit I made

your greatest fear, ethubs, 1657 words

It was full dark by the time Etho climbed out of the mines. Aside from an easily dispatched creeper lurking by the mine entrance, all was quiet. The boogey had already killed, and it was too early in the server for much chaos otherwise. Even the red name was likely engaged in domestic activities, building up his resources.

Etho took the stairs up to the base slowly. Their morning in the Nether had taken a toll on him. First being chased by withers, then being chased by the boogey.

Etho had been on guard from the moment Scar approached, but Bdubs had no such instincts. He hadn’t even reacted when Scar started swinging. Instead, he had blinked at Scar in disbelief, confused and sick and fragile. Etho’s stomach dropped.

“He’s boogey!” Etho shouted. They ran. Etho shoved an ender pearl into Bdubs’ hand. “We have to do it,” he explained, and then he threw his own.

There was the anxiety of throwing a pearl over lava, the brief ear-popping rush of nothing before he teleported to safety. But Etho didn’t stumble. He had his bow trained on Scar as soon as he landed. Bdubs appeared next to him with a crack.

Etho shot, but Scar didn’t fall. “It’s all a big misunderstanding!” Scar called, his voice faint over the the sound of bubbling lava.

“Wait— is he the boogey?” Bdubs asked. His face was pale.

“He took two swings at me.” Etho said, catching Bdubs by the wrist. “We’re going.”

Etho hauled Bdubs to the portal as fast as he could, their feet dragging through the soul sand.

Scar started pillaring up to them. “I swear, it’s all a miscommunication…”

Etho quickened his pace. He pulled Bdubs into the portal. The nether started swirling around them. Through the portal haze, Etho glimpsed Scar stumbling towards them, a piglin hot on his heels.

They were through.

“Move, move, move,” Etho demanded. His heart was pounding in his ears. Bdubs sprang away from the portal and Etho blocked it up behind him. “If he comes through, we hit his feet.”

“Seriously?” Bdubs asked, still a step or two behind.

Etho’s hands were trembling where they held his sword.

A long minute passed before Etho lowered his blade. Scar hadn’t followed. When he looked to his side, Bdubs was dutifully holding his own sword, eyes glassy with fever. Etho took a deep breath.

They were alive.

It had been too close a call for comfort, Etho mused, as he shouldered open the door to their fort. Bdubs was crouched in front of the stove, diligently feeding it wood. Etho set down his heavy pack with a thump.

Bdubs turned, already smiling. “Dinner’s almost ready!” he sing-songed. His voice was hoarse. “Successful mining trip?”

“Well… kinda,” Etho replied. He opened the pack and pulled out some gold ore. “For piglin trading.”

“No diamonds?”

“Didn’t have much luck,” Etho sighed.

“Listen, I know you’re old school, but you gotta try the lapis trick, dude,” Bdubs admonished, then started coughing.

“Hey,” Etho said. “Don’t cough all over our food. Let me take over.”

It was a sign of how poorly Bdubs felt that he didn’t even argue. He sat on the edge of the bed and Etho took over his place in front of the stove. The stew was bubbling nicely. Etho stirred it a few more times, then grabbed a pair of bowls and served up two portions, handing one over to Bdubs.

Bdubs took the bowl but didn’t do much beyond stare at its contents. He was shivering, slightly. Maybe from the cold.

“Feeling okay?” Etho asked. There wasn’t anywhere to sit other than next to Bdubs on the bed, so Etho took the floor, awkwardly crossing his legs underneath him.

Bdubs snorted, the sound thick with mucous. “Not really. Not much of an appetite, either.”

“You should eat,” Etho suggested. “Try and get your strength up. It’s been a stressful day.”

Bdubs spooned up a small amount of the stew, gingerly bringing it mouth and swallowing. “You can say that again. Couldn’t find any warped wart, Scar the boogey… oh, did I mention the worst alliance of all time?”

Etho laughed. “They’re not that bad!”

“Sugarcane!” Bdubs wailed. “That’s what they’re bringin’ to the group, sugarcane?”

Etho laughed again, a deep belly laugh. It was nice, like this. Their warm little fortress. Bdubs all to himself. “But we’re the B.E.S.T., Bdubs.”

“Tango’s the best at being a pain in my butt, that’s the truth,” Bdubs griped

There was a lull of silence, Etho happy to continue eating his stew. Bdubs didn’t touch his. The silence grew, extended past the time Bdubs would usually break it. Bdubs’ expression became more distant, a small furrow appearing in his brow. Etho cleared his throat. “Everything okay?” he asked.

Bdubs blinked, expression clearing. “What? Yeah, I was just thinking.”

Another beat of silence. Etho shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like when Bdubs was silent. Usually he was open, easy to read. Except when he was the boogey. Etho frowned, pushed that thought aside. “Thinking…” he prompted.

Bdubs shrugged. “Yeah. Just… That was an interesting question you asked Skizz, earlier.”

Skizz had showed up to their base, asking for an alliance, going on and on about loyalty. Etho didn’t know why the question had jumped into his head, but it had.

“‘What do you fear the most,’” Etho recited to Bdubs, shoulders drawing up. He felt defensive all of a sudden. “He gave a good answer.”

Bdubs hummed. He peered over at Etho. “It’s like a test, right? See how honest they are?”

“Something like that,” Etho hedged.

Bdubs scooped up some stew but didn’t eat it. He tipped the spoon and watched the stew fall back into the bowl. Etho watched with him, almost holding his breath.

“What would be your answer?” Bdubs asked.

Etho’s gaze darted back down to his own bowl. “What?”

“You know, the question you asked. What’s your greatest fear?”

Etho took a bite of the stew. It was a pretty good effort, considering the lack of ingredients on the server. Bdubs must have dug up some seasoning from somewhere. Etho savored the taste before he swallowed. “Like I said, I think most people would agree with Skizz.”

Bdubs set his stew aside. “That’s not really an answer. What’s the matter, you don’t trust me?” He grinned at Etho, crookedly.

Etho’s chest clenched in response.

Skizz had answered Etho’s question without hesitation. Bad things happening to the people I love. Etho’s had turned to look at Bdubs before he had even realized it. Only to find Bdubs already looking back at him, gaze warm and certain.

Bad things happening to the people I love, Skizz had answered, full of assurance, raw with honesty. Etho couldn’t imagine doing the same. He was never sure of things, and even when he tried to speak the truth it came out of his mouth feeling like a lie.

Bad things happening to the people I love. Etho had handed Bdubs the ender pearl, his hands shaking, so desperate he felt like his heart would shudder out of his body.

Bad things happening to the people I love.

Etho had never been good at saying how he felt.

Etho placed his bowl on the floor and stood. There was a blanket folded on one of the chests, rough-woven and full of holes. It was the best they had been able to scrape together, here in this remote, short-lived server.

Etho unfolded the blanket and shook it out. When he turned back, Bdubs was watching him curiously, but without any sort of expectation. Without judgement.

Etho swallowed. He leaned towards Bdubs and draped the blanket over his shoulders. “You’re cold,” Etho explained.

“A little,” Bdubs admitted, voice thick.

Etho sat on the bed, positioned himself so Bdubs was pressed all along his side. “You should really try eating.”

Bdubs huffed but leaned eagerly back into Etho’s warmth. “Fine.” He picked the bowl back up and tried another bite. “Wish I could taste it, though.”

“It’s good,” Etho assured.

Bdubs wiggled against him. “Of course it is! All due to my fantastic cooking prowess.”

Etho wrapped an arm around Bdubs, pressed his face to Bdubs’ hair. Bdubs still smelled of home— of sunbaked earth, of moss, of long drowsy evenings full of laughter. His fragile little flower, sick and shivering but still brimming with life.

Etho wasn’t good at saying how he felt, but maybe he should start trying more. For Bdubs.

“Skizz’s answer,” Etho tried. “It’s the same as mine.”

It wasn’t much, but Bdubs still turned in his arms, looked up at him with a beatific smile stretching across his lovely face. “No wonder you were shaking like a leaf in the nether!” he crowed.

Etho willed down the redness in his face. “I wasn’t shaking,” he argued.

Bdubs chortled, returning to his stew. “No, no, certainly not. Not the great Etho! Well, you passed the test. You are an honest and true ally!”

“And you?” Etho prodded. “What are you most afraid of, Bdubs?”

It wasn’t a question that Etho needed an answer too. He already trusted Bdubs too much. Illogically so.

“Me? Oh, definitely endermen.” Bdubs answered, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“You—oh?” Etho processed, then burst into surprised laughter.

“Wha’?” Bdubs mumbled, mouth full. He swallowed. “Why— Don’t laugh! I’m serious! One wrong look and they’ll kill you in two, three hits easy!”

Etho laughed harder, pulled Bdubs closer to him. “You’re not afraid for me at all?”

“No, of course not!” Bdubs grumbled. “With your skills? You’d cut through all these guys no problem.”

Etho wanted to kiss the pout off Bdubs’ lips. He also didn’t want to get sick. He settled for pressing his lips against Bdubs’ flushed forehead. “I appreciate your faith in me,” he murmured, pulling back.

“Yeah, well.” The corner of Bdubs’ mouth quirked up. “Thanks for keeping me alive so far.”

#ethubs #my fic #nods. they are insane

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punsmaster69 · 1 year ago

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4/NOV/20XX

[It's Sans' handwriting. It's a bit messy at points, appearing as if the book was on an unsteady surface.]

heya.

been a minute, huh?

a lotta minutes, actually.

about two day's worth of 'em.

papyrus finally ungrounded me from writing.

got my phone back, too.

on the condition that i, uh.

stop setting alarms.

won't go into detail about it.

besides, i gotta talk about 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆, right?

——

really do start a lot of these entries with 'woke up in x place, with x thing'.

....

it's another one like that.

this time, next to tori.

incredibly, i woke up before her.

the blanket over us looks like one of papyrus' spares.

haven't checked the time, but it must be early b——

[The line runs off the side of the page.]

....

hold on, i'm only able to use one hand, and this thing keeps slipping off my lap.

as much as i don't want to, gonna see if i can move my hand without waking her up.

——

[The writing returns to normal.]

ok. good now.

now that my nausea's subsided some, i realize i'm pretty hungry. but..

don't wanna move from this any more.

...

since she's still asleep.

——

"SANS, I-"

"(shh.)"

"(OH, SORRY.)"

"(I'M LEAVING TO TRAIN WITH UNDYNE. ACTUALLY, UNDYNE SAID SHE JUST WANTS TO TALK TODAY.)"

"(WHICH ISN'T TRAINING.)"

"(BESIDES THE POINT. I'M LEAVING, AND MS. TORIEL PROMISED TO TAKE CARE OF YOU TODAY!")

"(i need a babysitter?)"

"(IT'S FOR YOUR SAFETY!!)"

"(YOU WERE... STILL SORT OF WOBBLY, YESTERDAY.)"

"(DO YOU NEED ANYTHING BEFORE I LEAVE?)"

"(nope, i'm good-)"

"(actually. could you hand me what i didn't finish eating last night?)"

"(you don't need to heat it up.)"

"(BUT-)"

"(paps, you should probably go before undyne gets mad at you, too.)"

"(besides, i like cold stew.)"

"(...ALRIGHT. IF YOU SAY SO.)"

after handing me a spoon and my half-bowl of beef stew, papyrus nodded goodbye and dashed out the door.

——

.....

it's real quiet.

not used to being up as early as papyrus usually leaves for.

just me and... sleeping tori.

she must be comfortable.

our couch 𝙞𝙨 pretty nice.

——

couldn't help but wonder who's watching tori's kids, so i messaged frisk.

in response, i got a picture of grillby in tori's kitchen. he's handing flowey something.

at the bottom of the picture was frisk, blurry and way too close to the camera.

"why're you so close"

they then sent a picture of them even closer, equally blurry.

i sent a blurry close-up back.

"Why are YOU so close?"

"yeah"

"Yeah."

"cool"

"Cool."

that kid's going places.

——

"Your influence is rubbing off on me, it seems. I am usually one to be up sooner!"

tori jolted up.

"Ah! I did not mean to keep you in one place this whole time."

"not like i was going anywhere."

i wanted to lean back against her, for some reason.

...

nope.

"What is it that you do all day, when you are stuck inside like this?"

"sleep."

"...I think we have done plenty of that."

"Surely that is not all?"

"me and paps usually play games or something."

"been getting real into this puzzle one."

"do you wanna play something?"

"I am not very good at games..."

"i'll pick somethin' easy."

——

"This is turning out to be quite the house!"

"if you ignore the dirt floor."

"..And the lack of proper opening doors."

"at least we have windows."

"..holes for windows."

"Which one is your room?"

"this one."

"..You have made your walls dirt, as well."

"only the finest of materials in this house."

"Of course."

"here, i made a bed for you."

"Oh! Do we need to sleep in this one? I think we may have missed a few nights."

"nah, it's for setting your respawn point."

"...?"

"when we die, we'll be here instead of really far away."

"I see."

she stared at the bed.

"....."

"It is just the one?"

"mine's in my inventory."

"Please, place it down! Set your, 'respawn point,' in the house with me."

i placed it in the corner of my dirt room.

"....."

she moved hers into there as well.

"........"

"What? Surely you did not expect me to sleep in the living room."

"...side by side?

"The dual bed looks much more comfortable, does it not?"

"i can make you another one, if you want."

"........"

"No."

"This arrangement is good, I think."

"Space efficient!"

"....ok."

——

"Sans."

"yep?"

"Why are there holes everywhere?"

"avoiding death."

"You did not fix them."

"i'll get around to it."

"....."

"Nevermind."

"nevermind?"

"I am tempted to change our living arrangement."

"this poor dog would grow up in a broken home."

"You are its father now too?"

"you're its father?"

"Ha! Sure. Yes, I am the father."

"......"

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU EVEN DOING?"

"O-Oh! Papyrus!"

"didn't hear you come in."

"YES, WELL, YOU SEEMED QUITE OCCUPIED WITH.. WHATEVER THIS IS."

"I DIDN'T WANT TO INTERRUPT."

"I'M GOING TO GET CHANGED, AND THEN I'LL BE RIGHT BACK DOWN."

i waited until paps was fully in his room.

then i ran inside, took my bed, and placed it a space away.

tori ran her character up to me (with the default skin) and punched me in my (also-default) face.

"ow."

"It is in the game!"

"would you punch me if you could?"

"No!"

"I would do this."

and she moved her character closer, nearly face-to-face with mine.

struggling to use the hotbar, she eventually threw a flower at me.

silly, sure.

but it..

made me really happy.

....

wish it didn't.

——

"Papyrus is here to watch you now, so.."

"...going home?"

"Unfortunately."

"THANK YOU FOR KEEPING AN EYE ON HIM, MS. TORIEL."

"Of course. It was a pleasure."

"Sans, thank you for playing with me. I had a lot of fun!"

"Even if we did not actually accomplish very much."

"come by anytime you wanna play again."

——

she messaged me to ask if i ended up moving the bed back or not.

....

more space efficient like that, anyway.

#journal #undertale #papyrus #sans #toriel #sans x toriel #toriel x sans #soriel #sans and papyrus #nobody expects the minecraft chapter

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years ago

Photo

“How are ya doin’ in here, turbo?” Daryl drawled, having let himself in through the front door and come up the hall. He made his way over to where you were laid out on the couch, your broken leg propped up on a cushion.

You were pouting. It was plenty obvious as soon as he glanced at your expression.

“Oh, yer still pissed, huh?” he asked with a half-smirk.

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared up at him. “I hate this. I hate this so, so much...” Daryl laughed and the gruff sound soothed your frustration and annoyance some.

“I know,” he said, taking a seat on the coffee table. “But there ain’t nothin’ to do ‘bout it but wait and heal up. And don’t rush it. It’s yer femur, not a little scraped knee.”

You ignored him. “You went out again today, right?” He nodded, a little apprehension about where this was going.

“Mhm...” he hummed.

You sat up a little straighter. “So, tell me everything!” you insisted. “I’m so fucking bored in here I’m about to start trashing the place.”

Daryl laughed again. “Have ya eaten?”

“I ate. Tell me about today, please?”

Daryl picked up an empty glass on the table next to him and looked at the dried remains of what had been the stew he’d brought you the night before sitting in a bowl beside it. “When didya last eat?” he pressed you.

“I don’t know. Sometime today,” you said, waving him off. “What happened today?”

“Y/N—I’m gettin’ ya somethin’ to eat. How d’ya expect to get back on yer feet if ya ain’t puttin’ fuel in the tank to help rebuild yer damn bone?” He stood up and you looked up at him desperately.

“Don’t leave me without giving me details! I’ve been living vicariously off your crazy ass stories for the last month and I need another hit! Or I swear I will become even more unpleasant—”

“I ain’t sure tha’s possible,” Daryl shot over his shoulder at you with a smirk as he carried your dirty dish to the sink and refilled your water glass.

“Excuse me?!” you barked back at him, though you couldn’t help the ghost of a smile flitting over your face briefly from his teasing. “Hey—my leg is BROKEN! You’re supposed to be nice to me!”

Daryl laughed again and wandered back, setting the water down for you within reach. “I think makin’ sure ya dun starve is bein’ nice. Look—I know how much ya hate this, and I promise I will give ya all the details ya want when I come back with food. But ya gotta let me take care of ya, okay? ‘Cuz the faster ya get better, the faster you and I can go back to doin’ crazy ass shit out there together. Deal?”

You softened and nodded. All he always wanted was to make sure you were okay. “Deal.”

Prompt: “Don’t leave me without giving me details! I’ve been living vicariously off your crazy ass stories for the last month!”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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sillycyan · 2 months ago

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「 Daydreamtober 2024 」

I'm using the prompts to write, explain, draw, or just daydream more about the first events or facts that come to me when I see the word. Some things will be longer or higher quality than others, so please bear with me a lil bit. I gotta post lore somehow..

⟻ Day 4 — Feast ⟼ Word Count : 575

The sun had dipped below the horizon, small rays of sun peeking over trees and a farm. In a small shack, two cowboys scurried about, putting together something of a feast. A bigger dinner than usual, made form the odds and ends of what they’d manage to gather. Tonight, they had decided to treat themselves. The shack was fairly small, its walls beaten and withered, but warmth radiated within and they moved around, whispering around each other. A makeshift table took it’s shape as they laid a sturdy plank of wood across from a couple of random thicker books, propping it on old boxed they had lying around as well. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. The plank balanced well enough, and with a small blanket thrown across it, it was the best they got. Dane knelt down to the tables level, placing mismatched plates and cutlery on the table, while Cole messed around with getting the vegetables cooked just right, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to add his two cents. “Maybe next time we actually get some real bread, huh?” Dane said, his voice carrying a hint of a smile. "This old stuff's lookin' more like… a doorstop than dinner." Cole laughed as he stirred the pot on the stove. "Aw, come on now, it's got character. Just give it a good soak in the stew, and it'll soften right up." They’d managed to get their hands on some alcohol too, a small bottle of whiskey, not homemade this time around, that Dane uncorked with a flick of his thumb. He poured it carefully into two metal cups, and the sharp scent of it filled the room, blending with the hearty aroma of vegetables and meat. Cole finished up with the food and brought the pot over, carefully ladling some of the stew into their bowls. They sat down, cross-legged around their table. The steam rose between them, and the first few bites were taken in a comfortable silence, both cowboys savoring the warmth and fullness of it. After a while, Cole leaned back slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So, what’re we doin' tomorrow?" he asked, his voice lazily curious. Dane shrugged, taking a sip from his whiskey. "Ohh, I dunno. Thought I might head back into town, see if I can get somethin' to cover up my horse's leg. That cut’s still got me worried." Cole nodded, chewing over a piece of carrot. "Yeah, alright. I'll come along. Maybe see if we can't get somethin' resembling an actual table while we’re at it." He smirked, tapping the edge of the plank with his knuckles. "As much as I love this work of art, it's time we upgraded." Dane chuckled, a bit of amusement in his eyes. "What's wrong with a table that doubles as a balancing act, huh? Keeps us on our toes." Cole reached for the bread. "I'd rather keep my toes without a plank falling on 'em, thank you very much." They continued eating, exchanging small jokes and bits of laughter between spoonfuls of stew and sips of whiskey. The shack was simple, possessions of few , but life flourished in such a small space. Drawn from the hearty meal they shared, the laughter that filled the gaps between sentences, and the intimacy of the two of them sitting next to each other. It wasn't much by some standards, but it was home.

#daydreamtober2024 #daydreamtober #(a nice hearty dinner)#(ALSO FINALLY DROPPED BOTH OF THE COWBOYS NAMES AHHA)#(I am NOT writing that 3rd chapter LMAOO but I'll post this)#Dale !!#Cole !!#cyanismaddagain

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neokyanyoa · 2 years ago

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"Y'know, after that whole fiasco with the War Cult, I feel like there's gotta be some middleground between 'The Fallen are here to eat our babies' and 'They've done nothing wrong ever'. Now, I know that this ain't a hot topic as of late, but just 'cause ol' Lakshmi bought the farm don't mean the unrest went away overnight. Somethin's gotta be said, or else we're all just gonna be stewing in it 'til it all boils over again. "Now first and foremost, by all means, our friends down in House Light are good folk doin' their best, and anyone willing to throw their lot in with em should get a fair shot to do just that. This blood feud we've been killin' each other over for centuries ain't gonna end 'til someone gives, and if they're lookin' to call it quits on their end, I say we owe it to 'em to hand out that olive branch. "But, the one thing that I think has gotten folks the most riled up, is the rhetoric that, as they say, we're just as much monsters to them as they are to us. That's the part I never bought. Much as I loathe to say it, their kind threw the first punch. They can spin all the horror stories 'bout Guardians and guilt poor ol' Saint all they want, but that don't change the fact that if they got their first choice of how this would all go down, we wouldn't be here havin' this chat. "Now that's not to say I don't buy their changed man play here, not at all. Like I said, someone's gotta give first. But we still need more from 'em than flowery words, backhanded apologies, excuses, and the occasional extra gun on Guardian ops. What that'll look like, I wouldn't know, and it ain't my place to speculate what they owe us either. But, all I can say, is that if we're gonna make this peace work, that's somethin' we're all gonna have to sort out soon as those triangular menaces ain't loomin' overhead."

#destiny 2 #microfiction #eliksni #house light #smg #blood feud

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umbralsound-xiv · 1 year ago

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Levity.

Folk've gotta eat, even those out on th'warpath. Won' be dippin' m'hands into it unless Bexy says, but i figure th'least i can do is make sure she's got somethin' t'eat when she gets back each sun.

As was becoming his wont, Mattisaux helps himself to the overgrown abode, exhaling at length to the safety of shelter and away from the watchful gaze of the Shroud. The dim shading squinted his eyes which soon darted side to side for anyone, or anything, of interest. "You are here, Bexy?"

Zhav Karahli flicks an ear at the sound of the door, head turning almost right the way around before the rest of her body follows. A woman whose exposed flesh was more scar than skin in places offers a toothy grin, a cookpot of stew simmering away behind her in the flour-laden chaos of the counter. Notably, Zhav's axe remains propped up not far from Mattisaux's boot. "Nah, she ain'. Not been back 'ome yet this sun, but she promises she will." Zhav tilts her head. "Mattisaux, aye?"

Around the time he finished asking his question did he spy a figure by the stove and her mouth thereafter. Rather than responding straightaway, he opted to raise a brow in mild contempt, looking over her scar-laden body, and walked the rest of the way inside to unload a bag he was carrying. "She has told you about me, I assume?" His tone grated with annoyance. "To think I am that much to warn others about."

Zhav Karahli: "Yeah? I mean, y'wouldn't've made it to th'front door if someone ain' know 'bout you. Tall an' broody lookin', Elezen fella, usually dressed dark, sword an' shield. She ain' -warn- me, she told me." She flashes another grin. "Zhav, Warmaiden've Clan Karahli. S'nice t'meetcha."

Again, Mattisaux squinted. "What?" His brow twitched in a pause while he stared at the foreign woman. "Your name is Zhav Warmaiden… Ah, right. That Karahli clan she nearly died for." His eyes scrolled up and down Zhav's frame with more purpose. "-You- are a warmaiden?"

What's that fuckin' look for? 'eard he were a grumpy bastard, but ain' know what t'expect besides. Seems like th'proper sort, 'ow i speak seemin' t'catch 'im off guard. Eh, he can learn.

Zhav Karahli: "Aye? What, you expectin' some big ol' burly Roegadyn're somethin'?" Zhav, despite her shorter stature, is a good deal more stocky than many other Miqo'te. "Aye. An' she did. Were 'er idea. We're grateful still." A tilt of her head perks the only brow visible. "Y'hungry?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "No, I am not hungry." After another sigh, he moved over to the lofty couch at the opposite of where Zhav stood to rest himself. "And with a mouth like yours, you may as well as be the worst Sea Wolf I have encountered."

Zhav Karahli: "Y'sure? Plenty t'go aroun'." Zhav reaches behind her to grab a bowl of something decidedly floury, mixing something with her hands. "Born in th'Shroud. Deep Shroud, ain' see folk much out've it, least 'til recent. S'kinda a… Gyr Abanian… Shroudy… Muddle. Can talk slower 'f it 'elps ya!" She laughs, seeming to find some amusement in the offer.

A quiet groan whined his throat, pushing a corner of his mouth in a slight frown. "Very kind of you to offer. When do you suspect she will return? Or are you here to lie in her place? If she is willing to die for you and your lot, then we both know how careless she is when it comes to protecting people, or in this case hunting them or something ridiculous."

Zhav Karahli: "Ain' know. S'usually after midnight. Been up since a couple bells since, huntin' t'cook somethin' proper f'when she came back. An' i ain' gonna lie." A small frown brings about the truth of her words. "Bexy ain' one t'lie t'folk, direct're otherwise. An' she ain' careless. Ain' say i'd do what she did, given th'reversed roles. But she's survived this lon', aye? She knows what she's doin'. Why y'got so little faith?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "Gods," he breathed not too quietly and tossed a lax hand as he spoke. "I do not intend to confide to some stranger though she -is- reckless and hardly gives a second thought to her wellbeing. She keeps such loutish company, I almost feel worse for her."

Zhav Karahli: "…Reckless an' careless're differen'. Careless means y'ain' give a shite. Reckless… Aye, yeah. She's plenty reckless. S'part've 'er charm, though, an' i reckon folk find it fetchin' -- M'self included, 'mongst other things." Zhav winks. Though, it's hard to tell, considering she only has one eye. "Loutish! Pff. Well, maybe if y'ain' sat there like someone'd pissed in y'porridge, it might be a bit nicer, aye?" She snorts a laugh, picking up a sliver of dough and setting the bowl behind her.

Face like that, y'think i'd insulted him an' 'is mother. Know he's Ishgardian, but y'think it'd kill 'em t'smile. Mist ain' quite as bad, an' Laurent's a delight. Wonder what crawled up his ass an' died?

Mattisaux Baschet: "Attractive, truly." Mattisaux made an effort to sound as flat as he could muster with an expression to match. "Reckless and careless are the same when it comes to her. She is uncaring of her wellbeing to the point where she would throw herself into a fire if it meant saving her shambled family and seeing how you are, I fear I may have learned where she got that side of her from, if you are so close. There is no charm to it, only frustration."

Zhav Karahli: "Then, how'd you become so close t'her, huh? Close 'nough t'know where 'er house is. An' carry 'er back." Zhav picks up a spoon, and slathers a glob of honey into the middle of the dough, folding it in on itself and setting it onto a baking sheet, repeating the process as she speaks. "…She jus' cares more 'bout folk than most. What's a few scars an' scrapes if it keeps everyone else safe?"

The extra detail Zhav casually mentioned rose a brow of his, breathing in deeply just to shallow it out. "Yes, what is a few more scars, a missing leg, a gouged eye, and so on? So what if she gets cleaves or someone caves her chest in so she dies slowly, painfully without anyone to see her last? Gods, all of you are mad. Especially the Miqo'te of this group." He lifted his hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose, digging into his eyes.

Mattisaux Baschet: "She wormed her way into my life and now I am subject to cretins like you and choice others."

You burst out laughing at Mattisaux Baschet.

Zhav Karahli snorts another laugh. "Oh? An' what, that armor's jus' for show, yeah? Y'wear it for decoration, or you actually bother usin' it? Reckon you do, if y'any help t'Bexy. Ain' you got folk you'd lay down y'life for?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "I see she only told you the barest minimum about who I am. My mistake in thinking you were close in the first place; it seems like she would lay down her life for just about anyone that smiles and gives her the time of day." Huffing slightly, he continued on. "I was a soldier from Ishgard, if you have ever heard of such a thing living in these backwards lands speaking your unintelligible language. My entire life was devoted to sacrificing myself."

Zhav Karahli: "Aye, then y'know too well. Sacrificin' y'self fer those y'hold close. Ain' much differen' t'bein' a Warmaiden in some regards. I protect m'people. S'my duty, alon' with all th'rest've it that it carries. An' it ain' like she gave me a detailed rundown, aye? Not like she an' i've spoken much recent, with 'er bein'… Busy, an' all. Our accord goes some ways back. A deal first, on 'er part. We became friends later."

Mattisaux Baschet: "Your title of Warmaiden is for protecting? It makes you sound as bloodthirsty as you look, though as savage as I expect anyroad." As he settled into the sofa while his temper quietly simmered, he tried to dispel some of it by looking elsewhere in the shaded space. "I hardly care how exactly you two met though it comes as no surprise that she might chase another tribe that I can assume is not her own."

Zhav Karahli: "…Warmaiden. Protectin', aye, when it comes t'it. But ain' even half've, even most've what i do. Every kit born into th'Clan gets a weapon, an' most're trained by me. All weapons? Maintained by me. Armour too, forged by m'own hands if needs be. Huntin' an' cookin' sometimes too, but that's mostly fer fun. Y'teach 'em t'protect 'emselves. An' protect 'em in their stead when they can't." Each of the honey filled pastries are set on the tray, which is thrust with a short shove atop the flames of the fire, which Zhav immediately retreats from with a wary look. She opts to prop herself on the edge of the table, looking over Mattisaux with her single eye. "Ain' enjoy killin' much… Ain' all that bloodthirsty, if'm honest. But good t'know th'look's still there." Only half a grin is given to that, a pointed tooth on black-painted lips. "She owed us. We ain' never ask f'nothin'. But she 'elped us out've somethin' rough. We watch 'er home, her folk when we can, in return. S'the least we can do."

Mattisaux's face did not get any more joyful the closer she came to him, though with her only a few fulms awayand less in the dark, he found he could settle back into the cushion a bit easier. "What did you do for her to have her owe you? Or was it you and everyone else in your overly dependent tribe?"

Ain' know how much Bexy told folk. Ain' really a secret're nothin', just figure it ain' really come up in conversation, aye?

Zhav Karahli: "-Clan-. We ain' Seekers. An' you call me th'clueless one." Zhav rolled an eye, shaking her head. "Y'know she risked 'erself f'us. I wager if y'here, y'know plenty 'bout Bexy. Coeurl an' all. Some folk at th'Clan still call 'er it, but we're doin' our best t'wean it out. Good ways back, we Karahli brokered information, aye? Talkin' cycles ago. 'pproached by a woman Bexy'd scorned some time're other. Figured we'd want 'er dead, like most've th'folk in th'Shroud at th'time; ain' my decision, were m'Matriarch's back then. But anyways. We worked with 'er t'bring th'Coeurl down, right up until this woman started t'get real impatient 'bout shite. Did a few thin's she shouldn', an' eventually we decided t'pull our help, figurin' it were better if th'whole fuckin' thing sorted itself out without our involvement. Bexy were well into 'er killin' by then, an' we weren' lookin' t'make ourselves victims." Zhav finally comes to some sort of pause, and a rare consideration for her words. "We suffered fer it. Weren't too lon' before Bexy learned that we picked 'er side over Lividine's that she decided t'help. We could've killed 'er, if we wanted to, back then. But it ain' seem right, after learnin' th'circumstances."

Mattisaux Baschet: "For someone so unstudied, you are quite particular with words that mean the same thing." After saying his piece, he listened to her story patiently and even waited a few moments to wait if there was more. Then he gestured to Zhav. "This Lividine wanted Bexy dead so she commissioned a -tribe- to do her bidding just for you lot to turn on the woman? And Bexy -trusts- you?" Then a sigh slipped free. "She trusts -me-, I suppose this should not surprise me as much."

Zhav Karahli: "Lividine wanted Bexy dead, aye. Framed 'er, did a stint in a Gridanian Gaol f'it. Ain' expect you t'know how us Keepers an' Duskwight 'ad it back then, but yeah. When we ain' get results as fast as she wanted, y'know, because we didn' want t'get ourselves fuckin' killed, she made a show've hurtin' one've us t'give us some encouragement. Y'ain' hurt our folk. Not f'nothin', unless y'got a fuckin' deathwish. S'somethin' me an' Bexy can agree on, yeah? T'an extent, anyway. But since trackin' 'er down an' doin' 'er in were provin' t'be way more dangerous than thought, -an'- she weren' nothin' like th'Coeurl we knew, aye, yeah, we turned on Lividine. Were some cycles between that an' us talkin' now, an' a lot've trust t'be built. She ain' trust all that easy." Zhav's head tilts up a little. "What'd you do t'get hers?"

A soft hum of understanding lifted his head in a single, slow nod. That was until her last comment. "Mayhap those years back then her requirements for trust was more rigid, however in these days, they may as well be as loose as a whore in Ul'dah… if you have ever heard of that city anyroad. I was simply part of her company; I could not begin to tell you the reason why she continues to place her trust in someone like myself. She is mad these days, I swear."

Guy don' have a super high opinion've 'emself. Huh. Wonder what all that's 'bout. Used t'be part've th'company, but ain' anymore. ...Maybe i'll ask 'er, one sun.

Zhav Karahli: "I ain' fuckin' stupid, y'know? I know where Ul'dah is, an' Ishgard, an' you ain' th'only Ishgardian i met." Her brow lofts, unimpressed. "I reckon it's more'n that. I spent plenty've time at that company house, yeah? S'a good place t'teach repairwork an' th'like t'my apprentice. She's plenty nice t'folk. But none know where she lives, save a few. An' folk know t'keep there hands from 'er. An' 'ere you are, pickin' 'er up like a sack've popotoes. She's probably mad in places, aye. Gettin' 'er sister taken ain' done 'er no favors. I train Sayuri th'suns she ain' train wit' Bexy." Zhav nudges her head in the direction of the axe at the door. "…Ain' born sisters, 'course. But closer'n some born, f'sure."

Zhav Karahli: "Hopefully she'll stop bein' all…" Zhav gestures vaguely with a hand. "…This, when she's home."

Mattisaux Baschet: "And yet you and I know of this place, a scalekin, and a few others I have already seen. It is only a matter of time before this space is even more of a second company home." He rolled both his eyes at her, because he could. "I also hardly believe that my carrying her home means as much as you are making it out to be. She was injured and unreasonably exhausted, she -needed- the help. This entire situation all because her sister was baited into her captors." He shook his head slowly. "That girl will never stop with how she is. She will be relieved, perhaps beyond belief, but I suspect she will be on pins and needles with paranoia. Mayhap she will bite someone's head off to which I would not mind seeing if that head is not mine. I would like to see why Sayuri though. She is a soft little thing, sure, and they both share ice, but why else?"

Zhav Karahli: "Ain' that many folk know. An' i've sat in a tree countin' 'em." Zhav wanders back to the oven, and after wrapping her hands in a towel, drags the tray up and onto the counter to cool. "Y'probably right. I ain' imagine Bexy'll die away from a battlefield're somethin'. She ain' never spoke've old age, an' i reckon she knows. It'll take plenty t'kill 'er, but somethin' will, one sun… Jus' 'ope no time soon. Not before me, anyhow. Ain' know why Sayuri. Ain' as soft as you say. Vicious little bugger when she fights, an' that's jus' sparrin' wit' Zihre. Maybe s'jus' the whole… Companionship? I ain' know. There's somethin' there i ain' understand m'self, but it's clear she's important." Zhav finally settles on moving to the cabinet. "Drink?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "You people keep saying that, it is almost as if you truly wish for her to drop before your eyes…" The conversation soured his glower over Zhav. "You lot also mention how dangerous she is and that she could claw a man's face clean off. Here I thought I enjoy casually exaggerating things, instead I am surrounded by some drama troupe." However, to the sound of suspected liquor, he quieted the edge of his tone. "What does she have? Wine?"

Zhav Karahli: "I ain' wanna be there for th'fallout when she does. I ain' want 'er dead. But i ain' stupid. She won' slow down, won' stop. Always puttin' 'erself in harms way f'the folk she cares about, an' she cares about a lot've folk. Ain' much good wit' numbers, but it ain' take a genius t'figure out where that path goes, aye? M'walkin' it m'self, maybe a bit slower'n she does." Zhav looks over the shelf, eye squinting at the bottles in text far too intricate for her to read. "Ain' see no wine. Somethin' amber though. Sorry if it 'ffends y'delicate Ishgardian sensibilities." Zhav picks up two entire bottles of what appear to be various kinds of spirit, offering one to Mattisaux on her return. "Y'know she's strong. Y'just worried 'bout what happens when that strength fails, aye?" Her words were spoken with some kind of concern, brow quietly lofted.

The small comment about his tastes earned a flat line from his mouth, choosing to ignore it and move on. "She is not strong. She is helpless in more ways than one. The girl merely pretends to keep herself together, and even more so because her sister is on the line." Seeing a full bottle given to him without a second thought, he naturally accepted the offer and worked on popping it open. "And you hardly look like you are working on your grave slowly, if that was even what spit out of your mouth. Those scars rival mine; were you the only one battling in your tribe or some nonsense?"

Zhav Karahli: "She's plenty strong. If y'can't see it, y'more blind'n i am. How'd you think 'er helpless? Y'think she'd have gotten this far?" Zhav opts to kick back onto the small wooden stump, nudging the lantern aside to rest against the pillar. "I've been fightin' since i could walk! Warmaiden since fourteen, an' been in plenty've fights besides. Plenty've us fight. Got a whole Warband. I'm jus'… Th'oldest one there is."

Mattisaux Baschet: "Were you not listening? She can hardly help herself outside of a fight. Ripping at people's throats and snacking on their insides is not what makes a person strong. For appearance, perhaps, though not truly." Only after he took a healthy swig did he continue his line of thought. "She merely enjoys it; the rush of hurting and ending someone. Enjoying your hobby is not being strong, it is just having fun. The only difference now is she has the perfect excuse for it. As for you and your vicious appearance, and axe, you look like the aftermath of an army. Both a won and lost one. Are there others as beaten as you are?"

Each scar's a mark've pride. Th'dead don' scar. Means y've fought f'somethin', won somethin', protected somethin', even if y'ain' managed t'win.

Zhav Karahli: "Aye. I were listenin'." Zhav picks up the bottle, bites out the cork to drop in her hand, and takes a long swig. "Cryin' an' screamin' an' comin' apart at the seams ain' weakness. She's fuckin' scared, an' anyone who gave half a damn 'bout losin' someone'd be th'same in their own way. But she ain' stopped. She's dusted 'erself off in some fashion, an' she's keepin' goin', despite th'odds an' everythin' else stacked agains' her. Sometimes strength's stupid, an' sometimes it's smart, an' i ain' sure i got th'smarts or knowledge've th'situation t'know which it is. But she's plenty strong." Another chug of liquor. "…Eh, most aren' so roughed up as me. But i'm th'Warmaiden, aye? I lead th'charge. Ain' put none of m'Warband in a battle i ain' a part of, unless i ain' got a choice."

Mattisaux Baschet: "In their own way. Right…" Zhav's words hung in the air for a bit, ringing in his ears. In a few more gulps of the spirit, he huffed louder than needed. "You are a Keeper, was it? What battles do you lot find yourselves in? Territorial feuds? Relationship spats? Other petty disagreements that grow larger as time goes on?"

Zhav Karahli: "Aye. Keeper. Good t'know you're listenin'." She gives a pointed grin, nodding to his question. "Territory, at least way back. We were contestin' another Clan fer a river at one point. Lon' and bloody war, plenty've battles. Th'Warmaiden that came 'fore me died there, an' s'where i took th'mantle almos'… Jus' shy've thirty cycles ago. At one point, it were th'Garleans. We're in the East Shroud, Aye? Aye. You ain' stupid. You know what direction they came. Plenty've other shite besides."

He helped himself to his drink, reflexively matching her each time she took a swig. "You fought the empire? Now you sound far too stubborn to die like someone else I know. Is that why half your face is bandaged? And are you normally this open to strangers? Putting aside the fact that you have stalked me on occasion, of course."

I ain' got no reason t'hide anythin' from anyone. 'm asked a question, why shouldn' i respond, if folk're curious?

Zhav Karahli takes another drink, a short wiggle of her ears in response. "Aye? What else were i gonna do, jus' let 'em stomp over us? Nah. Fuck that, an' fuck th'lot've 'em. We held our own, despite our numbers. An' i ain' that stubborn, 'm jus' good. I'll die when'm good an' ready, an' i sure as shite ain' ready yet." She takes another drink almost immediately afterwards. "An' no. We 'ad a civil war some bit ago. S'what Bexy 'elped us out of. Delicate situation. Lost m'eye, but not m'life, protectin' m'Matriarch." Her shoulders pluck into a roll. "Ain' got nothin' t'hide. An' i ain' stalked y'. Jus' noted y'passin' through, an' y'on th'list've folk not t'bother if y'headin' here."

Mattisaux groaned a hum, dangling his drink to and fro while he listened. "I must ask: are you a Coeurlclaw? You do not quite have the look about you and yet your mannerisms are much to be desired. Unless this is what all Shroud Miqo'te are like. All the tribe-ridden ones perhaps."

Zhav Karahli: "Hah! Like fuck i am! I got fuckin' -morals- f'one! What kind've flimsy fleabags that call 'emselves Keepers let 'emselves be run by some stuck-up bastard who calls 'imself King? Pff. Nah, like fuck. Ain' 'ave time f'fancy mannerisms, Ishgard-boy. Whaddaya want me t'do? Stick a dress on an' pull a courtsey?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "With those gnashes and engravings over your skin, the dress would do nothing for you, dear. After the courtsey, I would expect something foul to slip out of your mouth. At least knowing that you are indeed not one of them, I do not have to wonder if I might find you at the end of my blade in the future. I would rather not have a talk with that Bexy over something like that."

Zhav Karahli: "If they ain' keep t'their bit've th'Shroud, we might fin' ourselves on th'same end of th'weapon." She flashes a small grin, which she drowns with more liquor. "Ain' made fer a dress, s'why." A lop sided grin curls onto her lips. "…Bexy looks real good in a dress…" Zhav mumbles, casting her glance away to mutter to herself. "…Even better without it, i reckon…"

Through the wash of the liquor, her accent struggled to decipher itself through his ears. He squinted even harder at Zhav and downed a bit more of the bottle as if that might help. "Any girl can dress well, even in some dresses, I am certain…" He examined her briefly. "Perhaps. That aside, Bexy is the type to take her appearance seriously. Always with makeup, her hair in neat waves, clothes hardly ever disheveled. It was why it was so jarring to see her otherwise, so much in disarray that she needed to be carried home." He quickly knit his brow. "I see you wish to make it plain how little shame you have."

Eh. Maybe he ain' know th'side've her that i know so well. Met 'er as th'Coeurl, who were kinda both. Always dressed well. Reckon s'why 'er stories scared folk more'n those 'bout monsters. Cause she existed, an' she were real. She ain' look like a monster. ...Not usually, anyhow. Seen it once.

Zhav Karahli: "What's th'shame in it? She -knows-! It ain' a secret! Menphina forbid i got a -preference!-" Despite drinking, Zhav doesn't seem anywhere near tipsy; though around a third of a bottle is gone. She just is this way, unfortunately. "Oh -aye-… She always dresses well. Only ever saw 'er in combat leathers f'moons when we firs' met… An' then Mhira called a meetin', an' she showed up all casual-like, an' m'thoughts've never been th'same since." Zhav didn't seem even slightly ashamed for the admission she was all too willing to share. "Better'n 'er bein' over-vain, mind. I think 'er always bein' so proper takes th'edge off 'er more frightenin' qualities… An' makes 'em worse, when y'learn. I ain' care though."

Mattisaux Baschet: "By the gods…" He could not stop from shaking his head. "You fantasize about her in front of me, now I fear you might drop your shorts to satisfy your cravings. Were you any other woman, I would not dream of stopping you though I can only imagine how… you might be. I must remind you that her type lies with the feeble, fairytale-wishing kind of man. One who is soft without a taste for battle."

Zhav Karahli exclaims a laugh, which she fights in aid of more drink. "Aye, i know. Tall an' handsome an' all romantic-like, and she ain' into women. But a woman can -dream-." Her gaze levels almost threateningly on Mattisaux. "An' i -will-." It was a promise. "I reckon all th'dressin' up will go back t'normal when everythin's… Resolved. Ain' heard too much since. But she's still out lookin' every sun. Ain' seen 'er hurt though."

Mattisaux, for once, was at a loss for words. He sat in silence before he managed to pick himself up for the couch and fish through the bag he placed there. Unfortunately, it was next to Zhav. From it, he plucked a few more potions, vivid orange and violet ones for concentrated healing, and a paper package of a rolanberry pastry. "You -must- have a filter when you speak, woman. Even I have one despite my effects to shake it off. It is hardly attractive for a woman, most especially if you are looking to attract other -women-."

...Menphina's tits, he's highly strung. 'Course, i ain' serious 'bout even half've this, but it's fun t'wind 'em up, not that 'e takes all that much windin'.

Zhav Karahli: "Oh aye, an' you'd know, would you?" An inquisitory brow is lofted, as she snorts another laugh, flashing the same toothy grin. "I ain' had no difficulty, ain' i ain' needin' your advice. No amout've fancy talkin's gonna turn 'er t'me, an' i ain' wanna soun' like i've eaten a dictionary're somethin'." Sufficiently amused, Zhav sits a little more upright, putting the cork in the bottle. "Y'headin' out?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "You sound like you have been biting your tongue everytime you open your mouth, much less a dictionary. Yes, I am heading out. Tell her I will stop by again but much later as I could only suffer you for so long. Never have I ever met a woman with a loose mouth like yours. Quite disgusting, to say the least." After placing the few items on the stump, he made way for the door. "You have given me more insight on the company our frostbitten girl keeps though I do so pray you are the only exception to the rule she keeps."

Zhav Karahli: "Oh!" Zhav dramatically lays a hand on her chest. "Y'sensibilities! Even more delicate'n i thought." She laughs, glancing over the set down items, and shuffles herself from the stump. "I'll make sure she gets these, aye? An' i'll tell 'er y'dropped by!"

Mattisaux Baschet: "Gods… Next time I see you here, I might just turn back around. I would rather not interrupt you enjoying yourself in the middle of her floor. Pray, behave yourself."

Zhav Karahli: "What, an' ruin a perfectly good rug?" A brow lofts, grin at her lips, but it's at least… Mostly clear that she's joking. "Oh aye. M'best behaviour." She rolls her eye, flashing him an amused grin before returning back to the stove to tend the stew.

He served as some kind've amusement at least, so 'e's got that goin' f'em. I'll tell Bexy he dropped by! Maybe she'll tell me somethin' why he's so fuckin' sour...

#Muse: [Zhav]#Chapter: [An Apprentice Appointed]#[What We Want Most]#FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog

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