#There was a dead squirrel in the street | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nsharks · 1 year

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part six —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this was longer but i decided to break it up sorry :p

The last glimpse of civilization you had was a chaotic one.

It was the first day of the outbreak.

Freshly infected running around. Bodies scattered in the streets like dead flies. Screaming. Paul grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the treeline. Your nephew shrieking in your sister’s arms. It’s funny how trauma likes to grab hold of the minute details. You can also recall seeing a bus pass by with an ad for some superhero movie. You had planned on seeing it. The bus crashed into a house and the ad was licked by flames.

Paul was always the one to make the trips to pharmacies and markets. He was the one who wielded a gun, not you. You were the one to stay behind, fortify the fence, and watch over the two broken members of your family.

Society's dust— that is what you leave Ghost’s territory for.

You know you need to.

You wait for your period to end.

Freshly spilled blood is not a scent you want to carry. Greys are drawn to it like flies to rot. Something you learned the hard way once during a hunt with Paul. They were able to catch your scent from a further distance than usual because of it.

To your relief, Ghost lets you look at his map.

Of course, you can’t take it with you.

“Jus’ memorize it,” he grumbles under his breath.

So the evening before you venture out, you study the map of Northern England. Ghost brought out a whole stack of them from the room you’re certain is his. You notice a map of the European continent on top, briefly catching a glimpse of a black circle drawn in the middle somewhere, but he is quick to move it underneath the pile.

You focus on the one you need.

There is a black dot to indicate where their camp is amid the forest. Some 20 kilometers south is the closest city. Or village rather. Ribchester. Maybe that is a safer bet than going by yourself to a big city like Manchester. You may have a bow and knife and some strength, but you don't have a car or guns like he does. Or companions coming with you.

Blue helps you turn your pillowcase into a strapped bag with some scissors. You need something to carry what you find. Ghost isn't willing to let you leave with his backpack. Bitterly, you get it. It’s a useful item.

The next morning, you feel as prepared as you can be. You wake up earlier than usual, before Blue has the chance to poke inside your shed with Grim. You eat a big breakfast of two dried squirrels. You have a third one to take with you.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Blue picks at her breakfast as she sits beside you at the table. Her lips twist around thoughtfully.

You glance between her and Ghost. His stare is unreadable like usual. Dark, stoic, and hiding under lowered brows. You wonder what he thinks— if he would be secretly relieved if you don't make it back alive. Probably. He could get rid of you without Blue pointing the blame at him.

"Medicine is important. I need to find my own.”

We can’t risk sneaking anymore, you would say if he wasn’t right there. But by the way she slides her blue eyes to discreetly meet yours, you think she gets the hint.

"Just be careful, okay?" You nod. "And remember—" she lifts a finger, "—you have to shoot those fucks in the brain."

"I know. I've been practicing my aim a bit."

The smile you offer is only half-there. The truth is, you are risking your life with this. Part of you wonders how deeply she has processed that.

Despite her lips appearing more chewed-through than usual, they give a wary smile in return.

“Yeah, we could hear you hitting the trees. Right, Ghost?"

He hums low, but characteristically, doesn't have much to say about you.

But when you head for the cabin door after eating, his firm hand surprises you, gloved and skeletal. It wraps around your bicep and brings you to a halt before you can step outside. Heat spreads through his glove and the layers of your clothes. You turn around just as a metal object is silently offered to your chest. Ghost holds your stare before you look down at what he is giving you.

It's the revolver. The one they collected from that man.

The gun with only one cartridge.

"Thanks."

You bite your cheek to hide the dry tone, slipping the revolver into your coat pocket. Maybe it will come in handy. At least he now trusts you enough not to immediately point it at him or her.

Blue is the one to follow you out to the gate of their camp.

"I hope you find something good."

"Me, too."

"You know, Ghost and I only went on one trip that I can remember," she says as she unlocks the bolts for you.

"Yeah?"

"To get him more ammo from a military base," she explains with a wave of her hand. "It was pretty close, though. He says that we went on one other trip back to Manchester when things first happened, but he carried me on his back the whole time so I don't remember much except for all the loud sounds.”

This part she adds quietly: "Think I closed my eyes for most of it."

"I would have closed my eyes, too, Blue.”

The next glimpse of civilization you get is a desolate one.

Again, you are on your own. Though, maybe you’ve been alone this whole time in a way.

It is that weird time between winter and spring when the air is crisp but the sun is bright. You hope to complete the trip in one day, which gives you about nine hours. You walk and walk, leaving Ghost's familiar territory behind until the trees become new to you again. You’ve never gone south before. You stop by a creek to drink some water along the way. By high noon, you exit the forest for the first time in five years.

You can see it. Overgrown shrubs and dry vines that crawl over cracked concrete. A road. A billboard arches over with a peeled ad for shaving cream, the woman’s face looking mangled. Your bow is poised as you follow the highway towards the village, recalling a time when you used to take the bus ride down this very route to visit your sister’s home. You liked watching the trees and rolling hills pass through the window as you tucked your ears under headphones.

It is so strange.

The air is quiet with abandonment.

Briefly, you ache for a world that once existed and the life you once lived. Car rides. Music whenever you wanted. Drunk outings on the weekends when you were supposed to be studying for nursing school. Hope for a family of your own someday.

But you have to ignore all that to stay focused on the present. Now, life is whittled down to basic needs and protecting yourself the best you can.

The village soon appears as stone buildings with unkempt wisteria scaling the sides. Abandoned cars haphazardly parked throughout the streets. You keep your guard up and your nose flared as you approach. There is a faint, awful scent that looms in the air, but it is not strong enough to cause concern. Not yet.

A pharmacy.

You need to find one.

If you want to make it back to their camp by nightfall, then you can only waste about an hour or two here. You could spend the night in a tree and trek the 20 kilometers tomorrow, but sleeping in a branch is even more unpleasant than your shed and it is risky. You were willing to do it when you had no other choice, but what if some unfriendly people find you this time? Perhaps even unfriendlier than the threat of Ghost's knife to your neck.

An hour is killed just searching for the pharmacy.

You roam the empty streets.

Finally, you catch sight of the faded sign and your heart leaps. But the excitement fades away when your nose and eyes detect the group of Greys just outside the building in an empty parking lot. Their pale eyes aren’t pointed at you yet, so you move behind a crumpled car for cover. If you had gotten any closer, they surely would've smelled your human flesh.

You take a deep breath. How many are there?

Carefully, you poke your head out just an inch to survey the threat. Six of those fucks. That is doable given the range.

The last time you ran into Greys, you had no choice but to run because of the bow Ghost stepped on. This time, you can kill them off with the bow carved by his hands.

You are quick with it. You stand and release arrow by arrow. Four of the six are headshots. You aren't perfect. The last two receive arrows through their shoulders, but this type of wound means nothing to a Grey. It is their brains that are infected with the virus, just like Blue said.

These two begin running towards you, now catching a whiff of your scent.

You climb on top of the car. Hitting a running target is far trickier. You go for the faster one first, using two more arrows before hitting the skull, grey chunks of brain splattering onto the concrete. The slower one just barely reaches the car before you finish it off, the closer distance sharpening this final hit.

The pharmacy is reachable now.

As you run over, you gather the used arrows. Precious ammo. You pull them out of their bodies with a twist and a putrid squelch.

When you push through the doors to the pharmacy, you almost choke. The shelves— they are empty. You breeze through every aisle, eyes and hands seeking anything that could be left, but there is nothing. You check the back. You check the shelves behind the counter.

Empty, empty, empty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you croak. Hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You half expected this.

But you’ve come all this way.

You need something.

There must be somewhere else you can look.

The cars maybe. Most people used to keep med kits somewhere inside. There is a slight chance that one could’ve been forgotten. It is worth a try.

You keep moving, not wanting to return with an empty bag. The white sun hangs high. The dry air turns your tear-stained cheeks sticky. You pick up rocks to begin breaking the windows of the abandoned cars, poking your arm inside to undo the locks, and rummaging through the glove compartments.

CDs, magazines, condom wrappers.

Nothing.

“Please, please.”

You make it down the street like this, checking every single one. Distracted, you shatter the glass of a white sedan without noticing the shadow laying in the backseat.

Fingers wrap around your wrist as you reach for the inner lock.

A maggot-filled mouth lurches for the flesh of your hand.

An arrow won't work here. With a cry, you use your free hand to grab the revolver from your pocket and shoot its head. The sound echoes. The single bullet burrows right between its eyes. The Grey writhes for a moment before going limp against the seat.

Panting, you have to pry the bony fingers off your wrist.

Again, you search the glove compartment. In this car where the stench is thick enough to sicken you, a med kit and a Twix bar fall into your hands.

“Fuck— thank you.”

You stash both into your homemade bag.

You could leave now, but you are itching for some antibiotics. The kit will help you clean wounds without Ghost's help, but it won’t save you if you develop an infection.

The next idea you have is to check a house.

By the look of the sky, you can fit in at least two quick searches. You run over to the next street and kick at the front door of the first one you see. Nothing but knocked-over furniture and torn wallpaper. The bathroom cabinet is empty.

The next one you fight inside is decorated with furniture that smells like faded perfume. The first room you check is a bedroom. In the center, a full set of bones lies on the bed, void of any meat after God knows how long its been there. You try not to look at it. On the floor lies a pile of clothes. You could use some more, still dressed in the ones Ghost found you in. You don't even look at them, just grab what you can fit in your bag and move on to the bathroom.

Here, beside a pair of molded dentures, you find two half-full bottles of pills.

Amoxicillin.

Paracetamol.

You cry some more.

It's not much, but it is enough for now.

Your muscles are fatigued by the time you make it back.

You reek of sweat. It is a long walk. You run into a few more Greys but manage them. You eat the squirrel you brought.

Darkness covers the forest just when you spot the camp's fence in the distance. Relief. You actually did it. Some pride breathes into your tired lungs.

As you get closer, you make out two silhouettes leaving the gate. One is a girl who you tiredly smile at the sight of, and the other is a bulky tank.

You leap over the trench.

But when your boots land on the other side, the end of a rifle pokes your breastbone and prevents you from getting any closer.

"Ghost."

You can't help but shout at him, eyes widening. He is pointing a gun at you? You were just beginning to think he could tolerate you enough to not threaten murder anymore. The memory of your first encounter resurfaces.

"It's just me! What the hell are you doing?"

Panic finds you once again. Your chest rises and falls under his gun’s touch. You glance at Blue, who tries to get near you, but he sticks out an arm to keep her away.

"Dad," Blue groans, "Do you really have to— ”

The tip of the rifle brushes up over your collarbone and toward your neck. Your nerves awaken under cold metal.

"Let me see." His voice is firm.

Oh. Bites. He wants to see if you have any bites.

"Okay, okay." You nod breathlessly.

Swallowing, you gather your braided hair in your hands as he clicks on a flashlight. You have not been offered string to tie them with so most of the hair has fallen out as always. You roll your neck to one side, and then to the other to show him the unmarked skin. But he is not satisfied yet.

He moves the rifle down to the hem of your shirt and uses it to lift up the fabric just beneath your breasts, revealing the skin of your stomach and ribs. You should feel exposed, standing here with your bare midriff under the light, but the two of them have already seen this much of you. You are more concerned about the fact that he could kill you if he actually suspects you could’ve been bitten.

The cold air invites a shiver. Your teeth clench as you stare at him. In the darkness, his eyes almost lean red.

He lowers your shirt.

"Roll 'em up for me,” he demands, now giving a nod to your trousers.

You bend over to roll up the pantlegs, all the way up to your knees so he can’t complain about it. All that is revealed are your unshaven legs and sweat-laced socks. You are sure they can smell them from where they stand.

"She doesn't have any stupid bites, Ghost, alright?"

Blue tugs at his arm with a huff. Finally, the rifle lowers. You straighten back up and exhale the short breath you were holding.

There is a silent moment where the three of you just stand there. An owl hoots. Ghost rubs at his masked jaw and looks you over some more, eyes flicking to the filled bag over your shoulder with a raised brow.

And then, something unexpected.

A small body whirls into yours and you almost stumble back in a step. Blue wraps her arms around your waist and excitedly breathes out, "I knew you'd make it back. Ghost said you wouldn't. I told him you would."

What?

It is a short-lived hug.

But still, the first one you have had in a long time.

After this tiring day, your eyes close with some more moisture. It is a strange feeling, her young embrace. Her palms spread flat against your back and she presses her forehead to your shoulder because she is tall enough to reach it. You are just about to hug her in return, move your arms around her shoulders out of instinct, but she is soon tugged away by a skeletal hand. Her blue eyes drift down to her boots. She looks a mix of irritated and embarrassed.

In a daze, you end up back in the warmth of the cabin.

Blue begs you to show her what you found. You dump the contents of your pillowcase onto the table. Her father’s shadow lurks behind you somewhere, always watching and taking up space, but for now, you ignore him.

You cannot recall a time when you were in this kind of mood. It is enough to surface the waters of your grief. Because now, your survival does not have to rely so much on Ghost's mercy or the risk of Blue’s sneaky hands. Food, a med kit, one type of antibiotic. It should all be enough to keep you alive - to take care of yourself - for at least however long you end up staying here.

"Shit balls." Blue rummages through the goods. "You did pretty good."

"Right? I can't believe it," you whisper numbly. You wipe your eyes.

She holds up the clothes first, starting with a large, floral blouse that looks like something an old lady would wear. Her head tips back with a giggle.

"This is way too big for you."

"I'll make it work," you say, shrugging, but almost manage a quiet laugh, too. You don't really give a fuck what the clothes look like. At least you can change finally into something else - something that didn’t belong to your dead companions.

Where you care about the medicine, Blue is far more intrigued by the candy bar she discovers. She holds it up, and inspects the wrapper with curiously wide eyes, shooting a glance at her dad.

"T-w-i-x," she sounds out with pinched brows. She looks back at you. "What's this?"

"It's like... chocolate," you tell her.

"Oh— no way. Could I try some?"

You don't really care about the Twix bar. You almost forgot about it since the moment you found it in the car. But before you can tell her she can just have it as a late birthday gift - because she has done so much for you - Ghost moves to take it from her hands.

He puts it back down on the table.

“What’s hers is hers, kid. That’s how it works here.“

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #zombies #cod #zombie apocolypse au

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months

Text

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

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Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

"Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him. "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him.

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***********************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 months

Text

Forbidden

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT 🔞

Strickt parents and werewolves don't mix, so you run.

The gates opened with that familiar creak that had you stumble out of your bed and stare out of your window.

Like clockwork you watched the community's hunter return from his trip. The beast man's steps were heavy as he carried in a large deer and a boar that hung over his back, together with a bunch of squirrels he'd strung up.

Almost ceremoniously the smaller hunted animals were taken from him as he slowly walked past your window.

You followed the movements of his large paws, wishing to be able to hold them in your hands on day and just rub at the pads. His tail wrapped up in that red rag that identified him from further away since his human form also carried it. You loved how his fur was the exact color of his hair and even the greying beard he sported carried over to his beast shape.

His tail swished from side to side with each step and it almost hypnotized you. So much that you hadn't noticed your father waltzing into your room and catching you staring at the one thing he hated most.

Like a disobedient child he grabbed you by the back of your shirt dragging you away as you let out a shriek at the initial contact.

Out of your view the hunter perked up at the sound, staring at your empty window. He found it curious to not see your familiar face there, now that he for once did fully look up. Your admiring from afar had him intrigued but he had never seen you outside to talk.

As your father dragged you out of your room you cried but your mother only shook her head with a saddened look in her eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell you that ..thing! is the devil!" His shouts went right through you, your mother still not speaking and just standing by and watch.

Not that it surprised you. It had been like this ever since the group came to the community and the beast had saved many people.

Ever since the dead started walking your father had been insanely protective of you and to your luck he was one of the folks in charge of this housing area and held a high rank in the community.

You were his precious little girl and even now as an adult he still saw you like that and never let go of that need to protect you.

"Let me go!" You screamed at him, watching as your mom stood there in the door opening, doing nothing.

You managed to worm your way out of his grasp and sprint out of the front door.

Daryl had heard a shriek and paused his trek to the supply room. As he listened in he heard the yelling and stood at the ready in case someone needed to interfere.

He wasn't going to just rush in due to the opinion these specific people already had of him, so only of really needed he'd go in.

Not that it was, as the woman he had caught glimpses of now came stumbling down the porch steps, clearly in panic.

Running onto the street you collapsed yourself against the beast you knew your father wouldn't get near. You grabbed handfuls of his fur and cried your heart out. Crocodile tears, but the bystanders didn't have to know that.

A large paw came to rest on your back as your father rushed onto the street.

Daryl watched him holding a rifle, ready to shoot as he was calling him all kinds of nonsense names. After looking back and seeing the rifle you clung to his fur just a little tighter.

You felt the rumble through your entire body when Daryl let out a warning growl.

You dared to sneak a peek at your house, where you spotted your mother, again backed ip in the doorway and crying.

All you wanted to do was scream at her to speak up, but the rifle currently pointed in your direction silenced you. And then the familiar sound of a round loading into the chamber caught your ear and Daryl ducked further behind you. He knew your father wasn't gonna shoot you.

The scene was interrupted as your mother jumped forward to grab her husband's shoulders. "You can't! You'll hit her!" She cried as her hands were roughly shaken off the man's frame as he again took aim. "Don't worry, I'm a great shot."

You jumped up at his words, shielding Daryl's frame with a wide stance.

"Why would you even shoot him? He's a friend! He provides for us.." You felt Daryl's head rest against you in response and held a paw around your leg.

Your voice cracked as you yelled at your father, tears now anything but fake.

"Don't you see? That's a monster!"

A crowd had formed by now as you yelled at each other until Carol stepped in, wondering in her kindest voice what seemed to be going on.

You knew Carol, she was the sweet lady who brought food all the time. Even while being part of Daryl's group your parents quickly accepted her.

"Do you wanna lower the gun, please?" Carol approached cautiously. "You're scaring your wife and daughter."

The rifle lowered slightly before being used to aggressively point back as he continued raving about how his daughter was defending a demon.

"You don't even know him!" You snapped back before Carol could answer. It wasn't that you did knew him at all either, which your father made very clear as he cursed at your disobedience.

"You kept me locked inside, I couldn't get to know him.." You cried out between tears, feeling Daryl carefully nudge your hand with his snout.

"From what I'm hearing right now I think it's best you and your daughter are staying separated for a while." And before he could respond she added "she'll be staying in my home. We are friends and I know she's comfortable around me."

After some more back and forth without a pointed gun, efforts to avoid the argument shifting back to Daryl and finally some words from your mother the agreement was done. You were watched like a hawk as you and Carol packed your most important items up and eventually left for her home.

It was strange, spending your time in a new home. Even stranger to hear a shower running while thinking Carol lived alone as she never mentioned any housemates.

She helped you take your items upstairs and sort out anything you could keep downstairs like coats and shoes.

"You can do whatever you want in here. Just make sure to tag along with me if you wanna go outside for the near future, okay?" Carol tried her best to work with everyone's rules and requests and for now it seemed to be good.

You spent your first days relaxing and reading. Carol had allowed you to rummage through the books she kept in the living room and you found a thick book on werewolf mythology and history. Maybe she kept it to learn stuff about Daryl.

And you wanted to learn as well so you spent your time in bed with the book, reading about the strengths, weaknesses and changes of werewolves. There were chapters about their changed anatomy too that went into full detail.

During dinner you heard a door and stairs before a half asleep, grumbly Daryl emerged from the downstairs room.

"Morning, Pookie. Made your favorite." Carol got up to grab him a plate as Daryl sat down at the table and greeted you tiredly.

You three ate dinner mostly in silence with Daryl still being half asleep and you being too nervous to speak and were internally worrying if the way you ate was normal.

And of course Carol caught on as you two washed the dishes as Daryl had passed out on the couch almost immediately after putting his plate away.

"His hunting trips tire him out, he sleeps almost the whole time for like four days after." She gives a loving glance at her best friend. He looked like those old world dads that took their after work nap while moms cooked dinner. It was cute, honestly. And that little peek of happy trail underneath the ridden up hem of his shirt was pretty distracting.

You continued the dishes and laughed with Carol, who promised to take you along on her trip through the community to clear her list of tasks.

You finished up and headed back upstairs to continue study your book, eventually passing out with it open beside you.

It wasn't long before Daryl joined you in the bed, laying down behind you and pulling you close into his chest. Your body warmed up immediately as his soft growly breaths fanned your ear and his hard length pressed against your clothed backside.

A soft sigh left you as you pressed back against him. You wondered what he looked like, bit you weren't going to interrupt him and ask. His hands slipped the fabric off your body and you felt his thick cock slip between your thighs.

Your breathing picked up as you felt his hand snake to your front and guided himself between your folds and pressing in oh so slow.

You moaned as he slid in and out at a calm pace with his hands grabbing at your chest.

He felt so good inside of you and you could feel yourself getting so, so close--

What? A knock on your door woke you from your dream.

"Yer okay?" Daryl's raspy voice wondered, but as he breathed in he needed no answer. Your panting clearly wasn't from a nightmare. Your bedside lamp was still on and his old lycantrophy book was open next to you on a ..more intimate chapter.

When you didn't answer his question in embarrassment but seemed to be okay in any other way he gave you a huff and a smile. "'M headin' fer a shower. Wan' me back here after?"

A very shy nod was all you could muster before he left with a quiet "back in a bit."

As the door closed you put the book away and curled away under the blankets. Entirely flushed by the situation and embarrassed of how he caught you just now.

You were so caught up in your own misery you hadn't realized he walked into the room until your mattress dipped on the side and the blanket was lifted off your head.

Wide eyes, caught off guard, stared up at him. His hair still wet and a soft smile on his face. "Hi," was all he said before dipping his head down and nuzzling your cheek, not wanting to kiss you without being sure you'd allow him to. He kept his seated position at your side until you gave him the okay to come lay down.

But it was clear you were still a bit shy from before.

"Can ya show me what ya want?" His voice was much softer than usual, sending shivers down your body that collected all the way down to your core.

You rolled onto your back, hands slowly coming out from under the blanket to hang still halfway between you two for a moment before they settle on his arms and tug ever so softly, scared to seem too forward. He let his arms be moved, one ending on each side of you and his body soon followed.

The blanket stayed in place to form a comfortable barrier for you to remove when ready, but for now he was content like this. "Wha's yer next plan, pretty lady?" His hand lifted to caress your cheek and brush a strand of hair out of your face. You didn't answer but without thinking you stared down as your mind went back to your dream and the book you were reading.

Daryl caught your eyes moving down his body and let out a soft laugh. "How 'bout ya share tha' dream from earlier. Can do tha' for real this time."

A short moment of silence passed that Daryl used to take in your features properly this time until you finally nodded. "Okay."

You moved the blanket down while Daryl moved off it to give you more space to move, patting the mattress behind you for him to lay down. Feeling the mattress dip behind you really kicked your nerves into high gear and Daryl noticed. He placed himself down gently, an arm over your waist to test the waters. He had no clue how experienced you were or weren't thanks to your living situation so tonight wad all at your pace. Although it was getting difficult to keep his urges to himself as his mind howled at him to 'just take and claim her'.

Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Can I.. see you?" It wasn't the whole question, but it was all you could get out.

"Take ma clothes off?" A shy "Please" was all he needed to take off his shirt and shuffle off his sweats. "All the way?" He questioned before removing his underwear as well on your request.

"Can yers come off?" His fingers had already found the hem of your shirt and the elastic of your panties, slowly moving his hand around your bare skin.

"Uhuh." Your hips lifted just enough for your shirt to be pulled up and rolled back to lift your shoulders for it to come off entirely. With the blanket slipped down Daryl's eyes found your chest immediately and looked at you with pleading eyes.

When you gave him permission his lips were on your skin, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. You arched your back in response, pressing your ass right against his hardening member and earning a soft moan from the man. Humming in response you repeated the motion until a hand gripped at your hips. Quickly stilling all movement as you felt claws digging into your skin. You pushed down the blanket to see. The skin around his fingertips had darkened and his nails had grown into long, thick claws. The deep rugged breaths fanning your ear had you look back at him only to see bright blue eyes and sharp fangs. His ears now pointed our from underneath his messy hair.

"Please.. show me?" They still weren't the words you were trying to say but you couldn't get them out, too embarrassed to ask.

The question mulled around in Daryl's mind for a moment, wondering if he was really going to change for her.

But who was he to deny her request? He knew he wouldn't hurt her and had seen her more often than not staring from her window.

So he nodded. "Yeah, alright." To which she smiled widely, unable to hold her excitement in.

A quick kiss was shared before he lifted himself up to his knees as he let the change wash over him. It was a quick process for him these days and it only caused some mind discomfort that faded as soon as the change was done.

You watched him shift into his large beast form with awe, being below him only intensified it all.

When his breathing evened out and his shape now was that of a beast he slowly blinked at you, showing he trusted you.

You were gorgeous beneath him. And he was beautiful above you.

Yet neither of you moved. He was letting you take him all in now that you were close and not watching from behind glass.

All that was heard in the room was Daryl's heavy breathing as he watched your hand lift up and reach out to touch the thick muscle of his arm.

You watched his head come down and gently lick your arm at the spot you touched him. And then your hand moved. To his shoulder, up to the side of his neck and his tongue followed. To your shoulder, onto your neck. His wet nose rested against your skin as he let out a noise akin to a purr. Ever so slowly you moved your hand again, resting it on his chest and giving the soft flesh a little squeeze. You couldn’t help yourself when he looked so soft and squishable.

You felt his wet tongue dart across your neck, moving down with each lap and reaching the sensitive skin of your nipple, easily engulfing the whole area in a layer of drool and making you sigh in relief.

One of your hands went to rest on the bridge of his snout and softly pushed downward. A whimper escaped your lips as Daryl complied and moved down until your pushing stopped. He had needed to back up a little and almost stepped off the bed in the process but managed to curl up with his maw right above your centre. Jaw hanging open with his tongue lolled out, sniffing and lapping at nothing as he salivated. You had spread your legs for him but still his large paws came to rest on your thighs before he nudged his snout against your lips and licked a broad strip making you moan out his name.

Just as he shoved his tongue against your clit he let out a hum, sending vibrations straight through you. Soon after you were squirming under his grasp, whining and begging for nothing in particular until he slowed his movements and moved back to hover above you, still licking his lips.

With how he was sitting over you, you realized you had a very clear look at his delicate its full glory. And it was scarily big. Everything about him was big, his tongue had reached deeper than anything else ever had, but seeing how it hung just above your stomach and reached as far up as It did, with that big, swollen knot at the base..

Now it was Daryl’s turn to let out a whine. He repositioned himself so his length rested snug between your puffy lips, moving his hips back and forth to get at least some kind of friction and panting at you, almost begging to press it past your entrance.

Reaching down you gave his cock a rub, trying to wrap your fingers around but them never meeting with how thick he was.

She used both hands to squeeze at him while he kept moving around. A particularly loud whine made you feel bad for him and finally gave into both of your wants.

When he pulled his hips back you maneuvered his tip between your folds and into you on his forward thrust, catching him off guard.

He felt his tip being enveloped in your walls and jerked his hips, pressing further than he wanted and earning a yelp from you.

"Ow." You breathed heavily but still managed to laugh, which helped ease Daryl's worry of hurting you.

He didn't move until you gave him the okay. Slow, careful thrusts were his way to go, each few thrusts adding an inch. After a good few inches, almost three quarters of his length inside of you your face scrunched in pain. "Too big.." you sighed with a flat hand on his chest. He grumbled an apology and wrapped his hand around himself, making sure he would't thrust deeper as he kept going at any pace you could handle. Slowly speeding up as no noises of protest came and he only heard soft moans and pleas. His head was right next to yours, panting softly as he rutted into you, taking in your increasingly needy sounds.

"C..close" you breathed as your hand reached to feel the bulge in your stomach his cock made. An acknowledging growl let you know he understood and not too long after when his thrusts got more sloppy he reached a paw to rub at gour clit, working to get you both off at the same time.

"Fuckk--" his rough pawpad felt so good on your most sensitive parts you came hard, your walls constricting around his length so delicious it took him two, three more thrusts before finishing with a muffled howl.

Daryl lapped at your skin in a comforting manner, from your cheek to your chest like he was telling you "you did great."

He slowly pulled out and nudged you hips, gesturing at the door. He was telling you to go clean up. You could feel him leaking out of you so squeezing as best as possible you waddled to the bathroom only to return to Daryl comfortably resting on your bed, lifting the pre-warmed blanket for you to join him.

It felt safe like this, with his strong frame curled around you it was like nothing could hurt you anymore and sleep took you in a way calmer embrace than ever before.

The next morning when you woke up you found Daryl back in his human form blinking the sleep from his eyes and grunting a good morning.

You lazily smiled at his groggy morning voice and leaned in for a quick kiss, whispering your own good morning in return.

You shared some cuddles until your stomach called out for food so loudly it had you both roll out of bed with laughter and head downstairs after getting dressed.

Neither in those moments, now or before had thought of the reason they even shared a house. Their loving housemate Carol, who, from her spot in the kitchen called out upon hearing two pairs of feet come down the stairs.

"How was it? Did you use protection or do I need to puppy-proof the house?"

A/N: y'all may thank @celtic-crossbow for that fantastic closing line.

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd daryl #twd au #werewolves #werewolf #werewolf x human

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teecupangel · 5 months

Note

Concept: Imagine if Altaïr had a habit of adopting birds of prey and stuff.

Ezio did the same thing except with cats (including a lion cub, if you know the reference to Da Vinci you'll get it)

Connor adopted canines constantly.

Desmond inherits all of these and takes in every single stray animal he finds. It doesn't matter if it's even safe to keep as a pet. He just adopts every single animal in sight.

In other words, through genetic manipulations, the Isus have created the ultimate savior of humanity:

A Disney Princess.

And it all started with Altaïr accidentally turning one of the towers in Masyaf as an aviary that only housed Birds of Prey.

No one knows how he did it.

They were pretty sure he started doing it after his father died and no one had the heart to tell a grieving child to stop adopting birds as a coping mechanism.

By the time Altaïr had been initiated, the aviary and its occupants have become just another staple in Masyaf.

Is it weird that they only listen to Altaïr?

Is it weird to hear Altaïr have a full blown conversation with them?

Very much so.

But it was Altaïr.

He was as weird as he was talented.

So people just left him be.

Time passed and Altaïr became a legend in the Brotherhood.

There were whispers that he could command any kind of birds of prey to do his bidding.

Perhaps he could.

Perhaps he could not.

No one found out the truth.

Ezio, on the other hand, was known as a hoarder of cats.

He gives food to even the dirtiest stray cats that could be found scurrying in the streets.

And they would follow him back to the Brotherhood’s hideout where some poor servant or recruit would have to bathe the cat, suffering the scratches and bites.

Only to be rewarded by the cat purring contently when it is presented to Ezio who holds it in his arms and calls it bella or bello.

And then… Ezio managed to get a hand on an illegally smuggled lion cub who grew up to be quite… large.

A very spoiled large cat who always loved it when Leonardo would come to visit because he would give the lion treats so it would let Leonardo study it.

Now, Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t plan to adopt any animals. It just so happened that he joined a wolf pack in taking down preys once and now he was considered a… ‘kindred spirit’. They would join Ratonhnhaké:ton whenever he was off hunting and wouldn’t take his kills.

When he left the village, he saved a dog being mistreated by Red Coats and the dog just followed him to the homestead.

While he was sleeping the barn, he saw another dog, all skin and bones, rummaging the containers where the old man keeps the horses’ food for any scraps it might eat and he felt sorry for it so he would throw it a bit of the meat he would prepare for him and the first dog that kept following him.

By the time, Achilles finally agreed to train him, the wolf pack that he had hunted with near his village came to the homestead and… just followed him around.

Achilles thinks it’s a gift.

That there have been Assassins that had a close kinship with animals like Altaïr with his birds and Ezio with his cats.

The wolf pack stayed in the homestead when Ratonhnhaké:ton went with Achilles to Boston. The dog that Ratonhnhaké:ton fed also stayed because they learned that he was already quite an old dog.

Achilles didn’t say anything but the grief in his eyes made it clear that the old dog’s owner had been one of the many dead Assassins that Achilles knew.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton returned from Boston…

Not only was he accompanied by the first dog he adopted, he apparently adopted 3 more dogs along the way.

Achilles has himself to blame for that one.

And so, time moves on and Desmond Miles is born.

The window to his nursery was always close because birds and squirrels would come inside an open window and surround his cradle.

His mother had been worried that those squirrels and even some of the birds might carry something that would make a baby sick.

When he grew older, his friends were the animals in the woods surrounding the Farm and the guard dogs that Farm used.

The other children thought he was weird because of his affinity to animals.

Many adults found it to be a bit disturbing but also a sign of the greatness that Desmond would achieve.

Why else would he have the same ‘skill’ as Altaïr and Ezio, after all?

Then Desmond showed… to be lacking in training.

He wasn’t bad.

He was even better than a lot of the other kids.

The problem was…

Everyone expects him to be more than that.

And Desmond couldn’t take it.

So he ran away.

And the animals ran away with him.

And Desmond finds an abandoned farm where he finally carves out a place of happiness for himself and his friends.

… Desmond has no idea where the bear came from but he became docile after Desmond scolded him for destroying the trash bin and eating spoiled food.

#it’s about leonardo’s mechanical lion #yeah that’s a thing #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer #disney princess desmond

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cleolinda · 7 months

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I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

#part one of two #me for some reason #story time with cleo #tl;dr my childhood home was fucked up and I was hilariously unbothered about it #insects cw #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #first look on patreon

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gn4wz-0n-b0n3z · 1 month

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ithink this is what tumblr would be like in the dogman universe: a simulator

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

can those villain asshats get control of those goddamn monsters i have lost literally every single fucking thing thanks to those brainless pieces of shits last week a fucking T-REX SKELETON destroyed my fucking HOUSE and everything around it

🪻 inmylane-1999

how are you able to say those words

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

what words?

🪻 inmylane-1999 the a word, f word, and s word

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

oh i see you're one of the Collardale inhabitants. screw the fuck off your town is a CURSE

🪻 inmylane-1999

what did i do? :(

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🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

hnstly i dont get y Daryl hangs arnd that pig guy hes rlly mean & bad

🐊 piethrowingboss

didnt u help us go after him when he ditched us after the mini jail broke 2 bits?

🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

yeh butt hes still rlly mean & i was a lil moar concerned 4 Daryl

🐊 piethrowingboss

ohhhh kk

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🐕 zupabuddiezthezenutz

zomg did u guyz watch that new mini-documentary w/ Petey The Cat n Zarah Hatoff??? that waz tragickk..

#holy shart i have so much moar respect 4 him now..

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🔄 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep reblogged

🌆 icareforyou follow

still dont know why people are supporting Petey Duckhat just because of that documentary, didn't he terrorize the city for more than a month or two?? ntm he quite literally MUTILATED Officer Knight and Greg The Dog's bodies bad enough with that bomb to where they had to become that sick and horrible abomination i have to stomach through seeing on the news every week.

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

i know right?? like hes genuinely a horrible cat but people are supporting him for no other reason other than "oh hes a victim!!" like shut the fuck up and grow up.

comicpanel-deactivated-98325749857

op i wouldn't say DogMan is sick and horrible, he seems to be in great condition despite such an accident and hard surgery to conduct, and looks perfectly happy. while i don't support Petey Duckhat either, you took it a step further and suggested that DogMan is currently in conditions horrible enough to render him an "abomination".

🌆 icareforyou follow

dont you post tips for fucking evil monsters on your blog.

#LMAOOO dude was SLAUGHTERED so hard they deactivated #redogs

1,509 notes

🌭 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep

walking on the street with a small can of living spray in my pocket and the nearest cop explodes into blood guts and viscera

10 notes

🦷 bigmonsterinyourheart

okay i get that Dr. Scum is a real and kinda sucky person and all that but his labcoat kinda fucks!!

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✨ lookatthestars

Hot take or whatever but I don't think we should trust a guy who gets really distracted by squirrels and balls and a kitten who could easily get hurt to protect our city. Lightning Dude IS one of the better options as they ARE a highly durable and strong robot, but The Bark Knight and Cat Kid maybe aren't our best bets, they could get hurt easily and aren't exactly professionals.

Don't get me started on the Friendly Friends, I don't think we can trust two guys who JUST left the same exact trio that was responsible for that marshmallow factory's destruction (which left many injured, some DEAD), what if they're pretending? Also the bugs could easily get killed, they're small and fragile, the most work they can do without a high risk of getting smashed is spying on villains.

Commander Cupcake's a different story, as I'm pretty sure that guy only helped out, like, 3 times.

#anti-supa buddies #anti-friendly friends #twinkle twinkle little star

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🪁 lalalalala89

dude imagine if we were in a book rn and ppl were posting on tumblr abt us

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🎠 supastarr

remember, calico trans toms are perfectly valid! even cis toms can be calicos, and fur pattern doesn't determine exact gender, especially with fur dying technology nowadays! :)

506 notes

#dogman #dog man #matthew.txt #IVE BEEN WORKING ON THISS POST FOR 4EVER TRYING 2 FIGURE OUT DOGMAN UNIVERSE DISCOURSE TOPICS

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just-barely-a-somebody · 2 months

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I’ve got a take on a prohibitedwish/fionna and cake pirate au that I thought of while listening to music and will never write a full fic for, so I just wanted to write out the ideas I had for funsies

It starts at night when Scarab, a feared pirate captain, kidnaps Prismo, son of the navy’s head general, to be used as a bargaining chip to save Jake from being hung.

Prismo has befriended an owl (Cosmic Owl ofc) and it follows them as Prismo’s taken away. On the ship, Fionna and Simon are ready for when he returns and they have Prismo tied to the mast to be clearly visible.

With no better way to help, Cosmic Owl attempts fly in and attack Scarab. It isn’t very effective when Scarab manages to grab Cosmic Owl by the claws. Scarab questions Prismo about the owl and Prismo panics to explain that Cosmic Owl was some of his only company.

Begrudgingly, Scarab sends Fionna to get something from below deck. Fionna returns with a small pouch. Scarab takes a pinch of colored dust from the pouch and blows it into Cosmic Owl’s face. Prismo’s worried about how it might hurt his eyes when Cosmic Owl sputters and is now *magically* able to speak (the first thing he says is probably yelling at Scarab to let them go or something before being like ‘wait oh shit I can talk’). As Prismo and Cosmic Owl are both coming to this realization, Cake comes up from below deck and makes a casual comment abt how great two way communication is (ref to what the squirrel said to cake in fionna and cake).

^that’s like the closest thing to an actual scene I’ve thought of

so more general lore just laid out

Meet the Crew (and learn the lore):

Scarab- captain, helmsman (does the steering). He is the owner of the boat, and is the one to decide who gets to join and who doesn’t. To his own annoyance, their safety is top priority. He claims it to be because they’re already such a small crew, and cannot afford to lose any more (but really he’s grown attached, though it would take a significant amount of inebriation for him to admit it). He carries an unassuming cane everywhere because of its magical ability to transform into a weapon (his crystal from fionna and cake but pirate themed). Previously a bounty hunter, he formed the crew after a target got the jump on him and left a scar slashed across his back. Now they search for magical artifacts and treasure to get by.

Simon- navigator, cook, surgeon. He takes care of everyone’s wellbeing and responsible for most technical stuff. He joined the crew in pursuit of knowledge about the treasures out there to be found. Years ago his long time girlfriend Betty sacrificed herself to save them from the kraken that rose from sea during a large battle at sea. She did it by using one of their treasures to fuse with the kraken before it could sink their ship, and the part of her that remains now allows them to cross its territory unharmed. He still misses her, and drops small offerings/gifts that he thinks she might like into the water when they pass over.

Fin- master at arms. Fin is well trained in combat and responsible for teaching the others how to handle themselves. He and Scarab are well matched when they duel, with most ending in a draw due to an interruption eventually requiring their attention. Growing up he was an orphan living on the streets with his only friend being his dog Jake. They were thieves to get by, and one day stumbled their way into finding the sack of magic dust that allowed Jake to talk. One day they stole a relic from bounty hunter Scarab that granted Jake his stretchy powers. They were caught in the act, but became the first to be recruited by Scarab as he saw their potential. Upon Jake's capture, he has become dead set on saving his best friend.

Jake- Cabin boy. With his stretchy powers he improvises ways to help the crew or hold together the ship. He met Prismo by chance and got to know him well enough to find out he didn't like his life stuck on land. They became friends before Prismo knew he was a pirate, but things went downhill when Prismo's father caught them and had Jake arrested. Stuck in jail, his only knowledge of what is happening is through the complaints of Prismo's father blaming Jake for Prismo's capture. Safe to say, it's the only reason he has yet to be hung.

Fionna- Rigger, Swabbie. She and Cake are the most recent addition to the crew. Like Fin she was an orphan before being recruited, and was the same age as he was when he was recruited many years ago. She reminded Fin of himself, though she was much more eager to be a pirate, so he convinced Scarab to allow her and Cake in. As the youngest in the crew and filled with a need for adventure, she often is the first to rush in without thinking things through. This has gotten them into troubling situations before. To make up for it, she is doing her best to learn how to fight from Fin so that she can properly defend herself.

Cake- Swabbie. When she joined, she was given the same magic dust that Jake had. In Jake's absence, she has had to learn how to use the stretchy power relic that he left behind on the ship. With some big shoes to fill, she makes it her business to keep others positive/entertained (this has yet to work on Scarab)

Not sure if there should be Bubblegum and Marceline or Gary and Marshal, or both, so feel free to imagine their inclusion however you prefer. Coming up with this stuff is hard, okay?

Prismo- hostage. Prismo lived most of his life under control of his strict father, and began sneaking out at night to live his own life. With little friends, he befriended an owl that happened to nest outside his window. One night he met Jake and they got along well, meeting up every night for a week until Prismo's father caught them. Only then did Prismo find out that Jake was part of Scarab's crew which his father had been working tirelessly to catch. Prismo was grounded, and Jake was jailed to be hung. After his capture, Prismo sympathizes with their crew, and wants to support their goal of having Jake released. It takes a lot of convincing from Prismo to be allowed to roam free on the ship after they have set sail (which Scarab permits on the grounds that Prismo simply doesn't have the combat skill be able to seriously injure any of them even if he wanted to). Scarab is highly skeptical of Prismo's sympathy, and keeps a close watch that Prismo cant help but be highly aware of. Fionna reassures him that it's just how Scarab is, but with his nervously pushy attitude Prismo is slowly able to break down Scarab's emotional walls one by one.

If anyone does anything with this I'd love to see it

#fionna and cake #adventure time #prohibitedwish #prohibited wish #the scarab #prismo #simon petrikov #finn and jake #finn the human #jake the dog #fionna campbell #cake the cat #fionna the human #betty grof #just writing

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kebriones · 6 months

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Ancient greek gods summary:

Zeus: thunder and lightning and also mpreg. Can transform into animals

Poseidon: sea and uhm earthquakes? And horses? Can transform into horse.

Hades: king of the underworld, transformation abilities unclear, has helmet of invisibility which is very handy imo why is it not used in more media? Associated with cute flowers.

Hera: Will protect your marriage. Will kill children and their moms or make their lives hell. This is complex character writing alright.

Hestia: goddess of sitting at home with your hoodie and a cup of warm coke, playing minecraft and being a nice person. Probably also the goddess of vacuuming and the smell of freshly washed laundry on a sunny day.

Demeter: goddess of putting cereal before the milk and growing plants. All sorts of plants, cacti are included i am pretty sure. Can transform into horse iirc

Hermes: fast. Post offices. Transporting the souls of the dead like an extremely cool courier. Also thievery and other stuff. Oh also travel. God of moving about a lot. And killing poor tortoises.

Apollo: god of music and all the other fancy stuff like light and plagues. Also god of severely underappreciated and disliked critters. Don't kill his sacred pets

Artemis: goddess of hunting riffles and having girlfriends and also wildlife like bears and ground squirrels. Don't kill her sacred pets.

Dionysus: god of wine, cats, theater. Ah Don't look too much into him I'm sure it's just simply a wine party god hahahahaha oh god don't mind this gaping dark hole of madness. Moving on, moving on.

Ares: war lol. Also i think he can transform into a boar but i might be mistaken. Probably god of chilling because he only has one job.

Hephaestus: god of fire and making things that involve fire and also robots. Coolest god, proven by the fact that his temple is the single best preserved ancient greek temple we have. That's craftsmanship for you.

Aphrodite: you already know this everyone knows this, literally if I stop some rando on the street they're gonna tell me Aphrodite is the goddess of love and beauty and so on. Anyways she is some sort of deep sea creature. Like Cthulhu.

#ancient greek mythology

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nikethestatue · 4 months

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A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter IX

Too Afraid to Love You

Piglet has never been handled so roughly or with so much indignity. But despite his protests and super threatening growls, which could scare anyone, Elain didn’t even care. She jammed him into a doggy carrier, or what could be called a backpack with holes, and then threw on her jacket, while sliding into her trainers. She swung the carrier over her shoulder and then tugged the loops over her arms. Piglet was shoved face first into the mop of her hair, and he was of mind to maybe bite her, but he didn’t. But he was so mad, he couldn’t even look at her, so he just sat in his backpack with holes, and bounced about, while she ran down the street. He still considered biting her on the ear perhaps, but he couldn’t reach it. So his plan went to naught. But he was very angry with her, especially because she was running! Running. She didn’t run. But here she was, her feet slapping on the pavement loudly, while she jerked and jostled him in this abominable contraption. It’s like she didn’t even care! She didn’t care about his comfort and well-being. Not ever since dad came into her life. Not that he didn’t love dad–dad was the best, but still. Piglet was still important, and he felt that he did many incredible things for Elain, and she needed to think about them.

Piglet considered everything that Elain should’ve acknowledged and be grateful for. Did he not bring her fun things from the street? Shiny wrappers, dead squirrels, empty packets of things unknown? Didn’t that count for something? And how he sometimes woke her up at 7:09 am, even though his breakfast was at 7:02 am! He cared. He cared so much, he let her sleep an extra seven minutes! All all those late night walks, where he definitely, absolutely sensed serial killers in the bushes, and he was ready to protect her. Where was his ‘thank you’? All those go-potty-serial-killer-men-in-the-bushes that he was so vigilant about and ready to deliver a deadly strike at. And, he also always met and gave his seal of approval to all the random people that came to the office. He met them and he introduced himself, and he was polite, but he was also very vigilant, as usual. He didn’t even like anyone, except for two people, and one of them was dad anyway. And the other one was the big bloke that came with dad. The big bloke was alright too–he wanted paw and Piglet shook with him.

Oh…

Well then. At least Elain brought him to the butchers’. He loved this place. And they always gave him treats too. So, maybe he’d find it in himself to forgive her.

“Miss Elain, ‘morning!”

“Morning, Jack. How are you?”

“Working hard. How’s the matchmaking business?”

“Booming.”

“That right? Well, not surprising. Those Gen Xers don’t know how to talk to other humans, so they need all the help that they can get.”

Elain laughed, “You aren’t wrong.”

“How can I help? What would you like?”

“Chicken, please.”

Elain Archeron was a proper lady. She was of good stock, a fine beauty, polite and she knew her meat. She was one to keep traditions, and she patronised private businesses in the neighbourhood. People around here liked her. She was an integral part of the community.

“Piglet, how are you in that rucksack?” the butcher chuckled, as he weighed the chicken pieces.

“He is not very happy, but I am in a hurry,” Elain admitted.

“A romantic date for you then?” Jack joked, as he wrapped the chicken in paper, and then filled a bag with chicken feet and necks–Piglet’s favourites.

To his surprise, the pretty matchmaker got all red in the face and quickly waved her card over the reader, as she grabbed her packages.

“Something like that,” she muttered.

“Ahh well then. Good luck with that. Hope the fella treats you well, Miss.”

“He does,” she confirmed.

“Bye Piglet,” Jack called out. “Take care of Miss Elain and keep her safe.”

I always do Piglet snorted indignantly.

Piglet alerted Elain that Azriel was coming. Nowadays, she had no doubts about what was to happen–if her dog began going crazy by the door, she knew that Azriel was nearby.

And Elain was…excited.

It’s only been 3 days, barely, since he came to cook for her and her sisters, and she was excited to see Azriel. She was also very concerned about his injury and his general well-being, and needed to see him with her eyes and ensure that he was actually okay.

She’s been pacing for an hour, aimlessly cleaning all the counters, and while Piglet was able to go downstairs and hang out in the library room, and by ‘hang out’ she meant sleep, snoring loudly, she couldn’t do the same. She was thinking, her head aching from all the intrusive thoughts, which were mostly about Azriel Night. And she wished she didn’t have to think quite so much, but all she could imagine and think of was him here, in this space, with her, where he seemed to belong. And she didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t know why he consumed her and why she wanted to care for him, and why she worried about him, and why she wanted to cry when he held Piglet, and why she was proud of how he treated her sisters and how kind he’s been to all of them.

Therefore, when the knock came, she was already waiting. And she didn’t even care if she seemed overly eager and borderline desperate. She needed to see him. She almost ripped the door off the hinges, since she pulled it so hard.

Azriel was pale, dressed in a black windbreaker, black Adidas trainers and black joggers. He was a far cry from the usual confident and cocky Azriel, the football superstar. He was wearing a hood, but his black hair stuck to his forehead, and his shoulders seemed to stoop.

“Hey gorgeous girl,” he smiled at her, his eyes widening a bit when he beheld her. “May I come in?”

Elain shook her head and then took him by the hand and drew him inside, while muttering, “it’s like inviting a vampire into your house…”

Azriel smiled and then threaded his fingers with hers, while picking up Piglet with his other hand. The pug was quiet, but happy. He put his big round head on Azriel’s shoulder and sighed contently, while murmuring and singing something under his breath.

“Cassian said that he cried,” Azriel said softly, watching Elain, who looked…scrumptious. She was wearing a loose knit jumper, little knit shorts, and knit knee highs, which ended just above her knee. He was trying to avert his eyes, but who was he kidding? Those soft, pale thighs were the death of him. He was obsessed with her figure on any day, but this…well, this was a very special and a very delightful present for him.

“You spoke with Cassian?” Elain asked quickly, as she blushed and lowered her eyes. Azriel gently pulled her to him and she was forced to stand in front of him, as he towered over her, while she stubbornly looked down at the floor.

“I have. He rung and told me that you were ‘spewing fire and brimstone’–his words–and told me that Pink cried because he was so upset when I took a tumble,”

“TOOK A TUMBLE!!??” Elain cried out, “are you kidding me?! You were pushed and I thought your leg was broken! That’s how it looked on the telly,”

“And then you rang me like eleven times and messaged me another six?” he smirked like an asshole, and Elain made to pull her hand away, huffing with anger and embarrassment.

“Leave me alone,” she hissed. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged indifferently,

“Suppose I wanted to be with my favourite person. And my favourite dog.”

“As if I am your favourite person…” Elain even rolled her eyes, but the flush of her skin told Azriel everything he needed to know. She liked it. She liked the compliment. No matter what she said and how far she rolled her eyes, she liked being his favourite person.

“You are. And besides, you want me here,” he told her, and his fingers squeezing hers tighter.

“The cheek of you is unbelievable,” she complained, annoyed and looking absolutely adorable. All her huffing and indignation were offset by her sublimely sexy outfit and the endless blushes on her cheeks. “I don’t want you here,”

“I wasn’t the one who was blowing up the phone,” he commented innocently, burying his nose in Piglet’s neck.

“I was simply inquiring after your well-being!” she yelled. “It was nothing more! I was being polite. I think it’s quite normal for a person to reach out and inquire after someone’s health, when they are injured or ill!”

“And I appreciate that more than you can imagine,” Azriel said gently, and then lifted her hand to his face, to his mouth. “And Cassian demanded to know why I haven’t put a ring on this pretty finger yet?” With that, he pressed his lips to her ring finger, and she gulped loudly, unable to respond. What the hell was happening? Why would Cassian ask something so absurd? Both of these brothers were completely bonkers.

Azriel continued, unperturbed, “and you know what I told him? Not yet, but I will.”

Elain’s saucer-like eyes flickered with its warm brown light. She seemed both shocked, and mollified by his words. But…

The sheer dominance of him. The presumption. The proprietary ownership.

He displayed no hesitation. And his confidence wasn’t arrogant, but just annoyingly self-assured. As if he decided that this was going to be the way, and he was going to make it so. Like she was his.

“Mr. Night!” Elain growled at him. “Every single time. Every. Single. Time. We’ve been together you told me that you will marry me,”

“Which I will,” he concurred confidently.

“No you will not! This is abnormal behaviour. You cannot tell me things like these!”

“Well, that’s where you are mistaken, gorgeous girl. See, if a man tells a woman that he will marry her–at any point in their association–that just means that he will. He set his eyes on her. He is now a hunter. And he will hunt her until she is his. Until she bears his young,”

“Ew. What?!” Elain winced, grossed out.

He laughed.

“It is what it is, Ms. Archeron.”

“I am not marrying you,” she declared.

He only shrugged.

“We’ll see.”

“Nothing to see. I am not your type,” she reminded him.

“You grew on me,” he parried.

“Like a rash?”

“Like a wart.”

“Wonderful. You can go now,” she jerked her shoulder towards the door, by which they were still loitering.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will,” he decided, and began to remove his jacket, though it was a tricky thing to do, since Piglet just snuggled closely to him and wouldn’t budge.

Elain gave an exaggerated sigh and tugged on Azriel’s sleeve, to help him take off his jacket.

“Did my boy really cry?” Azriel asked again, stroking Piglet’s back.

“He did,” she nodded. “He didn’t like seeing you hurt.”

Azriel’s sharp, usually severe, if beautiful face, suddenly melted into a loving smile and he hugged the pug closer to his chest.

“Why is he not looking at me? Is he sad and angry?” he worried.

Elain lightly patted Piglet’s head and said, “No. He is super happy. That’s how he gets when he is very happy. Quiet and still.

“If he was mad, you’d know it,”

“Oh yeah?” Azriel grinned, “What would he do?”

“He’d give you the biggest side eye in history and would not interact, and wouldn’t look at you.” She chuckled to herself and then recalled, “Once, he had an…” she cleared her throat and half whispered, “anal abscess.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Azriel’s mouth fell open.

“Hmmm, yeah,” Elain opened her hands helplessly. “I took him to the vet, and…well…they probed. And they had to go in kinda deep. He was not a fan.”

“I am absolutely not surprised that he wasn’t a fan!” Azriel agreed, trying to stifle his laughter, while stroking Piglet’s back soothingly.

“So they gave him some antibiotics and an ointment and then when I took him home–and mind you, he refused to walk, so I had to carry him for like four miles–he wouldn’t look at me the entire time. When we came home, he went to his bed and wouldn’t move or pay me any heed. As if I was the one who fingered him in the butt.”

“Let me stop you right here, matchmaker,” Azriel raised his hand.

Elain stopped abruptly and looked at him with expectation.

“Nowhere in my life, not since I’ve met you, did I ever expect to hear the words ‘fingered him in the butt’ or ‘anal abscess’ come out of your mouth! This is some kind of parallel universe I am in right now.”

She laughed at that. Then asked,

“Still want to have a dog? Because I had to put the ointment on him. In there.”

Azriel sighed, considering her words, and then nodded decisively.

“Still want him. And you. And I can finger both of your butts, if that’s what it comes to,” he promised.

The expression on Elain’s face told him enough, so that he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist and murmured, “Don’t faint, matchy. It’s okay. I am not offering to do it right this minute. Unless…”

“I will break your other leg!!!” Elain screeched, burying her face in her hands.

He burst out laughing, and then reminded her, “Hey, that’s not fair. I am injured!”

“I will injure you further if you won’t close your awful mouth right this minute!!!”

Azriel was laughing, until he started coughing, whole body wracked by his loud heaving.

Elain sighed dramatically, and said, “come on then, let’s go”. She tugged him into the informal family room, which lay across from the kitchen. It was a nice space–reeking of Elain-like cosiness. A comfortable sectional sofa, without frills, but obviously expensive, and as Azriel sunk into it, exceptionally well-cushioned. He almost crawled into the couchette side of the sofa and lay his head back, exhaling heavily. This was nice. Across from the sofa was a fireplace, with actual logs and an actual fire. The smell was delightful and the warmth substantial. There was a TV, which was turned to some cookery show. A corner was dedicated to built-in bookshelves, and there was a plush armchair there–he figured probably Elain’s favourite corner.

He kept coughing, feeling sweaty, and then suddenly chilled, even next to a roaring fire. Elain was mutely shaking her head, while Pinky licked his neck affably, comforting him.

“Thanks matey,” Azriel whispered, huffing like an asthmatic.

“You are completely totally ill!” Elain was muttering angrily under her breath, as she opened a chest and pulled out a throw. She came over and then pressed her palm to his forehead. Azriel smiled. It was such a tried and true ‘mom move’ and not for the first time he thought of what a wonderful mother she’d make to their children. Not for the first time he imagined her gorgeous curvaceous body carrying life, carrying his seed, morphing into something supple and even more beautiful.

“You are hot!” she declared.

He smirked and winked at her, “I know, baby.”

“No, I mean, you are hot hot,” she tried and he only nodded.

“You don’t need to pay me compliments, but if you insist…”

“Oh lord!” she exclaimed. “You are incorrigible. I am not paying you compliments. You are hot. Your body is hot.”

He only grinned at her, and lightly drew his knuckles over her cheek.

“Don’t worry. You are hot too,” he comforted her. “But you are right–my body is hot. If you’d like to see more of it, with a lot less clothes, you only have to say the words…”

“Mr. Night,” she growled at him, crossing her arms on her chest. “You are not attempting to harass me while you are burning up with a fever, are you?”

“Harass? No. I would call it ‘wooing’,” he told her, his insufferable smile still curving his lips. “But I am also attempting to stop you from constantly calling me Mr. Night. Can we move to Azriel?”

“Absolutely not!” she tucked the throw around him somewhat aggressively. “Also if this is your wooing, then it needs a lot of work!”

“Never had any complaints,” he shrugged.

“I guess the standards in an orgy are pretty low,” she snapped, and Azriel couldn’t help himself and laughed out loud. This girl’s tongue was sharper than a blade. She never failed to answer him and he loved it!

He rubbed his chin and explained,

“Just because I am a gentleman, doesn’t mean that I can’t fuck you like a savage. I am just balanced like that.”

As usual, Elain’s eyes popped open, because the girl squirmed and clutched her pearls at any sexual innuendo. Azriel liked unsettling her, but he also treaded carefully, and didn’t push too far or too hard.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked then, her expression softening just a fraction. Piglet crawled onto Azriel’s torso and made himself comfortable on his chest, tucking his blunt round head under Azriel’s chin. It was a good thing too, because the dog was nice and warm, and a bit heavy. Like a weighted blanket.

“Very,” Azriel assured her, and then brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She looked down at him and then lightly drew her finger over a lock of his hair. “Thank you. Thank you for everything, Ms. Archeron.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Night. But you should’ve stayed home, in bed, and not exposed yourself to the elements to get here.”

He was quiet for a long time and then quietly, his voice barely audible, said, “What if this is the only home I want to be at?”

Elain sighed and offered him a small smile.

“I will make you a cuppa and,”

“With lemon and sugar,” he added quickly.

“Obviously. And then you can sleep a little.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I am not going to throw you out on the street if that’s what you are asking.”

He patted Piglet’s back and said, “Pink stays here. And I won’t anally violate him,” he gave her a meaningful look, “unlike some people.”

“Oh god, I shouldn’t have told you about that,” Elain lamented and he chuckled, nodding. “Probably not,” he agreed. Then, offering his best puppy eyes he inquired, “no chance of a little kiss?”

“That would be a definitive NO,” she threw sternly. “Besides, you want to give me your illness?”

“Couples who ill together stay together,” he tried.

“We are not a couple, and you are clearly delirious from your cold. Also, people don’t ‘ill’ together!”

Naturally, the moment Piglet senses that Elain was going to the kitchen, he jumped off Azriel and forgot about him, excited at the prospect of a treat.

Azriel sank deeper into the sofa, missing Pinky’s warmth, but Elain’s thoughtful throw kept him from shivering. God, he felt like shite. It’s been a while since he felt this bad, but this was the first time in his life when he didn’t actually mind it. Of course the chills and the chest congestion weren’t his favourite, but he was with his Elain and she was taking care of him, and that was enough.

Piglet was begging loudly, ‘wfff wwww waf fawww’ his voice high pitched and sounding kind of…human. Azriel had read somewhere that a smart dog is mentally equivalent to a two year old child, and now he was seeing that to be true. Being with Pinky was like having a somewhat hyper, perpetually hungry, narcoleptic toddler, who fell asleep in random places with no warning, wanted to play all the time, gave no opportunity for privacy and wanted to be the centre of attention at all times. He also refused to walk whenever he wanted, and sure enough, someone would readily carry him.

“Hold on,” Elain cautioned him, “let me make Az some tea.”

Az.

Az!

Az?

AZzzzz!!!

Azriel perked up on the sofa, listening closely. She actually called him–Az??? That’s what she called him in her head? She thought of him as ‘Az’? Not a lot of people called him that–Cassian, some of his veteran teammates, his cousin Rhys, but that’s about it. And now his girl used his private nickname, which just threw him into a tailspin inside his head.

Wahhwaaa-bark-wahawwf

Pinky responded impatiently.

“Okay, I’ll get you some treats,” Elain decided, her voice quiet, making sure she didn’t disturb Azriel, “but why don’t you run upstairs and bring your baby, so you can share with Az.”

Pinky snorted and Azriel watched him from his spot, as the pug took off down the hallway and then there was some grunting and plops leading up the stairs. Elain meanwhile brought him a cup of tea, with a small plate of lemon and ginger cakes, and a couple of pills.

“Here,” she muttered awkwardly. “It’s very hot.”

Azriel accepted the cup, and smiled at her, “thank you, matchy.”

“Do you ever run out of nicknames?” she wondered, as she sat on the edge of the sofa.

“Usually, yes. For you, no,” he told her, as he sipped his tea. It was perfect–tart from the lemon and sweet from the sugar.

“How’s your leg?” she asked, seeing as he winced when he shifted.

“Ehhh, a little fucked up, but I’ll live. They put a brace on it. That’s why I couldn’t respond to you–I was getting an MRI, and all kinds of X-rays and all that boring shite. Don’t think that I was ignoring you, beautiful.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Are you gonna kiss it all better?” he smirked at her, as he took another sip of his tea.

“Unlikely,” Elain rolled her eyes.

“If your leg was hurt, I’d kiss it better,” he immediately told her with a hurt expression.

“Yeah, I feel like you’d want to kiss more than just my leg,” she scoffed and Azriel shrugged innocently.

“Do you blame me?”

“Take the pills,” she ordered in her no nonsense tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” he obliged. “What are these? Are you gonna roofie me so you can have your way with me?”

“Gah. Why? Seems like you are willing and ready to have your way with me without the roofies!”

“True, true, but,”

At that moment, Piglet trotted back from his lair, his plushy baby in his teeth.

“Did you bring it for daddy?” Elain gushed, realising a second too late what she said and what Azriel heard.

Her face was a mask of horror.

Panicking, she began to mumble, “no, no, I mean…for Az…You brough Puglet for Az, right? For Mr. Night.”

Azriel was chewing the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh out loud.

Quickly, she turned to him and said, “Mr. Night, this is not what I meant!”

“What did you not mean, Ms. Archeron?”

“I did not mean to call you that.”

“You don’t want me to be your daddy?” he finally let go and burst out laughing. Piglet looked between the two of them with his dark buggy eyes and gave an equivalent of a shrug, as he tossed his baby at Azriel.

“Is that for me?” Azriel took the toy and said, “thank you, baby boy.”

Elain jumped up, clearly grateful for the distraction, and beckoned Piglet after her. “Come on, treat time!” she cried overly-enthusiastically.

“This conversation isn’t over, matchy! I know you’re trying to weasel out of it, but come on ‘daddy’?”

“It was a mistake!!” she called out over her shoulder, while Piglet wiggled his arse, following her back to the kitchen.

“I don’t think so,” Azriel sang back, as he bit into the delicate little cake. This girl sure knew how to bake!

“Can I at least be a baby daddy?!” he requested.

“Ohmygod!” she moaned.

“I’ll make us a couple. Well, four. I’ll make us four.”

“Noooo!”

Waaaff waaaww wah hawww Piglet let himself be known, screeching loudly.

“Okay, you can have a whole banana or a piece of cheese,” Elain offered.

That did not go over well. There was dangerous growling, and demanding yips and pathetic howls. Piglet did not like making choices. He clearly wanted both.

“Ow, stop it…no, you can’t have both,” Elain scolded him, as Azriel listened and laughed. This was everything. This was his life. His best life. He was obsessed.

“The doctor said that you need to be on a diet,” Elain reminded her rowdy dog, who did not care at all. “And look, the banana is bigger, and you can have more of it. And it’s tasty too,” she was convincing him. Whether she was successful, Azriel wasn’t sure.

A couple of minutes later, Piglet arrived back to Azriel’s sofa, holding a banana in his teeth. He wasn’t looking particularly happy, but Azriel picked him up and sat him at his side, breaking small pieces of banana and feeding it to him.

“That’s right, my boy. Daddy, DA-DD-Y,” he yelled obnoxiously, “will feed you. Maybe will sneak some cheese in when ma isn’t looking,”

“Don’t you dare!” Elain warned, “he is supposed to be on a diet. You’ll lose pug privileges.”

“No way!”

…Elain’s voice woke Azriel up from his slumber. Whatever she gave him had knocked him out pretty well. He slept like the dead and even now, he was still out of it. The dog was snoring next to him and Elain was pacing in the kitchen, doing something. But it was her voice that woke him up. She was talking on the phone. He didn't want to eavesdrop but he couldn’t help overhearing what she was saying, especially because her tone was urgent and unhappy.

“Are you serious?” she demanded of whoever was on the other line. “Isn’t that excessive?”

“...Okay, I understand, but five months?”

Azriel moved quietly on the sofa, tugging the throw to his chin, feeling like he would never be able to move from here ever again, yet the fact that his girl was clearly displeased with some motherfucker made him want to fight.

Whoever she was talking to went on some long rant, while she listened patiently.

“Okay, I get it,” she said at last, her tone clipped, “but really? My birthday? Christmas?”

More talking.

“Eris–I am sorry to tell you, but this is what people do for each other!! Even when it’s inconvenient! Did I love flying to Beijing for 11 hours? Just so I can spend a week in the hotel room, when you didn’t make any time to be with me? To even show me around the city,”

“I don’t care that you had meetings! I flew there, to be with you. I left Piglet and my clients, just to see you, and,”

“Yes! He does matter to me. He is my dog, and I,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t love him more than you! But I am beginning to wonder if you love your high-flying job more than me?!”

“That’s a lot of words, but I don’t see any action,” she snapped. “I am not asking you to do anything unreasonable! You can come here, spend my birthday with me, then it’s going to be Christmas–”

“Okay, so what if it’s Feyre’s birthday too? It’s not going to interfere with any of our plans. Also, she is my sister. She is turning 25. I think I am allowed to be with my sisters on that day. Though no one said that you weren’t invited,”

“Well, I am sorry you don’t feel comfortable in the bohemian crowd! You don’t have to come, if it’s such a burden to you, but you can’t expect me to miss her birthday. Besides, we will be going out to a restaurant…”

“Moroccan”

“I am sure you can find something to eat there! It’s basic food–meat and rice pilaf and salads!”

“No, not Ethiopian–it’s Moroccan. No, it’s not going to give you diarrhoea!!!”

Azriel stifled a laugh at that. Poor Elain. Also, this Eris bloke didn’t know the difference between Ethiopia and Morocco.

“Fine. You don’t like kabobs. Whatever.”

Who the fuck didn’t like kabobs? They were delicious! Azriel thought.

After a long pause, where he assumed Elain was listening to the man, she said with a sigh,

“So you are certain? You won’t be coming for Christmas?”

“Okay. I can’t make you. But I will also tell you this–I won’t be Penelope,”

Who the heck was Penelope?

“Look it up!” Elain snarled.

Apparently Eris also didn’t know who Penelope was.

Azriel discreetly reached into his pocket and took out his phone, before Googling ‘Penelope’. No, not Cruz.

“Penelope, wife of Odysseus, Queen of Ithaca… She waited twenty years for Odysseus' return…”

Oh. Well, then.

Meanwhile, Elain said icily,

“No, I don’t think that I am being unreasonable. If I want my so-called boyfriend to come home to England for my birthday, and for Christmas and New Year’s, instead of staying in freakin’ China, then no, it doesn’t make me unreasonable. It’s entirely up to you what you do, I’ve said my piece.”

“Forgive me, Eris, if I find it hard to believe that you’ve been faithful to me for five months…and the four months before…”

“Whatever you say. Goodbye. Sure. We’ll talk later…Sure. When I cool off.”

Azriel wanted to say something. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t feel right infringing on her private life. He assumed that Eris was the ginger bloke. Stupid, for leaving his woman like that. Unattended and unsatisfied. Azriel wouldn’t make the same mistake.

He’d never leave Elain.

The next time Azriel woke up was when it was dusk. The world outside was coloured in greys and blues and purples. It was pretty–the foggy, ethereal beauty of London in the waning light of day.

His ridiculous dog was still snoring, unbothered. This time though, he was on his back though, his three paws high up in the air. Azriel wished he could snap a pic, but…his arms were occupied. His whole body was occupied. In the best possible way. His woman was sleeping on top of him.

He looked down. She was half-sprawled on top of his body, her leg tucked between his own, her cheek resting on his chest. Goodness…A beautiful woman. Not an attractive sleeper. Azriel smiled softly. Beautiful to him. Always. But, her hair was in disarray, her mouth open, and she was drooling on his shirt. What a far cry from Miss Priss in her pearl necklace. She was hugging him more sexually than he expected, and half of her ass was hanging out from her shorts. A big hunk of gorgeous fleshy butt.

Now, if Azriel was a proper bloke, with manners and a good head on his shoulders, he would've considered feelings, consent, appropriateness, and many other trendy things that were so en vogue these days. But he was lad from the council estate and didn’t rub shoulders with Lord Darling nearly long enough to have become a genteel gentleman. Therefore, he saw an ass, and he took it. In his defence, this was the best, most luxurious, prettiest, juiciest ass in existence. The best ass. His favourite ass. And his scarred, mangled hand couldn’t help itself and slipped down her back and cupped the bare perfection of her lush ass cheek. He didn’t squeeze, not wanting to wake her up, but he caressed her gently, while luxuriating in their closeness. She came to him. Following her obviously unpleasant conversation with that Eris bloke, Elain sought comfort with Azriel. She could’ve gone upstairs, could’ve done something private and personal, and licked her wounds on her own. But she came to him. She trusted him enough to splay herself atop of his body and now peacefully drool on his chest.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

Truly.

His girl finally thawed her icy little heart. Or maybe, her heart was always warm and loving, and beating like a fluttering bird, hoping that it wouldn’t be broken. He wouldn’t. He’d protect it with everything he got.

Elain shifted and he stilled, wondering if she was waking up and whether he was now obligated to remove his hand from the warm globe of her ass. He didn’t really want to. He found himself a girl who blushed like a virgin and hid her face in her hands when he said filthy things. Yet, he wondered if this same girl would suck his cock like his cum was oxygen and she needed it to survive.

He hoped so.

“Did you dedicate the goal to me?” Elain asked suddenly, but softly, without opening her eyes.

She startled him, but he answered,

“I did.”

“Was the ‘E’ for me?”

“You are the only ‘E’ in my life,” he clarified.

“Okay. Thank you. It was the most beautiful goal I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.”

“Is your hand on my arse?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“Where else would it be when I have your bare butt showing and you are almost dry humping me?”

“Ohmygod, I am NOT,” she began arguing, but he just squeezed her soft butt cheek, digging his fingers into the delicate flesh.

“Shush, woman. Just stay there for a sec. Enjoy the moment.”

And to his utmost surprise, she obeyed. She didn’t move. She just lay there, and he stroked her head with his other hand.

Awawawawa wufff whaha

“And…he is up,” Azriel muttered, watching Pinky flop over and start talking at once.

“I have to take him out,” Elain said, reaching her hand to stroke the pug’s head.

“I’ll come with you,” Azriel told her.

“Are you sure? How do you feel?”

“Much better, actually, and I’ll have to protect you, you know.”

“I already have one to protect me–he thinks everyone is a serial killer. Serial killer neighbours. Serial killer post men. Serial killer squirrels. The butcher–he isn’t a serial killer. But everyone else–potential killer.”

“I respect his dark worldview. Everyone is a serial killer until they are not. Guilty until proven innocent.”

Elain rose awkwardly, because Azriel refused to remove his hand from her ass.

“You sure you don’t want to take me for a ride, beautiful?” he suggested.

“You are not at your best,” she raised her brow at him.

“My mediocre is most men’s ‘exceptional’,” he argued humbly.

“Your modesty knows no bounds,” she noted, as she finally got up.

“It smells amazing here, by the way,” Azriel commented, as he sat up on the sofa. He was feeling markedly better. The fever was gone.

“It’s dinner.”

And before he could say anything, she added, “Yes, yes you’re invited.”

“Well, that’s excellent. Maybe a sponge bath afterwards? In case I am back to having a raging fever?”

Elain scoffed and said, “Not sure how good Piglet is at giving sponge baths, but you two can work it out between the two of you. He likes a good bath.”

“Good idea,” Azriel decided, “I’ll discuss it with him.”

Elain went upstairs to change and it struck him how domestic they were together. He guessed that this was ‘family’. Them taking a nap together, dinner cooking on the stove, his woman upstairs, dressing in his presence, not at all perturbed by him being in the house, Pinky…well, Pinky was now running around and hiding from Elain, who came downstairs wearing jeans and holding some kind of onesie for him.

“Piglet, you need to wear it! It’s very cold outside. You’ll freeze!” she tried to reason with him, while he galloped between the kitchen and the lounge, dodging her and sliding under chairs and tables, until he was crawling along the kitchen counter, thinking that they couldn't see him.

Azriel put his finger to his lips, gesturing for Elain to keep distracting him, while he tiptoed closer.

“Piglet, where are you?” Elain called out, pretending like she couldn’t find him. “Come on! We got to go potty.”

Just then, Azriel made one of his ‘elite athlete’ moves and managed to grab the dog. Piglet wailed in disbelief, having thought that he was so stealthy and amazing with his evasion techniques.

“Come on, matchy, go for the kill!” he encouraged, while Elain thrust the coat on Piglet, who gave up his struggle pretty quickly, and compliantly got himself bundled up. On top of the coat, he also had to wear a hat with ear cutouts and which was tied under his chin.

“Jesus Christ,” Azriel chuckled. “He is like a smothered baby.” He set the dog down, and went to get his own coat.

“You feeling broody, beautiful?”

He held her jacket to her and she snorted, as she threaded her arms into the sleeves.

“And you are volunteering to relieve me of said broodiness, I reckon?”

He shrugged, “I’ve got all the equipment in working order.”

“So you keep telling me,”

“You still haven’t checked,” he noted and zipped her up.

Then he wrapped a scarf around his neck and said, “Your scarf, baby. Sorry I haven’t given it back to you. I love it, you know,”

“Keep it,” she suggested. “I want you to be warm.”

The moment they exited the townhome, Azriel draped his arm around Elain’s shoulders and pulled her closer. The street was quiet, but Piglet guided them where he wanted to go, and that was towards people, pubs and restaurants. Azriel limped noticeably and Elain worried about him, hoping that he was okay to walk, but thankfully, Piglet wasn’t in the mood to hurry and moved at a leisurely pace himself. He also found a stick, which he immediately brought to Elain, while Azriel murmured, “Yeah. Sticks, man. Bitches love sticks!”

“You are crazy,” Elain laughed.

“I am crazy? I am not the one standing in the middle of the street holding a stick, a limpy boyfriend and a dog in a knit hat.”

“Yeah, the only problem in this scenario seems to be the limpy ‘boyfriend’,” she made quotation marks with her fingers.

“No, that’s the only thing that makes sense in this equation, beautiful.”

Then Piglet decided that he wanted the stick back, so Elain gave it to him and he trotted along happily holding it in his teeth,

They walked slowly, Elain deep in thought. Azriel didn’t bother her, until he asked,

“Why are you fighting this?”

She glanced up at him and frowned with incomprehension,

“Fighting what exactly?”

“This.” He said firmly. “Us.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his usually relaxed, playful tone gone. “This, Elain. Yes, Elain. Not Ms. Archeron. Not ‘beautiful’. Not matchmaker. Elain. And I am asking Elain as to why you insist on fighting this?”

“I am not,” she began.

“Every step of the way, you are. You ought to understand that this is it?!”

“What is?” she asked softly, her eyes luminous and full of questions.

“Us, Elain. You can’t be that thick not to understand that this,” and he waved his hand between the two of them, “is something special. This thing that we have going on, despite all the laughs and teasing, it’s something…” he paused. “I ain’t gonna scare you, Elain,” he promised, “but I ain’t gonna leave you alone either. That’s a vow,”

“And if I wanted you to?”

“That’s the thing. You don’t want me to. You want me, just like I want you. And I don’t know why you can’t just admit it?”

She sighed and said quietly,

“Men have hurt me. I’ve not been with many. I’ve had three boyfriends–one in school, the next one, Graysen, was in uni. And I loved him. Really, really loved him, and we got engaged, and then he cheated on me with my neighbour, Clare. And many others, as I found out later. I broke the engagement. It was all hush-hush, to avoid scandal because both of our families are prominent and scandal is a no-no.”

“And now it’s this bloke Eris?”

“How do you know?!”

“I know. What’s he?”

“Lord Eris, Earl Vanserra.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, shaking his head, his jowls ticking.

“Of course. Earl…Is this what it’s about? I am too low born? I know…I know you fucking have a title. What is it?”

“I am just a Lady,” she mumbled.

“You ain’t just a Lady. What are you?” he demanded. “A Duchess?”

“Nesta is the Duchess,” Elain said softly. “She is the eldest daughter, the title is hers. I am a…Marchioness.”

“So that’s it? Is this a class thing? Is that why you won’t give me a chance?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Am I?” he snapped.

“You are. It has nothing to do with any titles!”

“Then what? Explain it to me.”

She sighed and twisted her fingers,

“I feel like I haven’t done my job. I haven’t found you anyone. And I…”

“That’s what it’s about?!” he exclaimed incredulously.

“I don’t know…Yes. But also other things. Eris,”

“Eris is a fuck up who doesn’t care about you,” Azriel snapped roughly.

“Perhaps,” she sighed sadly. “I am beginning to see it now,”

“What else? You better tell me everything, because like I said, I am not leaving. I am not walking away from this.”

“Can you give me something?” she requested.

“Anything. What do you want?”

“A little time. To understand everything myself. I’ve never felt like this…I’ve never been swept away by a man. I find you…exciting. Interesting. You are so different from everyone I’ve ever met. You are raw and honest. There is a decency about you that’s so uncommon nowadays. You are brutal and chivalrous at once. I feel like you can beat someone to death, yet you hold the doors and you help me with my coat,”

“I can beat someone to death,” he assured her.

“I know. I can sense it. There is a wild, untamed beast prowling under your skin. I love it. I love how you make me feel–how I am free with you, and you just accept me. You accept me and Piglet, and I know that some view me as odd, because I am devoted to him. I am the weird lady with the pug and the pearls,”

Azriel smiled.

“That you are, beautiful. But that’s what I love about you. You are unapologetically yourself, and you love your ornery pug and you know who you are. I’ve also never met anyone like you–because most of the women I see around are either gold diggers or rather vacuous individuals obsessed with their looks and handbags.

“Everything about you is strange, Elain. Your job is strange. Your manner is strange. Your dress is strange. You are a girl from the past, who is also thoroughly modern. I don’t know what to make of you, but I know that I love it. I adore it all.”

They stopped in the middle of the street, while Piglet ambled aimlessly around their legs and Elain asked, her voice trembling with nerves,

“You like me?”

Azriel smiled at her and nodded.

“I do.”

“Even if I am weird?”

“Even then. I especially love that you are unique. Not weird. You are my Elain,” he cupped her cheek in his scarred hand. “You are one of a kind. And there is no one else I’d rather spend my perfect day with than you.”

“What is your perfect day?” she breathed, her eyes wet with tears. He brushed his thumb over her lashes and said,

“I’ll tell you one day, matchy. Or better yet, show you. It may or may not include an apple crisp with custard,”

“Oh yeah! I am excited.”

“You and Pinky are alike. Easily swayed by food,” he chuckled.

“Let’s go eat dinner then,” she pulled him to her.

“Let’s go then.”

Chicken and rice. Oh yeah. This was Piglet’s favourite meal. Well, his most MOST favourite was meatloaf. When Elain made meatloaf, it was the best day ever. But for that, Piglet had to be very, very good. He couldn’t make trouble, wake up in the middle of the night and alert Elain to a serial killer in the bushes, couldn’t steal anything from the kitchen, had to go potty on time, not tear up his chewies, and not lose his baby, so that Elain didn’t have to look for it everywhere. Meatloaf came with many conditions, and sometimes, it was worth it.

But chicken and rice was the next best thing. Piglet got two chicken feet, three necks, and a bunch of giblets, which was del-ici-ous.

Though while his dinner was making Piglet very happy, what made him ever happier, kind of giddy actually, which resulted in him stopping mid-meal and expelling a loud gagging wail of happiness, which made mom and dad stop eating and watch him warily, was that dad was now here, eating dinner with them, and he wasn’t gonna leave.

Yeah, Piglet knew that dad was here to stay. And that made him even happier than meatloaf.

“Is he…okay?” Azriel asked unsure.

Elain was stifling a laugh, as Piglet roared like a bear over his bowl.

“That’s him being extra happy,” she explained.

“What spurned this on?”

“Chicken and rice, I suppose,” Elain shrugged. “He loves it.”

Suddenly, Azriel leaned back in his chair, gripped the table and roared loudly, startling both Piglet and Elain. Piglet stared at him, until a piece of chicken fell out of his mouth, buggy eyes jumping from Azriel to Elain. When Azriel didn’t stop roaring, Piglet joined him and howled wildly.

“You two nutters!” Elain cried out, laughing and covering her ears. “Stop it! Look at the state of the two of you!”

“We both love chicken and rice!” Azriel howled.

And yes, Azriel really did love the incredible, flavourful and meltingly unctuous chicken soup that Elain served for dinner, but then they had buttered rice with herbs and chicken with ginger and garlic and it was the best thing that he’s ever eaten. Bar none. The soup melted over his bones, over his lungs, filling his chest with warmth and nutrition.

“I must tell you something, Ms. Archeron,” he decided, once the roaring and the howling was done, and Piglet resumed his munching.

“And that is what, Mr. Night?”

“Sleeping with you and eating your food, made by your lovely hands is the only panacea that I need in my life. Therefore, as you can understand, I can no longer leave you, because otherwise, I will wither from illness and die,” he concluded dramatically.

Elain clutched her chest and exclaimed, “oh, the exquisite drama of it all!”

“I should think so.”

“You’ll be fine,” she told him firmly.

“I will be. With you,” he agreed, and poured both of them more wine. “Thank you. For this,” he added sincerely. “Amazing dinner. Truly.”

“It's just chicken soup,” Elain shrugged, but she blushed and he knew that she liked the compliment.

“When is your birthday?” he asked suddenly.

She frowned and said, “December 23.”

“Oh, right before Christmas,”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Not only that, but Feyre’s in on the 21st. The 21st is the Winter Solstice, so naturally, every year, Feyre suddenly turns into a pagan goddess and starts to celebrate with gusto, saying how she was born on the longest night of the year.

“And then it’s Christmas a week later, so normally, no one cares about my birthday. My sisters will ring me up, sometimes we’ll go for drinks, and that’s about it. Dad sends money,”

Azriel smiled at that, “that’s a dad move”.

“Yeah, fifty quid without fail. Every year. In a card. Pretty sure his secretary is the one responsible for sending it.”

“So, do you need a date for Feyre’s birthday then?” he inquired boldly.

Elain shook her head in disbelief,

“So you are inviting yourself?”

“Actually, I am inviting Rhys,”

“Oh, so you are bringing yourself AND your cousin to someone’s birthday?”

“Maybe Cass too,” Azriel shrugged.

“Oh, so it’s a Night brothers shindig then?”

“Yeah, we know how to party.”

“No doubt.”

“So then? Yeah. I am your date?” he pressed.

“I mean, do I even have a choice at this point?”

“Not really.”

“Seems like it.”

Azriel finished up his meal and looked outside the window. He folded his hands on his stomach, relaxing back in the chair.

“It’s late,” he said vaguely.

“It’s not even eight yet,” Elain commented, drawing her finger over the rim of the glass.

“Yeah. Late.”

“O-kay.”

“See, Pink is already asleep,” he motioned towards the dog, who was sprawled on the carpet, looking like a giant loaf, snoring peacefully.

“That’s just his after-dinner nap. He does that a lot.”

“Yeah…So I am thinking,” Azriel began and Elain tensed, looking at him apprehensively. He tsked and said, “I think I should stay over. Tonight. With my fever and all. Wouldn’t make sense to take a turn for the worse after making so much progress…Besides,” he gave a hammy exaggerated wince, “my leg hurts a lot.”

Elain crossed her arms on her chair, watching this piss poor performance.

“Is that so?”

“Yes! It’s all pretty dire, if I am being honest.”

“So dire that you are unable to call for an Uber or even your driver?”

“Dev has a hot date. Wouldn't be right to bother him. And Ubers are so…impersonal.”

“Are you just sitting in front of me, lying through your teeth?” she asked with a sigh.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want, Mr. Night?”

“I would like to spend the night, Ms. Archeron.”

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