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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 10 months

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heya, i have to wake up in three hours but! here's another lil human au snippet! ft. lightly implied Laughingstock! disclaimer i am so so tired so don't come at me for typos or strangely worded sentences or missing info <3

Before heading home, Eddie swings by a charming little store he’s been to once or twice before. He usually goes to the chain store by his house, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle and the endless aisles. This little store is quiet, nice, and strangely has everything anyone could need.

The lot is mostly empty at this hour, so Eddie claims a spot right at the front. As with the other times, the windows are littered with displays and stickers - half off on this, sale on that. Eddie enters Howdy’s Place with the chime of the door’s shopkeeper’s bell. He’ll get what he needs and get out, quick and easy and peacefu-

Boisterous laughter slams into Eddie like a hammer, so sudden that he jumps in place. An employee stocking cans nearby glances weirdly at him. Eddie clears his throat and hurries into the nearest aisle as the laughter tapers off. The silence barely lasts a second before loud chatter starts up. It’s too fast and muffled for Eddie to understand, but he can pick out two distinct voices - one deep, one less so but still decidedly masculine.

Eddie tries to tune it out as he gathers what he needs. Toothpaste, some paper towels, shampoo. For the hell of it, he nabs a box of classic bran muffins from the spacious food section. He lingers for a moment, enjoying how far-away the conversation seems at the other corner of the store. Unfortunately, theft is illegal, so Eddie is forced to move towards the noise.

A strange thing about the store - it’s a combination general store, antique shop, and diner, complete with a miniature gift shop separating the two. One long checkout counter stretches from the open store area, behind the gift shop, and into the diner, where the conversation is coming from. An interesting setup, but an understandable one. It allows anyone behind the counter to move fluidly between customers and sections.

As Eddie approaches, the conversation becomes slightly clearer.

“-said, no wonder you didn’t get her number!” the deeper voice barks, and the two dissolve into that almost-too-loud laughter again.

As it tapers off, the other voice says, “Sounds like a real charmer! But really, you oughta be careful, Barn. One of these days someone’s gonna throw a right hook at ya.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. A transatlantic accent? He hasn’t heard that anywhere outside of real old movies and a queen he once knew. It sounds natural too, like the man was born to sound like he belongs on a 1920s radio show. It nudges something in the back of Eddie’s mind. He’s started to get really sick of that nudge.

“Oh, this guy did.”

“No kidding? I don’t see a shiner.”

“Well, yeah. I went left.”

Both of them laugh again, and Eddie feels a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. That wasn’t funny enough to garner an actual laugh in his opinion, but it wasn’t unfunny.

Eddie steps up to the counter and quietly puts his acquired items on it, not wanting to interrupt. He chances a glance to the side - walking space in front of the counter’s length lets him see right down into the diner.

A large man with dyed-blue hair and an interesting fashion sense is at the bar, talking to an employee leaning against the other side. The employee doesn’t really catch Eddie’s gaze, but the other man… Eddie swears he’s seen him before. He studies him from the corner of his eye, not wanting to be rude but unable to mind his business.

“Our bouncer didn’t even get a chance at the action - the idiot knocked himself out tryin’ a second swing!” The customer says. His deep voice, wavering with humor, only adds to the sense of familiarity. Metal glints in his right ear. Eddie knows this man from somewhere.

The employee shakes his head, tutting. His busy hands polish a vintage pitcher. “I swear, you get all the crazies.”

“Makes for a good story, though.” The customer takes a sip from his tall milkshake and scoffs. “Though if it wasn’t all well-ending, amusing bull, I doubt I’d be so tolerant.”

Minutes drag by as the two keep talking. Eddie goes from patiently waiting to awkwardly trying to get the employees attention. If only there was someone else behind the counter, but the only other staff member is elsewhere, likely still stocking shelves.

The two men are too absorbed in their little world, even though both are facing Eddie’s way. The customer has both elbows on the counter, one of them bent to prop up his chin. The employee has his hip leaned against the edge as they chat. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and clearly deeply enjoy each other's company.

Still - and Eddie is sorry to say, but it’s bad customer service. He’s not in a rush, but he’d still like to be on his way home. He could be fishing out the complex keys right now. He checks his phone - he’s been here for nearly fifteen minutes. Picking out the items took less than five.

Eddie sighs, staring at the various cigarette packs displayed behind the counter. He’s never seen the appeal in smoking, but as the laughter starts up again, he almost wishes he did. He’s going to treat himself to a very long shower once he gets home.

The store’s other employee walks behind the counter, carrying a box. Eddie lights up. Finally - she pointedly clears her throat and heads into the back.

The constant conversation stalls for the barest moment, and he looks over. The customer grins at him for a second - lord he’s handsome - before turning that grin towards his friend.

“You’re losin’ your touch, Howds,” he teases, bringing his shake straw to his lips.

“I resent that statement. You’re just distracting.”

“Lil’ me? Distracting? C’mon, you can just tell me I’m pretty to my face. I’ll take it like a champ, I swear!”

“Ha, good try.” The employee sets the pitcher down and starts to mosey in Eddie’s direction. “Your ego is big enough for the both of us as is. One more compliment and your head’ll pop like a balloon.”

“Well, given that most balloons don’t really pop, they just kinda deflate slowly-”

“Sorry for the wait!” the employee says loudly in a glaringly obvious customer service tone. He stops in front of Eddie with a cardboard smile. At the other end of the counter, the familiar man snickers and hides his grin behind his drink. “I trust you found everything you did - and didn’t! - need.”

Eddie just stares up at him for a moment. At six-one, Eddie hasn’t felt small in a very long time. He usually stands at least a full inch above other people. This employee - Howdy, his name tag states - has several more on him.

“Uh, y-yes, I uh, I did,” Eddie stammers, glancing at his items.

“Wonderful! And again, my sincerest apologies for the delay. My friend makes a game out of keeping me from my job.” Howdy shoots his ‘friend’ a glare with enough heat in it to make an ice cube sweat.

“No worries.”

Howdy scans the items at an almost frightening speed. Beep, into a paper bag. Beep, in. Beep, beep - “Oh, no.”

“What?” Eddie says, dread plucking at his ribs as Howdy holds the bran muffins and shakes his head. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“Indeed there is! You’re making a mistake with these. They’re absolutely horrible, I tell ya - and bad for you, too!” Howdy tuts and puts the box to the side. “No, no, you don’t want those.”

“I… don’t?”

“Not if you knew better! Lucky for you, I’m here to set you straight. What you need is-” he snaps his fingers, “Barnaby, be a pal and-”

“Already on it,” ‘Barnaby’ says, appearing next to Eddie.

If Eddie weren’t already paralyzed, he’d jump right out of his skin from how Barnaby towers over him. He has to be a scant inch or so shorter than Howdy, but he still makes Eddie feel tiny. Unfortunately, Barnaby is even more handsome up close.

“Here ya go.” Barnaby hands a plastic container to Howdy and taps it, smiling lazily down at Eddie. “I’d take his advice on this one. Those bran-named muffins may sound fancy, but they’re pretty crumby! You want muffins of quality. Real breadwinners!

Eddie can’t help a soft laugh. “Breadwinners, heh, that’s a good one.”

“Are you selling these or am I?” Howdy says, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“Hey, I’m just doin’ what you asked! I’m bein’ a pal.”

“And I - I’m sorry," Eddie interjects, "but you’re awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Eh, I’ve been around, but uh… you ever been to [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE]?”

Howdy clears his throat. “I’m trying to make a sale here, Barn. You can flirt on your own dime when you’re not costing me mine.”

“Didja know your nose gets redder when you’re jealous?”

Howdy rolls his eyes and shoves Barnaby in the diner’s direction. Barnaby goes with a hearty snicker. Despite the joke, Eddie thinks it has some merit as Howdy scans the final item and rings him up, considerably frostier than before.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that he didn’t actually agree to the different muffins. Too late now. “Say, what kind of muffins are those?”

“Poppyseed-lemon.”

Eddie relaxes - that is a lot better than boring bran. “Y’know, my mother loved poppyseed-lemon muffins.”

“Did she now,” Howdy drawls.

“Like you wouldn’t believe! If baking was so much as mentioned, she’d jump right on houndin’ us to whip some up for her, or send us to go buy some. We’d never even get a taste! They’d be gone the moment they hit the air, I tell ya.” Eddie chuckles. “Took me a while to understand what all the fuss is about, but man was she right. They are good!”

“Uh-huh. Well, we have a fresh batch delivered every morning. They’re not the same type every time, mind you, but I can promise that they’re all of the highest quality.”

“Breadwinners, right?” Eddie jokes. Howdy doesn’t blink, but Barnaby snorts. He’ll take it. “I might have to come by more often, if that’s the case! Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Mhm, have a good day.” Howdy hands him the bag and strides away without a glance. The dismissal is clear as day. “Say, Barn, did you hear about the racket one of those cult crackpots stirred up at our dear friend’s tearoom?”

Eddie doesn’t catch the tail-end of the sentence as he hurries away, but he frowns. Cult? What cult? There’s a cult? He certainly didn’t hear of one before moving here, and none of his background checks had turned up anything of the sort. He hopes it was just a figure of speech.

The door chimes again as Eddie leaves. It isn’t until he’s in his car that the embarrassment of that whole exchange catches up with him. If he had a nickel for every time he’d made a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, strangely familiar man, he’d have three nickels. At the rate he’s going, he’ll either be rich, or he’ll have to move.

Eddie subtly tries to peek around the store’s window displays from the safety of his car. He catches a scant glimpse of blue hair - come to think of it, it’s a similar shade to Wally’s. But where Wally’s had, to Eddie’s memory, been uniformly dyed right down to his eyebrows, Barnaby’s rich brown roots were obvious. His beard and eyebrows weren’t dyed, either.

As Eddie relaxes back into his seat, he re-reads at the store’s name. The color drains from his face and he barely restrains himself from slamming his forehead against the steering wheel.

Oh, of course. Of course he made a fool of himself in front of the owner. Eddie can never come back here again. And it was such a nice store…

#wait wym this is almost 2k words what the Fuck!#ok! the writing gods blessed me tonight i guess!#anyway slight context -#in my mind there's a whole Plot and stuff for this au #where it starts off with eddie running into The Group™️ and meeting them mostly separately #before they all meet up and go 'hey yeah you guys ran into eddie from high school too? cool. he's ours now'#and forcibly drag eddie into their little Circle #wh modern human au #snippets from the bog #also sorry about the [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE] lmfao i cant come up with one atm #i want it to be wh-related and Clever #but i am not very clever on a good day and this has been a bad one! and again! im tired!#i. dont know how to tag this. whatever! if you see it you see it!#ok im going to sleep. for a whopping three hours before my alarm goes off. *less than three. Sigh.#i always do this! its like 'oh i have to wake up early tomorrow! lets not sleep at all! im feeling so creative!'#gonna go think about this au's laughingstock as i drift to sleep #FOR THREE. HOURS.#have i mentioned the three hours????

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rfsak2 · 10 months

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Spitfire, Part 5

This is another long post. Part of me thinks they will continue to get longer as the seasons get more complicated. I’m excited though because after Season 4, Alexandria/Negan are prime Daryl.

Let me know what you think!

Spitfire, Pt. 5

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, character death/characters feared dead, smut under the cut

Part 4

She perched on Daryl’s lap, settling against his chest, then crossed her legs, almost demurely, between his spread legs. She looked up, catching Glenn’s exasperated glance.

Daryl snuck his arm around her waist, big hand falling on the outside of her thigh.

She shrugged. “What?”

Hershel hid a smile. “This is a council meeting.”

She nodded. “There are no more chairs.”

They all turned to see the stack of chairs in one corner of the library.

She waved dismissively. “There are no more chairs over here. I’m lazy.”

She felt more than heard Daryl’s chuckle. She glanced back at him and he didn’t meet her eye. A second later he felt his finger tracing the outside seam of her jeans… then the inside seam.

She pinched the inside of his other thigh, watching out of the corner of her eye as he bit at his lip.

Maggie snickered. “Alright, then.”

Hershel nodded. “Let's start with the back side of the prison. Walkers have been wandering in again. One got into the tombs.”

Sasha sat forward. “We can try to lure them away. Set up a boombox a half mile out. Mitzi and I can take down any too stuck to get out.”

Carol nodded. “We need something more permanent. The old torn-down walls help keep some out but they clearly aren’t secure enough.”

Daryl hummed. “Found an old excavator. If we can find diesel n’someone to drive it, we can probably clear it pretty easy. Find a way to replace the fence.”

Maggie spoke up. “I can drive it.”

Mitzi made a note on a little sheet of paper. “So: diesel and fencing. We can probably get most of that from the same construction site where the excavator is. We’ll just need to clear it. There were about twenty walkers in there last time we rode by.”

“I’ll gather some people up.” Glenn nodded to Sasha and Mitzi. “Between the two of you, we should be able to clear it pretty quickly.”

They all agreed and the conversation moved to another topic. Daryl pointed at her notepad, his free hand drawing a nonsensical design that arched closer and closer to her inner thigh. “What’s this word?”

“‘Escavater’.” She scribbled something, hiding her pad, and showed it to him. Frisky?

He chuckled. “That’s not how it’s spelled.” He nabbed her pen and scratched it out, spelling it correctly and adding: you know what you did.

Laughing, she grabbed it back, pretending to scratch out the misspelled word. “I was in the Army, not the Air Force. What d’ya expect?” Don’t know what you’re talking about at all.

Bending over my bike like a fucking porn star.

Who me?

I’m gonna fu-

“Mitzi?”

She hummed, trying not to startle, like she had been caught doing exactly what they had been doing. She looked up.

Hershel grinned back. “Do I need to separate you?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head, almost childishly. “Can’t spell. Daryl was helpin’ me. What was the question?”

He chuckled. “Ammo?”

“We did pretty good when we scavenged at that pop-up army tent-camp last month.” She shrugged. “As always, we need to keep our eye on it and keep a look out for more munitions but we’re pretty stocked.”

Daryl’s hand on her thigh pulled her ass tight to his crotch. She pinched him again, higher. He captured her hand and held it to his thigh, knowing that her crossed legs hid his lower half almost completely.

Glenn sat forward. “Do you think we have enough to start teaching and target practice up again?”

“Yeah, probably, but.” She considered that, trying to keep her voice level. “We need to see how bad the old training ground has gotten. D spotted a herd heading that way last month.”

Daryl nodded, rubbing his bristly chin over her exposed upper arm. “We can swing by on our next run n’see.”

“What about hand-to-hand? Can we start working on that?”

“Sure.” She shrugged, pulling her hand back from his thigh from where he had been inching it up. “Anytime. I think people are just a little nervous because of the rumors that’ve been runnin’ ‘round.”

Maggie giggled and Mitzi was briefly anxious that Maggie knew what was happening across the table. “Is it a rumor if it’s true? You did beat that guy up a couple of weeks ago.”

Daryl grunted, grumbling under his breath. “Less than he deserved.”

Mitzi made a face and folded her hands primly in front of her, partially to get them away from Daryl. “Y’all didn’t see Daryl go for his knife. I saved him from being knife throwing practice. Besides, he was fine. He just had a black eye-”

Glenn hung his head, smiling despite trying to stay serious. “And a broken wrist?”

She shook her head. “That was an accident. Scared me poppin’ up behind me like that.”

“You'll start tomorrow, then. If that’s okay?”

Mitzi saluted.

She smiled as she laid her cheek against his chest, sweaty and satisfied.

Daryl wrapped a red spiral around his finger, rubbing his thumb over it gently.

Busying herself with idly drawing patterns over his chest, she lightly scratched at his nipple. She giggled when he captured her hand and lifted it to his mouth and Daryl bit lightly into the meat of her palm.

“Gonna start teaching hand-to-hand t’morrow, yeah?”

She nodded against his chest, yawning. “Are you cool with being my Vanna White?”

He snorted. “What d’ya need help with?”

“Demonstration.” She turned more on her stomach so she could prop her chin up on his chest. “Put me in a chokehold-“

He started shaking his head and she trailed off. “What’s wrong?”

“Ain’t puttin’ my hands on ya like that, no way.”

Her head tilted in confusion. “Baby, that wouldn’t be the context.”

He grunted. “I know that, but I ain’t doin’ it.”

She nodded, pressing closer so she could lay her cheek against his. “Ok.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll ask Glenn.”

He breathed deep, trying to relax the sudden rigidity in his muscles. “My father beat the shit outta me n’my mom. And I know your dad n’grandpa beat ya. I ain’t doin’ it or nothing close to it.”

She smiled against his neck. “I have never, ever thought you’d raise a hand t’me. It didn’t even cross my mind that those two things would be- or feel -the same for you. If it had, I wouldn’t ‘ve asked you, D.”

He nodded affirmatively. “I’ll be there to help ya, but I ain’t putting my hands around your neck or pretending to hurt you no how.”

They quieted and she settled back, tracing designs in his chest. “Y’know, you are the only person I ever dated, even before the military, that treats me the way y’do.”

He calmed. “How d’ya mean?”

“Like I’m glass… not fragile necessarily, but valuable.”

He nodded, running his fingers up and down her side. “How’d they treat ya?”

She shrugged. “Not always bad necessarily… just rough, I guess they were always aware that I could handle rougher treatment. Never really had anyone protect me or think twice about how they treated me. I don’t know. Didn’t date that much anyways so I guess I didn’t really think about it. But there’s always been a noticeable difference between you n’ them anyways.”

Daryl breathed deeply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I know you can handle it… me being rougher with you, doing the shit you do- are asked t’do.”

She smiled. “You know that is literally what I would have done if this shit never happened right? If we had met before the turn.”

“True, I guess.”

She sighed. “I don’t think you would’ve wanted t’be with me, to be honest. I was gone all the time, in foreign locales I couldn’t tell you about, doing things and killing people I couldn't tell you about. I was… broken by alotta it and pretty cold by the end. As much I’d wanna fuck you, I probably wouldn’t ‘ve been very nice.”

“You were never broken. I don’t believe that.” He shook his head. “Besides… Would’ve still wanted ya.”

She stared up at him with a soft smile. “You would’ve been the only one, I didn’t even want myself most days.” She pressed a kiss to his nose. “On the bright side, with my salary and all the extras, you coulda just stayed home and been my house-husband. Do whatever you wanted to do, customize bikes, hunt, fish, learn how to surf, whatever.”

“House-husband?” He rolled his eyes, pulling her over him so she laid against him. “Wouldn’t ‘ve just let you work and sit around doin’ nothin’.”

“No, you wouldn’t ‘ve.” She conceded. “You don’t have a lazy bone in your body. But you wouldn’t have had to do something you weren’t interested in just to earn a living and I woulda liked to be able to give you that. Woulda made it more worth it.”

He made a face like he was considering it. “Made money, then?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I made money. Between base pay, base-approved housing, hazard pay, the occasional special demonstration or competition, I socked away money like no one’s business.” She grinned up at him. “You woulda been a well-kept man.”

He snorted. “Some trophy husband.”

She pinched his side. “You vastly underestimate how attractive you are. I woulda had to beat off the other officer’s wives.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable, and she let the conversation go.

He sighed after a minute. “I wouldn’t ‘ve liked it then, anymore than I like it now. Money or no.”

“Gotta do somethin’.” She shrugged. “This just happens to be what I’m good at.”

He nodded. “I know you’re trained to do these things, that you’re good at ‘em, that you are tough as nails, but I don’t want you to hafta, to hafta be. Like that’s all you’re good for.”

“I don’t.” She thumbed at his bottom lip. “If it was all I was good for, who’d keep you in clean clothes?”

He groaned. “I can do it, I just forget.”

“I know, baby.” She leaned up to kiss him. “I don’t mind doin’ the laundry. If I did, there’d be nothin’ you could do t‘make me.”

She settled back against his chest and was dozing off when he spoke. “Love ya.”

She smiled. “Love ya too.”

“Alright. Let’s get started.” Mitzi smiled, hands on her hips. “For most of you, this is gonna just be basic self-defense, how to keep a walker off of you long enough to pull a knife, how to break a headlock or a chokehold, that kinda stuff.”

Glenn grinned from where he stood in the small crowd that had gathered around her and raised his hand. “So you’re not going to be teaching me to kill someone with a spoon?”

She laughed. “Not t’day. That’s a special lesson.”

Zach raised his hand. “So you can, though?”

“Can what?”

“Kill someone with a spoon?” Zach grinned at Glenn

She shrugged. “You can kill someone with anythin’ if y’try hard enough.”

Zach watched her with a comically suspicious face. “Exactly what I’d expect a… internationally renowned martial artist to say.”

Mitzi frowned, head tilting in confusion. “What?”

“That's what you did before the turn. You were a martial artist.”

She snorted and glanced back at Daryl. “Y’know, Glenn knows what I did before the turn.”

“I told him not to tell me. I want to guess.”

“A’ight.” Mitzi shrugged. “You do you.”

“Back on topic.” Glenn nodded. “I want to start by learning to kill someone with a spoon.”

“She said later.” Daryl groused from where he sat on the low wall to the newly erected cooking pavilion. “Can’t be wastin’ spoons neither.”

“Killjoy.” Glenn discretely flicked off Daryl.

Daryl rushed Glenn, grabbing him around the neck and rubbing at his scalp with his knuckles. “What you call me, punk?”

Mitzi giggled and walked over to them. “A’ight. This isn’t likely to be the way a walker would grab you but it’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Mitzi, make him let me go.” Glenn whined. The small group laughed.

“Not yet, Glenn. We’re learning. Also, play shit games, win shit prizes.” She ruffled his hair, before turning back to the group. “How d’ya think you’d get out?”

Her students offered a couple solutions, like clawing at his arm or head-butting.

Mitzi nodded. “Good answers but wrong answers. Daryl has Glenn’s head down already so head-butting is not an option. Also, don’t go head-butting walkers, not advisable. Scratching or clawing takes too long to be effective. They can just knock you out.”

She moved to stand on Glenn's side. “Your best bet is to prevent the headlock in the first place. We'll talk about what t’do if you can’t next.”

She tapped Daryl’s arm and he let Glenn go. Turning to Glenn, she smiled. “Did you do any taekwondo as a kid?”

He nodded, watching her warily as Daryl moved back.

“Okay, try to get me in the same headlock.”

Glenn sucked in a deep breath and sunk into a fight stance that was solid but not practiced. He lurched forward and hooked his arm over Mitzi’s neck.

Before he could hook his other hand around his wrist, she stepped into him, locking her hips and caging him in with her arms. She locked her hands around his free arm and pulled him back over the leg she had braced up against the back of his leg.

Glenn fell back with a soft oof, Mitzi keeping hold of his abdomen to prevent him from hitting the concrete. He got his legs back under him and moved away.

Mitzi patted him on the shoulder. “Our instinct in this situation is to move away, but our attacker is generally in a better position to take advantage of any space we make. Instead, move in, lock your hips and keep their other arm away, hook your hand around the back of their arm, push at their shoulder with your other hand, hell- just wrap your arms around their upper arms and hug ‘em hard. Anything you can do to keep your head up and their other arm outta the way, do it.

“Once you accomplish that, there’s a couple ways to throw them or knock them off balance so you can get away. We won’t practice those on concrete though.” She looked out over the field. “Probably do that another day over there by the farm. Gotta talk t’Rick ‘ bout that.”

She motioned Glenn forward. “Let’s try again.”

Glenn was faster this time but Mitzi snuck her hand under her chin and grabbed the inside of his wrist. She pushed his arm out and pulled her head from the loop of his arms. She set her free hand on his shoulder and pushed him away lightly.

“This time, I got my hand in there quick, preventing him from getting a tight lock on my neck. From there just push away and run. You’re behind them, so it should be easier to get away, if you think and act fast.”

Mitzi smiled and turned to Daryl. “Now, Glenn is technically taller than me.”

“Technically?” Glenn gasped comically. “I’m like half a foot taller than you!”

She laughed. “Glenn is taller than me and fast, but D is even taller and bigger.” She glanced at Glenn, who was indignant. “Objectively, that is true.”

Glenn shrugged dismissively.

“Daryl is taller and his arms are long. So while Glenn’s speed works in his favor, Daryl doesn’t need to be fast. He can get his hands or arms around me without me being able to reach him.” She turned to Daryl. “Baby?”

Daryl made a face, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Ain’t sure ‘bout this.”

She smiled. “You don’t have to hurt me, D. Just put your hands on my shoulders.”

Daryl sighed and set his hands on her shoulders. Mitzi held her arms up and her fingers just brushed against his chest.

“See?” She flapped her hands ineffectually. “In this case, I need to be close.” She stepped in, Daryl adjusting to keep his hands on her shoulders. “If someone taller than you attempts a front chokehold, especially with the intent of choking you, they are gonna lock their elbows so they can press down.”

She brought up her forearms in between his arms in an ‘x’ shape. “You wanna break that elbow lock. So, forearms up in an x and then.” She brought her forearms out more gently than she would in an actual fight. Daryl stepped back, soft smile on his face. “Out and down, to push his arms away.”

“Baby.” She smiled and crooked her finger at him. “You doin’ anythin’ right now?”

He sauntered closer to her, eyes trailing over the curves and swells she was displaying for him. “Like what?”

“Like anythin’ that would prevent me from pulling you in here and havin’ my way with you.” She set her hip against the door frame, holding the door open with her foot and watching him with heated eyes.

He smirked, almost instinctively pulling his shoulders back, letting her look her fill. “Don't know anythin’ that could prevent that.” He leaned over her, pulling the door closed behind him as he used his body to move her further back into the guard tower.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, hot and open-mouthed. Pulling away, she smiled against his mouth. “That’s a good answer.”

He hiked up her shirt enough to get his hands on the skin of her side, squeezing gently at the softness he found there. “S’the truth.”

She slipped her tongue into his mouth and pressed tight against him. “Y’look good today, baby.”

He chuckled into her mouth. “I look the same as I always do.”

“True.” She slipped one hand down into the open neck of his button-up. “You look good everyday.” The same hand dropped down and teased at his length through his jeans. She kissed him again, moaning into his mouth. “So good.”

He groaned into her mouth. “Want’ya naked by the time you’re up those stairs.”

“Uh-huh.” She lifted her hands to his face and took control of the kiss as one of his hands dropped to her ass. She pulled away and pressed him back towards the door. “I’m in charge here, bud. You followin’ my rules today.”

He scoffed, using his grip on her ass to pull her tight into his body. “You gonna hafta make me.”

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.” She started to unbutton his shirt, before latching on to his neck.

He groaned and cupped her breast with his free hand, his other still preoccupied with squeezing her ass. Almost bending her backward, he nibbled at her collarbone through her shirt collar.

“Pretty, little thing.”

She giggled. “Your pretty, little thing.”

He caught her eyes and grinned, all teeth. The hand on her tit dropped to her ass and he grunted as he lifted her and turned to press her against the door. Worrying his teeth over her jaw, he nodded. “That’s right.”

She moaned and arched into him. Humming, he leaned in to kiss her again. Feeling her smile against his mouth, he groaned when she pushed back against him and took control of the kiss.

She bit at his lips. “And you’re my pretty boy, yeah?”

His brain froze, a sudden hot pulse shooting up his spine. She grinned, nibbling at his chin, and held his eyes. His jaw dropped and he grunted, rutting his hips against hers. “Shit!”

He leaned in to kiss her and she tutted, pulling back ever so slightly.

She bit his chin. “Are you?”

He found himself nodding before his brain could process the shift in mood. Pressing his dick up against her, he groaned loud and long.

She pulled back, head tilted cheekily. “So what I want is you naked by the time you reach the bed.”

He tongued at his lip, smirk still firm on his face. “Told ya, you’re gonna hafta make me.”

Hands in his hair, she tilted his head back and ran her tongue over his Adam’s Apple. She moaned against him. “Dontcha wanna fuck me, baby?” She pouted down at him.

He nodded and she tilted his head to the side, biting into where his neck met his shoulder. He groaned. “Fuck, do I, woman.”

She grinned. “Then why don’t ya take your clothes off and get your ass upstairs?”

He leaned into her, pecking at her lips softly. “Why don’t you?”

She huffed, frustration building to match his.

“No pouting.” He tugged at her lip with his thumb. “How ‘bout a compromise? Botha us.”

She nodded and he set her on her feet, pecking her nose. “Race ya.”

She won but only because he purposely let her in front of him, pinching at her ass and reaching around to knead at her breasts and rut against her ass as she tossed her t-shirt over the railing to the ground below.

He pulled her into a kiss as they cleared the stairs into the guard shack proper. She turned him, pushing him toward the mattress Glenn had brought up here some months ago. He fell back onto the bed, grunting, and pulled her down into his lap.

She set her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently. He didn’t budge, leaning in to suck her nipple into his mouth. She gasped, arching into him despite her best attempt to maintain control. “Fuck, D.”

He nipped at her nipple gently and pulled her tighter into him, grinding his crotch up against hers. She sucked in a breath as she carded her fingers through his hair, arching into him. He directed her hips to roll against him, moaning into her breast as she found the rhythm he liked.

“Pretty baby.” He thrusted his hips against her roughly.

She threw her head back and sighed, hips rolling against hers as he moved to suck a hickey into the skin above her nipple.

“So little, so pretty sitting on m’cock like that.”

She set her jaw and forced herself to look down at him. He grinned, biting at the skin of her other breast.

She threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head and pulled his head back. Leaning over him, she pressed her forehead against his and stared into his eyes as she ground down on him.

As he groaned, she moved to lick his earlobe into her mouth, tugging gently. He hissed, meeting her grinding thrust for grinding thrust.

She moaned, whispering hotly in his ear. “So handsome, baby. Take such good care of me.”

His hips jumped and he grunted loud in her ear. He crossed his arms over her back and grasped at her shoulders, using the leverage to pull her harder down onto him.

“Put me in ya.”

She smirked against his jaw. “Maybe I ain’t ready yet.”

“Wetter than fuck, baby.” He grunted and moved a hand down to shove two fingers into her roughly. She moaned and he smiled through a tight jaw. “You ready.”

She nodded as if it was a question and he removed his fingers, lining the head of his cock with her core. He caught her eyes and held them as he entered her in a single rough thrust.

Once seated deep in her, he tapped his fingertips against her bottom lip and she smiled, taking fingers still wet with her into her mouth. He grunted, eyes locked onto her mouth as he thrust up into her.

As he watched, distracted, she shoved his shoulders back gently. He fell back against the mattress, hands falling to maintain control of the movement of her hips. He pushed and pulled, guiding her in a rolling motion.

“C’mon, girl.” He smirked up at her. “You supposed t’be in charge and y’have me doin’ all the work.”

She took his hands from her hips and tangled her fingers with his. Moaning, she planted his elbows in the mattress and leveraged herself against him.

After a moment, she leaned forward to pin his hands by his ears, changing the angle and rubbing her clit furtively against his pubic bone.

Moaning, she shot him a lopsided smile and leaned forward to favor him with a wet kiss.

His hips jerked up against hers, hitting something in her that whited out her vision. She gasped. “Fuck, Fuck.”

He grinned cockily and pulled one of his hands free, digging his hand into her hair. “Yeah, baby? Already?”

He used the hand still tangled with hers to pull her forward against him. He secured her wrist in the small of her back and thrust up into her.

He panted in her ear, massaging at the back of her head. “Fit me like a fuckin’ glove don’t’ya, Spitfire?” He pulled her tighter to him and he ground his hips up into her, putting exquisite pressure on her clit. “C’mon, baby.”

She gasped and felt her body pull in tight, cunt clenching hard around him as she all but screamed into his neck.

Grinning, he turned them, setting her calves up on his shoulder and nearly folding her in half so he could press his face to hers, forehead tight to her temple. He groaned as he pressed himself into her again.

“Fuck ya like you’re mine.” He hissed, his own high fast approaching. “Cause y’are, right? You’re mine.”

She nodded, one hand digging into the meat of his ass the other clawing at his back.

“Say it.”

She sucked in a breath and choked out: “Fuck yes! All yours.”

He made an unholy sound deep in his chest and leaned back, her thighs still tight to his chest, snapping his hips hard against her.

One hand keeping her legs balanced on his shoulder, he reached down and captured a heaving nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Grinning down at her, he pinched lightly and tugged.

“Gonna cum again, little girl?”

She hissed, head falling back and neck arching against another sudden wave of tightness and wetness. “Fuck, I might.”

He shook his head and switched one leg to his other shoulder. Sucking his thumb into his mouth, he thrummed at her clit with his thumb. “Nah, y’are.”

He leaned over her as she nodded, pressing her legs back against her chest. He kissed her open, gasping mouth. “Gimme another, pretty baby.”

She moaned, lifting her hands to his face to keep his mouth against hers. his free hand lifted to cup and squeeze at her breast.

“Fuck, Daryl. Baby.” She clawed at his thigh and arched hard.

He nodded, sealing his mouth to hers. “Gimme it.”

She seized up quick, mouth dropping open silently and core clenching at him hard enough to take him with her. He groaned her name, hips spluttering against hers.

He kept himself propped up on his hands and focused on breathing through the heat still in his veins.

Grunting quietly, he pulled out with a groan, kissing her calf before softly letting them fall to the bed. He leaned over to kiss her again, caging her between his biceps.

He smiled softly at her as she hooked her hand around his bicep. He kissed her again. “Pretty baby.”

She smiled back. “Pretty boy.”

He rolled his eyes and laid his head against her chest. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, scratching lightly at his scalp.

There was a pounding at the trapdoor and they both jumped, Daryl pushing himself up and in front of her.

“Are you done?” Glenn’s voice was thick with irritation.

The door lifted just the barest amount, Maggie pushing their abandoned clothes across the floor at them, her eyes considerably more amused than her husband’s.

Daryl sighed, relaxing almost immediately. He kicked at the door. “We ain’t.”

The door fell shut and Mitzi started laughing, head thrown back against the mattress. Through the open windows, they heard the door to the tower open and close.

Mitzi smiled and leaned over the grill, chatting with Carol as she picked at a piece of fruit.

“You can always come and help me?” Carol smiled with an edge of gentle teasing. “Learn how to cook.”

Mitzi shivered for dramatic effect. “Tried once. Gave myself food poisoning.”

Carol giggled, smiling at Daryl as he came up behind Mitzi and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Hey, Daryl.” She turned back to Mitzi. “What were you cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.”

Carol laughed outright and Mitzi’s smile brightened. “You gave yourself food poisoning with grilled cheese?”

She looked over and snickered when Daryl started chuckling. “Didn’t store any of it right according to the doctor.” She shrugged. “Even after my aunt took me in, I was never home to be taught any of this stuff. Either off doing shit I shouldn’t or practicing, competing when she got me into shooting.”

Carol nodded, eyes soft on her. Daryl leaned into her and Mitzi waved them off. “It’s good. I ain’t worried about it.”

“Mrs. Dixon?”

She jumped, turning over her shoulder and catching Daryl’s eyes.

He shrugged. “Ain’t talking to me.”

She blinked before turning to the man. “Excuse me?”

The man, a Woodbury resident named Alex, looked nervous, glancing at Daryl. “I’m sorry… I thought you were married…?”

She glanced at Daryl, who was watching her with a small smug smile. He arched an eyebrow, almost challenging her.

She grinned. “We are.”

A hush fell over the eating pavilion.

“O-okay…”

“But if you’re gonna be formal, I insist on using my rank as well. That’s Captain Dixon to you.” She shot Daryl a shit-eating grin. “Just if we’re bein’ formal.”

Carol, who had until that moment been hiding a smile behind her hand, outright guffawed.

“Now what was the question?”

Alex looked panicked. “What? O-oh… uh. You mentioned taking people out to learn to shoot? I wanted to sign up.”

“Consider yourself on the list. I’m sorry, remind me of your name?”

“Alex.” He smiled brightly. “When’s the next lesson?”

“Alex.” She parroted back. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Thank you. ma’am.” He stuck his hand out and almost gleefully, she shook it.

“Welcome.”

He nodded, smiled and scurried off as she chuckled, watching him leave. “So fuckin’ proper. You think he knows he just officiated our wedding?”

Carol snorted.

Daryl bit at his lip, watching her with no small amount of pride and fondness. “You m’pretty, little wife now?”

She sidled up to him, standing nose-to-nose or as close as she could get with the height difference. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Prolly shoulda gone on our honeymoon, with as long as we been married.”

“Damn, you’re right. I should’ve booked those flights to Fiji.”

His shoulder shook with his laughter. “Prolly oughta learn to cook.”

“We both know you’re better at that. Besides, I do the laundry.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Guess that’s fair.” He leaned in for a deeper kiss.

Carol clapped. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Mitzi grinned and pressed her face into his chest. “Wish we had cake. That’s the only part of weddings that’s any good.”

Daryl chuckled and Carol shook her head, adding, “that is the most Mitzi statement I have ever heard.”

She shrugged. “Anyways, gotta go help clear that fence.”

“A’ight.” He patted her ass and nabbed the rest of the fruit she had been holding onto absently. “Be safe.”

She stepped back with a brilliant smile. “I married a fruit thief. That’s disappointing.”

“What’s yours is mine, wife.”

“Fair.” She grinned and waved over her shoulder as she made for the fence. “Love ya!”

Daryl grunted. “Say it to m’fuckin’ face.” He smiled and watched, biting into her Apple quietly, as she stopped short and turned on her heel.

She stepped even closer this time. Daryl straightened to his full height with a cocky smile. She pressed against him, rising up on her toes.

“Love you.”

He nodded and knocked her forehead with his. “Love ya.” He gestured towards the fence with his head. “Best go. ‘Fore Maggie comes lookin’ for ya.”

“I ain’t afraid of her.”

“Yeah, ya are. Now git.”

She turned and he slapped her ass, causing her to laugh and jump forward a step.

“I would like to remind you that there are children present.”

Daryl shrugged. “They’ll be alright.”

She folded a couple of the cleaner cots up and put them by the humvee closest to the grocery store door. Sasha placed some of the meager supplies, mostly basic first aid supplies or some trampled and flattened MREs, Tyreese following behind, holding his own handful of finds.

Mitzi nodded at Daryl, tapping soundlessly at the humvee. “Next time we’re here, I’ll bring some tools and maybe we can harvest some parts for the bus.”

“Not a lot leftover.” Daryl observed. “Musta been picked through.”

She set her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Remember when I said that the army wouldn’t take in civilians, just set ‘em up with the bare minimum?” She grinned at him and gestured grandly at the haul, meager though it was. “I told you so.”

“Y’always tell me so.” He leaned backwards to rap on the big plate glass window at the front of the store with his elbow. He glanced at Zach and Michonne. “Just give it a second.”

She grinned and sauntered over to him. “It’s my wife rights. I’m always right.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Mitzi brushed her fingers over his thigh. “Gotta cut your hair when I get a chance. At least, the front. You’re not gonna be able to see here pretty soon.”

He nodded, ghosting his fingers over the back of her knee absently, eyes watching the hole in the chainlink.

“Okay, I think I got it.” Zach moved to sit on the ledge next to Daryl.

Michonne wandered closer. “Got what?”

Zach turned to her with a smile. “I’ve been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn.”

“He’s been tryin’ to guess for like six weeks.” Daryl groused.

“Yeah, I’m pacing myself. One shot a day.” He pointed at Mitzi. “I’m getting close to figuring her out too.”

“You don’t have to figure her out.” Michonne made a face. “Everyone knows what Mitzi did.”

Zach huffed. “I wanna figure it out though.”

Mitzi shrugged when Michonne looked at her, leaning up against Daryl’s side. “I told him the same thing, ‘Chonne.”

Daryl huffed lightly, before gesturing to Zach. “Alright, shoot.”

“Well, the way you are at the prison…you being on the council, you’re able to track, you’re helping people.” Zach smiled, seeming to hesitate. “But you’re still being… kind of surly.”

Daryl scoffed and glanced up at Mitzi, who was biting back a smile. “Don’t you start.”

Mitzi shook her head, holding her hands up. Daryl turned back to Zach.

“Big swing here, homicide cop.”

Michonne started laughing and Mitzi bit at her lip.

Daryl, unable to keep the small smile from his face, turned to Michonne. “What’s so funny?”

Michonne shook her head. “Nothing. It makes perfect sense.”

“Actually,” Daryl glanced up at Mitzi. “The man’s right. Undercover.”

Zach brightened, excited. “Come on. Really?”

Daryl nodded. “Yep. I mean I don't really like to talk about it ‘cause it was a lot of heavy shit, you know?”

“Dude, come on, really?”

Daryl shot him a look, clearing his throat, and Zach deflated.

“Okay, I’ll keep guessing, I guess.”

“Yeah, you keep doin’ that .”

A bare second later, a walker slammed his hands on the glass and Daryl stood, reaching for the bolt-cutters from Tyreese.

Michonne smiled at Mitzi as she followed Daryl and Zach to the door. “We’re gonna do this, detective?”

Daryl nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Mitzi shouldered her rifle, moving around Daryl to cover the door as they opened it. “Ooh… arrest me, Detective Dixon.”

He turned toward before cutting the chain, blushing. “Stop.”

Mitzi winked at him. “I have been known to say ‘fuck the police’ but I think I would’ve meant it different with you, D.”

He shook his head with a small smile. “Tighten up. Let’s go to work.”

“Hey, Mr. G.” Mitzi rapped on the wall before parting the curtain. “I’m doin’ a bullet count.” She stuck her head in and cussed.

The walker in the cell stood and lunged at her. She stepped back and pulled her knife. The walker advanced and she felt the railing behind her.

Shoving the body of Mr. Gordon, an elderly, former resident of Woodbury, she stabbed him in the temple as the walker lunged forward again.

The body slumped against her and she sighed, pushing him off of her. “Fuck, man.” She turned him over as respectfully as she could, inspecting the body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone approach her. “Guess he died in his sleep. Maybe slipped. His face is all bloody.”

There was a snarl and she looked up in time to crab-walk out of the walker’s reach. She stood, pulling the little snub-nose she had taken to carrying in the prison. She fired once and breathed deep when the second walker’s body fell.

“Everyone needs to wake up now!” She hollered, rapping her gun against the railing to wake up the residents of the block. “Wake up and get your doors closed! If you’re already up, get back in your cells! Close the doors!” She looked down over the railing and fired at another resident of the cell block when he looked up at her, eyes clouded over and dead. “Everyone up now!”

A walker wandered out of a cell two down from her. She fired. The walker fell.

Two shots fired off to her left and she ducked instinctively. Looking over she saw Alex firing wildly at a walker. “C’mon, Alex. Take a deep breath and aim.”

Alex nodded, eyes still on the approaching walker, and aimed. The walker slumped. Alex looked up at her.

“Good. Be careful, the others are going to be coming in here soon and hot. Start trying to clear down there.”

True to prediction, Daryl, followed by Rick, Glenn and Sasha, rushed in.

She heard Daryl’s bow. “Mitzi!”

“I’m up here. I’m okay!” She moved to the far end of the block, toeing the cell doors closed as she went. “Help Alex.”

When she got to the last cell, she held up her pistol and used her hunting knife in her left hand to part the curtains. She sighed deep and fired.

“They wanted to go out together, same as they lived. That make them douchebags?”

Daryl’s eyes skipped down to her where she was stockpiling tools. “It does if they coulda gotten out.”

She smiled at Bob and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Daryl doesn’t consider suicide to be an option.”

“Nope.” Daryl shook his head, still inspecting the area around them with a flashlight.

Bob nodded his head. “But you do?”

“Not anymore…” Mitzi shrugged. “I have in the past.”

“You don’t gotta talk ‘bout it.” Daryl walked behind her, pressing a quick kiss to her head and grabbed a bottle of distilled water, glaring over at Bob.

“Why-” Bob cleared his throat, shying away from Daryl’s very direct stare. “Why was it an option?”

“It’s alright, D.” She smiled at Daryl before turning to consider Bob. “It wasn’t an option, not really, but I was hurting and couldn’t see past that pain.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was that pain?”

“Why you askin’?” Daryl sucked his tongue. “Her pain don’t make your point any more right.”

She stepped to his side and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m okay, baby.”

He grunted, rifling through a display to her other side. “Shouldn’t be drummin’ up your pain. It ain’t entertainment.”.

“I’m sorry… maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

She shrugged against Daryl’s side. “It’s good… I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I was nearing 400 kills. People treated it like an accomplishment.”

“Kills?” Bob frowned. “The way you hold your gun, I always assumed you were military.”

She caught sight of something on a nearby shelf and leaned down to nab a ratchet set from a shelf. “Yeah, I was a Ranger. A sniper.” She showed it triumphantly to Daryl and set it next to her small cache of tools.

“It makes sense why I had the strangest sense of deja vu when I met you.” Bob smiled. “I remember reading an article about you. Captain Mildred E. Donovan. You’re famous, the first female spec ops soldier in the US military.”

She winced. “Yeah, that’s me.”

His eyes softened. “So people treated you like a celebrity-“

“When I felt like a criminal.” She bobbed her head. “378 kills was the official number but that didn’t count people who had died as a direct result of my military service.” She shrugged. “So I tried to eat my gun… kill number 379.”

Bob nodded, eyes on Daryl who kept shooting him dirty looks. “What stopped you?”

She smiled softly. “My little brother. He asked his first girlfriend to a dance at school, wanted to tell me all about it. He had good timing.”

Bob patted her shoulder. “Glad you’re still here.”

She chuckled. “Me too.”

“C’mon.” Daryl rounded a corner and flashlight on a walker trapped under ceiling debris.

Mitzi shot Bob a wry smile and followed after Daryl with her collection.

Stopping to consider the walker and the photos of the family pins to a cork board on the wall, Bob sighed. He knelt to deal with the walker and looked up in time to watch Daryl and Mitzi.

Daryl had paused in the doorway in front of Mitzi, causing her to stop to avoid running into his back. He turned head-butted her gently, knocking his forehead against hers, eyes locked on hers. She smiled up at Daryl, nodding, and Bob felt a sudden ache in his chest.

She came to with a gasp that filled her mouth with dust. Lurching forward, she coughed and retched, clearing her throat of what felt like sandpaper with giant heaving coughs that felt like she was getting kicked in the side. “Fuck.”

She shuffled out from under the guard tower stairs and looked up, seeing smoldering metal and sky. She saw her rifle off to the side and reached for it.

“Fuckin’ shit!” She grabbed at her right shoulder with her left hand, noticing the odd angle the joint sat at.

Sighing, she leaned back and forced her shoulder to rotate back into the joint. It popped audibly and she groaned.

She grabbed her rifle with her left hand, holding the barrel between her knees to check the chamber. Finding a singular round, she moved to the makeshift armory she maintained in the guard tower.

She grunted, kicking debris out from in front of the cabinet. Opening it, she pulled out a gun bag and loaded it one handed. She stuffed a magazine of .50 caliber bullets into the back pocket of her jeans and inserted another magazine into her rifle, flicking the switch to turn the rifle over to automatic.

Shouldering the bag, she took a deep breath and lifted her rifle with her gun arm. She groaned past the pain, anchored the rifle against her shoulder and moved to the door, listening through the metal. Judging by the groaning on the other side, there were likely more than a few walkers outside the door.

Mind racing, she set her back against the door. She looked up the stairs and huffed, shrugging.

“Might as well.”

She climbed the stairs, stepping around twisted metal and concrete. When she reached the top, she pushed what remained of the trap door and boosted herself up onto the platform.

She looked around, surveying the destruction, the tank up in the main courtyard, the assembled dead, and tried to find a way down from the platform. She was calculating a jump from the platform to a more clear patch of lawn when she saw Daryl’s bike in its usual spot.

She froze, grief and shock suddenly catching up to her.

She looked down at the walkers collected around the tower. One seemed to catch her eyes and snarled up at her, raising hands caked in blood and mud.

What little fight had been keeping her upright seeped right out her feet. She was acutely aware of the pain in her side, her head, her shoulder, aware of how heavy and sluggish her body felt.

There was a strong likelihood that she wouldn’t survive this jump, anyways. Would it be so bad to just end it here?

She moved to set down her rifle when Daryl’s voice came to her unbidden, ringing in her head.

It ain’t an option.

She sucked in a deep breath, stepped back as far as she could and jumped.

“Why’d ya do that? I was havin’ fun.”

“No, you were being a jackass.” Beth pressed into his space. “If anyone found my dad or,” she paused, looking at him, “or Mitzi-”

“Don’t.” Daryl shook his head. “That ain’t remotely the same.”

“Killing them isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“What d’ya want from me, girl, huh?” Daryl snarled.

She didn’t back down, words still slurred but becoming clearer. “I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anything. Like nothing we went through matters. Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you.” Her body threw her forward like she was vomiting the words. “It’s bullshit!”

Daryl gaped at her, chest hard and tight and made more so by her words. “That what you think?”

“That’s what I know. You haven’t said a single one of their names since we got out.” Beth wiped at her face.

Daryl pressed forward, growling through the tightness in his chest. “You don’t know nuthin’.”

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carol, I’m not Maggie.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m not Mitzi.”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Don’t say her name again.”

“Mitzi. Mitzi Dixon.” Beth set her jaw. “I know it hurts, Daryl. I’ve survived, and she didn’t, and you don’t get it ‘cause I’m not like you or them. But I made it and you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.”

“I ain’t afraid of nuthin’.” He rasped.

Beth drew back, tears welling in her eyes. “I remember, when that little girl came out of the barn, after my mom. You coulda been like me. But you had Mitzi, then.” She gasped. “And now, God forbid you ever let anyone get too close.”

“Too close, huh? You know all about that. Lost two boyfriends and you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is just go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch.” He gestured vaguely at her, throwing his free hand in the air.

“Screw you. You may not be looking for a drink, but you’re avoiding Mitzi all the same.”

He let out a noise full of pain and anger. “Don’t say her name again. You don’t get it. Everyone we know is dead.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Might as well be, ‘cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again.”

She shoved at his hand. “Daryl, stop!”

“No!” He turned away, feeling the bluster that had kept him going drain from him. “Governor rolled right up to our gates. Fuckin’ blew-” He sucked in a breath. “Fuckin’ blew my w-wife to pieces.” He swallowed past the sob building in his chest. “Maybe if I wouldn’t ‘ve stopped lookin’...” His voice cracked and he trailed off. “Maybe ‘cause I gave up. That’s on me.”

Beth stepped closer to him, grabbed at his arm. “Daryl.”

“No.” He shook her off. “And your dad… Maybe I coulda done somethin’.”

Beth near tackled him in a hug, squeezing him tight as he almost bent in half under the weight of his grief.

Mitzi had just raised her rifle when Daryl approached the group holding Rick and Michonne at gunpoint. She fought against the relief that was trying to convince her body to relax, keeping her eye trained down the scope.

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time. Say your piece, Daryl.”

Daryl nodded, speaking directly to the leader. “These people, you’re gonna let ‘em go. They’re good people.”

The Steven Tyler wannabe looked shocked. “Now, I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I’ll, of course, have to speak for him and all because your friend here strangled him in a bathroom.”

Daryl nodded, voice still low and conciliatory. “You want blood, I get it.” He set down his weapons. “Take it from me, man. C’mon.”

“This man killed our friend. You say he’s good people. Now that right there is a lie.”

Daryl deflated as two of the gray haired man’s goons advanced on him. “It’s a lie!”

One man punched Daryl in the gut with the butt of his rifle.

Mitzi lifted her rifle and fired. One of the two going after Daryl dropped. The others froze, clearly trying to place the direction of the suppressed shot. She cleared the treeline in the crouched walk the Army trained her in, her fucked-up knee protesting.

The leader seemed confused. He grinned, a chill chasing her spine. “That’s a mighty big weapon for such a small lady.”

She ignored him, catching Rick’s eyes and keeping her rifle trained on the one aiming at Michonne.

The man grinned. “Claimed.”

“The bitch or the gun?”

“Both.”

She shot him, Rick lunging at the leader, and turned toward the man still standing over Daryl. “You have two seconds to back the fuck off my husband before I get irate.”

The man’s knees gave out and he crab-walked back, begging and stuttering. “Please… I’m sorry, I was just doin’ what I was told. Please, don-“

“Shut up.” The man’s body slumped heavily.

Looking up, she caught sight of a man, still almost absently holding on to Carl. She raised her gun and watched Michonne level her sword.

Michonne clenched her jaw. “Let him go now.”

“He’s mine.” Rick brushed past her and Mitzi dropped her rifle.

Daryl almost tackled her, wrapping her up in a crushing hug. Wincing, she turned with a bright smile on her face, setting her rifle on the hood of the car. She blinked, maybe a bit too rapidly, and framed his face in her hands “Hey, baby.”

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, running a gentle thumb over her bruised jaw. “‘Hey, baby?’” He mimicked her, forcing a chuckle out of a tight throat. “Like y’weren’t just dead.”

“Not dead.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Just briefly missing.”

He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. “How? I saw the guard tower. It was fuckin’ blown to pieces.”

She nodded, pushing his hair back and smoothing her thumb over his split lip. “When I saw the tank, I dove for the stairs. But the explosion knocked my feet out from under me and I just tumbled down the stairs. I’m probably only alive because it got me to the bottom of the stairs so quickly that I was able to shimmy under the stairs before the debris and ash started falling.” She kissed him gently. “I musta passed out and when I came to, the prison was overrun.”

He kissed her hard, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head. “You’re fuckin’ black n’blue.”

“I’m alright, though.” She winced, pulling away slightly. “I have a helluva goose egg, I fucked up my knee and I’m pretty sure I have a couple of broken ribs, but all in all, I’m good.”

He frowned, tilting her head down slightly to palpitate at the back of her head. “Y’have a coupla goose eggs.”

She laughed. “One for each flight of stairs.”

He grunted, obviously not amused. He lifted her shirt and winced at the dark bruise he found. As gently as he could, he pressed at some of the darker areas of the bruise. “Yeah…” he tsked. “‘Least two’a these are broken. Hafta find something to wrap them.”

She nodded, smiling fondly down at him. “I also dislocated my shoulder… fixed that already though.”

He snorted and pulled at the neck of her Pantera shirt. He shook his head, seeing the dark bruising on her gun shoulder. “Jesus, Spitfire. You shouldn’t a’shot your rifle.”

She scoffed. “I’ll take that under advisement for next time someone’s beating up on my family.”

He grunted, pressing his mouth to her temple and gently wrapping her in a hug. “There betta not be a ‘next time’.”

She felt arms around her and smiled back at Carl. He pushed his face into her neck, clutching at Daryl’s shirt around her.

Daryl tutted and tried to loosen Carl’s grip on her injured side. “She’s all banged up, kid. Gotta loosen up.”

He did but kept his face in her shoulder much to Daryl’s consternation.

She turned, smiling at Daryl when he grumbled, and pulled the boy into as gentle a hug as she could manage.

His breath stuttered, clearly still shaken from his encounter with the Claimer.

“Y’okay, hun.” She rubbed her hand over his head. “You grow like a weed, dude. I swear you’re taller than when I saw you last. You may be taller than me now.”

Carl chuckled wetly. “I’ve been taller than you for a while, Mitz.”

“Lies.”

Daryl stepped into her and pressed his face into her neck from behind. “‘Least a coupla months, baby.”

Michonne came over and gently added herself to the hug. She smiled softly. “You have good timing.”

Mitzi nodded. “And you leave a trail that is shockingly easy to follow.”

Rick staggered over to them, face red with blood and leaned heavily against Daryl.

“I do not leave an obvious trail.”

Mitzi snorted. “You do. Not many people runnin’ ‘round Georgia with a fuckin’ katana, ‘Chonne.”

The place immediately unsettled her and she could tell by the tension in everyone, even Carl, that they all felt it too. Rick shifted next to her and she tried to quietly, covertly lay her finger over the trigger guard of her rifle.

The man kept talking, reaching out to Michonne with a plate of food. Mitzi stepped closer to Daryl’s side, who caught her eye and nodded.

At that moment, Rick slapped the plate out of the man’s hand and pulled a gun.

Mitzi lifted her rifle and trained it on the man. There was a shadow on the ground so she turned, aiming up at a sniper kneeling in the corner of the roof opposite them. She saw Daryl and Carl raise and aim their guns as Michonne stepped back into stance.

“Where the hell did you get this watch?”

Mitzi used her free hand to pull Carl behind her by his shirt as he came up even to her. Carl kept his pistol up over her shoulder. He opened her mouth to speak and Mitzi shook her head, eye on the sniper through the scope.

The man held his hands up. “You want answers? You want anything else? You get it when you put down the gun.”

“I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle. How good’s his aim?” Rick scoffed. “You see the redhead right there? She’s the best shot I’ve ever seen. She could probably take you all out without much help from us. I’m gonna ask you again. Where’d you get the watch?” There was tense silence and Rick repeated himself louder. “Where’d you get the watch?”

The man Rick had hollered at his compatriots, a tad more panicked than he probably intended. “Don’t do anything! I have this! You just put it down. You put it down!” He quieted, speaking only to Rick. “You want to listen to me. There’s a lot of us.”

The sniper lowered his weapon and Mitzi shifted to watch the other rooftops.

Rick rasped. “Where did you get the watch?”

“I got it off of a dead one. I didn’t think he’d need it.”

“What about the riot gear, the poncho?”

“Got the riot gear off a dead cop.” Another man, the man who had patted them down earlier, approached. Mitzi saw Michonne turn towards him out of the corner of her eye. “Found the poncho on a clothesline.”

“Gareth, we can wait.”

“Shut up, Alex.”

Rick’s voice was gruff and intense. “You talk to me.”

The man’s voice was smug. “What’s there to say? You don’t trust us anymore.”

“Gareth.”

“Shut. Up. Rick, what do you want?”

Rick grunted. “Where are our people?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Gunfire broke out and a sniper poked his head out on another roof. She shot him down before she felt Daryl push her after Rick. They made to run back the way they came but another sniper shot at the concrete in front of them. Before she could aim up and take him out, Rick started pushing her back the other way, following Daryl across the courtyard.

She turned, bullets firing into the ground at her feet and took out two more snipers with two quick shots.

Rick's hand fell on her shoulders and they made to run through a garage, people closing off the sliding metal door in front of them. Daryl pushed her through a door labeled ‘A’ after Carl. Finding themselves in another courtyard space, they sprinted across open ground, more gunshots ricocheting off the ground around them.

“Get them off B” someone shouted from a roof and Rick stopped to return fire.

As they rounded the corner, the smell of rot hit her in the face. To their side, was a large fenced area with obviously human bones spread out on a blue tarp. Carl turned to look and Mitzi reached forward to push him in front of her. Daryl slowed his stride as the sound of people pounding on metal and screaming for help became clear.

Rick pushed him forward and they exploded into a room that spat of cult, with lit candles and painted designs on the floor.

“What the hell is this place?” Daryl reached out to Mitzi, who caught his hand and squeezed.

“These people,” Michonne fought to catch her breath. “I don’t think they’re trying to kill us.”

“No.” Rick concurred. “They were aiming at our feet.”

He led them out the only available door, only to encounter more gunfire and a fence lined with people with rifles. Daryl, in front of her, pulled up short, caging her behind him.

“Drop your weapons now!”

They all looked to Rick, whose eyes were trained on the rooftop where Gareth’s voice had come from.

“Now!”

Mitzi sucked on her tongue, bending at the waist to lay her rifle out. She pulled her pistol and knife from their holsters and passed them to Daryl, who added them to his pile of arms.

“Ringleader. Go to your left. Train car, go.”

Rick hesitated, looking back at Carl. “You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway.

Rick nodded and strode toward the train car.

“Now the archer.”

Daryl caught her eyes and Mitzi nodded, Daryl following after Rick.

“Now the samurai.”

Michonne visually checked with Carl as she passed him.

When Michonne stood behind Daryl, Gareth spoke again. “Now the sniper.”

Mitzi scoffed, but began moving after Michonne. “You might wanna check your boys. I didn’t hit any of those assholes with a headshot.” She turned and caught his eye, smiling. “On purpose.”

Gareth clenched his jaw and ignored her. “Stand at the door: ringleader, archer, samurai, sniper. In that order.”

There was a long pause.

“My son.” Rick shouted from the train car.

“Go, kid.” Carl made his way towards them and Gareth shouted another order. “Ringleader, open the door and go in.”

“I’ll go in with him.”

Gareth sounded frustrated. “Don’t make us kill him now.”

Rick climbed the stairs and opened the door with a heavy clank. One by one they filed in. Rick pulled Carl in and checked on him as the door slid shut behind him.

“What do you think, Mitzi?”

She squatted in front of the doors and sighed. “They’ll use flashbangs or smoke bombs, riot suppression shit-”

“If they have them.” Daryl inspected the hinges.

She nodded. “If they have them. Try to overwhelm us, get us to give in without a fight.”

“What can we do?” Glenn had his arms crossed over his chest and she smiled up at him.

“Who do you take me for, little brother?” She reached over and squeezed his side. “I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.”

“Did you say your name was Mitzi?” The big ginger strode towards her. “Mitzi Donovan?”

She nodded, standing. “Yeah, that’s right?”

Everyone seemed transfixed by the spectacle. Daryl reached forward to grip her hip.

“Captain Mildred E. Donovan?”

She frowned, almost correcting the use of her government name out of habit.

“Her last name’s Dixon.” Daryl’s voice rumbled out from his chest, vibrating over her scalp from where her head was pressed to his chest.

The man had a slightly disconcerting grin on his face.

She straightened her stance, broadening to take this asshole down if he had lost his mind. “My maiden name was Donovan. Why? Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re a fucking legend.” The man looked almost gleeful and she stepped back instinctively into Daryl. “300+ confirmed kills. US Army kill shot record holder. Fuck, but it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stuck his hand out and she stared back. “What?”

“You’re Captain Mildred E. Donovan - Dixon, sorry. You’re an Army Ranger, right? One of the most deadly Army snipers in history.”

Bob shook his head. “Not the time, Abe.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you?” She grasped his hand. When that seemed to placate him, she turned and nodded to Rick. “We need weapons.”

“I can assist with the procurement of hand fashioned weapons.” The big dark-haired man in the back nodded. “Everyone still has their belts?”

Part 6

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction

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bingoboingobongo · 1 year

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task force 141 + christmas wishlists

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Warnings: none

A/N: ewww i have finals tmmrw

rodolfo "rudy" parra:

alright so i mentioned this in my stocking stuffers headcanon but we're gonna go in more depth here

rudy's christmas wishlist is really just legos

but like big, expensive lego sets

like i said then, he always compiles a big list of sets he wants each year

this year he's obsessed with the technic/vehicle sets

he got the vespa set for his birthday so that one was crossed off the list

and now he's looking to collect all the ferrari sets

last year he nabbed the ferrari 488 gte "af course #1"

and this year he wants the ferrari daytona sp3

he really likes the technic sets because their like a harder version of the normal lego sets

plus they're a lot more durable which is important to him

he has all his lego sets lined up on shelves around his apartment

and he already has a shelf of lego vehicles

which currently includes the ferrari 488, the vespa, and the lamborghini sián fkp 37 (he bought that for himself after he got a pay raise)

and ofc once he gets all his luxury cars/racecars collected, he plans on moving onto the classic cars collection

john "soap" mactavish:

alright so idk why this headcanon brings me so much joy but it does

but soap really really really wants a dirt bike for christmas

he rode one during a mission around summer time

and ever since then he won't stop raving about how cool it was

if we're being honest he wasn't that good at it

but honestly that just motivated him even more because now he wants one so he can get better at riding it

he wants to be able to do all those crazy flips and tricks they do

and he spends soooo much time researching bikes and watching videos of the tricks

he also doesn't even know when he would get the chance to use it

or where he would practice

since his house is not exactly near prime dirt biking terrain

but he insists he'll figure something out

his dream is definitely the yz250

he just thinks it looks so cool and sleek

but it's like ~$7000 so he doesn't have his hopes up

would definitely implode if he got it tho

john price:

alright so for christmas price really wants a weighted heated blanket

i mean can you blame him?

it gets pretty cold up in his cabin and he just wants to be able to be all warm and cozy

he honestly didn't even realize it was a thing until gaz told him about it

and now he won't stop talking about it

like he keeps hinting about how he wants it

saying things like "god it's cold in here, a nice heated blanket would be great huh?" or "my blanket is getting so thin, one of those weighted blankets would be insane huh?"

what can i say he really wants one

but he also doesn't wanna spend like $100 on one

which is why he's being so coy about it

besides a weighted heated blanket price wants cigars

i mean he always wants cigars but he wants them as a christmas gift this time

he wants really fancy ones that are really high quality

honestly his ideal holiday evening is him on the couch, with warm socks, a tea, a cigar, and his weighted heated blanket and a nice movie on the tv

simon "ghost" riley:

this year (and every year really) simon wants books for christmas

he's a fan of classic literature so he really just wants paperbacks of all the classics

paperback because it's easier to bring on missions

like i said in one of my past headcanons, i think simon was definitely an english literature major in college

so he definitely has a lot of books already

but let's be real you can never have too many books

the books on his wishlist this year include the metamorphosis by franz kafka, journey to the center of the earth by jules verne, and the picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde

okay we're gonna go off on a tangent here

but simon secretly wants to open up a bookstore when he retires

except, and this is gonna get kinda sad here, he knows it's ultimately just a pipe dream bc the chances of him retiring are really slim

yk since he's more likely to be killed in action...

but he still likes the idea of it in case he does make it out of the military alive

kyle "gaz" garrick:

alright so for christmas gaz wants new headphones and a speaker

gaz just lives his life with a soundtrack in the background what can i say

he loves listening to music whenever he can

whether he's working or training or in the shower

i like to think that he used to actually have a really nice set of earbuds

and he usually keeps them in one of the pockets of his uniform

but when he fell out of that helicopter he lost his earbuds

and he was absolutely devastated too because they were so nice

but this time around he wants headphones so that he can really take advantage of the noise cancelling feature

probably not the smartest option considering he's in the military but yk what sometimes gaz just needs a break from the outside and honestly who doesn't?

he also has a really nice speaker but then soap broke it

gaz had it next to him on the couch while he was watching tv or smthing

and then soap sorta hopped over the back of the couch to sit next to him

and then sat straight on the speaker

and since the couch at the base sucks and is therefore pretty hard

plus the fact that soap is probably like over two hundred pounds of muscle

the speaker really had no chance

so yeah gaz really just wants his music back for christmas

and off topic but he's into a lot of oldish hip hop/rap rn

like the notorious b.i.g., ice cube, 2pac, dr. dre

yk sorta like the classics

(im ngl idk if those are classics music genres confuse me)

alejandro vargas:

this year alejandro wants a ps5

maybe this is coming sorta out of left field but i feel like alejandro is lowkey a gamer

which ik doesn't make sense since we've established he's into self care and gamers never shower

jkjk no hate to any gamers im sure most of y'all have tolerable self hygiene

but yeah alejandro is actually super into video games

he has a lot of consoles but he didn't get the ps5 when it first came out so now he wants it

im gonna go off on a few alejandro video game tangents here so get ready

first off i think he and rudy played "a way out" together with no prior knowledge of the game

and so at the ending they were absolutely devastated

they also play overcooked a lot

and they let the other task force members play too

it's always interesting because alejandro takes it really seriously

and so he gets soooo stressed about it it's kinda amusing

also he's super good at super smash bros

and surprisingly he's not really a fan of first person shooter games (ironic i know)

it's just that he does that so much in real life he doesn't want to do it in games too

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spartancommander-2874 · 8 days

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@bigmouthgenius

This was supposed to be a simple smash and grab. Get the blueprints of the place, locate the objective, nab it and run.

In and out.

Easy enough, right?

Nope.

There was a security program that had been running passively in the background that not even the team’s AI had detected while pilfering the system and she had Forerunner code built directly into her matrix. Alarms began to blare loudly, alerting the Prometheans of offending intruders, once the data left its protective, holographic casing. Their fireteam leader quickly placed a hand on the terminal and green pixels flowed up her gauntleted arm and into a slot on the back of her helmet indicating their AI had come home. Without another word, the trio of Spartan IVs took off, wanting to be as far away from this place as physically possible.

Red blips began pinging off their motion trackers during their flight through the ancient complex and the digitized roars of anger echoed off down the halls. Their AI, Noesis, was still tapped into the local network and began to shut down the massive gray-white doors to cut off their pursuers or at the very least slow them down.

Evac was well on the other side of the facility in the form of a D79-TC Pelican dropship. Their pilot, Spartan Kent, had already activated the autopilot, calling the dropship in closer as the LZ was going to be hot by the time they got to it. A pair of beam turrets popped up in front of bulkhead doors at the end of one hall and began firing white-hot lasers at the fleeing super soldiers, forcing them off their current path and to take a hard right down another hallway to avoid being melted down to slag.

A Promethean Knight had sprung forward seemingly out of nowhere toward the Spartans as they attempted to dodge the turret fire and had nearly pinned their XO to the wall with its gun when it received a shotgun shell to the side of its head. With the creature down, they continued onward with their flight.

“Finally! We’re almost out of here!” came the Spartan to their XO’s left. Her IFF transponder marked her as Cordova, Caterina A.

“About time. I think we’ve really riled up the locals. Kent,” their fireteam leader replied then glanced to the right at their other squad mate. “Kent, once we get out, get that pelican ready for transport. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP before they call in for more reinforcements. Last thing we need is for the Storm Covies clogging up the air.”

“Way ahead of you, ma’am!” came her companion’s reply.

Just as they reached the last stretch, however, a Promethean had teleported meters away from the exit and brought an Incineration Cannon up to bear. The weapon began to charge, red light glowing like death. Right as the thing fired, their commander cried out, “Move it!”, before diving out of the way herself. The creature must’ve been in the local network as well as it was fighting for control over the doorways and cut the commander off from the other two. She rolled up onto her feet just in time to jerk to the side to avoid another blast.

“Commander?! Auri-?”

“Hey, you still-?”

“Get outside! I’ll meet you at the LZ. This place is going to be crawling with Knights shortly. I don’t want them bringing down our bird before we even get out of here,” she called back over their COMMs.

Spartan Kent paused briefly before responding so his counterpart took over. “Yes ma’am! Noesis is still feeding us a map of the area and there’s another exit out here. We’ll see you outside.”

“Copy!”

The Knight attempted to fire on the Spartan once more and just before it released the trigger, a well thrown grenade took it out of its misery. Reloading her weapons and taking a quick stock of what was leftover, Noesis, the team’s AI, wormed her way past the defenses the Knight had thrown up and unlocked one doorway, placing a waypoint that led to the exit on the Spartan’s HUD. The commander took off and was forced to double back twice due to an influx of hostiles. Out of nowhere, a brilliant flash of blue and black lit up a doorway to the Four’s left. Hovering there, of its own volition apparently, was a portal. She was really backed into a corner right now, with Prometheans encroaching on her location. The construct hiding within her helmet was already following her line of thought before the woman even voiced her plan.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to be out of here, we don’t know where that portal leads,” Noesis protested.

“Anywhere’s better than here. They’re already starting to wrest control from you and you’ve already transferred over the data to Roland, right?” Auri had already started to back up toward the swirling vortex. Sure enough, another entrance on the far side of the room had opened up, revealing a mass of very angry Promethean Knights who thought they had the human cornered.

“Yes but…” the AI said, her sentence petering off. Oh hell. Her Spartan had already made up her mind and there was no changing it. “I’m notifying the others and I don’t think these Knights are going to wait much longer!” Moments before the Forerunner constructs could pounce, the Spartan dove into the portal’s center and her world went black and the machine shut off.

---

She could feel her body being spun this way and that. Her skin being tugged hard off her bones as she fell end over end. Or so it seemed.

Auri’s shields flared up as an unknown source drained the batteries until they cracked and died for a few seconds, the annoying alarm blaring right in her ear. Her equilibrium was way off and it felt as though she remained within the portal network for far longer than before although she couldn’t tell how much time had passed since she had taken the plunge.

Without warning, a hole suddenly opened up and spat her out into the dirt rather unceremoniously. The Spartan rolled to a stop, head spinning violently and she swallowed down the urge to throw up. Any attempt at getting to her feet were met with major protest as her vision swam sickeningly. Shutting her eyes tightly against the light filtering through her faceplate, the commander took in a few slow, deep breaths before rising up to her knees carefully. Her stomach was still her throat and her head throbbed something awful but she was alive and surprisingly in one piece. A few meters away from her, the portal floated and seemed to shudder. Had the Spartan not been paying attention, she wouldn’t have caught that slight waver that indicated something was off.

“Okay, good. You’re alright,” came her AI’s soft voice. “We may have a tail. Prometheans may have followed us and… I don’t think that portal is going to last much longer. We need to get clear of the blast radius and into cover.” Noesis sounded almost distracted and for a second, the Four couldn’t pin down what had caught her attention.

“Great… You don’t have to tell me twice,” Auri replied, turned around to get moving and stopped.

Oh.

That’s why.

They weren’t on Requiem anymore.

#rp #bigmouthgenius #crossover rp

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kyndaris · 29 days

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Moe Moe Kyun!

Every year at SMASH! (Sydney Manga and Anime Show), there is a maid cafe. Why? Well, because in many anime and manga, anime cafes either feature in a chapter or two during the school festival if it's a slice of life story. Much like the obligatory beach episode. Or the hot spring event. What I'm trying to say is that it's a quintessential part of almost all anime and manga to include a maid cafe somewhere in their story.

Unfortunately, I've not had much luck attending the maid cafe held at SMASH! because of its popularity. Worse, these type of themed cafes aren't very big in Australia.

Enter Akihabara: home of many a maid cafe and the centre of culture for all international weebs.

On our last proper day in Japan, belachpanda and I decided to revisit Akihabara and Ikebukuro to tick off the places we might have missed out on the very rain-heavy Tuesday. And so, early in the morning, she and I went to try out a maid cafe. Here, we were treated like the princesses the two of us were. And it was bright and pink and we were called ojou-sama by the staff.

While we were a little early, it wasn't long before we were seated and had ordered our dessert combos (which included a polaroid photo, our choice of drink and a choice of the desserts they had available). While it was a little difficult to communicate, I couldn't help but admire their enthusiasm. Especially when every time one of the maids brought out food for the guests they would cast a 'spell' over it by going: "Moe Moe Kyun!" and encourage us to do it as well.

While I found it mildly embarrassing at first, their earnestness soon had me joining in wholeheartedly. But I have to say, the interactions when it came to drinks - be it alcoholic or ones require mixing was...well...also a little different.

Still, seeing everyone else engage with the staff and be suckered into participating with it helped normalise it all somehow.

After the maid cafe, bleachpanda and I trawled trhough the stores at Akihabara, looking at what was on offer and seeing if there was any other merchandise that might catch our eye. This involved heading to Suruga-ya and perusing their stock of figurines for anything that caught my eye.

Alas, it was not to be.

I walked away empty-handed while bleachpanda bought herself three figurines after I'd noticed one of her favourite characters and pointed it out. Then, after purchasing them, she blamed me for being a bad influence!

Outrageous!

I was merely being a good friend. And I didn't tell her to BUY it. She did it all on her own, thank you very much!

Afterwards, we returned to the Square-Enix store and I ended up buying the Octopath Traveler 2 original soundtrack. We then tried our luck with getting the free Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth coasters but ended up getting the same two Turks. Not willing to give up, I got another drink and managed to nab Tifa Lockhart. Satisfied with my prize, I allowed bleachpanda to drag me back to Ikebukuro and Otome Road so she could visit two shops she missed while it was pouring down on us on Tuesday.

As luck would have it, she was able to spot a few tin badges of her favourite otome character while I simply looked on, eyes glazed.

We ended the day by revisiting the ARTNIA cafe to see if anything had been restocked before returning back to our hotel as we prepared for our early flight in the morning.

Thus, concluding our three week trip overseas to South Korea and Japan.

Least I managed to spot a few collectibles from franchises I was familiar with this time round! Probably should have got the Chiaki or the Kyoko mini figurine.

Oh, and I also spotted two Like a Dragon figurines. But I couldn't find a way to buy them! Ah well!

The return flight back home was mostly uneventful, although they did refresh a few of the movies available. And so, I managed to knock out Wonka and The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes during the nine hours I was up in the air.

Have to say, both of them were very different and I didn't expect a musical when I watched the trailers for Wonka back in cinemas.

Did I find a gallivanting Timothee Chalamet amusing? Yes. And I also really loved Olivia Colman's performance as an unscrupulous innkeeper.

As for The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, it was nice to get some backstory for Coriolanus Snow. Admittedly, the actor was very dashing but it was Rachel Zegler who stole hearts and minds as Lucy Grey Baird.

#personal blog #travelling #travel blog #tokyo #akihabara #ikebukuro #maid cafe #otome road

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ultraskull1000 · 11 months

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AND SO I PLAYED A SHOW WITH THE GUITAR I BUILT (July 11th)

plus a few other updates

Okay so the last time I posted about this guitar (My partner dubbed it Bluejay) it looked like this

Which is fine and all and I love the color of it to bits and the contrast bit around the switch fucks and i love it with the pink strap (I got an orange strap for it specifically but its too saturated and i need to dampen it a bit) but i have decided that it is by far too plain so ive done a few things

First of all I sharpied it, bearing comparison to body marking on my partner's chest

This fucks. Being able to write messages on my guitar? fucks so hard. God i love this shit. There are a few particular stickers that i want to nab and throw on here, one in particular is the P! symbol that is on Haruko's vespa from FLCL (which, fuck i love fooly cooly. shit fucks so hard. the P! symbol is (iirc) a logo for the band that soundtracked the show, the pillows, but i havent found that sticker sold by them and i cant really find any specific evidence that its something that they sold or anything like that.) because my partner pointed out the palette similarity to Canti with the blue base color and the off-white accents and all that. Im likely gonna put that on the lower bout below the output jack area beside the vibrato.

Electronics wise, I continued adjusting some of the electronics, changed the value of the tone cap, and I modded the pickups to be coil splitable, which was simpler than i thought cause

okay so if you look at this pickup its not a 4 conductor pickup by stock, cause the larger black wire there connects the two coils without the option to disconnect it so all i had to do was desolder that wire and replace it with one wire for each side. I dont have pictures of all of that because i didnt think to do so and also my wiring on this guitar is messy as hell right now and im still trying to figure out what to put in the rhythm circuit section and I promise eventually ill go over the specifics of my wiring later. ANYway

I got some cheap toggle switches and threw them beside the pickups and it fucks with the aesthetic and i love the sounds it can make with this

AAAAAAAA i love this so much

once i figure out the rest of the electronics and make the rest of my modifications ill also do a sound demo and whatnot.

BEYOND THAT THOUGH

I PLAYED A SHOW WITH THIS GUITAR AND IT DID SO WELL

unfortunately there were very few pictures and instagram doesnt screenshot well but heres a single pic i got to work

7-26-23

Okay update this is what the guitar looks like now

not sure why i didnt post this before. but this fucks now.

#fender jazzmaster #guitar #partscaster #bluejay guitar #fender #jazzmaster #grunge #luthier #musician #music

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aleiocus · 1 year

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As requested @mtreebeardiles, one of my snippets. Specifically I nabbed the OFMD Tolkien AU.

Adventure was possible—of that he was certain.

There had been enough tales circling about of sheltered Shire-folk off on some wondrous journey or other. It was just a matter of time before the next "outlier" cropped up, so to speak.

Granted there were only two tales, and both Hobbits the blame is placed upon had come from the same rather un-Hobbity, decidedly Tookish household.

That was enough for one to begin to dream, though.

This one particular Hobbit of Buckland—homestead located nearer the Brandywine River than Old Forest—went by the rather respectable name of Stede Bonnet.

The respectability wasn't something he had earned. No, his father had made well sure to remind Stede of that every day up until his natural demise.

Having originally been from one of the four Farthings, Mr. Bonnet decided at some point in his youth to seek out fortune elsewhere.

'Elsewhere' ended up, it seems, being the former colony of Buckland.

Growing up, Stede had never understood why his father would do such a thing.

The Shire beyond the river sounded rather lovely, after all, so why leave it all behind?

Stede had his house, and his life, and his faunts, and his wife. The cupboards were always well stocked and money wasn't a concern.

Everything a Hobbit could dream of Stede had, and he still wasn't happy.

Perhaps he was beginning to understand his father, even if only a little bit.

This unhappiness had become so great as of late that it was inevitable things would turn out like this, really. With a small but well stocked cart full of everything that caught his fancy and two round little ponies named Arthur and Halifax fastened to the front, Stede took one last look at the place he once called home.

It was for the best. This wasn’t a home for him anymore.

As best he figured, following Brandywine River down and westward would land him… well, he wasn't quite sure, but he was hoping it was somewhere new, and exciting, and good.

And so Stede Bonnet, a Hobbit who hadn't stepped foot outside the Shire lands a-once in his life, set off on certain adventure.

----------------------------------

"The only thing 'certain' about this adventure is that I'm certainly lost!"

Stede was still by the river he intended to follow maplessly down and westward—just barely outside the bounds of the Shire, but still well gone from anything he knew. Without a visual aid, he had no idea how much of his journey had passed and how much still remained.

#WIP #OFMD snippet

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theheadlesscrow · 2 years

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Cracker Barrel Ghost with Lantern: How I Finally Got It!

Here we are. A year of anticipation has led to this. A restaurant chain with an old time southern theme, more known for its country comfort food than its Halloween decor, has everybody clamoring over a ghost statue.

A little primer for anybody who somehow avoided this event: Cracker Barrel officially unveiled this piece last year to instant acclaim. Immediately, it was one of the most coveted items of the year. And each Cracker Barrel store got exactly … one. What was perhaps the most sought after piece during Halloween hunting season 2021 was nearly impossible to get your hands on.

By the time I even knew it existed, my store had sold their single ghost two days prior. An employee kindly offered to add me to a list they’d use to inform us ghost crazies when more came in, but more never arrived. One ghost was all that they were getting.

Despite my defeat, as any professional Halloween shopper can probably relate, the hunt lived on in my heart. Throughout the year, my mind would occasionally wander back to that ghost, and hope next year Cracker Barrel would come prepared.

In June, I started dropping in once a week to keep an eye out for signs of the ghost. To my surprise, when I first walked in to ask when they were getting Halloween in, I was greeted by the spooky sounds of a pumpkin’s audio track. “I came in to ask when you’d have Halloween, and you already do!”

Two helpful employees knew exactly what I was talking about when I asked if they were going to have “the ghost” again, and filled me in on what day of the week the truck arrives. A few weeks later, another told me the same thing, and to call in the morning the day after so they could hold it for me when it showed up.

I’ve heard stories about Cracker Barrel employees being rude to others trying to chase down the ghost. And though I thankfully did not experience that myself, I did notice that employees became increasingly difficult to find on the floor. One saw me checking out the Halloween section, and immediately disappeared into the back, never to return. One made eye contact with me and promptly vanished. Another saw me begin to walk toward her, turned on her heel … and ghosted me. I guess my Halloween t-shirt attire in June made me look like the kind of ghost-loving nut who should be avoided.

While the chance of nabbing a ghost in-store was still feeling tenuous, I kept an eye on Cracker Barrel’s online store. Last year, they released small batches of ghosts a few times throughout the season. I was hoping to luck out this year and check at the exact right time.

On July 6th, I noticed Halloween was beginning to pop up online. More items trickled in throughout the evening. And though I was especially tired this night, I stayed up. I just had a feeling (or a hope?) that this was my shot. Finally, at a little after 2 am, my hunch was proven correct. The “resin ghost with lantern” was online and in stock.

With adrenaline flowing, I nervously added it to cart and checked out as fast as I possibly could. And it worked! I wasn’t greeted with a “sorry, this item is sold out” message. I made it to the page confirming my order, then an email confirmation followed. The ghost was mine!

Supposedly. I still spent the following day checking my email more than usual, worried my order would be canceled.

But it wasn’t. A shipping confirmation arrived just a little over a day later. And though I was relieved to be one step closer, it still didn’t ease my mind. Now ahead of it was the journey to me. It had to make it to me in one piece.

My heart was hammering when a big box from Cracker Barrel arrived a few days later. And after carefully unboxing it, I could finally say the words I was too nervous to believe before: I had the ghost.

If you were also ghost hunting, I hope you were successful. If not, I hope next year is easier. I heard reports of stores getting 2, 6, 12 in. After last year’s debacle, I expected Cracker Barrel to be more prepared this time. I thought they’d load themselves up with so many ghosts, they’d still be trying to get rid of them in the spring. I never imagined that after so much demand, they’d increase supply so flimsily.

This ghost is an absolutely gorgeous piece, and clearly a beloved design within the spooky community. It deserves to get into the hands of the people who want it.

Follow me: Instagram / TikTok / Amazon

#cracker barrel #halloween #halloween 2022 #halloween haul #halloween hunting #halloween shopping #halloween decor #halloween decorations #code orange #spooky season #ghost #ghosts #goth #gothic #dark decor #wraith #shop

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basedkikuenjoyer · 1 year

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Diddly “D.”

Wanted to start with this adorable Franky cover. He’s as proud of those little turtles as I am. I’m guessing he beat up the crab trying to nab them? But really 1085 is hard to talk about anything without being too spoilery. I also wanted to set up how this one’s going to be a little different. We’re pretty much gonna skip the tail end of Sabo’s story and use this as our chance to talk Vivi. Because this is a big chapter for her, and I’ve mentioned Vivi a fair few times. Mostly because it’s a chance to say something new finally! That doesn’t mean Sabo’s potential finale isn’t keeping very close to the same core themes we examine here.

There’s no need to futz around. I like to poke at the possibility we did take on a talented actress who’s just waiting in the green room for her dramatic reveal. Given the core themes and niche though, always had to temper that with the possibility we’re doing this all for Vivi’s return. I’ve always had a few reasons to be leery of Vivi that Kiku conceptually does solve. You have the combat prowess & practical skills alongside more flexibility in the silver tongued role. We’ll see that last one in a moment. Then you have that idea that we know Vivi is Oda’s go-to example of something spur of the moment that snowballed while Kiku traces her origins back to pre-One Piece. With that out of the way, this chapter gives us a lot to think about one half of this pair. And y’all...it’s a wild one for me.

Starts with this “D.” element. The Nefertari are part of that lineage. Cool. It’s a solid beat. I do like it and care about finally unraveling more of the Void Century. But try not to get dazzled by the current chapter effect. This is still happening in the context of a broken away segment. It’s Sabo’s story, which means you may need to think of how it’ll parallel Luffy’s. We’ll get to that more. But on the surface, this “D.” reveal is the type of big detail that...doesn’t do much for her circling back in as the tenth and final. The scene actually sets her up more for going to rally Alabasta if you ask me. Wouldn’t running off to the Straw Hats in a way just be repeating Oden’s folly? They’re going to need Queen Vivi.

Kalifa, your comments towards Vivi could constitute sexual harassment. Kinda surprised to see a spot where Jabra’s the one I’m most interested in. Hi Kumadori! I see you in the background, yo-yoi! It’s Jabra razzing Vivi about being too loose-lipped, and a fair point given the situation. It’s sweet for her to care about Shirahoshi more but she’s showing a lack of composure in a bind and getting called out for it. To then follow that with Jabra also giving an example of how Fujitora did a very good thing under cover of best bros Sai & Leo’s spectacle. Note Ryokugyu rearing his head. Vivi’s story didn’t take too long to catch us up. I guess seeing how Morgans found the pair could be nice but it isn’t the biggest deal. Speaking of, it is worth mentioning we know Vivi’s up in the airship as Egghead is unfolding.

Okay...this ending though. Wapol and Vivi running off together in a way that Wapol’s wife Kinderella misreads as well, you can read the uh...what do you call the non-diagetic line at the end? If you’ve been with me a while, you might remember this coming up when talking about Drake. There’s a reason I put a lot of stock in his as-of-yet unfired Chekov’s Report. Look at his scenes in Wano together, they dance around Kiku and Izo a lot more than can be called comfortably coincidental. But the kicker is he is shown to be missing at least one detail. Side-by-side, looks like he’d get Luffy was working with Izo’s little sister Kiku but not exactly who she was to Wano. Which feels like a well-set opportunity for a dodgy story about the Straw Hats. We were talking about a false narrative from the hiatus, don’t forget we’re neck deep in a break from the main story hammering this theme. Vivi’s grilled Morgans for pitching a dodgy story about the Straw Hats.

The false bridal angle, don’t just write that off as something I think would be funny. The marital theme is there from her intro and builds off of Whole Cake well. Hell, Dressrosa even. But it suits the basic concept on top of plot wise being a smart diplomatic marriage. Especially if we make Kikuhime come full circle with another mistake. We’re at a point the hero often would take on a wife, just like Toki that’s the moderating force she’d bring. That blends nicely with a Quartermaster role. The idea here is the Straw Hats are where you don’t have to be either/or, which would be a very natural evolution of a story in Wano playing with the idea the Crane Wife and Bushido devotee aren’t so different. It’s also really, really funny when neither of them have a shred of romantic interest in anyone it seems. It’s a goldmine of comedic potential (Hancock’s reaction) and hits the ground running with helping Luffy’s mass appeal. An actress isn’t keeping a log, she’s shaping the narrative.

What can I say? Last chapter, if you asked me to pitch a scene for Vivi with the goal of pushing her towards Alabasta and keeping up the parallel storytelling element...I couldn’t have done better. Obviously it’s all still nebulous and that can change depending on how the next few chapters go, but there’s only so long we can stay away and we could easily split a chapter between tying this off and getting back to Egghead. Naturally with Marco between to play us in. Or keep it going, predicting things chapter-to-chapter is so wild right now.

#one piece #chapter 1085 #post-wano musings #vivi

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thegloweringcastle · 2 years

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A Familiar Stranger

It took me longer than I would have liked, but here we are! It took forever because I have never written anything with a plot before, so I was stressing over every detail 😅

CW: Bar fight, implied/mentioned past SA, bullet wound, and a little bit of blood, but all of it is fairly non-graphic. I hope you all enjoy!

Part 1 | Read on AO3

A light shone brightly through Feyre’s eyelids. She wondered briefly where the river had led her, how far she had strayed from life. She wondered if it could stay the way it was. Warm, soft, and quiet. Feyre was unused to such feelings of peace, could easily get used to it.

Feyre remembered she had gone along with the tide, had let the ebbs and flows take her to sea, and realized she was now perhaps on her own island, far from deserts and crime and evil mayors.

But that also meant separated from her sisters, her friend, and beautiful mayors. And she realized that she did not wish to live in this solitude forever; was possibly causing her sisters more concern or pain with every second that passed.

Each of these thoughts led to a more lucid, more confusing one, until eventually her mind was tangled in everything which had brought her to this point.

The job, the chase, the fight. The walk of shame, violet eyes, and vast planes. Stars painting the sky from one horizon to another.

Feyre let her eyes open just a sliver, adjusting to the bright light and as she tried to figure out where she was.

The last memories were hazy, and she couldn’t separate dreams from reality. As her senses woke up and her mind began to function, she took stock of her surroundings.

A soft, linen nightgown draped over her frame. White cotton sheets were cool against her skin. Warm sunlight filtered through a window right by her head. The small room held a nightstand, the bed she found herself in, a chest of drawers, and a rocking chair.

And on that rocking chair, sat Mayor Rhysand Moreno of Velaris, watching her like a hawk tracking prey. His revolver was trained on her, chambers loaded and hammer cocked.

“Welcome back, Miss Archeron.” He leaned forward on his elbows and gave her chilling glare. “Feeling better? I sure hope so, because we’ve got a lot to talk about, you and I.”

But when Feyre moved to stand, to face him and ask him where she was, what had happened, to tell him how he had, unknowingly, gone right along with her plan, she was stopped by shackles which chained her to the wrought iron bed frame.

***

Rhysand Moreno was not typically one to care as much for riches as he did justice, but when Miss Feyre Pratt tricked him and stole three thousand dollars, there was no word that even approached the fury which burned inside his chest.

After much wriggling and scooching, Rhys had nabbed the keys and was riding out the city gates in pursuit of the woman who had broken his trust, his dignity, and his laws. It had been barely more than an hour since she had left him, and it didn’t take too long to find fresh tracks in the desert sand.

The sun rose over the cracked dirt, gilding the landscape in liquid gold and saturating the sky in magnificent shades of purple and orange.

With the terrain illuminated well enough to see, Rhys rode his horse hard, pushed the poor animal to its limits and only slowed when the sun grew warmer and his horse had worked up a thick lather, panting with exertion and chewing on the bit in distress.

But despite his haste and hyperfocus, he never seemed able to catch up.

Three nights he had spent in the desert, tracing her tracks and racing to find her, before his goal crept into sight.

Rhys pulled the reigns, drawing his horse from a trot to a slow, steady walk. As they crested a hill a small town came into view.

At first, he wasn’t sure if it was real - the exhaustion possibly messing with his mind, or the heat ripples distorting his vision.

But no. A glance at the map confirmed the establishment, and the otherwise empty land confirmed it was his answer.

Rhys stepped into a saloon - the most rundown one he could find - and the odor of alcohol and cigar smoke hit him harder than a brick wall.

Pulling his bandana up to ward off the stench, he stepped in and started towards the bar.

“I’m looking for a woman,” Rhys said to the bartender.

“Ain’t we all?” The man chuckled. “Son, you gotta be more specific,” he wiped a glass clean. “Unless that’s as specific as you want. If that’s the case, I’ve got some nice ladies ready to serve for just a few silver marks. You interested?”

Rhys sputtered, felt his cheeks heat with anxiety at the idea. “N-no.” He shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m looking for a woman. Average height, light brown hair, icy blue eyes. She has freckles on her nose and cheeks. Goes by the name of Feyre Pratt. Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, son. I don’t got a clue. That could be any number of people I seen, and I don’t make it a habit to go around getting to know all my customers.” He shrugged and turned around, handing a drink to the only other patron at the bar.

Rhys went to leave, but paused and did a double take when he saw the man beside him.

His skin was the color of rich cinnamon. Orange, silky hair was twisted into a plait and gleamed even in the dingy light of the pub. One long leg stretched out to rest on the crossbar of the adjacent stool, the other bent and tapping a rhythm silent to the rest of the world. An impressive build – lean yet athletic; tall and strong.

But what truly caught Rhys’ eye was the jagged scar running down the left side of his face. Where there should have been another russet eye to match was instead a glass replacement, gold in color.

Even as the stranger’s eye scanned an embroidered handkerchief, Rhys knew he had been caught.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?”

“My apologies, sir. I only wish to inquire you of the same thing.”

The red-headed man turned his torso to face Rhys. “About the girl?” Rhys nodded.

The man looked back down to the handkerchief, and Rhys watched him brush a calloused finger across the images.

Violet stars bound together by chains. A dagger slashing through a bolo tie. What seemed to be a stream, but with multiple colors woven through it. And lastly, a fawn and a wolf, curled together in a tight embrace and surrounded by autumn leaves.

He folded it into quarters and tucked the cloth inside of his jacket. “As a matter of fact, I think I have seen someone of that sort. Didn’t catch her name, just saw her hand a few bags to a gentleman and head up an alleyway.”

Rhys snapped to attention, sat in the stool next to him. “Where was this? How long ago?”

He shrugged. “About a dozen blocks thataway, maybe an hour or so.” The man stood, tossed a few coins on the counter, and placed a wide-brimmed hat on his head, angling it just so.

The pace at which he went about this made even the debonair angle of his hat look somber and morose, as if there were a burden on his soul which he knew would never budge.

He slapped Rhys on the back. “Hope things go well.”

Rhys fought back a cringe at the contact. “Thank you.”

And then he was out the door right after the red-headed stranger.

Rhys scoured back alleys in the area the man had directed him, searching seedy saloons and dim pawnshops, before he reached a clean, more respectable looking tavern.

When he opened the door, he was not assaulted this time by such a strong smell of booze and cigars. It was musty, but breathable. He was about to ask a server the same question he had repeated many times over when he saw her in a corner.

The woman he knew all too well, but was yet so unfamiliar. The woman he had fallen for. The woman who had lied of her identity - her entire persona a mere figment of reality.

The woman who went by the alias of Feyre Pratt.

Feyre sat at a table by herself, looking out a window which faced the land beyond the town, twirling a coin between her fingers. Her face was serene; she seemed unbothered by the rowdy group gambling a few tables away and peacefully sipped a cup of tea rather than a mug of ale.

For a moment, Rhys wondered if it was worth it to take her in. For a moment, all he could think about was their late nights and discussions by the Sidra, sent back to those private moments where he had been certain he was falling in love.

But it was all an act. Rhys knew she wasn’t interested in art, knew she didn’t care about Velaris, and that she didn’t actually like him - only his money.

There was only one thing he knew to be the truth: she had betrayed him, had lied to him. Though his heart came up with plenty of excuses, his mind was far less forgiving.

She broke the law, which meant Rhys had a job to do.

When Rhys reached for his satchel to withdraw the cuffs, Feyre pulled her kerchief down, took her hat off, and nodded her head to the seat across from her. A piercing look pushed the longing from her eyes.

Slowly, Rhys pulled his hand away from his bag and walked towards her, cautiously pulling out a chair and easing himself into it.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mister Moreno.” Her voice was lazy as she greeted him. “I must say, I admire your dedication to rounding up a horrid scoundrel such as myself.”

“You stole three thousand dollars from me and an impressive number of valuables. You abused my trust and broke the law. Why wouldn’t I go after you?”

Feyre shrugged. “I’m too pretty?”

His voice was stern. “Miss Pratt - “

“That’s not my name.”

“-Nobody is placed above the law; no matter their looks, beliefs, wealth, or political position.”

Feyre straightened in her seat and cocked her head. “It’s funny to hear you say that. Every other person of such high stature I’ve met has maintained the opposite opinion.” They glared at each other from across the table until Feyre’s posture relaxed, and she leaned back into her chair, continuing to spin the coin. “I’m feeling a bit peckish. Would you mind going and snatching a few of those dried apricots?”

Rhys turned to look where she nodded to the front counter. “No,” He shook his head, growing more irritated with each passing second. “Stop trying to distract me. Where is my money?”

“Mister Moreno, I think it is you distracting yourself. And your money is long gone. I gave it to my contact here; we parted ways a little over an hour ago.” The coin stopped moving, and then she flipped it over to him. Rhys let it bounce off his chest. “There,” she said. “Not stealing. I want some fruit.”

Rhys took three calming breaths before speaking again. “Feyre, I’m going to give you two options. You let me shackle you here, in front of everyone, or you calmly follow me - keeping your hands visible - to my horse and let me shackle you there. You are not going to get away.”

Feyre squinted at Rhys as if she were assessing her situation.

Rhys would be too if he were her. If he were her, he would need to know all the exits, how many people were in the room, where to find…

No. If he were her, he would already know that. He would know who sat where and what tables weren’t occupied. He would already know everything necessary for an escape.

Rhysand wouldn’t underestimate her skills this time.

“I’m not going to give you much more time, Miss Pratt. I know you’re looking for a way out, and there isn’t one. You are going to come with me and pay the price for the crimes you have committed.”

She watched him intently for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Mayor Moreno. I’ll go with you outside. But can I please finish my – “

They were interrupted by the crowd of gamblers. Suddenly there were shouts, curses, hollers; insults were exchanged and glasses shattered.

A blond-haired man dragged another man – shorter than him, more rotund - across the table by his collar while a wiry woman grabbed a chair and raised it, freezing when a tall gentleman aimed his gun at her.

Rhys and Feyre stood at the same time, stepping in perfect unison towards the skirmish.

“You cheated! You cheated me! We had a deal, you filthy snake.”

“Didn’t… cheat. You’re just… sore loser.” The man held by the collar choked on his words before he was slammed down into the table.

“That’s enough,” Feyre’s voice, deep and commanding, cut through the din of the tavern and the sudden excitement.

She stepped in front of the man with the gun and Rhys pulled the chair from the woman’s hands. “Let’s calm down and discuss the matter. I don’t doubt you would be willing to kill one another, but ya gotta understand, violence isn’t the only solution. So, let’s be adults and talk it out.” Feyre held up her hands, appeasing.

The woman who had previously been ready to bludgeon everyone spoke first. “He won the game fair and square,” She pointed at the man who was now laying on the table, groaning and gasping for breath. “And he’s a bad gambler who’s sour about losing three hundred dollars.” A gesture to the blond man.

“Now, I may be wrong, but it seems to me none of you are being completely honest.” Feyre turned slowly. “You there, ma’am. I watched you slip those coins into your sleeves like they were going out of style. And - hey, please don’t point your gun at me - You, sir, had been swapping regular coins for marked ones without anyone noticing. Now, I sure as hell am not tryin’ to spoil your fun, but it is the job of a mayor and his deputy to follow the law.”

At this point, Rhys watched as Feyre turned to him and uncovered a badge, Mor’s badge, and winked.

Oh, Morrigan would be furious. Rhys did not look forward to facing her wrath upon his return.

While this frustrated Rhys to no end, it seemed to disturb the gamblers even more – the thought of being arrested somehow far more intimidating than being killed over a poor cheat. Feyre’s attempt at calming them was all for naught, as the entire room returned to chaos.

People were thrown into people. Tables were flipped and chairs were broken until every patron in the bar was involved in the ruthless fight, like cornered animals lashing out.

Rhys and Feyre spun around each other, dancing and dodging between friend and foe, ducking punches and throwing some of their own.

Rhysand flinched when he heard a round of gunshots and turned just in time to see Feyre twirl a revolver – Rhys’ revolver – and whip it across a man’s face. He dropped his gun and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

As Rhys smoothly disarmed opponents and laid their unconscious forms on the ground, he sent a silent Thank You to his mother who had left him the ring – elegant and practical.

Together, Feyre and Rhys worked their way through the melee, watching one another’s backs and fending off the wolves when they snapped their jaws and crept too close.

Finally, finally, they made it out of the throng and to the front door, their absence not even noticed amidst flying fists.

Rhysand stumbled, untying his horse as fast as possible, not taking his eyes off Feyre.

She wiped her hands on her trousers and stuck both pinkies into her mouth, producing one loud, ear-piercing whistle, which was immediately followed by the thunder of hooves.

A horse darker than the night hurdled toward them, stopping just before Feyre.

“Good horse, Bryaxis. Good boy.” She rubbed between his eyes and landed a kiss to his velvety nose.

The horse tossed its head when Rhys snatched the reins from Feyre. “I don’t think so, Miss Pratt.” He leaned in. “And I think I’ll be taking this back from you now.” From the holster in her jacket, Rhys grabbed the revolver she had stolen from him.

“Not my name, and don’t even think about taking my horse from me.”

“So, you can betray me and steal three thousand dollars, but I can’t keep you from escaping the law? Oh, of course. It’s only logical. What was I thinking?”

“Not sure. I don’t believe you were at all, really.” Feyre gave him a toothy grin and leaned heavily against her horse, putting one foot in a stirrup.

Rhys pulled his revolver. “Don’t even think about it.” He glared and aimed the barrel directly at her.

“Aw, come on handsome.” She panted. “Don’t you think one is already enough?” Feyre pulled her hand from her side, showing Rhys a palm painted red in her own blood.

***

“You have made me very angry, Miss Archeron. You have lied over and over, yet you still have the gall to deny it.” Rhys sneered as he stood, stalked towards her, stood right by her. He fiddled with his sapphire ring, stressed and anxious.

“Rhys, let me explain –“ She reached out, grabbed his jacket in one hand and his hand in her other.

“Do not touch me,” He jerked out of her grip.

The sudden movement sent aches through her body, a reminder of all she had endured in such a short time. She leaned back in the bed as Rhysand crept closer

“You are the scum of the earth, a two-timing, low-down thief. If I have my way – and I assure you, I will not rest until I do – you will rot in a jail cell with vermin and snakes for many years to come. You will forget what the desert sun even looks like.”

Rhysand’s words rocked Feyre like a bludgeon to the head.

All the thoughts buzzing inside went quiet, the walls around her heart, which had started to loosen, went back up in alarm.

She turned to defense, just as she was taught.

“Mister Moreno, I suppose you will be restless, then. In the end it will be you who will never see the sun, will not so much as feel the slightest bit of warmth beneath six feet of soil.”

“Is that a death threat, Miss Archeron?”

“Not in the slightest. Simply a fact. You are a gullible fool, Mister Moreno. Anything that happens to your town will be your fault because you are too stupid to follow your own rules.” The words, intended to hurt the man before her, hurt her heart just the same.

But it was too late to share her plan, it was too close to the turning point. Things had not gone the way she wanted, and if this was the only price Feyre had to pay, then so be it.

Rhys leaned in closer, growled low in her ear. “You were right, Miss Archeron. I should have just thrown you into a hole in the ground.” He stepped back, taking his smooth scent of salty citrus with him. “We’ll see if it’s not too late for that.” And without another breath, the door slammed, and Feyre was left alone.

***

There were exactly two things Feyre liked about the desert.

The first was the dramatic landscape. Hills rolled as far as the eye could see, and beyond them towered mountains which humbled the land. Flat planes stretched out past the horizon, and if one were to look carefully, history of the land could be found within the layers of cliffs.

The second was the desert nights. The silence that came with it, the stars that lit the moonless nights, the lower temperatures which brought great relief to all life in the desert.

But Feyre was finding it difficult to appreciate these things with a bullet wound in her abdomen and her newest enemy dragging her through the dark.

Back outside of the tavern, Rhysand had heaved her up onto her horse, growling instructions to keep her hands visible. Horses tied together, they booked it out of the town.

Now, she had to sit with insufferable silence as her lifeblood escaped, waiting for the oh-so High and Mighty mayor of Velaris to deem a rest spot good enough for his standards.

It had been nearly an hour already. Feyre was lightheaded from the blood loss and fuming at Rhysand’s arrogance.

“Is your goal to let me die, Moreno? I don’t think you realize how much blood I’ve lost.” With each sway of the horse, Feyre slumped further and further over the horse’s neck.

“I realize, I just don’t care.” His reply was short, blunt.

“That’s cold.” Feyre’s voice was hoarse and her head spun. From heat or anger, she wasn’t certain. She just hoped she didn’t fall.

Suddenly, Rhys stopped his own horse and turned in his saddle. “Miss Pratt - “

“Not my name.”

“Miss Pratt, you stole from me. You stole a lot from me. You used me. You tricked me to get what you wanted. You’ve broken the law goodness knows how many times. Excuse me if I’m a little more than furious with you.”

His glare burned hotter than the sun, but quickly cooled when he saw how wan Feyre had become, so pale that her freckles were barely visible.

He hopped off his horse and offered a hand to Feyre. “Let’s take a break here. The horses are thirsty, and we should re-hydrate too.”

“I’ve got it, I’m not dead yet.” She swung one leg over gracefully, but then her muscles spasmed and pain shot through her torso.

She gasped out. “Son of a biscuit eater!” And fell the rest of the way, bracing herself for impact before two strong arms caught her and lowered her carefully.

“Easy there,” Rhysand’s voice anchored Feyre as she closed her eyes against the ache and focused on breathing. “Want to sit down?”

“Do not condescend me,” Feyre snarled and pulled away from his grasp.

Slowly, she hobbled over to sit beneath an outcropping of rocks; only because she wanted to, not because Rhysand offered.

Feyre was unsure of how much time passed as she sat there. Distantly, as if a mere spectator, she watched Rhys secure and water the horses. She watched him reorganize his pack, rummaging through and pulling out various items.

She let her thoughts wander through it all, not focusing on anything in the real world.

She thought about her sisters, and how scared they must be. She thought of her life up to this point, the people she had stolen from. Some had deserved it, others hadn’t. Sometimes she had fun, sometimes she nearly died.

She began to wonder if the man before her had really deserved it, momentarily doubting herself when she considered his patience with her, both in their current situation and earlier in the bar fight.

“-re? Feyre? Can you hear me?” Rhys pulled Feyre from her mind. She opened her eyes, squinted in the dark, saw his silhouette wave a hand in front of her.

“Loud and clear, hot stuff.” Feyre let her eyes close again and her head drift.

“-ith me, okay? I’m going to take care of your wound.” Rhysand’s voice was more obnoxious to Feyre than the whine of a mosquito.

She just wanted to rest, to let her thoughts consume her and sleep claim her.

When she said as much, Rhysand became more persistent. Feyre was in no condition to object further, and she stayed still as he lifted part of her shirt to expose the wound.

Feyre chuckled. “Normally the men who try to undress me aren’t half as pretty you. I must say, I could get used to this Mister Moreno.” She winked at him, a saucy smile painted across her face.

“I would advise you, Feyre, to remember who you are, and remember who I am, and remember that in just a short time I will be putting you behind bars.”

His voice held no humor, and his eyes were serious as he analyzed her, but Feyre didn’t miss the darkening of his cheeks.

“This is going to hurt,” He held out a strip of rolled leather. “Bite on this. It will keep you from biting or swallowing your tongue.”

Feyre opened her mouth to spit out a snarky response, but Rhys stuck it into her mouth before she could form the words.

The next thing she knew, he was holding her down and pouring tequila on her wound. Her side burned, her lungs were crushed, the smell of iron permeated the air, and the moonlit desert faded to grey.

Feyre woke to the sound of a snapping fire. It burned bright through her eyelids and emitted warmth in the cold night of the desert.

Slowly, she blinked the sand and sleep from her eyes and looked around blearily.

“Welcome to the land of the living, Miss Pratt.” Rhysand said from where he sat on the opposite side.

“That’s not my name,” She whispered. “What time is it?”

“A little past eight. You didn’t sleep for too long.”

She groaned as she tried sitting. Rhysand moved from his seat to help her upright.

“Here, lean against this.” He scooted her further back, tucked her bedroll behind her head, helped her settle against a rock. “Better?”

Feyre eyed him with suspicion. She knew this man wanted to see her rot in a jail cell, knew he had only saved her so he could gloat about it and let her suffering continue.

Rhysand offered a piece of jerky and inquired about her wound, asked how it was feeling, how much it hurt.

“I was shot. What do you want me to say? ‘Well golly mister mayor, I feel swell’? Or ‘I reckon I could do a nifty little dance and then go a couple rounds’? It hurts. I’m tired. I’m under arrest. I’m cranky.” Feyre glared and Rhys raised his hands in surrender.

“Just making sure you’re not gonna die on me. Is that so bad?”

“It is when you only saved me just so you can put me in jail. Plus, I thought you said you didn’t care.” Feyre felt her cheeks heat in rage, tried taking deep breaths to calm herself only to have shooting pains remind her of her wound.

Rhysand looked to the heavens and rolled his eyes. “Miss Pratt - “

“Not my name.” She sing-songed, irritation dripping from her voice.

He swore under his breath. “Well I don’t know your real name, and until I do I will call you by the only name I know.”

“My real name is Feyre, that part wasn’t a lie.”

He huffed. “Fine, then. Feyre. You broke the law. You used me. We’ve been over this before. You lied to me for your own gain-“

Feyre interrupted him. “Mister Moreno, you listen closely now, because apparently you did not hear me when I told you this during our little office-rendezvous. I keep my lying to a minimum. I believe I told you a total of…” She cocked her head and squinted, thinking hard. “You know what, I think I only fed you one lie. The one about my name.”

Already, Feyre was feeling better. Still tired, still sore, still cranky. But toying with the mayor of Velaris was much too fun. Just what she needed to raise her spirits and motivation.

Feyre would follow through with her plan, she would succeed, all would be well.

“I do my job.” His voice was barren of any emotion. Simple, straightforward, matter of fact. “I keep my city safe, I take care of my citizens - “

Feyre’s world went silent. Blood pounded through her ears and boiled in her veins. “Is that right, Mister Moreno? Because it seems to me you only pay any mind to those who have influence, who have money.” She hissed, gritting her teeth against pain and anger. “From what I saw, you filthy aristocrat, you shun those who cannot afford even their own home and treat them like a disease.”

Rhysand seemed taken aback, his eyes wide and jaw hanging open as Feyre’s words registered in his mind.

“Oh, shut your damn mouth. You’re dribbling.”

This brought Rhys to attention, and when he spoke his voice was quiet - void of any hostility or bitterness he held towards Feyre. “I do not think of them as a plague, and I do not ignore them. That is where I was raised, Feyre.” A hint of passion, of longing, entered his voice. “My mother grew up there, and even after she married my father - mayor at the time - she often visited. I always went with her, and then my sister accompanied us after she was born. That’s where I met my brothers - they were alone and my mother took them in.”

In an instant, Feyre’s blood cooled and her rage dropped to her stomach, was shoved aside and replaced with shock. “But you seemed so… disgusted by them. After you found me there that afternoon, they were so happy to see you, but once we left you wanted nothing more than to scrub yourself clean of them.” Feyre felt her eyebrows draw together. “Why?”

To Feyre, Rhysand looked much like a chastised schoolboy caught slipping pins onto chairs and scorpions into drawers. “I thought it might seem more normal for you. I wanted…” He scoffed. “Saying this now makes me feel ridiculous. But I wanted to impress you.”

“And so you thought being an inconsiderate halfwit would do the trick?” Feyre sighed and adjusted, trying to ignore the growing discomfort around her sutures. “Mister Moreno, aside from my best friend - who tried to kill me when we first met - I have never in my entire career met someone so tricky as you.” She paused and gave a sly smile. “Nor anyone quite so dashing.”

Rhys glared, unimpressed, and they were both silent for the span of a few heartbeats. All the while Feyre stared at him, evaluated him like the mind-boggling puzzle that he was.

“But that’s not the whole truth, is it? What happened, Mayor Moreno? You seem far too sore about me betraying you after having known me for less than a week. You stiffen when people touch you. What are you not telling me?” Feyre squinted at him; there was no malice in her gaze, simply curiosity.

Rhys’ voice turned defensive. “I do not see how any of it is your business, Miss Pratt.”

She shrugged. “It’s not but… who am I going to tell? I’ll either die from this wound or be locked up forever. This could possibly be the last conversation I’ll ever have. Why not humor me?” Feyre gave a teasing smile but soon sobered when she saw the misery written across Rhysand’s face.

“I would recommend you not anger me any more than you already have, Miss Pratt.”

When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to… serious interactions like this. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know I don’t. That’s why I’m not.” His glare was a shard of ice that slashed through her, chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

So, following his advice, she kept quiet. She did not poke or prod, she did not tease or taunt. She simply reflected Rhysand’s posture and stared at the dirt.

Feyre closed her eyes against a surge of pain and applied pressure to her side in the hopes of reducing the discomfort.

She heard Rhysand move. Pebbles skittered and sand shuffled. A bag opened, the clasp clinking quietly as he rummaged through. Feyre fought off exhaustion and listened intently to what he was doing.

“Do you mind if I put some of this on you?”

Feyre cracked her eyes open to see what he had. In his hand was a small tin, dwarfed by his large, calloused palms. “What is it?”

“It’s a salve that numbs the nerves. I’m not sure how effective it will be for a bullet wound, but it is very effective on cuts and bruises.”

“Have at it.” Feyre lifted her shirt and tried to stay relaxed when his fingers first pressed against her tender skin. Stars danced before her eyes again and black fringed her vision.

As if sensing her discomfort, Rhysand began to speak, an attempt at distracting her.

“It’s made from the salivary gland of a lizard found in these deserts. Straight from the source, it has a pinkish tinge while wet but dries clear. A few spoonfuls of this - undiluted, wet or dry - will kill you after one touch. For this,” He shook the tin. “The tiniest bit is mixed with the insides of an aloe plant and a bit of alcohol, for medicinal purposes. Just like this.” He popped the lid on and leaned back on his heels. “There we go. All done.”

Already, Feyre began to relax as the pain dissipated. Rather than thanking him, however, she asked a question. “Is it what’s in your ring?”

“What?” His gaze shot up to meet hers. “What do you mean?”

“Your ring - the one you used in the tavern. During the fight? Please don’t tell me you suffered brain damage when that fellow got a lucky punch. You hardly had enough brain cells prior; I fear what may happen otherwise.”

“Oh how you wound me, Miss Pratt. I haven’t the faintest clue as to what you’re talking about. I had nothing to assist me.”

Feyre smirked. “You’re a poor liar. Surely, you don’t expect me to believe you incapacitated all those people simply by shaking their hands or pinching their cheeks, do you sweetheart?”

“No, I don’t suppose so.” Rhysand grumbled under his breath before relenting. “It is a form of it, yes. But not enough to kill; simply enough to render unconscious.”

Rhys stood and surveyed their camp, checked on the horses and possible threats, the planes and angles of his face dramatized by the dim moonlight.

The world was dark and the night was quiet, just as Feyre liked it. The sky spun above and neither one spoke until the fire was nothing but embers.

“We should probably sleep. You go ahead, I’ll keep watch.” Rhysand’s voice was quiet as if he too understood the peace and freedom that came with night.

“What time is it?” Was Feyre’s response.

“Don’t you have your own watch?”

She dug a pitiful shell of metal hanging on the end of a chain from her pocket. “It broke in the brawl. Some dunce landed a solid kick, shattered the face and bent the cogs. I think some went missing.”

Despite her exhaustion, Feyre scowled, and irritation seeped into her bones. Lucien had stolen that watch just for her, had even payed his own honest money to have it specially engraved.

“It’s half past ten. You should rest. We’ll head out by five.”

Feyre wanted to stay up, wanted to look at the stars and enjoy at least one more night before launching her plan into full swing. But she was so tired, and she barely managed to mumble a goodnight before sleep embraced her with open arms.

***

A bead of sweat rolled between Rhys’ shoulder blades. His throat, impossibly dry from the heat, constricted when he squared up to the most feared man in all the west.

Rhysand sat mounted on his horse, sharing the saddle with his prisoner, flanked by his sheriff, cousin, and brothers.

Hybern’s company gradually came to a halt and both parties dismounted in unison. A lean, athletic man came to stand between the two crowds.

Red hair, false eye, jagged scar.

He was the man who directed Rhys to Feyre. He also appeared to be Feyre’s contact. He must have been in possession of Rhysand’s money when they spoke.

Rhys had never felt so foolish. He wondered when - or if - the shame would ever cease to worsen.

The man flicked his mismatched gaze across Rhysand and his group before he settled on Feyre and gave a small grin.

Just that bare hint of a smile was bursting at the seams with sly mischief and wily adventure.

Rhys watched as Feyre exchanged the look, saw unspoken words pass between the two; promises between friends, stories of the past, secret jokes that would never go beyond the two of them.

Heat pricked his neck and frustration spiked in his veins.

But then he noticed Feyre’s gaze turn wary as she analyzed each movement. Rhys guessed she was trying to see who, between the groups, would strike first.

It ended up being Hybern.

“I thank you again for finding and repairing my property.” His lazy drawl was more chilling than the fingers of death. “I’ll take care of her from here.”

Rhysand stepped forward, intercepting Hybern’s reach. “With all due respect, sir, I will be keeping her here. She has broken many laws, and I can’t, in good conscience, let her go. She deserves to be behind bars.”

Hybern dropped his arm. “I see. That is quite noble of you, young mayor, but we have discussed this to great lengths the past few days. Feyre here belongs to me.” A low growl came from Feyre’s throat. “I need her back, she is my most skilled worker. If it weren’t for her, I never would have received those extra thousand dollars. From you, I believe it was. So, I will thank you kindly for your most generous donation, make you one last offer you cannot resist, strike a deal, and then be off with my belongings.”

“And here I thought we understood each other. You will leave my city empty handed, your little thief will be locked up here, and you will find a new pet to do your bidding.” Disdain laced Rhysand’s voice and darkened his eyes as he watched Hybern with unwavering attention.

Hybern chuckled to himself. “I remember when I sent Amarantha here not so long ago. I remember how close we were to success, how anxious we were to get our hands on this delightful little establishment of yours. But you… Mayor Moreno, you are dedicated, I must give you that credit. But I will not relent. I want to buy your town from you. I’ll say…” Hybern glanced around, appraising the city simply for show. “Seven million. How does that sound, boy?”

Rhys gave a strained smile, his nerves run ragged by the man before him. “My most sincere apologies, Mister Hybern, but my town is not for sale. I am unable to accept your offer. Now, if we could focus on clearing up any and all confusion surrounding Miss Archeron here, I would be much obliged.”

“Hmm.” Hybern assessed Rhys with an oily gaze. “I can increase the money, if it would so please you. You could even consider it a reimbursement for the thousand dollars my thief took from you, if it would make this offer easier to accept.”

“I’m afraid I must respectfully decline, Mister Hybern.” Rhys stood tall as he faced the reedy, unctuous man before him.

Hybern was silent for a moment. “I see. Well then, I hope you understand when I say I must respectfully not accept your answer,” He brushed his hands together. “But considering as how I originally came for my thief, we can deal with that business at a later time.” He stepped around Rhysand and grabbed Feyre by the chains before dragging her towards Amren.

A feeling of dread wormed its way through Rhysand’s gut as he wondered what new trouble might soon be on their horizon.

Amren clung to the key, forcing Hybern to pry it with some effort from her grip before he turned his attention to the shackles.

Feyre had used him. She had broken the law blatantly. She had cheated him and abused his trust. She had stolen from countless people. Though she made rebuttals, the fact was she had lied to him. Rhys had been made a fool by her time and time again.

He would not let her get away for good.

“Wait.” Rhys’s voice cut through the tense silence. “You said she brought you three thousand dollars? From me?”

Feyre’s expression fell flat, she snarled at Rhysand, a warning sparked in her eyes.

Rather than be deterred, Rhys was encouraged by her reaction, certain he was on to something.

Exasperated, Hybern turned around. “One thousand, boy.”

“That’s what I thought.” And Rhysand’s smile was pure glee. A feeling of triumph bloomed in his chest as he noticed the ire in Feyre’s gaze, and he thought maybe not all was lost.

Azriel placed a heavy hand on Rhysand’s shoulder, squeezed hard, but he just shrugged him off. “You see, Mister Hybern I was there when she broke into my vault-”

“Is it really ‘breaking in’ if I already had the key?” She interrupted.

“Hush now, I want to hear what Mayor Moreno has to say.” Hybern chided. “Continue.”

“I was shackled to my office chair as I watched her count the money. She did not count out one thousand, mister Hybern. She counted out-”

“Shut it, you prick!” Feyre snapped.

Azriel’s voice was far quieter, but no less intense. “Stop, Rhys.”

He didn’t stop. “She counted out three thousand and stole a handful of valuables worth about a hundred each. So my question is, what did she do with the two thousand dollars she did not bring you like the good little retriever that she is?” Rhys thought Feyre was perhaps not so clever as she liked to think she was.

“That is a good question indeed.” Hybern once again turned to face Feyre. “Would you care to answer that question for us, my dear?”

Rhys saw her throat work as she swallowed in the dry air. “Collateral damage,” Her voice was weak even as she gave a nonchalant shrug. “Witnesses. Had to pay to keep ‘em quiet. You know how it goes.” Feyre tried for a smile, but Hybern knew.

Rhysand saw the alarm in Feyre’s eyes and felt immense satisfaction. Not only would she get what was well deserved, but Rhys hoped that Velaris had a fighting chance.

“Oh Feyre, you can’t truly expect me to believe that.” Hybern shook his head. “No no no. I don’t think you spent that money to keep people quiet, I think you kept that money. I think you spent it on yourself, wasted it on alcohol and gambling.

“And now this whole ordeal has got me wondering, how many times have you done this? How much money have you taken for yourself, rather than bring to me? It hurts me to say this, it really does, but I don’t think I can trust you anymore.” He gripped her shoulders. She shuddered. “You were like a daughter to me. I’m disappointed in you, Feyre. So very, very disappointed.”

He made a show of sighing and shaking his head; a predator toying with its prey. “I know you killed Andras, but I found it in my heart to forgive you. I loved you and raised you like my own. I nurtured you to grow up to be the outstanding thief that you are today.

“But I’m afraid I do not have it in me to forgive this. No, I don’t think so. Murder? I can accept that, I can understandthat. But stealing from me? Depriving me of the riches I have rightfully earned through my years of leading? I’m sorry, Feyre. This is just too serious.”

Rhysand’s ears began to ring. He didn’t hear what else Hybern had to say. The world began to shake, topple, shift, bend. His vision zeroed in on Feyre, and the world spun around her while she remained still, upright, steady.

Killed Andras. Murder.

She did lie.

Feyre lied right to his face.

She killed someone.

She was a murderer. She was a liar.

When Rhys said this last part out loud, Hybern’s monologue drew to a halt. Everyone grew silent in either confusion or anticipation of Feyre’s answer.

“I didn’t lie,” Her voice was broken. Rhysand couldn’t decipher all the emotions; he just recognized the jagged edges and sharp splinters. “I told you I hadn’t killed anyone in my job, hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. That’s not a lie. I didn’t kill him for my job, I killed him in self-defense. I didn’t want to take a life, but it was his or my family’s. I didn’t lie.” Her eyes were desperate, pleading as she searched Rhys’ face.

The words she had said to him that night came around, prowled to the forefront of his mind and pounced.

I have not killed anyone in my job, have not ever wanted to kill anyone, and hope to not have to ever kill anyone in my future.

Not. A. Lie.

Cleverly and delicately crafting different versions of the truth.

Indeed.

Rhysand watched in a daze as Hybern leaned over and whispered something into Feyre’s ear, so quiet nobody could hear what was said. Her face drained of blood and her eyes went wild with fear. She was white as a sheet as Hybern smiled and stepped away.

“Lucien, son, you know what to do. Feyre is the perfect example for you, should you fail. And you,” He handed the key back to Amren. “May hang on to this. I think Feyre will be enjoying those shackles for some time still.” The serpentine smile he gave made even the hardy sheriff shift her weight nervously.

Feyre became feral at this comment, as wild as the mountain cats that stalked the foothills and lurked in the passes. A silent kind of deadliness, just waiting to attack, which made Rhys all the more grateful that he might have gained favor, disgusting as it was.

“And Mister Moreno?” Hybern was casual as he spoke, his prey already ensnared in his trap. “Do not think this means I will leave your town alone. You have done me a great service, and I will keep that in mind as we negotiate.”

The relief withered and died.

With a nod of his head, Hybern’s men began to move. They distributed supplies, prepared horses, and resumed formation.

Feyre stumbled towards the man with red hair and jagged scar. “Lucien, Lucien please. Don’t do it, please don’t hurt them.” She clutched the front of his shirt in her fists, tugged him closer to her.

“Enough of the games and dramatics, Little Cougar. You’ve made your bed, it is time to lie in it.” His voice was quiet and soft. So gentle that Rhys could barely hear it above the din of Hybern’s lackeys.

Despite the man’s - Lucien’s - admonishments, Feyre didn’t stop pleading. Her voice grew more frantic, reached a fever pitch. She shook him so aggressively, caused such a commotion, moved so quickly, that Rhysand almost didn’t see it, wondered if it was a trick of the mind.

It was not.

Both of Lucien’s hands came up to cup Feyre’s before his right one dipped inside the leather jacket he wore. He then tapped her wrist twice with his thumb, three times with his index finger, and four times with his middle.

It was so fast, they were so efficient, that Rhysand didn’t think anyone else saw it, and if he didn’t already know it was a lost cause, Rhys would have raised hell over it.

“Feyre, do not impede upon my duties.” Lucien’s words were the final command, and Feyre stumbled back. Tears streamed down her cheeks and shivers hijacked her body, and Rhys wasn’t completely certain they were fake.

“Stupid girl.” Hybern grumbled as he jerked her by the chains and shoved her up onto Bryaxis.

Feyre gripped the reins and pommel of her saddle as her horse started off with a lurch. Her eyes watered and her head hung. An invisible weight hunched her shoulders, unmanageable and soul-crushing.

Without any more fanfare, the crowd turned through the city gates and left Velaris in a cloud of dust.

Rhys watched, frozen in place, as Hybern and Feyre went one way and Lucien went in the opposite direction. His family stayed with him as their silhouettes became no more than specks beneath the setting sun.

***

Feyre fell to infection on the second night.

Rhysand watched her slump to the ground, noticed the glaze which dimmed her eyes.

“Miss Pratt?” He secured the horses and kneeled before her. “Are you okay?”

“Not my real name,” Her words slurred and her voice was tired. “Archeron.”

“Archeron? Your last name is Archeron?” Rhys brushed sweaty hair from her temples as he checked her temperature. Her forehead burned the calloused skin of his palm.

“Shut up, you prick. ‘M tired.”

“I need to check your wound. I think it’s infected.”

Feyre groaned and closed her eyes. “Don’t. Just throw me in a hole in the ground.”

Rhys smiled, even gave a small chuckle, before he realized she wasn’t joking. “No need for dramatics. We’re two nights from Velaris, and I have enough first aid to last us.”

But after evaluating her sutures, seeing the damaged skin and festering wound, Rhysand realized that would be too long.

So, rather than set up camp and rest for the night, he rehydrated each member of their rugged party – equine companions included – and continued on.

He sat Feyre in front of him, held her upright and carefully monitored her breathing. But as they plodded on, she continued to succumb to restless sleep and feverish dreams, crying out every so often and jolting up, nearly falling from the horse.

Rhys did his best to keep her awake through gentle nudges, but found it to be increasingly difficult. So, he tried talking with her.

“Miss Archeron,” Rhys did not shout, but his voice was not quiet. “You asked me if I was telling the truth.”

“‘Bout what?” She let her head lean back against his shoulder.

“You asked me why I was uncomfortable in the camp, why I don’t like to be touched.” He took a breath, hardened his heart. “Have you ever heard of Mayor Hybern, Miss Archeron?”

She frowned, eyes still closed, and nodded against him.

“Then you must know of his… penchant, if you will, for land, money, and power. A few years ago, he sent a spy to scope out Velaris, to get close to my family and use us to gain control. She infiltrated through the camps, used that as an opportunity to try and befriend my mother.” Rhys squeezed her arm. “Feyre, how did she get into Velaris?”

“She… through the camps. Tried to be your mom’s friend.”

“Good. But she had easy access to me as well, and got close to me - physically - in ways I did not wish, just because I was on track to be the next mayor. So I told my mother and father, and they immediately had her arrested. But she was none too happy about that, and retaliated by breaking out and taking the lives of my parents. Feyre? What did she do?”

She didn’t answer.

“Feyre, what did she do after she was arrested?” Rhys nudged her, shook her lightly by the shoulder.

A weak groan slipped past her lips. “That hurts, jackass. She…” Her eyelids peeled open, revealing glossy, unfocused eyes. “She escaped. Killed your parents.”

“That’s right.” Rhys waited for a moment, collecting his thoughts and guiding the horses between rocks. “She set fire to my family’s home in the night. It killed my parents, nearly killed my sister. She was the one who caught her red-handed and took Amarantha’s life before she could get away for good.” Feyre shivered violently. “Who was the one to take the woman’s life?”

“You… You had a sister?”

“Still do. Who killed the spy, Feyre?”

“I didn’t get to meet her.”

“Good.” Rhysand’s voice was hard as stone. “Feyre, the spy?”

“Your sister saved us all.” Rhys watched her eyes scan the sky, a sound of wonder cutting through the strain in her voice.

Rhys sighed, accepting that was the best answer he would get. “Yes. She did.”

Rhysand left the obvious unsaid; why he became mayor at such a young age, why he didn’t like to be touched, why it hurt even more to have his trust abused, and why he despised outlaws with every bit of his heart.

Rhys continued to tell her stories, to ask her questions about them, but his conversation could only engage Feyre’s mind for so long, and she soon began a delirious ramble that would not stop.

“The stars are their eyes.”

“Whose eyes?” Rhysand was distracted, only able to give half of his attention to Feyre. He was focused on getting them home alive.

“The people. The dreams. They’re watching us, listening and waiting. That’s why the night is so quiet; they’re waiting for their turn to come true.”

“I see.” Her words made him think of his mother, how she always told him to wish on the first star to appear in the night.

“I think…” Feyre’s voice drifted, and her eyes widened. “Rhysand.”

“What?” He turned his attention to her fully, disturbed by the urgency in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

She waved an unsteady hand to the stars above the foothills, tried to hold it there but was unable to keep it still. “I see you in a constellation. See those purple stars there? They’re your eyes, just like I told Lucien.”

Rhysand’s heart ached at her words. He wasn’t ready for the way they made his throat close and his stomach drop.

That is what his sister had always said to him. His little sister, who had nearly died. His sister, who had left the godforsaken desert behind. His sister, who he adored with his entire, selfish heart. His baby sister, who he hadn’t seen in so long.

“You’re right,” he stumbled over the words. “They do look like my eyes. Who’s Lucien? Why did you tell him that?”

“My friend.”

“The one who tried to kill you?”

Feyre just about howled with laughter, clutching her side when the muscles contracted.

“Quiet down now, you need to rest.” He steadied her with a hand on her arm.

He tucked his jacket around her shoulders when she began to shiver, then stalled their trek to wrap her in a blanket when shivers turned to vicious shakes.

Yes, he was angry with this woman. Yes, she was a no-good criminal who stole anything and everything. Yes, she had taken advantage of him and countless other people. But she was still a person, and so was Rhysand, and he didn’t intend to let Feyre die a painful death from a minor wound in the middle of a sweltering desert.

When the nightmares took over and Rhys could do nothing to soothe Feyre’s thrashing or crying, he bound her legs together and secured her in front of him to the saddle of his horse.

Rhys rode harder as her fever grew worse. Her mumblings made less and less sense; he could decipher only three names - Elain, Nesta, Lucien - and the same sentence, repeated over and over: I’m Sorry.

The memories of reaching Velaris, of making loud demands for a doctor, of a barrage of questions from his inner circle, of being stopped in his tracks by the purest evil in all of the land, were a dim haze.

Even the next day, as he escaped the circling vultures and crept into the spare room of his home and settled in the chair across from her bed, Rhys felt as if he had been the one stuck in the fever dreams.

But he was not. And the fact remained that she had fooled him twice over. So he sat across from where she rested, watched as her skin regained its color and her eyes fluttered open, and promised himself that she would get exactly what she deserved.

Part Three

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #the law of the land #feysand fic #acotar #rhys acotar #feyre archeron #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #feyre x rhysand #enemies to lovers #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar

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omegaplus · 2 years

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# 4,109

Innersleeve Records, 2022

There was one more store on the list that I planned on going to. That was Innersleeve Records in Amagansett, located all the way out at the Eastern tip of Long Island. It’s the one trip I really had to prepare for. At 60 miles and 70 minutes to get there, Innersleeve- would be the furthermost locale of any stops I’d make this year. Out east is where the most scenic parts are - the farmland, the famed beaches, lighthouses, and resorts that partially define it and give Long Island its identity.

Innersleeve- was on the list of my last record-store victory tour (‘18). It was to be on my last stop between mid-July and the end of summer in the event that anyone could go with me, because I refused to go all by myself. So I asked all of my radio-station friends if they wanted to join but all I heard from them was deafening silence. I was also dealing with a personal collapse that rocked me like no other before it. Hence why I didn’t take the ride. But this year is a different one which didn’t deal me a bad river card or rolled snake eyes. Like the last, I had plenty of sizeable victories. I was finally going to give Innersleeve a chance I’ve been putting off, even if gas prices were at an all-time high.

It was the day I was going to head out there, a partially cloudy Thursday. I sat in front of the computer having a breakfast egg-bowl with bits of green peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms, and bacon with a glass of orange juice. I popped in a cassette in the deck and let it run through to be digitized while auditioning my music finds for an upcoming radio show. I asked my friends on social media who visited Innersleeve- what they thought and told me it was a pretty good spot, but they also cautioned me that their prices were not cheap but reasonable. WUSB’s all-around good guy Evan told me that he nabbed some spaghetti western soundtracks and giallo for his mother-in-law. (Nice. I guess he was feeling Italian that day.) So, how ‘not cheap but reasonable’ are they, really? Why not visit their page and find out.

Here's the daily record flip…oh, the fucking horror.

I saw the stickers on what they were selling and it didn’t look good for me. For example: a copy of Talk Talk's The Party's Over for $26.99. New records from Interpol, Soccer Mommy, Harry Styles, and King Diamond went for $25.00 to $35.00, some frightening more. Here’s an original pressing of Talking Heads' '77 album going for $40.00. The Doors R.S.D. (Record Store Day) sold for the same. A yellow vinyl version of The Smile's A Light for Attracting Attention spun handsomely for $50.00. Billion Dollar Babies by Alice Cooper was asking for a whopping $60.00. Wow, seriously? Marie Antoinette would tell me to fuck right off and go choke on a cake.

I’d assume that being they’re located in the trendy uptight part of Long Island, that their selection was pretty straight. I saw nothing but pop, rock, common reggae, all-too-familiar indie artists, American standard jazz greats, and Rock & Roll Hall-Of-Famers. Maybe the occasional Amyl & The Sniffers record? Nothing daring, challenging, or defying to throw in the face of the power-move-making status quo in an uppity part of - wait, nevermind - they carried a copy of GG Allin’s Brutality And Bloodshed For All. That’ll scare all the socialites, Seinfeld, and the rich and powerful back into their bank-account vault homes in no time, eh? I had a laugh for five seconds before I resumed hate-watching their stock. It seemed like they didn’t even attempt to care in hiding their price tags while flipping through their new arrivals.

I remember when I went to Plainview’s Vinyl Bay 777. I looked around and experiencing the freshly-built interior felt like finding a hidden gem in the middle of nowhere. The excitement started to die slowly when I saw that all of their stock was priced three to four times what other stores were selling. They were big on condition and rarity. I only lasted 45 minutes before walking out with nothing and feeling ashamed of myself.

I’m more of quantity over quality. I can care less if the album in question is in tattered condition. As long as I have the physical product and can get it for less as possible then great. I can always stream it afterwards. I knew that -777 and Innersleeve were playing the vinyl revival game and were competing to see who can sell their stock for the highest price possible. They’ll have their case as to why they mark up their selection and even you’d agree it’d make sense. It doesn’t mean you’d want to go broke, and that’s if you were in my position.

That said, their selection didn’t excite me and reeling from sticker shock wasn’t helping, either. Along with the mania of high gas prices ($4.40 a gallon at the time of posting) and spending $893.00 in two days at Amityville’s High Fidelity, it wasn’t worth it. Instead, Innersleeve Records will be replaced by taking a ‘bonus’ trip to (Greenpoint) Brooklyn’s Captured Tracks. After that, I’ll declare my ‘22 Record Store Victory Tour over.

**********

TL;DR: Imagine if I was batting for the Yankees and I hit a zippy ground ball that rolled right to the Red Sox pitcher’s glove. He catches it right before I take my foot off the dirt and then throws it to his first baseman for the out. Now you know how I felt choosing to stay home instead of going to Innersleeve Records.

Innersleeve Records shopping list: no dice.

#personal #Long Island #omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists

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fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction · 1 month

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Afton-Herrera Moments 5

Time: Unknown Location: Somewhere in Florida

“That last job should have us set for a while,” Panther mused aloud, relaxing at the makeshift table that had been made for eating meals. Router remembered asking about it when he first moved in with the mercenary duo and being told Tiger had built it after getting fed up with Panther leaving crumbs in the couches from eating there. It wasn’t very pretty, just a plain flat surface of wooden planks nailed to a wooden frame and coated in wood stain and sealant for protection, but it served the purpose well. “Good payout and I got a new weapon out of it too!” the man went on with a pleased grin.

“Do you get a new one on every job?” Router sighed in exasperation, giving him an annoyed glare. New ‘weapons’ meant more mouths to feed, meant the money had to stretch a little further to cover living expenses, meant he’d be focused on spreadsheets and balancing bills instead of fortifying their online defenses. How was he supposed to erase traces of themselves online when he was busy pinching pennies on the food budget?

“Feet off the table, Sydney,” Tiger grumbled as he finally swept into the room. He carried a large tray laden with plates of food, grilled chicken and salads and baked potatoes. The job had been good enough that Panther’s brother had splurged on the celebratory dinner. Router perked up at the sight of the food even as he very firmly ignored any mention of Panther’s true name.

Panther sighed as he lowered his legs from the table surface, more scoffing in sound than anything. While Tiger set out the servings for the three of them, he reached into the nearby cooler and pulled out fresh beers to add to the table. Router accepted his with a quiet thanks and a wry grin.

It was kind of nice to be part of this ‘family’ dinner. His own hadn’t always been peaceful, as for some reason his mother liked to use them to vent her frustrations about anything that annoyed her, which ranged from the good-for-nothing man that got her pregnant and then ditched her to Router getting less than perfect grades in whatever subject in school he was struggling to understand. Getting away from her and gaining control over his life had been the most freeing thing, and now he could enjoy more fun dinners like this.

“Next time, get a weapon that can also cook,” Tiger suggested dryly, splitting open his baked potato and scooping up part of the fluffy innards with a piece of chicken, “I could use more hands in the kitchen to feed all these strays you keep bringing home.”

“I got Sweets, didn’t I?” Panther protested, gesturing aimlessly in the general direction of the cellblocks where he kept his ‘stock’. “She’s good at cooking! One of these days she’ll even keep up our stock of meds and poisons!”

“She’s also eight and labels her shit with stickers,” Tiger pointed out flatly, jabbing his fork toward his affronted brother, “I’m not putting that kid near our food when she’s holding a bottle with a unicorn on it and I don’t know if that means sugar or anthrax.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who gave her the stickers!”

“She’s a kid and needs toys and playtime, you can’t just stick them in a room and expect them to be okay like the adults you nab.”

“She’s just new, she’ll catch on,” Panther dismissed with a huff as Tiger rolled his eyes and went back to his food. Router watched the back and forth with an amused smile. Even though it kind of sounded like his mother’s ranting at first, the way the two of them bounced back and forth with their words seemed more like a loud conversation over the care of Panther’s new ‘weapon’. Wasn’t the first time Router saw a kid running around the place with Panther’s signature tattoo painted on them with ink, but it was the first time on a job he saw the guy just scoop one up after taking a look at them and their room and announce them as his bonus for the job.

Router still felt his skin crawl at the look of one of the other mercenaries at Sweets, but once Panther had her nobody else dared come near. As far as the hacker was concerned, she was in the safest place in the world now and would be learning some good new skills as she grew up. The fact that she was smiling now as the bruises were healing was already proof she was happier.

It just made his respect for Panther grow even more.

“You did good work, kiddo,” Tiger spoke up and Router looked over at the older man as he lifted his beer in toast of him, “Keeping those cameras off him, can’t have been easy with the way he just barges through everything.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Router replied with a grin, soaking in the praise, “Panther can count on me to watch his back on the web and anywhere there’s a system to crack.”

Tiger nodded at him, then gave Panther a narrow-eyed glare of irritation. “As for you, no more new weapons for the next few jobs,” he scolded, “This was a good score but our overhead’s gettin’ high for keeping your shit in good condition so we gotta build up reserve cash again for maintenance.”

“No promises,” Panther waved his brother’s words off before digging into his food. Router hid his grin with a sip of his beer, feeling relaxed and in a much better mood now that his partner was being reigned in on his ‘spending’ by his older brother. It was interesting to see the dynamic as an only child. What would it be like, he wondered, to have an older or younger sibling?

And then he dismissed the thought as silly to think about; he was basically nonexistent to the people who called themselves his parents so what was the use of thinking about family now?

—----------------------------------

Present Day Hurricane, Utah

Fingers moved stiffly, one after another, and Freddy had an expression that somehow managed to convey both focus and frustration in the limited movement of facial features. Gregory and Alex both studied the workings of the animatronic arm that replaced Freddy’s usual limb, then checked the readings on the laptop connected to it.

“It’s gotta be a hardware issue,” Alex muttered, “You wrote the software correctly, even if it’s got more lines of code than I’d use myself.”

“The claws don’t retract though, and that’s what the software’s supposed to do,” Gregory countered with a pout. “Freddy, that software isn’t messing with anything else, right?”

“No, I have it isolated from the level of access needed for the rest of my body while we test,” the animatronic replied and huffed. “I feel resistance to the language this was written in. Most likely, the base code I was built upon is not fully compatible with this language.”

Alex sat back with an exasperated sigh, lifting his feet to rest on the coffee table while he considered Freddy’s words. “What language was used then? How was your coding written?” he mused aloud.

“I learned,” Freddy replied, the tone of his voice taking on a strange quality, “I was born in a nursery and taught how to behave as the Freddy they wanted me to be. The base software I possess.. do other endoskeletons have the same software? Can they be raised to also behave like Freddy Fazbear? And if that is the case, then what stops me from learning the behaviors of another and then taking on that identity instead? Could I just as easily be a Monty instead of a Freddy?”

“That’s a mood,” Alex muttered under his breath as Gregory rushed to soothe and reassure Freddy of his sense of self. The words were uncomfortably reminiscent of his issues with his own identity and also of Sydney and his connection with his past as Panther.

If Sydney didn’t really behave the same as Panther, then was he even that Panther? And if he was no longer Panther, then did Alex bring him back wrong with his deal? Did he trap a stranger into this existence instead of give a second chance at life to his old friend?

“Maybe we should ask Mr. Fitzgerald for those files and see if there’s a clue in there about Freddy’s software,” Gregory suggested, grabbing the tools to disconnect his homemade arm and reconnect Freddy’s usual one. “I told you we should have taken lemon cookies and made peace with the guy the last time we had him and Mr. Woods do a maintenance check.”

Alex scoffed at the idea, but it was probably something he’d have to do sooner than later if they were going to get any idea of what base software was used for Freddy. Understanding that would go a long way to fixing anomalies in it for the others, since Gregory was still fixated on the idea of going into the Pizzaplex to recover the programming chips of the other Glamrocks. That was something already being worked on by the other Guards as well; Woods had been studying some recent photos of the ruined Pizzaplex during that last visit, which meant his roommate was hearing about it and he’d be telling his sister and his sister would gossip about it to Meera since they were best friends and if Meera heard about it....

He grimaced at the idea of Circus Baby hearing about it and joining in on the operation. Much as he didn’t like being around his father’s digital self, Alex knew that the artificial spirit was their best counter to the Master File’s control over the Pizzaplex network.

There was knocking from across the room that drew their attention and Alex raised his eyebrows at Sydney standing at the entrance to the den. He moved his hand from the wall to his mouth, tapping his knuckles against his lips in signal so Alex could fish out his phone and hold it up, his custom app open for translating Sydney’s sign language. Once the phone was up, Sydney went on with signing, a disapproving frown on his face.

“/Feet off the table/,” the phone spoke in translation and Alex scowled even as he pulled his legs down. A flicker of deja vu revived an old memory of him and Panther and Tiger from some months before that tragic job at Freddy’s, and the scowl grew more bitter.

“Oh, hey, you guys are back!” Gregory greeted as Sydney moved aside enough to let Vanessa pass by him to enter the den, her hands gripping a pair of bags of takeout food, “How’s the Pizzaplex looking? Are those tacos?”

“Yeah, Sydney said these were more authentic than that brand-name place,” Vanessa replied as she set the bags down on the coffee table, gently nudging aside the disconnected arm. “As for the Pizzaplex, we scouted around it for any way in but most of the regular entrances are either locked or blocked off. Might have to literally break in to get access again.”

“Could bug Woods and his friends for help in that, even if some of that help means Vincent and the asshole will tag along,” Alex suggested, accepting a container and popping the lid open to reveal a few tacos and the customary sides.

A dark glass bottle extended towards him caught him by surprise and he reached for it more out of familiarity before realizing that the glass was clear, the liquid inside dark and bubbly. A soda. Alex glanced up at Sydney holding the drink out to him, his brother giving him a concerned look over how he’d gone still.

“Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly, taking the bottle and setting it on the table near his food.

Another sort-of family dinner. Alex sat back with his set of tacos, taking a bite as he looked over the group of people that he lived with. An unlikely bunch getting along; Alex didn’t think he’d ever be okay with living with a pair of Aftons, even if they were technically forced to be Aftons. Aftons got him and Panther killed, trapped as ghosts tethered to an animatronic rabbit and bound to yet another Afton siphoning their energy for his gain, and it was that Afton’s plan that ended up with Panther being so thoroughly shredded of Remnant and memories that there was almost nothing left of him to reincarnate with.

But here they were, and at least he still had Sydney, even if his memories were severely lacking.

Just... would it really be so bad to wish Sydney had more of Panther back? That confidence and control Alex remembered and admired; Sydney could really use some of that to get over being so afraid of himself.

#bits and pieces #fanfiction #fnaf au #parlourverse au #fnaf gregory #fnaf vanessa #panther #router #tiger #sydney herrera #alex herrera #the herrera brothers

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