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moonlitdesertdreams · 8 months ago

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Of Ghouls and Drugs

Request: "ok so I'm absolutely obsessed with that coop fic you did where reader helps him when he's injured and it's super domestic and fluffy....could you maybe do something where the roles are reversed and he helps the reader who's injured? maybe she's a little shaken up over it too and he calms her down and it's just very sweet and soft. thank you i adore your writing so much 💖" A/N: First of all, the reception of my Fallout content has been amazing. If you're one of the people who have liked/reblogged/replied/shared/saved/etc, I am eternally grateful to you. Second, thank you once again to the anon who sent this request! It's a bit of a switcharoo from Stuck Like Glue, so if you need some more Cooper content, check that out or take a peek at my Fallout Masterlist! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence Summary: Injured and scared, you can always count on your Cowboy to save the day.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(Gif Credit to @victoryrifle)

You don’t know why you’re hyperventilating.

Sure, you’d been in countless fights and been scared more times than you can remember. In the Wasteland, if you’re not scared every now and again, you’re dead. But today, cornered in a decrepit open-air shopping mall store while a hoard of feral ghouls claw at the rusty security gate, you’re frozen with fear.

It was an old clothing store, picked apart by scavengers and ravaged by time. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust, from the old checkout counter to the racks of high heels that sit untouched. Unfortunately for you, it hadn’t been a department store you ducked into where there could be some hope of escape. This one was a small boutique-type outlet with one way in and one impassable way out. Furthermore, the roll-down security door currently saving your life had been pure luck on your part. The lever for it was broken off and mounted on the side of the entrance; you’d only found it after the damn thing had torn your upper arm to shreds in your haste to get away.

And now you’re ducked behind the checkout counter, old patterned men’s tie wrapped tightly around your bicep in a poor excuse of a tourniquet. You were out of ammo, banking on the security gate holding until the ghouls got bored or forgot about you. But there was something about today, about how they’d come charging from the darkness the second Cooper had left to turn in your latest bounty, that terrified you. Feral ghouls were shells of people with no logic or sense left in them, but the attack had felt calculated, planned. You argued with yourself, knowing they had basic instinct and probably just singled you out after another of their kind left.

Then again, maybe you’re conflating your fear of Cooper becoming one of them one day with the looming fear of death.

Unable to do anything about it, you sit behind the counter and shake. Your breath comes in quick punches, inhales cutting off the exhales and vice versa. The iron smell of your own blood is overwhelming. Despite the tourniquet, warm liquid leaks down your arm and drips into a thick crimson puddle beneath you. Your backpack, full of stimpaks and every chem known to man, is abandoned just outside the gate. The damn thing had been torn away when you’d got caught on the jagged lever, beyond your reach and unable to be saved.

The ghouls wail and groan while clawing at the gate, the sound of rattling metal echoing around the store’s walls. It’s deafening to the point where you cover your ears, accepting the fact that you’re screwed either way. Blood loss or ghoul attack, it doesn’t matter. Cooper’s long gone towards the last town, and you’re cursing the apparently lackluster job the two of you did making sure your camp was secure.

“Take a look around.” He’d told you, “Getch’yu some new clothes if you need ‘em.”

Cooper’s voice and kiss goodbye lingers in your thoughts as you hold your hands over your ears. It’s a more pleasant thought than the ghouls outside. Your ghoul always keeps you safe.

“Darlin’.”

You almost smile to yourself, probably delusional from blood loss.

“Hey!”

Your name slipping out of Cooper’s mouth dances across your foggy mind.

“Goddamn it woman, open your eyes.”

Something shakes your whole body, and your eyes snap open.

At first it’s too dark for you to recognize any solid features, and you scramble away. The missing nose and scarred flesh blend together in your mind. You swing your injured arm in blind panic, which has the tourniquet breaking loose and bright arterial blood spattering the floor.

But you hear a voice calling through the haze. Soft and slow, like it’s calling to a wounded animal. “Ay, ay ay. Calm down now, sweetheart.”

You squint through the darkness, fighting dizziness. A familiar silhouette makes itself apparent.

“Cooper?”

His face, weathered by radiation and pain, is usually twisted into a dramatic scowl. But right now it’s concerned, brow furrowed into worry that you’d never seen. The sounds of ghouls and impending doom have vanished.

“It’s me, babydoll.” He almost coos at you, reaching out a hand. “C’mere.”

Your emotions rage, and tears burn at your eyes. You reach out a hand and brush the one he’s holding out, but your fingertips barely catch on the seam of his gloves. You squeeze to make sure he’s real. He wraps strong fingers around your wrist and pulls you in.

It’s easy to give in as his familiar scent and feel washes over you. Gunpowder and smoke are the main notes, but you catch the leather of his duster and the unavoidable grime provided by the Wasteland. The tears flow easily out the corner of your eyes and drip down your cheek.

“I-I don’t know where they came from.” You clutch at his coat, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Cooper is still moving despite you being all but wrapped around him where he’s knelt down. You feel his hands near your injured arm and instinctively cower.

“Came from somewhere in that back parking lot, it looks like.” Cooper grits in his usual gruff tone, “Must’a got ‘em goin’ when they heard us. Waited ‘til you were alone.”

You sniffle pathetically into his coat, and it morphs into a strangled cry as he wraps the tie back around your arm. His other hand holds a broken piece of wood that he uses to knot into the fabric and twist.

“Ah! Fucking hell, Coop!” Your protest is little more than a whine as your arm starts to go numb.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs, tipping his head back so he’s able to look in your eyes. “Don’t want ya to bleed out here.”

You hold his gaze for a moment. “Why’d you come back?”

He helps you stand, giving you a moment to lean back against the counter and acclimate to the dizziness. Your eyes hold steady on him, watching lashless eyelids blink above gaunt cheeks.

“Vials.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders and the other behind your knees and lifts you up, “I wanted to have enough in case I got caught up.”

The slow cadence of Cooper’s walk almost lulls you into closing your eyes and he trudges silently to the shop’s entrance. You see gore splattered on the walls and floor, headless ghouls lying motionless at his feet. The top handle of your backpack is sticking out of the mess, and Cooper snatches it up.

He walks for some distance, away from the pile of dispatched ghouls. He doesn’t stop until you come up on a store a ways away, advertising furniture and televisions. It seemed relatively untouched considering an atomic war and a two-hundred year wait. The Ghoul moves near the door, and you hear him clanking about with the lock. It takes a few tries and muttered curses, but Cooper jimmies it enough so he can get a toe nudged in the door. You attempt to help by grabbing the door, but he moves your hand back to his shoulder and pushes in on his own.

Cooper sets you gently on a shockingly clean and padded couch. The Ghoul is quiet, but gets to work cleaning the long gash in your arm. He gives you his inhaler, but there’s a strange canister clicked into the mechanism rather than his vial. You take a huff, and gag at the strong taste.

“H-Holy Shit.” You cough, and it almost distracts you from the pain of a stimpak being stabbed into your wound. “What is that?”

Cooper unties the tourniquet when he’s satisfied, and sets the stimpak off to the side. “Med-X. Inhalin' it works faster.”

You nod and huff on his inhaler again. The Med-X is potent as all hell, and it feels like it’s shooting straight to your brain. You’re more willing, desperate for more as the effects set in. Cooper settles himself on the cushions beside you, watching carefully and taking away the inhaler before you overdose yourself.

“I’m sorry for bein’ stupid.” You murmur. “I shoulda ran anywhere but there.”

Cooper leans in, ungloved hand cupping the side of your neck and tilting back. “Never apologize for survivin’, sugar.”

The drugs swirling about in your brain make it hard to form normal sentences. “I wouldn’t have without you… I hurt my arm and lost my cool.”

He tries to talk, but you shush him.

“I couldn’t quit thinkin’ about those ghouls… about you.”

Cooper sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you in close and shushes the soft cries that creep up your throat, fueled by a drug-induced haze.

“Y’know… There’s always somethin’ that’s gonna make us lose it.” Cooper drums his fingers on your forearms. “No matter how tough we might be.”

You feel his lips in your hair and lean into it. “Guess I gotta trust that, ‘cause you’re pretty tough.”

Unbeknownst to you, your words are already comically slurred. Cooper chuckles into the bird’s nest on your head.

“Feelin’ that Med-X, honey?”

You swear to god, it’s gotta be that drawl that’s honey, not the drugs.

“Jus-Just a little.” You slump further into his side, head dropping onto his chest. He uses the tip of his boot to drag a nearby footrest closer and prop his feet up.

“Good. Time for a nap.” Cooper tilts his hat down over his eyes.

You hum, unable to argue. A nap sounds rather splendid, especially with the amount of drugs circulating your body. You glance up just as the Ghouls huffs down the rest of the Med-X himself.

“Coop!” You try to chastise him, but it comes out as more of a laugh. “That’s not safe. You don’t need that right now.”

The Ghoul grumbles something that sure sounds like ‘goody two-shoes’, but reigns in the hostility,

“Sure I do.” His hand rubs up and down your arm before finding its way to your waist. “I’m an old fuckin’ man. Joint pain.”

“Joint pain, schmoint pain.” You mock, eyes falling shut and staying that way. “Fuckin’ old man.”

Cooper actually chuffs at your remark and ducks to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s unexpected and sweet to feel such affection from him, and combines with the euphoric feeling of opioids pulsing through your brain.

“Go to bed, darlin’. Before I knock you out myself.”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

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michaelnordeman · 7 days ago

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Dina foton är verkligen ljusglimtar i en otroligt mörk tid. Kan inte säga exakt hur, men det märks i alla fall att du verkligen tar in och lever i din fysiska miljö, och det förmedlas genom dina foton. Kanske är det ett slags andrahands-lugn och -nyfikenhet för mig att se dem. Jag är synskadad så jag ser inte vilda djur så ofta IRL, men genom dina foton får jag mer av en anknytning till vår natur. Hursomhelst, tack för denna blogg och glädjen du delar...!

Hej! Tack snälla, jag blir jätteglad över att höra om hur du upplever mina bilder och att de sprider glädje. Du har onekligen rätt i att vi lever i mörka tider. Mänsklighetens oförmåga att behandla både andra människor och djur (och den planet vi alla delar) med respekt och empati är så otroligt sorglig. Men i detta mörker får vi aldrig glömma att de flesta människor trots allt är goda och bara vill leva sina liv i fred tillsammans. Vi får hoppas att vi på något sätt tar oss igenom allt detta och att vi som har turen att leva där inget krig (för närvarande i alla fall) pågår gör allt vi kan för att hjälpa dem som inte är lika lyckligt lottade som vi. Jag tror faktiskt att närhet till naturen kan hjälpa oss att bli mer empatiska, åtminstone hoppas jag det. Och kan jag bidra med åtminstone en liten mikroskopisk droppe av empati via mina bilder så glädjer det mig något otroligt mycket. Tack än en gång och ta hand om dig!

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sassenach77yle · 2 months ago

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||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 5 EPISODE 09 ||MONSTERS AND HEROES||

#83daysofoutlander☆

He walked lightly, but his feet crunched on the needles. Fraser didn’t twitch. His eyes were closed. The blotchiness had spread to his face. Roger thought his features had a thick, congested look, lips and eyelids slightly swollen. In the wavering light, it was impossible to tell whether he was still breathing. Roger knelt and shook him, hard. “Hey! Are ye still alive?” He’d meant to say it jokingly, but the fear in his voice was apparent to his own ears. Fraser didn’t move. Then one eye cracked open. “Aye,” he muttered. “But I’m no enjoying it.” Roger didn’t leave again. He wiped Jamie’s face with a wet cloth, offered more whisky—which was refused—then sat beside the recumbent form, listening for each rasping breath. Much against his will, he found himself making plans, proceeding from one unwelcome assumption to the next. What if the worst happened? Against his will, he thought it possible; he had seen several people die who didn’t look nearly as bad as Fraser did just now. If the worst should happen, and the others not have returned, he would have to bury Jamie. He could neither carry the body nor leave it exposed; not with panthers or other animals nearby. His eye roamed uneasily over the surroundings. Rocks, trees, brush—everything looked alien, the shapes half-masked by darkness, outlines seeming to waver and change in the flickering glow, the wind moaning past like a prowling beast. There, maybe; the end of a half-fallen tree loomed jagged in the darkness, leaning at an angle. He could scrape a shallow trench, perhaps, then lever the tree and let it fall to cover the temporary grave . . . He pressed his head hard against his knees. “No!” he whispered. “Please, no!” The thought of telling Bree, telling Claire, was a physical pain, stabbing him in chest and throat. It wasn’t only them, either—what about Jem? What about Fergus and Marsali, Lizzie and her father, the Bugs, the Lindsays, the other families on the Ridge? They all looked to Fraser for confidence and direction; what would they do without him? Fraser shifted, and groaned with the movement. Roger laid a hand on his shoulder, and he stilled. Don’t go, he thought, the unspoken words balled tight in his throat. Stay with us. Stay with me. He sat for a long time, his hand resting on Fraser’s shoulder. He had the absurd thought that he was somehow holding Fraser, keeping him anchored to the earth. If he held on ’til the sunrise, all would be well; if he lifted his hand, that would be the end. The fire was burning low now, but he put off from moment to moment the necessity of tending it, unwilling to let go.

“MacKenzie?” It was no more than a murmur, but he bent at once. “Aye, I’m here. Ye want water? A drop of whisky?” He was reaching for the cup even as he spoke, spilling water in his anxiety. Fraser took two swallows, then waved the cup away with a twitch of his hand. “I dinna ken yet if ye’re right or you’re wrong,” Fraser said. His voice was soft and hoarse, but distinct. “But if you’re wrong, wee Roger, and I’m dying, there are things I must say to ye. I dinna want to leave it too late.” “I’m here,” Roger repeated, not knowing what else to say. Fraser closed his eyes, gathering strength, then brought his hands beneath him and rolled halfway over, ponderous and clumsy. He grimaced, and took a moment to catch his breath. “Bonnet. I must tell ye what I’ve put in train.” “Aye?” For the first time, Roger felt something other than simple worry for Fraser’s welfare. “There is a man named Lyon—Duncan Innes will ken best how to find him. He works on the coast, buying from the smugglers who run the Outer Banks. He sought me out at the wedding, to see would I deal with him, over the whisky.” The plan in outline was simple enough; Jamie meant to send word—by what route, Roger had no notion—to this Lyon, indicating that he was willing to enter into business, provided that Lyon would bring Stephen Bonnet to a meeting, to prove that he had a man of the necessary reputation and skill to manage the transport up and down the coast. “Necessary reputation,” Roger echoed under his breath. “Aye, he’s got that.” Fraser made a sound that might have been a laugh. “He’ll not agree that easily—he’ll bargain and set terms—but he’ll agree. Tell him ye’ve got enough whisky to make it worth his while—give him a barrel of the two-year-old to try, if ye must. When he sees what folk will pay for it, he’ll be eager enough. The place—” He stopped, frowning, and breathed for a moment before going on. “I’d thought to make it Wylie’s Landing—but if it’s you, ye should choose a place to your liking. Take the Lindsays with ye to guard your back, if they’ll go. If not, find someone else; dinna go alone. And go ready to kill him at the first shot.” Roger nodded, swallowing heavily. Jamie’s eyelids were swollen, but he looked up under them, his eyes glinting sharp in the firelight. “Dinna let him get close enough to take ye with a sword,” he said. “Ye’ve done well—but ye’re not good enough to meet a man like Bonnet.” “And you are?” Roger couldn’t stop himself from saying. He thought Fraser was smiling, but it was difficult to tell.

Oh, aye,” he said softly. “If I live.” He coughed then, and lifted a hand, dismissing Bonnet for the moment. “For the rest . . . watch Sinclair. He’s a man to be used—he kens everything that passes in the district—but no a man to turn your back on, ever.” He paused, brow furrowed in thought. “Ye can trust Duncan Innes and Farquard Campbell,” he said. “And Fergus—Fergus will help ye, if he can. For the rest—” He shifted again and winced. “Go wary of Obadiah Henderson; he’ll try ye. A-many of them will, and ye let them—but dinna let Henderson. Take him at the first chance—ye willna get another.” Slowly, with frequent pauses to rest, he went down the list of the names of the men on the Ridge, the inhabitants of Cross Creek, the prominent men of the Cape Fear valley. Characters, leanings, secrets, obligations. Roger fought down panic, struggling to listen carefully, commit it all to memory, wanting to reassure Fraser, tell him to stop, to rest, that none of this was necessary—at the same time knowing it was more than necessary. There was war coming; it didn’t take a time traveler to know it. If the welfare of the Ridge—of Brianna and Jemmy, of Claire—were to be left in Roger’s inexperienced hands, he must take heed of every scrap of information that Fraser could give him. Fraser’s voice trailed off in hoarseness. Had he lost consciousness? The shoulder under Roger’s hand was slack, inert. He sat quietly, not daring to move. It wouldn’t be enough, he thought, and a dull fear settled in the pit of his stomach, an aching dread that underlay the sharper pangs of grief. He couldn’t do it. Christ, he couldn’t even shoot a thing the size of a house! And now he was meant to step into Jamie Fraser’s shoes? Keep order with fists and brain, feed a family with gun and knife, tread the tightrope of politics over a lighted powderkeg, tenants and family all balanced on his shoulders? Replace the man they called Himself? Not fucking likely, he thought bleakly. Fraser’s hand twitched suddenly. The fingers were swollen like sausages, the skin stretched red and shiny. Roger laid his free hand over it, and felt the fingers move, trying to curl around his own.

“Tell Brianna I’m glad of her,” Fraser whispered. “Give my sword to the bairn.”

Roger nodded, unable to speak. Then, realizing that Fraser couldn’t see him, cleared his throat. “Aye,” he said gruffly. “I’ll tell her.” He waited, but Fraser said no more. The fire had burned very low, but the hand in his burned hot as embers. A gust of wind knifed past, whipping strands of his hair against his cheek, sending up a spray of sudden sparks from the fire.

He waited as long as he thought he dared, the cold night creeping past in lonely minutes. Then leaned close, so Fraser could hear him.

“Claire?” he asked quietly. “Is there anything ye’d have me tell her?” He thought he’d waited too long; Fraser lay motionless for several minutes. Then the big hand stirred, half-closing swollen fingers; the ghost of a motion, grasping after time that slipped away.

“Tell her . . . I meant it.”

90 DANGER IN THE GRASS ~the fiery cross

#outlander #the frasers #outlanderedit #outlander series #outlander fanart #outlander starz #jamie fraser #samheughan #jamie&claire #roger mackenzie #richard rankin #jamie & roger #outlander books #outlander book #outlander season 5 #outlander 5x09

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primrosechronicles · 7 months ago

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Sky Cotl x ISAT Fanfic!

Performance Guide and Siffrin (strictly platonic)

Summary: The performance guide and Their moth meet again Warnings: Nothing that I can think off...? Word Count: 1784 PART 2 HERE

You step into the backstage of the village theater, taking a moment to appreciate all the preparations you and your crew did to make the theater more accessible to both moths and citizens alike. It took a lot of hard work, from assembling the stage to ensuring the levers operated properly. Despite the challenges, it was all worth it for the grand opening of the theater.

You carefully walk up the stairs behind the levers, with the lively chatter of your beloved crew filling your ears.

“Director!” The crew’s resident dancer quickly stands up and crosses the room towards you.

“Dancer.” You greet back. a smile creeping up your face. “What are you guys doing?”

“Me and the crew were discussing some things to put in your comedy!”

You tilt your head curiously “Any particular reason why..?”

“We, uh, wanted to shake off the nerves... You know, we're all pretty jittery about tomorrow…” They shake their head “And! And.. you looked like you had a hard time figuring out the punchlines..”

You smile and give them a pat on the shoulder “Thank you.. And to be honest I'm nervous as well…”

“Well let's be nervous together!” They giggle joyfully, grab your hand, and lead you toward the group.

You sit with your crew and you observe the Stagehand frantically calculating the materials needed for the props and your Storyteller conversing with the Musician, though they seem to forget that the comedy is a.. Comedy.

“How about you, Dancer? Do you plan on writing a play? I'm sure you would be very good at it.” You ask.

Your Dancer shakes their head “Oh no! I could never make a play as well as you or the storyteller…”

“Oh don't be modest, Dancer.. I'm sure whatever you write will be wonderful.”

They smile at you and go back to continue whatever they did before approaching you. You sigh contently, you love being like this, being surrounded by the people you love, you could live like this forever.

Hand in hand with your crew and cast members, you all bow. The sound of whistles, cheers and honks fills the ears of your cast. You look at your audience, their smiles fill you with joy as you are reminded of why you and your crew decided to make the theater.

Your Musician begins to play a mellow melody as your Stagehand hands you the mic. The rest of the cast quietly slips offstage.

“My beloved audience.. Welcome! To the village theater.” you pause then breathe in and out. “As I stand here before you, I'm filled with gratitude for your support and for the opportunity to bring stories to life on this stage.”

You continue “This is a place to play many parts, whether it be to play music.. Or to dance… or to tell stories!” you turn to your crew and smile gratefully at them.

“This is the Season of Performance! So come and share your vision with us all!” The audience erupts into applause and cheers, giving your crew a successful opening night.

You smile as you and your Storyteller converse with the audience members.

“--And the part when the girl almost got caught by the krill! It was so terrifying I was at the edge of my seat!” You laugh in response “Hah! Yea, our musician did an amazing job on the music on that part!” “There was a krill part…?”

You smile wider as more audience members praise the work of you and your crew, but then something catches your eye in your peripheral vision. You take a closer look and notice a mother gesturing at you while her child, embarrassed, tries to run away. You deduct from the child's age that they’re a moth, but they aren’t dressed how moths usually look? Instead of the usual brown cape, it is replaced with a white one, with smooth ends instead of the uniform jagged edges that make it resemble actual wings. Two pins are placed just below their chin, pulling the whole look together.

You walk up to them and kneel to be at eye level with the kid. “Hello! Did you enjoy the show?” The child jumps slightly, startled, then slowly nods. “I did…”

Their mother whispers in their ear “Tell them what you told me.” The child looks at their mom, nodding with slightly more confidence. “Uhm! I wanna do what you do! I wanna make stories and-and! Pretend it on there!” The child slowly lifts a trembling finger to point towards the stage, their eyes shining with a nervous excitement.

You turn to the mother “Ma’am, are you perhaps from the village of dreams?”

“Oh no.. We're actually staying at a relative's house right now to check out the new season."

"For how long...?" you ask, as an idea begins to take shape in your mind.

“About 1 or 2 months, my relatives love having us around and they usually prepare for us to stay for 3 months but there's something urgent I have to get back to by then..”

You smile and turn back to the kid “Welcome to the Season of Performance” You slowly place the season pendant around their neck “I hope to see you often during the months that you're here?” The little moth nods furiously. “Yes!”

"Guys?! Where are you?! I have an idea!" you burst into the building, searching for your crew members. "We're on the second floor!" the familiar voice of your Dancer exclaims.

With a surge of adrenaline, you sprint up the stairs (that honestly looked like ramps instead of stairs) to the second floor, your fast footsteps echoing throughout the hall.

You reach the top of the stairs, where they're all gathered around the mini stage they've set up. You make eye contact with your crew’s Stagehand and they gesture for you to sit on the cushion next to them.

Tea in hand you breathe in and out, “Each season goes as follows: teach them some simple craft spells then the other stuff that's unique to each season” you smirk, gaining more confidence with your idea. "What about the “ stuff that's unique to each season “ part is a workshop for the moths! And… for people who are interested! We could teach them about theater, how to write a play, and everything else we do here. It would be a great way to share our passion and get more people involved."

Your crew members exchange eager glances, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, that's a fantastic idea! I could teach them some sick riffs!" your Musician exclaims, playing their guitar with determination.

The Stagehand chimes in, "I could show them the ropes of stagecraft, from lighting to set design."

You turn to your crew's Storyteller, who smiles warmly. "I'll help them find their voices and tell their stories."

"I can lead sessions on movement and expression," the Dancer suggests. "I can teach participants how to use their bodies to tell stories and convey emotions on stage."

The excitement in the room is palpable as everyone starts brainstorming ideas for the workshop. You can already picture the theater bustling with little moths, eager to learn and create.“This is a great idea Director! Where’d you get the inspiration?” Your Stagehand asks you.

Your thoughts go back to that moth earlier, you smile warmly thinking of them “Just an idea i had..”

After a week of planning with your crew, the workshop is finally ready.

After a comedy skit performed by some members of the Season of Dreams you go up on stage mic in hand.

“Okay guys announcement! So, first of all, thank you so much for your creative And hilarious—” you wink at the Season of Dreams members “---Plays!”

"Now, as everybody knows, every single season has its events themed after, well.. The seasons theme!”

"So… without further ado, we are thrilled to announce our upcoming workshop series," you continue, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "Starting next week, we'll be hosting a series of sessions right here at the village theater. We'll cover everything from writing your own play to stagecraft, movement, and more!"

A wave of excitement washes over the audience as you outline the workshop's details. Your crew members stand beside you, beaming at the enthusiasm of the audience members"We want to invite all of you to join us," you say, scanning the crowd warmly. "Whether you're a seasoned playwright or a parent wanting your little moth to experience new things—” You wave towards the familiar moth and their mother “---this workshop is for you. Let's come together and create something magical!"

The applause and cheers that follow are filling you with a sense of accomplishment and joy. You glance over at your crew, sharing a proud and excited look. Then you look over to the moth that started it all, you see them look at you with wonder in their eyes, fiddling with their season pendant. You wink at them, they give you an attempt-wink back.

You walk through the excited crowd trying to reach that little moth and their mom. They spot you approaching and their faces light up with anticipation.

"Hi ma’am! Little moth!" you greet them warmly, kneeling down to the moth’s eye level. "I'm so glad you're here. Are you excited about the workshop?"

The child nods eagerly, a shy smile playing on their lips. Their mom smiles gratefully at you.

"I think it's going to be a lot of fun," you continue, glancing between them. "We have so many exciting things planned, like learning how to write plays, creating characters, and even some dancing!"

The child's eyes widen in excitement at the mention of dancing. "Can we really dance like the actors did?" they ask eagerly."Absolutely! Our Dancer is going to show us all how to move and express ourselves on stage. It's going to be fantastic!" you reply with a chuckle.

You thought a bit and realized… “Hey, i never got your name!” They look back at you and give you a smile you will remember for decades “It’s ____—”

You wake up to the chatter of your beloved crew. “Director! Thank the stars you’re awake!” You are then squished by the weight of your crew hugging you “We were so worried!” “You won't believe what happened!” “you were out for multiple—”

You shout, overwhelmed by the voices. “Guys! One at a time what happened?” Your Dancer looks at you with an expression you have never seen them wear. “Well—” “Director?”

You all turn to the unfamiliar voice, five figures fill your vision, four foreigners and one�� Wait a minute… white cape with smooth ends… Two pins placed below their chin… Thats the— “_____?”

A/N: IM FINISHED!! yay,,, this took me like two drinks of mountain jew and! a couple of days..

So for my Sky: Cotl audience, the moth in the fic is the main character from In stars and time and the Fic was inspired by @kyri45 who did a wonderful job on her cross AU of the two games!

For my ISAT audience the fic is set in the game called "sky children of the light"

@kyri45 I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS! your au really got my brain tickled!! thank you for re-igniting my sky grind and thank you for feeding me with ur yummy AU

#sky cotl #skyblr #sky: cotl #sky children of the light #isat sky:cotl! au #isat siffrin #isat spoilers #isat #isat odile #isat au #isat boniface #isat bonnie #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #season of performance

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simplepotatofarmer · 1 year ago

Note

think about Dream gently petting Techno's execution scars and wondering if he could have done more to help

part of dream truly thought it wouldn't go that far.

he gave techno the map to direct him to the totem as a fail safe.

dream never thought they'd actually be able to get techno to the execution platform. he was prepared for it to happen, of course, because this was too important not to plan for all possibilities. but it's technoblade. no way he gets brought in by the butcher army. sure, he was outnumbered but dream knew he could best them all.

and he was right! techno could!

then they threatened carl and of course techno surrendered. dream isn't all that surprised, really. he had a horse he loved. but dream didn't think it would get that far. but it did.

so he has punz attempt to stop the execution (techno has a totem). so he frees carl because he knows that techno wouldn't leave without his horse and he's shocked and horrified when quackity pulls the lever (techno has a totem). dream doesn't have time to stop and think but the thought he should have done more does cross his mind.

when techno gets locked in prison with him, after things have settled down, dream finds himself constantly looking at techno's scar. it has a gold tint to it and most of it is hidden beneath techno's hair but part of it covers his forehead like a strange birthmark, one jagged line bisecting his eyebrow and coming close to his eye.

they're sitting next to each other, against the wall, and techno has nodded off. he can sleep anywhere. dream is watching him and without thinking, reaches out to trace techno's scar. his fingers are shaking and he knows all about scars - he's covered in them - but the scar on techno makes him sad, makes him feel guilty. what else could he have done? techno walked into a trap for him and all he did was give techno a map....

techno opens one eye and asks dream what he's doin' and dream freezes, not sure what to say. he stutters out something about never noticing it before and techno takes dream's hand and presses his palm against the scar. 'it's pretty cool, huh' he says, sounding nonchalant and that makes dream's chest tight. 'i should've done more.' he expects techno to agree.

but techno shakes his head and tells dream he did enough, without the map, he'd be dead and, besides, you got carl out, man. when dream opens his mouth to protest, techno shushes him, says it's alright, dream, you tried, you were there, that's enough.

(dream doesn't know that techno is looking at all dream's scars and wondering if there was something he could've done to take away even a fraction of them.)

#loyal answers things #rivals duo #dreblr #rivalsblr #dsmp fanfic #i guess?????? headcanon?????#anyway i'm crying #c!dream #c!techno

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