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#its even harder when you watched the world nearly end
r0b0t1me · 2 years
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its hard to talk about it all sometimes
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theragethatisdesire · 10 months
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aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!
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includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi
i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3
DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.
Eren
ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol
buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.
10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”
you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”
loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.
TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.
refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.
favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”
lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.
really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”
accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.
aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.
wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.
Jean
most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.
freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”
jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.
it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”
plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad
wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.
the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.
the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.
“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”
definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.
always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake
SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip
jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest
wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.
talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you
Reiner
another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.
buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.
accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.
cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.
definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.
all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.
always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.
can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.
takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him
DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.
always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter
coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)
never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.
the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.
holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”
Levi
levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.
when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”
super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.
totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.
“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”
levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.
100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.
has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.
“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”
vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”
he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.
learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand
you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.
he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 
wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.
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robertreich · 4 months
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How Amazon Is Ripping You Off
Shopping on Amazon? Stop! Watch this first.
Amazon is the world’s biggest online retailer. This one single juggernaut of a company is responsible for nearly 40% of all online sales in America. In an FTC lawsuit, they’re accused of using their mammoth size, and consumers’ dependence on them, to artificially jack up prices as high as possible, while prohibiting sellers on Amazon from charging lower prices anywhere else.
They’re accused of using a secret algorithm, codenamed "Project Nessie," to charge customers an estimated extra $1 billion dollars,
If this isn’t an abuse of power that hurts consumers, what is? So much for all of those “prime” deals you thought you were getting.
Project Nessie isn’t the only trick Amazon has been accused of using to exert its hulking dominance over the online retail industry — leading to higher prices for you.
Much of the FTC’s antitrust lawsuit centers around the treatment of independent merchants who sell items on Amazon’s online superstore — accounting for 60 percent of Amazon's sales.
Amazon allegedly uses strongarm tactics that force these sellers to keep their prices higher than they need to be. Like barring them from selling products for significantly less at other stores — or else risk being hidden in Amazon’s search results or having their sales stopped entirely.
And Amazon is accused of engaging in pay-to-play schemes and charging merchants excessive fees that end up costing you even more.
Independent sellers are effectively forced to pay Amazon to advertise their products prominently in search results. If they don’t fork over cash, then their products get buried underneath products of companies who do. This hurts sellers but also harms shoppers who have to parse through less relevant products that may be more expensive or lower quality.
And to be eligible for the coveted “Prime” badge on their items — which is considered crucial for competing on the platform — independent sellers are pushed into paying Amazon for additional services like warehousing and shipping, even if they could get those services cheaper elsewhere. If sellers forgo trying to qualify for Prime, their goods apparently become harder for customers to find.
When all of these extra fees are added up, Amazon takes around a 50 percent cut of each sale made by a third party. It’s projected that Amazon will earn around $125 billion from collecting fees in the U.S. in 2023, most of which get passed on to you.
By charging all of these extra fees and stifling independent companies from selling their products for less elsewhere, Amazon is using its dominance to essentially set prices for all consumers across the internet.
And when you combine Amazon’s control of ecommerce with all of the other industries it has entered by gobbling up companies — such as Whole Foods, One Medical, and MGM — you’re left with a behemoth that simply has too much power.
This is all part of a much larger problem of growing corporate dominance in America. In over 75% of U.S. industries, fewer companies now control more of their markets than they did twenty years ago.
The lack of competition and consumer choice has resulted in all of us paying more for goods because corporations like Amazon can raise their prices with impunity. By one estimate, corporate concentration has cost the typical American household $5,000 a year more than they would have spent if markets were truly competitive.
This power isn’t just being used to siphon more money from you. A giant corporation has the power to bust unions, keep workers’ wages low, and funnel money into our political system.
It’s a vicious cycle, making giant corporations more and more powerful.
But under the Biden administration, the government is making a strong effort to revive antitrust law and use its power to reign in big corporations that have grown too powerful.
We must stop the monopolization of America. This FTC lawsuit against Amazon is a great start.
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heaven-s-black-box · 2 months
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Home- Zhongli x wife!Reader
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Recovery date: January 17th, 2024
Description: May I request smut with Zhongli and his wife having reunion sex after not seeing each other for a long time?
Includes- plot, half dragon form Zhongli, slight angst(?), oral (f receiving)
Notes: This entry was recovered in collaboration with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contribution. Thank you to my friend who beta read this.
Word count: 2 763
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Zhongli’s retirement was supposed to mean more time for his wife. 
Married for centuries, and yet he felt they only saw each other as frequently as a mortal couple did in their entire lifetime. He’d promised her his undivided love and protection, and back in the Guili plains that had been possible– when it hadn’t just been him watching over the mortals– but here in Liyue it was… difficult. He was loath to admit it, but he was not holding up his end of the contract.
Even after the amendment they’d made following the archon war, that Liyue would come before her, it seemed to take up all his time. Yet she never complained, treating the bustling harbor like it was their child.
His retirement was as if their child had grown, leaving the house to find its place in the world. So how had spending time together gotten harder?
“I’m home, my dearest,” he called into the quiet house, taking care to keep his voice down.
One week, three days, eight hours, forty-two minutes and three seconds.
He’d been gone for a full week, nearly week and a half, and not even on official business, but rather as a favor to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s director because she was too busy to go to Inazuma.Y/n hadn’t been able to join him due to a mild illness at the time of his departure that would have made the boat ride miserable, and so had begun their longest separation since the cataclysm.
A warm scent reached his nose, and he looked up from taking his shoes off to find his wife standing before the entrance in an apron. There was a bandage tied around one of her fingers, and rice flour dusted across the apron.
“I made bamboo shoot soup.”
Her smile was contagious, and he quickly found himself donning a similar expression as she took his hand and led him to the table. A bottle of dandelion wine was set in the center next to a vase of glaze lilies and qingxins. The smell he’d noticed earlier was clearly coming from the pot on the stove that Y/n quickly returned to, serving up two bowls and setting them on the table.
“This is… an interesting array of decor,” Zhongli hummed once they finally sat down.
“Venti came by,” Y/n laughed, “just after you left, actually, he helped me around the house so that I could rest.” Zhongli nodded, begrudgingly thinking up a way to thank the drunken archon. “The flowers were a gift from Ganyu, I think she meant for me to put them in separate vases but…” She shrugged.
Zhongli finished his bite of bamboo, and looked up to find his wife awkwardly pushing her food around her bowl. She raised a piece of meat to her lips, but before she could take a bite, Zhongli urged her to finish her sentence.
“But?”
Y/n rarely clammed up like this, tensing up over something so suddenly. She ignored him for a moment, chewing slowly to buy herself more time. Zhongli set his chopsticks down and laced his hands in front of himself, indicating he had no intent of returning to dinner until she answered him.
“But, they kept me company.”
Y/n rolled her shoulders out and reached for her glass of wine. She frowned upon taking a sip, deciding that maybe dandelion wine and bamboo shoot soup weren’t the best pair, but continued on in order to avoid looking at her husband. There was no doubt in her mind that he was carefully considering her words, and she was not looking forward to-
“I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “No, no, don’t apologize.”
“Why?” Zhongli reached across the table and took her hands in his, running his thumb over her wedding ring. “It’s the very least I should do. I promised you my undivided love and protection, and I failed. I amended my promise, the vow I made to you centuries ago, and I have still– somehow– made you feel so alone that you would find comfort in the memories of our friends.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
A long moment of silence cut through the house as Y/n lowered her gaze to their hands– hers cradled gently in his. Slowly, she removed Zhongli’s wedding ring, then his gloves, and replaced the ring before bringing his hands to her lips. She placed a kiss on either knuckle and then sighed, resting her forehead against them.
“Your retirement was supposed to be for us,” she whispered, “and I understand that this consultancy with Wangsheng funeral parlor is your way of living a mortal life, but even mortals make better time for their loved ones than you. We have forever, but forever will find its end before you know it.”
Zhongli couldn’t see her face, it was buried in his hands, but he could feel her heavy breathing as she stifled growing sobs.
“Look at me,” he whispered, removing his hands from her grasp to cup her face. Y/n’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears that stabbed at his heart. “I will speak with director Hu Tao and take some time off, and I’ll work on finding a balance. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Y/n turned her face in his hands and kissed his palms.
“Don’t thank me, it’s what I should have done in the first place.”
Hesitantly, Y/n pulled Zhongli’s hands from her face and clasped them in front of her chest– pressing them over her heart.
“Dinner’s gone cold.”
“It has.”
“Why don’t we move on to the rest of the evening's plans?”
Zhongli chuckles, “You had more planned?”
“But of course, you must have been so lonely without me, I need to make up for that.”
Y/n stood up, pulling her husband with her. Before she could pull him any further though, he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist. She looked up at him with furrowed brows and a small pout.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Her pout dissipated into a small smile as she ran her hands up his chest and played with the collar of his jacket.
“I would tell you if I wasn’t. That was a term in our contract,” she whispered, barely a breath away from his lips before she pulled him in for a kiss.
It was gentle as Y/n ran her hands up around Zhongli’s neck, tugging on his ponytail and earning a short laugh before their lips connected again. Zhongli meanwhile slid his hands just barely under the slit in her qipao, earning a shudder as his claws gently raked over the thin under dress. He moved his hands lower, squeezing at the backs of her thighs.
“Up.”
Y/n jumped up, her skirt bunching up under Zhongli’s hands, wrapping her legs around his waist and giggling– face buried in his neck– as he finally carried her to their bedroom. She loosened his tie, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and littering his neck with butterfly kisses. The door to their room opened, and she took the moment of brief distraction to bite down on the nape of his neck. Zhongli’s grip on her thighs tightened, and he let out a low groan while Y/n snickered softly.
“My bad.”
Zhongli nudged her head up and buried his face in her neck before biting her nape in return, earning a squeal and the squeeze of her thighs. In squeezing her thighs together around his waist, Y/n accidentally pulled herself closer and ground against Zhongli.
Zhongli groaned at the friction and whispered, “My bad,” in return, before dropping her onto the bed.
Without prompting, Y/n unfastened the buttons of her qipao while Zhongli shrugged off his jacket and vest, and finished unbuttoning his shirt. He looked up just in time to find his wife kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms back around his neck, burring one hand in his hair, and pulled him in for another kiss.
This one was hungrier. It wasn’t meant to reassure either of them, but rather make up for lost time. Both the time lost during his trip, and the time lost as the mortal life had consumed him.
Zhongli gently pushed Y/n back by the hips, forcing her to awkwardly shuffle around to untuck her dress from beneath her. As soon as it was released from beneath her legs, Zhongli grabbed the hem and pulled it off– leaving her in only her underwear. He gently ran his fingers along the deep mark he’d left on her nape earlier, a fond smile forming on his lips.
Rolling her eyes, Y/n grabbed the open sides of Zhongli’s shirt to pull him down with her when she fell backwards. The sudden shift in perspective startled him, and he was barely able to brace himself on his forearms to avoid crushing his wife.
“Hi, handsome.”
“Hello, my dearest.”
This time Zhongli was the first to lean in, placing a quick peck on her nose and then capturing her lips. Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her hand up to cup his face, while he moved one hand up to cup hers.
It honestly felt like they could stay like that forever, just holding one another, but Zhongli suddenly pulled away and trailed kisses down Y/n chest. He left gentle nips at random intervals, earning content sighs from his wife. She gently scratched at his scalp, tugging on occasion to make him groan.
There was something humorous in the way they’d both assumed they would jump each other's bones as soon as Zhongli had stepped in the door, and yet as time went on neither of them was sure they’d even get around to having sex tonight.
When Zhongli finally reached the hem of Y/n’s underwear and took a deep inhale, making her whine in embarrassment. Even after being married for centuries some of his more draconic habits, like his obsession with her scent, were embarrassing.
“My favorite scent,” he said, voice a low rumble as he teased her.
“Zhongli,” Y/n whined.
He slowly pulled her underwear down, letting his claws scrap against her skin. She kicked them off and then put her legs up on his shoulders before tapping the top of his head.
“Where’s my lovely husband?” She cooed, shuddering when he laughed– his breath hitting her clit.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He ducked down, kissing at her inner thighs as his horns and tail slowly took form. Y/n whined as he avoided giving her any stimulation, gripping at his horns and tugging only to earn herself a gentle smack from his tail.
“Ah!”
“Be patient,” Zhongli sighed.
“I have been plenty patient, love.”
His forked tongue flicked out against her clit, making her yelp and squeeze her thighs against his head. Her grip on his horns tightened and she used them to try and pull him closer to her cunt. This time he ran his tongue up to her clit and then back down and into her. Y/n moaned, rocking her hips into his face. Zhongli laughed, digging his claws into her hips, uncaring if he broke skin.
“More,” Y/n moaned, wiggling her hips uselessly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”
“But-ah!” 
Zhongli sucked gently at her clit, then gently raked his claws against her thigh to rub quick circles against her clit. The sudden change in stimulation caught her off guard and her thighs began to crush his head as she clawed helplessly. 
The knot in her stomach tightened quickly, making her hips jerk erratically against his face and hand. Her breathing was heavy as choked sounds escaped her lips.
“Cumming, cumming,” she began to mumble, legs twitching. “Fuck!” She yelped as it finally snapped.
Zhongli lapped up her release– his tail flicking about happily behind him– gripping her tightly as she squirmed against him from over stimulation. 
“I thought you’d been patient?”
“I was,” Y/n panted, sitting up and starting to undo Zhongli’s pants, “until this morning.”
“I was looking forward to letting you fall apart on my fingers,” he pouted playfully.
“And I, want to be fucked.”
Laughing, Zhongli got off the bed to kick his pants off while Y/n moved further up onto the bed. Zhongli rejoined, settling between her legs and pulling her towards him. His tail looped around her waist, tightening slightly so she couldn’t escape.
“No, no,” Y/n laughed, finally catching her breath. She placed a hand on his chest and the other urging his tail to loosen its hold, guiding him to lay back. “My turn.”
She settled herself above him, resting her weight forward on his chest, and slowly sunk down onto his second dick. His primary dick brushed against her clit as she lowered herself, earning a quiet gasp and making her clench around him. It stung slightly, but she took her time until he was buried inside her completely. With a shaky breath she gave a slow roll of her hips, earning a groan from her husband.
Zhongli placed his hands on her hips, rubbing gentle arcs against her skin with his thumbs, then he ran his hands up and down her sides in a soothing motion as she adjusted to his size. His primary dick rested against his abdomen, and Y/n wrapped her hand around it making him hiss. She ran her hand along it teasingly a few times, laughing at the glare he leveled her with and the way his tail tightened around her waist, before moving her hand back to his chest for support.
Y/n rolled her hips again, taking a deep breath as her clit once again brushed his primary dick, before slowly lifting herself up and sinking back down with a moan. She leaned down to kiss her husband, making him groan as his primary dick was pressed between them. Slowly, she found a rhythm to bounce on, moaning as her clit rubbed against his primary dick that was pressed between them. Zhongli’s claws dug into her hips as he moaned, matching her movements with his thrusts. 
The pleasure quickly began to tire Y/n out, leaving her panting and slowing down as her legs began to shake from the building tension in her gut.
“Come now, is that all you’ve got?” Zhongli teased as she began slowing down, breath heavy from exertion.
“If you weren’t so insistent on topping, maybe I’d-ah! Have better stamina.”
Tightening his grip on her hips and his tail back around her waist, he flipped her around and slammed back into her. She yelped at the sudden movement, and he moaned as his primary dick rubbed against Y/n’s abdomen with every thrust. In this position, his dick didn’t rub against her clit as regularly leaving her on edge.
“You make an excellent point, however…” he gave another hard thrust, his sharp teeth being revealed as he grinned down at her, “actually I don’t have a point to make.”
Y/n’s hands twisted the sheets as she bounced almost violently with every thrust, crying out in pleasure.
“So-mean.” She whined, and shakily slid one of her hands between them to rub at her clit. “Cumming.”
“Go ahead,” he whispered, leaning down beside her ear. “My dearest wife.”
At the term of endearment, Y/n’s breath hitched.
“Morax, Morax, Morax,” she gasped out as her legs tightened around his waist and her hips jerked against him.
He replaced her hand with his, rubbing her clit to help her ride out her orgasm as she twitched and panted. Meanwhile he pulled out, wrapping his other hand around both his cocks and jacking them off. White painted Y/n abdomen as he finally stopped rubbing her clit.
They stayed there for a moment, panting. Y/n twitched slightly everytime Zhongli accidentally brushed up against her.
“That was… long overdue,” She sighed, groaning as she carefully unhooked her legs from Zhongli’s waist.
Zhongli, in turn, laughed, and grabbed a towel from their bedside drawer to clean her off.
“No, what’s long overdue is the bath we’re about to take.”
“Ah, that is true,” Y/n laughed, taking Zhongli’s right hand and raising it to her lips so that she could kiss his wedding ring.
As she looked up at him through her lashes, placing gentle kisses along his knuckles and ring, Zhongli had a feeling he knew how his vacation was going to go.
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katyswrites · 1 year
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don't call me 'baby'
PART 1 | SERIES
Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap
Wordcount: 4k
A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?
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PART 1 | in the same room, at the same time
This wasn’t supposed to happen. That’s what you would tell yourself, later. But, life is funny that way - nothing ever really goes the way you’d expect it. And, when you had taken the last-minute shift at Enoteca Bruni, the fine-dining restaurant where you worked as a cocktail waitress, you could have never predicted where the night would take you.
It had started with a large reservation that had come in around 8pm, four businessmen in suits and watches that you imagined cost more than your entire month’s rent. You were used to that type - considering the prices on the wine list, nearly everyone you served here lived at least three tax brackets above you. It wasn’t a job meant for everyone - a lot of these types of customers were dismissive, rude, and expected those who serve them to disappear in the background, not to interrupt whatever they were doing, which was obviously oh-so-important. But, the tips were phenomenal, and the late night hours worked perfectly with your daytime shifts at the cafe in the city’s center.
Still, the most intriguing thing about them was that they weren’t Italian, like you had gotten used to - nor were they speaking Spanish, French, German, or any of the other languages you had learned to recognize over the last few years. No, they were American. It wasn’t often that you heard your native tongue and accent nowadays - no, it was actually jarring. But, you welcomed it. The oldest man at the table, a gray-haired, thin man with a sharp face and tailored three-piece suit, smiled when you greeted them with a hello.
“How wonderful,” he had exclaimed. “Someone from our side of the world.”
“Finally,” a younger man with a smattering of freckles on the other side of the table had said, exasperated. “We’ve got someone who actually speaks English around here.”
“Well,” you said, “To be fair, you are in Rome. I suppose you could say we are the odd-ones-out.”
He rolled his eyes, and shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m just trying to say it’s nice to actually understand who I’m talking to for once, you know? Not that I’m looking for her to talk back.”
Unfortunately, that didn’t even crack the top ten worst things a customer had said to you in your time working here. So instead, you just plastered on a cheerful smile.
“Of course. In that case, what drinks can I get started for you gentlemen?”
As the hours wore on though, it was becoming harder and harder to feign kindness. With each wave of dismissal, or snap of their fingers, you wanted to take the drinks you were serving and throw them in their faces. The worst of the bunch were probably the first older man you had spoken to, who had such a vile demeanor about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on it; and perhaps worse than him were two of the younger men, the dark-haired one with freckles, and a sandy-haired guy with what you could only describe as a mullet.
1982 called, it wants its hairstyle back, you thought to yourself. 
It was those two who you could see undressing you with their eyes, who called you over for nonsense requests, asking you to bend over the table to get things that you knew they were perfectly capable of reaching themselves. And, you weren’t deaf; you heard the comments they made as you walked away to fetch more wine and scotch.
Look at that ass go, one of them said. I’d definitely hit it.
As if you could pull that, the other said. Besides, you’ve already got two bitches on the side Billy; leave some for the rest of us.
Don’t look at me, the sandy-haired man who was apparently named Billy retorted. If anyone around here needs to get laid, it’s Harrington.
With your back turned, you rolled your eyes, and wondered if they’d notice if you spit in their drink - that was, until no-first-name Harrington replied.
Guys, lay off - just let the girl do her job, yeah? 
You took a deep breath, and recomposed yourself - it was the bare minimum, but it was something - someone who saw you as a person, maybe.
You carried the tray over with a wide smile plastered on your face, handing out drinks as you surveyed the table. You glanced at Harrington, the quietest one in the group - you had hardly heard a word from him all night, until right now. He was handsome, on the younger side of the group, but you’d estimate still about a decade your senior; he had a thick, slightly wild head of chestnut hair, and more of a boyish look about him. And with the exception of his perfectly-tailored suit and ostentatious Rolex, he didn’t look to have much else in common with his colleagues at first glance. While they sat at ease, laughing and conversing over their drinks, he sat up straight, stoically swirling his wine.
You pulled the post-dinner cigars they had asked you to bring out of the box, slicing the end with the guillotine cutter and handing the first one to the oldest man, striking a match and lighting it for him until he drew smoke. It felt humiliating sometimes, to light the Suits’ cigars for them as if they couldn’t do it themselves, but that came with the territory in a place like this, you had learned. 
You reached Harrington last, only for him to shake his head.
“Oh, none for me - thank you though.”
Thank you - he was probably the first one from the table to say that all evening. 
“Can I get you gentleman anything else?” you asked stiffly.
“That’ll be all, for now,” the gray-haired man said, waving you off. 
You nodded, and at the bar, decided it was high time for your smoke break. You glanced at your watch - your shift was over in less than an hour, and your high heels were killing you. You signaled to the manager behind the bar that you were taking fifteen, and shouldered your way out the door.
*****
The first few minutes outside were peaceful, and relatively quiet - at least, as quiet as Rome could be at this hour. There was still the distant sound of traffic, the bustle of people on the sidewalk, many drunkenly stumbling and laughing, in the midst of making merry on a Friday night. You took a drag from your cigarette and inhaled deeply - even just a few moments off of your feet, and sitting out here on this bench in the fresh air, was starting to take the edge off. Still, you couldn’t shake that table of men - your manager had warned you that it was a very high-profile client, explaining that the dinner was likely a pretense for some multi-million dollar deal to be discussed. Still, you found yourself muttering under your breath, practicing the retorts and profanities you had wanted to throw at them. The shield you had built for dealing with customers was only so strong, and if your job wasn’t on the line, you probably would have told them to fuck off hours ago.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear someone approaching, not until they’re right next to you, clearing their throat.
“Oh! Jesus, hi,” you say, clutching your chest with your hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Harrington was standing above you, hands in his pockets and his tie loosened.
“It’s fine - I promise, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
His smile was friendly, and a bit apologetic. He looked different in the dim light, a bit younger, and not at all like someone who spends his days in an office doing… whatever those men inside did.
“You mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to you on the bench. You just shook your head, a bit wary of him still.
He smiled, and started fishing around in his pockets until he pulled out a small baggie of tobacco and a pack of rolling papers. You raised your eyebrows, and smirked.
“You roll your own cigarettes?” you asked.
He nodded, not quite looking at you, focused intently on the task and hand.
“Yep. It’s so much better than that crap you smoke, trust me.”
You scoffed, despite the fact that this man was technically your customer, and your shift wasn’t quite over yet.
“Yeah, well, I’m doing just fine with what I’ve got. Thanks though…” you trailed off, looking at him expectantly. He caught on and turned to face you, grinning.
“Steve. Steve Harrington.”
He extended a hand towards you. You hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by the simplicity of the gesture from someone like him, but you took it, telling him your own name. His much bigger hand was warm and calloused, shaking yours firmly before pulling away.
You stared at him intently, desperately trying to figure him out as you placed your cigarette between your lips and inhaled. It was hard to figure out what exactly his deal was - but, he was talking to you like you were an actual person, so that was at least a step above most of the people you’d waited on here.
When he finished rolling, he stuck the cigarette between his lips, then sighed. 
“Shit - d’you have a light?”
You nodded, reaching into your handbag and pulling out your small blue lighter. He leaned in close, close enough that you could faintly smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off of him in the cool May evening. It took a moment for the flame to catch, then he was leaning back and he took a drag, letting his eyes flutter shut.
You looked away quickly, staring at the street ahead. Your black cocktail dress didn’t offer much coverage, causing you to shiver slightly as a breeze picked up. It was Steve who broke the silence, after a few moments.
“I want to apologize, by the way - my, uh, colleagues… they’re assholes.”
You nearly choked at his words, whipping around to face him.
“I’m sorry… what?”
“I - I don’t know how much you heard in there, but -”
“I heard enough,” you said quickly.
His face fell, then hardened. He looked… angry? Or, perhaps disappointed.
“I really am sorry. I know I probably should have said something, but…Brenner’s my boss. And, there’s a lot of people who would kill to work for him. So, you have to understand… I mean, Tommy and Billy, they’re real jerks. I can’t stand them, most of the time. So, just know that if you want to punch them in the face, I’d understand.”
You laughed at that, shaking your head. 
“Well, just between you and me, I do want to punch them. But… I would really like to keep my job, and actually get a good tip at the end of the night. So, if I can make it through the next -” you glanced at your watch, “- half an hour or so, I’ll be alright. I’m kind of used to it anyway, working here.”
You felt his eyes on you, but didn’t turn to meet his gaze. Then, he said more softly, “I’m sorry to hear that. Really.”
You shrugged. 
“It’s fine. But, thank you - most people don’t take the time to say that, I guess.”
A moment of semi-awkward silence fell between you and him, before you added, “But, it’s good to know that I apparently have a nice ass.”
He laughed at that, choking on the smoke he was inhaling.
“Oh God - Billy and Tommy really are the worst. Did you hear that they actually were trying to make a bet about you in there?”
You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
“What kind of bet?”
He suddenly broke eye contact, staring straight ahead as he shook his head vigorously.
“You know what - nevermind, you’d be disgusted -”
“Well now you have to tell me,” you conceded, inching closer. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad -”
“They said if I manage to get you to go home with me tonight, they’d agree on this huge deal with HNL that they’ve been trying to close with our European counterpart for months - they said it because they knew it wouldn’t happen, of course, I don’t really -”
“What would you get?” you asked bluntly.
“Huh?”
“If they thought you won the bet, like, would that be good for your job?”
He scoffs, nodding fervently.
“Um, yes - my yearly bonus would probably quadruple -”
“Then let’s do it,” you said.
His mouth fell open, and he was staring at you like you had three heads.
“Do what, exactly?”
He suddenly looked flushed, frozen in place as he stared at you. You felt a devilish grin spread on your face as you looked back at him, stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of your shoe.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Harrington.”
*****
You had made sure he arrived back at the table only moments before you. The group of cajoling men were louder now, Tommy slurring his words and Billy in a heated debate with Brenner. Steve flashed a smile at the group, then started sipping his drink as if he had never left.
“What I’m saying is, if we offer them 14 percent -”
“Well, at that rate, we may as well sell them the whole goddamn company -”
“We’re going to have to budge at least a little if we want to make headway, otherwise Upside Tech might outbid us -”
“Harrington!” Tommy cried over the other two men. “Where th’hell ‘ave you been? You left me stranded with these two, they’re actually trying to work right now -”
Then, he spotted you, suddenly flashing a grin that was too wide for your liking.
“Mademoiselle - might I say, I think you’ve only gotten hotter since I last saw you -”
“That was only about twenty minutes ago,” Steve said firmly, cutting Tommy off. “Also, we’re in Italy, not France.”
Tommy waved him off, leaning closer across the table, towards where you stood. 
“May I ask, how’re you getting home tonight, little lady?”
You just smiled.
“I’m actually so happy you brought that up - while I appreciate your concern and all, I’ve got that covered.”
You then turned to Steve, who froze in place.
“Ready to go, Steve?” you asked innocently.
All conversation stopped, then, the other men around the table stopped to gape at him. A smug smirk appeared on Steve’s face, and he stood up slowly, smoothing out his suit.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at the pet name, as ridiculous as it felt. 
“What?” Billy said, his jaw nearly on the floor.
But before they could ask any more questions, Steve was holding out his bent arm, which you graciously hooked yourself through. You pressed yourself into his side, flashing another grin back at the group.
“I’ve left your bill on the table - thank you gentlemen for a wonderful evening, and we hope to see you soon!”
Then Steve surveyed the table, adding, “I suspect you’ll be in touch about negotiation meetings shortly? Since that was the deal and all. I’ll see you at the office on Monday.”
Then, you and Steve turned a corner and headed out the door, to where a car was already waiting for you.
Steve gestured for you to go in ahead of him, opening the backseat door. You slid across, greeting the driver quickly and Steve followed, shutting the door behind you. The second it was closed, you both looked at each other, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh my God - did you see their faces?”
“I’m going to live on that for years,” he added, fighting to breathe. You threw your head back, practically cackling at the memory of their dumbfounded expressions.
“That was amazing,” Steve said, regaining his composure. “Seriously, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it - I think I got off of it more than you.”
“I doubt that.”
You met his gaze, and your breath stopped for a moment. He really was handsome, his honey-brown eyes staring into yours with such sincerity that it was actually overwhelming. You looked away quickly, staring straight ahead.
“Well, if anything, it made my shift more interesting, so thanks,” you said, fiddling with your hands in your lap.
“Yeah, and you just made me my yearly bonus, so thank you.”
After a moment, he cleared his throat. 
“So, uh, where do you live? So I can get you home.”
“Oh! Right,” you said. “Um, do you have any ID or anything?”
Steve furrowed his brow, confused.
“Why are you asking?”
“Look, don’t take this personally - I’ve watched way too much Criminal Minds in my life. And, while I’m sure you’re nice and all, I’m not exactly gonna tell a strange man I’ve never met where I live without some precautions. So, I’m going to take a picture of your ID and send it to my roommate, so she knows who to turn in if I end up on the news, yeah?”
Steve just smirked, and pulled out his wallet.
“So, you think I’m strange?”
You shrugged, fighting a smile.
“Obviously, yes.”
Steve chuckled softly, fishing his license out of his wallet.
“Fair enough - as long as you’re not trying to steal my identity or anything.”
“Oh, definitely,” you said sarcastically. “I was actually going to buy a mansion in your name, if that’s alright.”
He laughed, handing you the card as you took a photo. The address was in Indiana - interesting. He was also 30, judging from his birthday - nearly ten years older than you. Also interesting. You handed it back, shooting a quick text to Robin:
I’ll explain later, but in case I get murdered!
You attached the photo and pressed send. 
Satisfied, you leaned forward, telling your address to the driver, who nodded and pulled onto the busy city street.
You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window. You passed dimly-lit alleyways and bustling restaurants, groups smoking on the sidewalk and couples kissing on benches as the evening started winding down. The silence in the car is comfortable enough, considering that you met the man beside you a few hours ago. It’s him who breaks the lull in conversation, once again.
“So, why did you do it?” he asked quietly.
“Hm?”
“The bet? Well, kind of - at least, why did you make it look like I - like we -”
You shrugged, shifting to face him.
“Honestly?”
He nodded, gaze fixed on you.
“Well - a few reasons, I guess. I knew it would get those jerks off of my back. And, I knew it would help you, with your bonus and all.”
“And why did you want to help me, though? You know nothing about me.”
“Not true,” you said firmly. “I know one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re kind.”
It was simple, but true - for the type of clientele you usually served, he was a rare breed. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something.
“I mean, you were nice to me, and actually treated me like a person. I can’t say that for a lot of people, not in that place.”
“Oh,” he said softly. 
A beat. Two. Then, he added, “Oh no - I didn’t even ask, did you have a car, back at the restaurant? Because we can go back and get it -”
“No, don’t worry about it - I don’t have one. I usually take the bus.”
“Oh - alright.”
You tried to stop yourself from rolling your eyes - Steve probably wouldn’t be caught dead on a bus. Or any public transport, for that matter. But, you kept it within yourself, and turned out towards the window again - the sights were getting more familiar, the buildings a little more run-down - closer to home.
You noticed your phone light up in your lap, and glanced down - a response from Robin.
Um… congrats???? Getting laid???? You’d better tell me EVERYTHING!!!!
You laughed under your breath, and saw Steve move to look at you out of the corner of your eye, curious. Before you could respond to her message, the car came to a halt right outside of your apartment building. You sighed, and turned to face the man beside you.
“Well, this is me. Thank you. For the ride home, I mean - you didn’t really have to do that.”
“Of course I did,” Steve said, waving a hand. “Had to make sure you got home safely and all, it was the least I could do.”
You both looked at each other for a moment, faces soft. You shot him another appreciative smile, and popped open the car door.
“Goodnight, Steve Harrington. Until we meet again!”
You knew the chances of seeing him ever again were slim at best, but it felt like the right thing to say, given the hilarity of the situation. After slamming the door shut, you rooted through your bag for your keys, taking the steps up to your door two at a time. Before heading inside, you turned and waved to the car one more time - Steve wasn’t visible through the tinted windows, but you liked to imagine that he was waving back, maybe even smiling fondly. 
******
Two days later, an envelope was pushed through the mail slot in your door. It was Robin who brought it in, plopping it down on the kitchen table as you sipped your coffee.
“What’s that?” you asked.
She shrugged, carding through the other envelopes and flyers.
“Don’t know. But, it’s made out to you. The envelope looks fancy though - I mean, who the Hell puts a wax seal on letters anymore?”
You felt your heart skip a beat, and snatched it up, turning it over in your hands - it was thick, the nice kind of stationary that you had to go out of your way to buy. There was a return address, but it seemed like it was for an office building of some kind, with no name associated. And, right on the center, a red wax seal with an H. You felt your face grow hot, your stomach doing somersaults as you practically tore the thing open.
Inside was a simple piece of paper with a note scrawled on it. After writing out your name, it read:
Thank you again, for the other night. You have no idea how much that helped me out. Plus, it was probably the best time I’ve had at a work event… well, ever. But, since you provided such great service… you really should be tipped appropriately. I also made sure to leave a glowing review with your manager the next day. Buy yourself something nice.
S.H.
You glanced back in the envelope, and gasped - loudly enough that Robin stopped what she was doing, and joined you in her awe.
“Is that -”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s a shit ton of money.”
He had sent a stack of €100 notes - you hadn’t counted yet, but it had to be over €1,000, at least. 
“Dude, that’s like, at least two months’ rent right there, right?” Robin asks, flabbergasted.
“I - yeah.”
“Okay, be honest - are you a drug dealer? Is that, like, a side gig you’ve got going?”
You shook your head incredulously, gripping the money - the most cash you had ever held at one time in your life.
“No,” you admitted. “That would be a lot easier to explain.” Steve Harrington, you thought to yourself, what’s your deal?
Notes: a brand new fic! A ton of credit goes to my friend Em, who indulges my fantasies and headcanons with plenty of ideas of her own. Also, I've never been to Rome, so bear with me here. Also, please always read content warnings before reading each part!
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omg vampire!eating eating u out on ur period because 1) he knows how much better/more intense orgasms r when ur on ur period 2) even as a vampire he still loves giving head 3) he just wants to eat ur blood 😭
OH FUCK YEAH
your period is his favorite time ever. like he can smell it on you before it starts, because your blood has a different scent a few days before. he can also hear it in your thoughts, because you’re going over what you need to get done before it begins, or just dreading the cramps that will come along with it. he hates that you have to suffer so greatly with pain, and wants to do anything he can to help you. he’s a gentleman with you—taking care of you, getting your favorite snacks or things in general for you, letting you sleep on his chest as he watches you, cuddling you, drawing you a bath, rubbing your stomach, anything you want.
but he’s also a goddamn beast, because you’re basically free-bleeding for several days, and the smell is going to overwhelm him.
so what does he propose as a solution to your discomfort? period sex, obviously! at first, you feel a little shy and self-conscious about the idea; after all, wouldn’t that be really messy and maybe not the best course of action because of how gross it could be? but of course, your boyfriend is a fucking vampire now; it makes sense that he would want to do something like that. you decide to give a shot, because what could honestly be so bad about it? he was on board, it would be something new, and you may end up enjoying yourself.
and dear god, are you fucking glad that you gave it a chance.
he goes down on you, right? your pussy is always far more sensitive during your period, so even the lightest little traces with his tongue are going to set you on fucking fire. believe me, this man is going to tease. he wants nothing more than to dive right in and devour you, but he also wants to prolong it, because he’s a smug fucker. the tip of his tongue gathering blood, dragging it from your entrance to just below your clit with a hum. you’re mewling, hissing at the contact, his hands in a vice-grip on your thighs. in fact, he’s holding you so hard that there will definitely be a litter of bruises, or at least sore spots where his tips dug in. his hair is in his face, his red-tinted eyes on you as he reads your mind. he can see in your head that you’re getting impatient, and that only makes him tease even harder. maybe the tip of his tongue ghosts your clit, or perhaps his fingers pull your inner lips apart so that he can drag his tongue through every little crevice not accessible before. no matter what his method, he is going to enjoy teasing you, and savor in the scent of both your period and the blood pumping through your body. he’s going to go into a frenzy from all the different sensations, and that is when he’s going to absolutely devour the shit out of you.
if you thought he was amazing at eating pussy as a human, on just any normal day? fucking god, no. this is a whole new level. the first full taste of your blood mixed with your cum, and he’s off to the goddamn races. to him, that is the best taste in the whole damn world, and he cannot get enough already. two of his fingers keep your lips apart, his mouth pressing wherever it can reach, his tongue lapping at every last inch of your blood-soaked folds. when he moves those fingers back to your thighs, they are still covered in blood, smearing crimson all over your skin as he starts to eat you out vigorously. his eyes are rolling back at the taste as he moans around your cunt, and the vibration of it nearly makes you cum already.
and the image? oh man. like his dark hair will be a mess all around his head, brushing against your thighs as he eats your pussy. his brown eyes tinted red, gazing at you as his mouth does its work. blood appearing all over his lower face as he draws back to look at you or tease your inner thighs, and some of it even gets in his long hair. he won’t stop moaning or talking about how good you taste, about how he just wants to just fuck the shit out of you when he’s finished.
speaking of, this man would jerk off as he eats you out like this, no question. he’s going to gather some of your period on his fingers, wiping it across his cock before beginning to touch himself. it isn’t only your blood flowing into his mouth that’s got him so worked up; it’s the filthy memories & fantasies of the two of you in your head, ones that he can see in his own mind as clear as day. touching himself only aids in his pleasure, and you can hear the sounds of him beating his cock, along with his groans & the wet sounds of him eating your cunt. he shakes his head back & forth quickly, and he can do it much faster now with his superhuman speed. he might even finger you with his free hand, and that’s a lot faster & harder than before, too. all of that combined—the overwhelming sensitivity from your period, the way he was eating you out, the way he was jerking himself off to you—sends you into an intense, toe curling, mindblowing orgasm.
but we know eddie. he isn’t going to stop just because you came, and that’s going to ring especially true now. you’re not done until both of his hands are completely red, until his face is drenched in blood & cum, and until the sheets are an absolute fucking mess. then, and only then, are you getting your shit absolutely wrecked.
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sourwolf-sterek32 · 9 months
Text
Found You- Part 3
Summary: Nearly 10 years ago, you left home after a bad incident with your parents, Rick and Lori Grimes. In that time, you married a redneck down south and started a family. But it all came crashing down when the dead started to walk.
Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 11.3k
Warnings: language,
PART 1 - PART 2
A/N- Surprise... there's a Part 3! I would just like to thank my fantastic follower who commissioned for another part to this Grimes-Dixon clan fanfic! I really hope she likes this❤️
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*Months later*
Life on the road had been rough to say the least.
Hours upon hours of walking each day, trekking miles through the woods and old bitumen roads in search of somewhere safe. Although, you had been starting to believe that such places were non-existent in this new world.
You had found Beth along the way, and then lost her once again. Father Gabriel and Noah had now joined your little group that wasn't so little anymore, but you had also lost Bob and Tyreese. And just to add salt to the wound, Eugene faked the entire story about the vaccine.
There was no cure.
This was what the world was and there was no fixing it. There was no making it better. There was no anything. It was just the dead and the living. That was it.
Morale amongst the group had depleted rapidly after learning that.
Food and water were becoming harder to find, even game to hunt seemed to be more scarce. For a while, you began wondering how the group could survive much longer, how your kids could survive much longer out in the harsh elements of Mother Nature, until Aaron and Eric Raleigh entered your lives.
Alexandria. The tall steel walls of the community towered over you, the iron and barred gate slowly rolled open as Aaron and Eric led you towards their home. There was a man holding the gate with a rifle, his weary eyes raking over you and your family with a disapproving look on his face.
Aaron and Eric turned to face you once they reached the gate, but sudden rustling and squealing caught everyone's attention.
Your handgun was drawn so quickly, safety flicked off with your thumb and finger hovering over the trigger while you scanned the side of the road for any threats. Glenn and Sasha beside you had their rifles drawn too.
With your free hand you ushered Ricky and Dean behind you. They had become accustomed to life on the road, knowing when to do as they're told and not argue and when to shut up when a threat was near. They have had to grow up so fast since the end of the world, but it was for their own protection.
The boys moved quickly, standing behind you for safety. Little Dean grabbed onto the back of your shirt like he had been taught to do while Ricky held his brother’s hand, peaking around your body to see what was causing the raucous.
In a matter of seconds, Daryl had his crossbow raised and fired a bolt at something hiding in the tall grass. An animal. It was just an animal.
You and the others all lowered your weapons with a sigh of relief while Daryl stepped forward, looking down at the creature he just shot before he glanced over his shoulder.
"Boys, come here."
Ricky looked up at you with a questioning look, awaiting permission to leave the safety spot behind you. You gave him a small encouraging nod before he pulled Dean along with him as they rushed over to Daryl.
"What's that?" Daryl asked, pointing at the animal in the grass that you couldn't see.
"It's an opossum!" Dean answered enthusiastically.
"That's right. What do we do with opossums?"
"We gut 'em, skin 'em and cook 'em." Ricky explained, looking up at his father who had a proud look on his face.
"Those boys are definitely Dixon's." Abraham commented causing you to chuckle softly.
"Look!" Ricky called out, picking up the dead animal by its tail and holding it up in the air for everyone to see.
Daryl smiled softly at his son before he glanced around at the others and you noticed that Aaron, Eric and the man with the rifle were all watching on with shocked looks on their faces.
"We bought dinner." Daryl said, breaking the silence.
"It's okay." Aaron reassured, staring at the man with the rifle before he looked back towards the rest of you. "Come on in, guys."
You all followed him into Alexandria, the iron gate sliding shut behind you.
Pristine houses lined the streets of settlement. The front yards and gardens around the community were all neat and upkept, the grass freshly mowed, and hedges trimmed like you would have expected for a fancy neighbourhood like this back in the old world, but not now.
It was as if the world outside these walls didn't exist. You felt like you had stepped back in time.
This place, this community, it didn't feel real.
Rick had disappeared to go speak with Alexandria's leader, Deanna. It wasn't long before he returned, and seemed satisfied that this place was okay, at least for now anyway.
You were all instructed to hand over your guns, Deanna insisting that if you wanted to go outside the walls then you could take them back, but whilst inside the community they were not allowed. Nobody asked for your knives though, so none of you said anything or mentioned it, and somehow Daryl managed to keep his crossbow, so you weren't entirely defenceless.
"Both of 'em?" Rick asked, looking between the two large houses across the road.
"At your disposal." Aaron answered with a smile. "Listen, I know you're still feeling us out, but I'm glad you came. Anyway, Deanna's asked everyone to give you your space, so they aren't all coming at you at once. Take your time. Explore."
You glanced over at your father who was still staring at the houses in shock, and you smiled, looking over at Aaron, "thank you. We really appreciate it."
"Anytime. If you need anything, you call me... I mean, I don't- we don't have phones. I meant, I'm four houses down." He hurriedly clarified.
Rick nodded, "thank you."
"Deanna would like to speak to the rest of you individually. She specifically asked for Rick's daughter... uh, I don't think she means the baby, so I'm afraid I don't know who that is."
"It's me."
Aaron's eyes flicked over to you in surprise, "wait, really?"
"I was an accident." You explained with a grin causing Rick to glare at you.
"Y/N-"
"Was I not?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at your father who sighed causing you to chuckle.
Aaron dropped you off at Deanna’s place while the rest of the group explored the new houses.
You paused in the doorway taking in the family photos hanging from the walls and bookshelves stacked top to bottom with various books and knickknacks. This house... it was untouched. It was exactly like the old world. It was exactly like your old house.
"Hello, I'm Deanna Monroe." A woman’s voice suddenly said, startling you out of your thoughts.
The woman in question was standing in the living room to your right, and you mentally cursed yourself for not checking your surroundings first before entering.
You scanned the room briefly, noting every door and window before you turned your attention to Deanna and gave her a small nod of acknowledgement.
"And you must be Miss Grimes, correct?"
"Dixon."
"Beg your pardon?"
"I'm a Dixon now. Y/N Dixon." You explained, stepping into the room cautiously.
Deanna smiled, "you mind if I film this, Mrs. Dixon?"
"Huh?"
"Do you mind if I film our talk, Mrs. Dixon?" She repeated, motioning towards a video camera that was set up across the room on a tripod.
Mrs. Dixon.
That was a name you hadn't heard since the dead began walking.
"Uh, yeah, sure."
Deanna motioned towards the couch in front of the camera and you nodded, taking a seat on the plush sofa that had no right being so comfortable.
"How long have you been out there?"
You hesitated for a moment before answering, "since the beginning."
Rick didn't specifically tell you what to say to Deanna, but you figured it was probably best to not mention the whole Woodbury, Governor, prison and Terminus stuff.
"How did you all find each other? Did you know each other before or-"
"Some of us did. Others we found along the way." You answered and Deanna nodded.
"I was a congressperson. Ohio, 15th district. You?"
"I used to be a caregiver in a nursing home." You answered, staring at her for a moment before you glanced out the window looking at the tall fence in the distance. "Our old lives don't matter anymore. What is this place?"
"Most of this was already here. The solar grid, the houses, eco-based sewage filtration. My husband Reg is a professor of architecture. And who he was mattered quite a bit. He built these walls with our sons, and after a few weeks more people arrived. We built this community."
"Hold on, you've been behind these walls this entire time?" You asked in shock, and she nodded. "And you guys just take people in?"
"We try to."
"That's dangerous."
"How so?"
"There are a lot of bad people out there."
"Is your group part of that bracket, Mrs. Dixon?"
Probably. You had all done things, horrible things to survive. In the eyes of someone else, yeah, you guys were probably bad people, but like hell you were telling her that.
"We're just people trying to survive."
Deanna smiled, "then you've come to the right place."
-
You returned to the two houses that Aaron had assigned your group. Everyone was inside the larger house though, Rick stating that you all needed remain together and not split up, especially on the first night.
Everyone was lying about in the lounge room, spread out on the various couches and carpet, giving their sore feet a break after all the walking you had done in the past few months.
Eugene was already asleep on the single seated couch, snoring softly while the others talked quietly amongst themselves. Maggie stood in front of a bookshelf, looking at the various novels stacked inside, and you made a mental note to check that out later.
Ricky and Dean were sitting on the floor by Abraham's feet playing with what looked to be a couple of action figures. Daryl sat on the floor a few metres away, his back leaning against the wall while he watched the boy’s play.
"That shower was so good!" Carl's voice suddenly said.
You spun around quickly, looking over at your brother who was now wearing fresh, new clothes, but it was his wet hair and clean skin that caught your attention.
"Did you just say shower?" You asked.
"And hot water." Rosita informed from her spot on the couch beside Abraham and your jaw dropped. "It's like heaven."
They had hot showers.
Holy shit, you were never leaving this place.
"She's right. I would still be in there right now if Glenn hadn't made me get out." Maggie commented over her shoulder. "There's fresh clothes in the bedroom upstairs. Find whatever fits, there's kid’s clothes too."
"C'mon, boys. You're way overdue for a bath."
"I don't want a bath." Ricky mumbled, not looking at you while he continued playing with his toys.
"I don't want one too." Dean added who at least had the decency to look over at you before going back to playing with his toys.
"You both need one. Come on."
"No."
"Nope."
Out of all the traits they could have gotten from Daryl, they both got his stupid stubbornness. Perfect.
"I won't say it again. Come on." You instructed sternly.
"Dad and Uncle Merle haven't had one though." Ricky pointed out, looking over at them.
"Oh, they will afterwards, trust me."
"Bullshit." Merle coughed causing you to glare at him.
"I think I saw more of those action figures in the bathroom. I bet your mama would let you play with them in the bath." Carol suddenly said, walking down the stairs.
That seemed to catch your son's attention, their heads shooting up with wide eyes.
"We can play with them in the bath?" Dean asked almost sceptically.
"Yep. C'mon, I'll show ya." Daryl grunted, speaking for the first time as he stood up from his spot on the floor before he began to walk towards the stairs with both Ricky and Dean racing after him.
Carol chuckled, watching them go before she rested her hand on your shoulder, "using toys to lure them to the bath always works."
"Thank you." You sighed, glancing over at her. "I forgot how difficult bath time used to be."
"I think the world has dished out swift justice after all the times you cried when I tried to give you a bath." Your father suddenly said, walking into the room causing everyone to start laughing.
"Thank you for that." You said sarcastically and Rick just smirked.
You slowly made your way upstairs, finding the bedroom where piles of clothes were scattered over the mattress that you noted seemed to be freshly made with blankets and pillows. You shifted through the clothes, finding some pants and shirts in your boy's sizes before grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt for yourself.
By the time you entered the main bathroom, Ricky was already in the shower while Dean sat in the bathtub playing with his new toys in the water. Daryl was knelt beside the tub, his crossbow leaning against the wall while he washed Deans hair with shampoo.
Seeing the three of them like that took your breath away.
It was so domestic. So normal.
It felt like a typical Tuesday night in your house before the world ended.
You leant in the doorway for a few minutes watching them. Dean laughed whenever Ricky purposely splashed water up over the shower wall, spraying his little brother causing him to giggle happily in the tub, Daryl laughing along with them while he rinsed out the shampoo from Deans hair.
"Mama!" Dean called out happily when he noticed you hovering in the doorway.
Daryl glanced over his shoulder, his beautiful blue eyes meeting yours before he nodded towards the boys and you smiled, pushing yourself off the doorframe to help him.
It didn't take long before the boys were dried off and sporting new clothes. They raced back downstairs to show Uncle Merle their new toys leaving you and Daryl alone in the bathroom.
You walked over to the shower and pulled open the glass door before leaning inside and turning the taps, allowing water to fall from the showerhead above.
It took a few seconds for the hot water system to kick into gear and once it did, the cool water instantly turned warm under your fingertips.
You began to delayer, tossing your dirty threadbare clothes to the floor before you glanced over at Daryl and realised that he hadn't moved.
"You gonna join me?" You asked, unclasping the belt around your jeans.
"Nah."
You frowned, "why?"
He shrugged but didn't say anything else before he leant down and picked up his crossbow, throwing it over his shoulder with the strap.
"Daryl. Come on, a warm shower will be nice."
"M'good."
He was gone before you could say anything else, and you stared at the closed door in utter confusion.
There used to be showers back in the prison... they weren't the best in that old shower block, but Daryl still used to share a shower with you most nights. So why was he refusing now?
Shaking your head, you pushed that question from your mind and kicked your jeans onto the pile of clothes on the floor before stepping inside the shower.
The hot water felt like absolute heaven on your skin.
You stood under the spray of the warm water for a few minutes cleaning your body and washing your hair with shampoo that smelt like coconuts. It was nice. It was too nice.
Closing your eyes, you leant against the tiled wall and thought back to the journey the group had been on since the prison fell. The highs, the lows... mostly lows.
Your brain replayed your lowest point on the road, over and over again. Like some sick twisted horror movie that you couldn't escape.
It wasn't hordes of walkers. It wasn't even the evil survivors that were out there.
It was simply the harsh elements of Mother Nature.
Days and days without food while walking under the scorching Virginia summer heat. If you thought dealing with the cannibals at Terminus was bad, it was nothing compared to hearing your sons crying because they were hungry. That was a different kind of pain that no mother should ever have to endure.
"I'm so hungry." Dean whimpered, late one night while you were all laying under the stars trying to sleep.
"I know, sweetie." You sighed, rolling over to face him. "We will find food soon."
"What if we don't?" Ricky asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
That was the question, wasn't it?
"We will." You insisted, although you weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself more.
"I've never been this hungry before. I... I'm just so hungry." Ricky whispered, his voice wavering slightly, and you knew your eldest was trying to stop himself from crying.
"I'm so hungry too." Dean sobbed, picking up on his brother's distress as he cried.
"Shh, boys. Shh, it's okay. It will all be okay." You soothed, reaching out and pulling your sons against your body.
Hot tears burned in the back of your eyes as you held them while they cried. Their soft whimpers and sobs muffled against your chest as they clung to you.
"It's all going to be okay. I promise. It's going to be okay." You whispered, silent tears now trickling down your face too.
Most of the group were fast asleep on the forest floor around you, oblivious to your children's distress, but when you tilted your head to the side you could see Daryl standing off in the distance on watch duty.
His body was lit up from the moonlight shining down through the canopy of trees above you, crossbow in one hand while he discreetly wiped his eyes with the other. He sniffed softly, glancing over his shoulder towards you, and even in the dark you could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes that matched your own.
You weren't sure how long you were in the shower for. You weren't sure when you had even sat down or started to cry while the water from above washed over you.
Eventually, you picked yourself up from the floor and got out. Drying off with a towel that was softer than anything you had ever felt before you slipped into the new clothes that you had grabbed earlier.
You spared a glance at yourself in the foggy mirror, relieved that your eyes weren't red from crying before you exited the bathroom and went back downstairs.
Only Merle was in the lounge room now, laying on the couch with his hands behind his head watching his nephews playing on the carpet with their toys.
Wait, where was everyone else? They were all here earlier. How long had you been in the shower for?
"Most of 'em are out explorin' the community." Merle informed as if he could somehow read your mind.
"You didn't want to join them?"
He shook his head, "nah."
You glanced over at your boys who were laughing and giggling, but then your eyes landed on the plastic plate sitting on the coffee table beside them with pieces of cut up apple on top.
"Some lady dropped off a whole damn basket of 'em. I already ate three of the stupid fruits myself, figured they'd want some too." Merle explained, noticing what you had been staring at.
"Thank you."
"Eh, don't thank me yet, they haven't eaten any. Carl gave 'em chocolate earlier so they didn't want fucking fruit after that, did they?" Merle muttered, glaring at his nephews, but there was no real heat behind it and the boys weren't listening anyway.
"Still, thank you." You said sincerely. "Do you know where Daryl is?"
"Porch."
You nodded, glancing at your boys for a moment before you turned and walked out the front door to find Daryl sitting on the porch steps gutting the opossum.
"I hated it when you'd gut animals near the house." You commented, closing the door behind you as you leant your back against it. "It used to take me so long to scrub the blood off our porch."
Daryl's lips twitched up into a small smile at the memory as he ripped the last of the guts out before stabbing the end of the knife into the wooden board beside him and glanced over at you.
"This ain't our house."
"It could be."
Daryl held your gaze for a moment, a wave of emotion flashing across his face, but he looked away before you could decipher any of it.
To most people, they wouldn't have noticed that something was wrong, but you knew Daryl. His shoulders were a little too tense and you could see him biting his thumb nail, a telltale sign that he was worried about something.
He yanked his knife out the wood and went back to the opossum, busying himself with skinning the animal while you watched him silently.
"Everything okay?" You eventually asked when you realised that he wouldn't talk without being prompted.
"Mmm." He hummed, focusing on the task at hand.
"Wanna try that again but honest this time?"
Daryl sighed, lowering the half-skinned animal and glancing back at you.
"Just... being back behind walls. Don't feel right."
"You think this is like Woodbury?"
He shrugged, "dunno."
"Well, we got a roof over our boys heads and food in their stomachs. They're safe, fed and happy now. I think we should focus on that."
"Guess you're right." He agreed and you smiled.
"I'm always right." You shot back causing Daryl to snort softly which you were calling a win. "I'm gonna go back inside. Clean that shit up when you're finished."
Daryl chuckled softly, "yes, ma'am."
Merle was now passed out on the couch and snoring, but that didn't seem to faze the boys while they continued to play on the carpet nearby.
You walked into the room, plucking a few pieces of apple from the plate on the coffee table before you plonked yourself down on the couch beside Merle. There was no point trying to be quiet around him, that man could sleep through a damn hurricane.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs across the room before Rick emerged from the bathroom sporting a clean-shaven face. You had to do a double take when you first saw him, his thick greying beard now completely gone.
The last time you had seen your father without any facial hair was before the end of the world. Way before. You were still living at home, hell, you were still a teenager. You could almost picture him sitting across the dinner table in his Deputy uniform with that clean-shaven face.
"Grandpa, you look funny." Ricky called out when he noticed Rick emerging from the bathroom.
Your father opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His eyes widened ever so slightly before his head shot in your direction in shock.
They had just called him Grandpa for the first time.
Holy shit.
"What? You boys don't like it?" He asked, seemingly able to snap out of his shock quicker than you could.
Ricky and Dean both shook their heads causing Rick to sigh dramatically.
"Oh, come on. I worked hard on this masterpiece." He said, rubbing his hand along his jaw.
"Mama, Grandpa is being silly." Dean giggled, staring at Rick before glancing over at you and you couldn't stop the smile spreading across your face as you looked over at your father.
"Yeah, Grandpa is a bit silly, isn't he?"
Both boys hummed in agreement before going back to their toys and you stood up from the couch, eating the last piece of apple as you walked over to your father.
"That's the first time..." He trailed off, looking over at his grandkids with a warm smile.
"Feeling old now, Grandpa?" You teased, bumping your shoulder into his playfully.
Rick chuckled softly, "maybe I should've kept the grey beard."
-
You all slept in the lounge room together during the first night to be cautious. It was safer together, and honestly, after sleeping side by side in the woods for the last God knows how many days, it would've been weird sleeping away from them.
Everybody was sprawled out around the room on the couches and chairs. Blankets and pillows were laid out over the carpet as makeshift beds. Even a few bean bags had appeared out of nowhere, Carl, Ricky and Dean instantly claiming them as their beds for the night.
Rick insisted that there was no need for a watch duty, but you, Daryl and Merle still switched out throughout the night to keep watch just to be sure.
It wasn't needed though. Nothing happened during the night and by sunrise, everyone was slowly starting to wake up. It was the best sleep you have had in a long time, and by the refreshed looks on everyone's faces, they felt the same.
Ricky and Dean were running around on the grass in the front yard with Merle while you watched from the porch steps. For an older guy who smoked and drank for as long as you've known him, he was able to keep up with those two little balls of energy.
"Time to punch the clock and make the casseroles." Carol emerged from the front door, sporting a neat white blouse and blue button up cardigan.
"What?" Daryl muttered, frowning as he looked over at her from where he was sitting on the edge of the porch railing cleaning the strings of his crossbow.
"Make dinner for the older people, moms who need a break, people who can't cook. Get to meet a lot of neighbours that way."
Daryl scoffed, "alright."
You rolled your eyes, "I think it's a good idea. Is that the job Deanna assigned you?"
"Yeah, has she given you guys one yet?" Carol asked, looking over at you, but you shook your head. "She will soon. Don't worry." She insisted before glancing back at Daryl, "have you taken a shower yet?"
Daryl nodded while he continued fiddling with his crossbow despite that being a very obvious lie. Carol's eyes narrowed in his direction, but she didn't call him out on it.
"He takes after his brother who hasn't had a shower yet either!" You pointed out, saying the last part loudly and catching your brother-in-law's attention.
"How the fuck did I get dragged into this?" He exclaimed, looking over at you.
"Language." You reminded glancing at your sons nearby who had already picked up too many of Merle's terrible habits and you did not want the F word to be one of them.
"Yeah, language, Uncle Merle!" Ricky teased.
"That's it. Come here you little turd." Merle took off running after Ricky who laughed and sprinted off in the opposite direction.
"Run, Ricky! Run!" Dean cheered between fits of giggles.
You rolled your eyes watching them play, Carol and Daryl watching on as well with small smiles on their faces.
"As annoying as that man is, he is good with your boys." Carol commented sincerely, walking past you down the stairs before she glanced back at Daryl. "I'm gonna wash that vest. We need to keep up appearances, even you."
"Hey, I ain't startin' now."
"I'm gonna hose you down in your sleep." Carol called out, walking off down the road.
"You look ridiculous!" Daryl shouted over his shoulder, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from laughing.
The rest of the morning was spent exploring the community, all of you walking around and taking it all in... well, most of you did anyway. The Dixon brothers opted to stay at the house, and you knew better than to try and convince them otherwise.
Deanna had started to give some of your group members jobs. Others, she was still trying to figure out.
Glenn, Noah and Tara were the next ones to get their new roles which was scavenging and the three of them had left earlier for their first supply run with two Alexandrians. Although, when the group of them marched through the front gate a few hours later, it was clear that their first supply run hadn't went well.
"You three need knew gigs!" Aidan yelled, glaring at your three friends who were walking a few paces ahead of him. "You're not ready for runs yet."
"Yeah, pretty sure you got that backwards!" Glenn shouted over his shoulder and just by his tone of voice alone, you knew he was pissed.
It took a lot to make Glenn Rhee angry. And right now, he was definitely angry. What the hell happened out there?
You watched as Aidan jogged over to Glenn, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but Glenn seemed to be only getting angrier which was setting off alarm bells in your head.
Slowly, you began making your way over to them. Others in the area had seemed to notice the commotion as well but were keeping their distance while they observed Glenn and Aidan's rather heated discussion.
"Come on, tough guy." Aidan challenged, shoving Glenns chest.
"No one's impressed, man. Walk away."
Aidan didn't say anything else, he simply took another step forward until the two of them were toe to toe.
Oh, this was not going to end well.
"He told you to walk away." You said, pushing yourself between them.
Aidan glanced down at you, his eyes hardening.
“Walk away.” You repeated sternly.
"What is going on?" Deanna's voice suddenly questioned.
"This guy's got a problem with the way we do things." Aidan answered, glaring at Glenn over your shoulder before turning towards Deanna. "Why did you let these people in?"
"'Cause we actually know what we're doing out there." Glenn responded, stepping out from behind you.
Aidan turned around so fast, his fist flying, but Glenn blocked it and sent Aidan falling to the ground. A split second later, Nicolas rushed forward, but you stepped in front of him, stopping him from getting to Glenn.
Nicholas shoved you to the side, your body hitting the steel wall before you pushed yourself off and shoved him in retaliation. The man stumbled back a step, not expecting you to fight back with strength as he mumbled the word 'bitch' under his breath.
He took a step forward and you held your ground, standing up straighter ready for a fight, but then Daryl appeared out of nowhere and threw Nicholas to the ground, pinning him down on his back.
"That's enough!" Deanna shouted.
Daryl refused to let Nicholas go. His body trembling with rage as he wrapped his hands around the man's throat and squeezed. Nicholas gasped and choked for air, but Daryl didn't care, not after the man touched you.
Rick suddenly rushed over being drawn in by the ruckus and crowd that had seemed to double since you last took notice. Your father grabbed Daryl from behind, trying and failing to pull your husband off the Alexandrian.
"Let's not do this now." Rick hissed in his ear, but Daryl wasn't letting go. "Daryl!"
Rick managed to haul Daryl off of Nicholas and pushed your husband behind him and away from the man lying on the ground coughing. Daryl began to pace left and right angrily like a caged animal. Rick held his hand out, following Daryl's movement like he wasn't entirely sure if he would try and attack Nicholas again or not and you weren't too sure either, but Daryl was clearly worked up.
Nicholas got to his feet, coughing and spluttering before he took a step towards Rick who had his back turned, still trying to calm Daryl down and you quickly planted yourself between them.
"You wanna end up on your ass again? Back the fuck off." Your words seemed to work because the man simply nodded, still holding his neck as he took a few steps away.
"I want everyone to hear me, okay? Rick and his people are part of this community now in all ways as equals! Understood?" Deanna shouted, her eyes raking over the group of you before glancing over at the onlooking bystanders in the distance.
"Understood." Aidan nodded before him and Nicholas walked off.
Daryl stepped past Rick and rushed over to you, those blue eyes peeking out from behind his hair scanning your body for any signs of injury.
"I'm good." You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I can take care of myself."
"I know." He answered, his voice rougher than usual but he meant it.
You gave him a small reassuring smile before you walked over to where the others were standing only just hearing the backend of whatever Deanna had been saying to Rick.
"I told you I had a job for you. I'd like you to be our constable. That's what you were. That’s what you are." Deanna says staring a Rick before looking over at Michonne. "And you, too. Will you accept?"
Rick nodded, "okay."
Daryl scoffed from somewhere behind you before he marched off down the road without a word. Rick looked over at him in confusion before glancing over at you with a questioning look.
You sighed, "I'll go talk to him."
It wasn't hard to find Daryl.
He was back at the house leaning against the railing of the porch, a deep frown plastered on his face.
You remain silent as you walked up the stairs, Daryl tracking your movements from the corner of his eye, but he didn't say anything. You leant your forearms over the railing beside him, overlooking the street of Alexandria.
There were a few people walking around. The elderly couple across the road were sitting on their porch swing together whilst a young man walked his dog on a leash down the street. It was still strange how normal this was.
"This place... I don't belong here."
Daryl's voice drew you from your thoughts and you tilted your head to the side to look at him, but he was staring off into the distance.
"What do you mean?" You asked gently.
"This." He said motioning to everything around him. "All this fancy shit. The houses, the people, it ain't me. It ain't us."
"We're too redneck for a fancy place like this?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.
"Ain't no way we could've afforded a house like this in a place like this back in the day. 'N all those people know it." He said, nodding at the few civilians wandering around.
So that's what his issue was. He felt like he didn't belong. That he was an outcast amongst these people.
"Oh, we definitely couldn't afford a place like this." You chuckled, trying to lighten his mood. "But our house was nice. I mean, we never had a two-story or a shower this big, but we got by. And we will get by here, I promise."
"It don't feel right."
"I know."
Neither of you said anything for a while before you spotted Carl, Ricky and Dean down the road with a few other kids that you had seen around town before. They were laughing and throwing a basketball together, their smiles so bright and laughter so loud that you could hear them from here.
It had been a long time since you saw them be normal children. It had been a long time since you saw them interact with other kids their age.
"The boys like it here." You pointed out.
Daryl lifted his gaze, spotting kids in the distance as he smiled softly and hummed in agreement.
"If this place doesn't work, we will figure it out and find somewhere else. But I need you to try. Give Alexandria a chance, if not for yourself then for them." You said, nodding towards your sons. "They deserve a place like this. And so do you."
-
It took the Dixon brothers a while to get used to living inside the community, taking them some time to adjust to the fancy buildings and judging eyes of many civilians who had never even stepped foot out in the real world.
It took the brothers a meal at Aaron and Erics house to finally start adjusting and relaxing inside this community. You weren't sure what the couple had said to them over bowls of spaghetti and wine, but whatever it was, you were grateful.
Within a few months, everyone was settled in. You all had your own jobs now, Merle and Abraham now working guard duty shifts at the front gate while Daryl worked with Aaron to seek out other survivors outside and recruit them if appropriate.
The two houses were split between you all. The Grimes-Dixon clan took ownership of the bigger house with Carol and Michonne getting their own bedrooms as well while the others took over the house next door.
There was a school for the kids to attend in the afternoon out of someone's garage. She was an older lady who used to be an elementary school teacher and was happy to take in your sons as new students.
Whilst your boys were at school in the afternoon, you worked alongside Carol cooking and caring for the elderly and people who couldn't care for themselves. It was strange how easy it was to slip back into your role as a caregiver after so many years working at that nursing home back before the world ended.
Ricky and Dean loved Alexandria. And the people of Alexandria seemed to love them too.
You were forever getting people commenting on how wonderful and beautiful your little boys were. They seemed be to the talk of the town, always running amuck and getting up to mischief. Daryl already had to fix the swing set on the playground because they had broken it. How they even managed to break it was a question you tried not to think about. "Afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon!" A friendly voice greeted.
You and Daryl both looked to your left to find two women sitting on the porch swing in front of their house while the two of you wandered down the main street, hand in hand.
"Good afternoon, ladies. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" You greeted back happily, trying and failing to remember their names.
"It's stunning! Perfect weather for a book and wine." They both held up their novels and glasses of red for you to see causing Daryl to snort softly while you laughed.
"I think I will have similar plans when I get home too. Y'all have a good afternoon!" You shouted over your shoulder.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dixon... ain't ever gonna get used to that. Everyone's so damn formal here." Daryl commented softly, his hand squeezing yours.
"It's nice though. Formal, but nice."
He hummed in agreement while waving to old man Jenkins who was busy mowing his front lawn across the street. You smiled at how far Daryl had come since arriving at Alexandria all those weeks ago. He went from refusing to interact with anyone to now openly greeting his neighbours and helping out around the community.
The two of you strolled along the bitumen road, Daryl's hand still holding yours while you told him about your day at work with Carol. He nodded along listening while you spoke so enthusiastically about your new job, and he found himself smiling hearing how passionate and happy you were.
"Anyway, Mrs. McDonald was just the sweetest and- Oh, you have got to be shitting me." You cut off your own rambling and the smile on Daryl's face vanished at the shift in your tone.
You stopped in front of the steps to your house staring at the hole in the front window that definitely hadn't been there this morning when you left to walk the boys to school. Daryl followed your line of sight and sighed deeply when he noticed the broken window because he knew exactly what caused that stone shaped hole.
"I warned 'em not to use those slingshots in the damn house." Daryl muttered under his breath, but you were already marching up the steps and yanking open the front door.
"Richard Daryl Dixon! Merle Dean Dixon! Get your asses out here!"
There was a beat of silence before you heard Merle's voice from inside.
"Oh crap, BOTH names. Y'alls in trouble."
A few moments later, your sons appeared in the doorway with guilty expressions on their faces. Yep, they had definitely done it.
"Care to explain this?" You pointed towards the broken front window and the guilt on their faces doubled.
"It was an accident." Ricky sighed, knowing there was no point trying to lie about it.
"I thought I told ya both not to use the slingshots in the house." Daryl said, walking up the porch steps and stopping beside you, his hands firmly crossed over his chest.
Those damn slingshots. You knew it was a bad idea when Abraham made them for the boys last week.
"But Uncle Merle lets us use them inside." Dean whined causing Ricky to elbow his brother like that was a big secret he shouldn't have said aloud.
Merle.
Of course, he was the influence for this. When was he not?
"Merle Dixon, get your ass out here!" You shouted, looking over your sons head to the inside of the house.
"Ah shit." Merle muttered from further inside before he walked around the corner and appeared behind your boys. "What did I do now?"
"Care to explain?" You said, pointing at the broken window.
Merle glanced over at the window with a wince before looking back over at you.
"Nah, not really."
"You let 'em use the slingshots in the house?" Daryl asked, getting straight to the point. "Ya do remember how many broken windows we caused when we were kids, right?"
Merle smirked, "ah, the good old times."
"Boys go back inside. And never ever use those slingshots in the house again, understood?" You stated sternly and they both frantically nodded before rushing past Merle and disappearing in the house.
"It's just a window. Ain't the end of the world."
You sighed, "what if someone had been walking past when they broke it? That's dangerous. And you know it."
Merle rolled his eyes but knew better than to try and argue with you right now.
"Those boys, they look up to you. You're their big Uncle Merle, they practically worship you. So, everything you do and say, they wanna do and say as well. God knows we've heard Ricky utilize your bad language enough. You're their role model, and I love that, okay? I love you and I love your relationship with your nephews, but you cannot be teaching them bad habits while Daryl and I are trying to teach them the exact opposite."
Merle didn't say anything for a moment as he nodded, taking in your words.
"A broken window was probably the tamest shit you and I used to get up to, little brother. You remember all the shit we did as kids? Probably a good thing the old man was off on his benders all the time."
"Merle." Daryl warned, glaring at his brother.
Merle raised his hands, "fine, fine. I'm taking this shit seriously, I am. But Ricky and Dean, they're good kids is all I'm sayin'. Sure, they run about this settlement 'n make some of those uptight civilians crazy with their shenanigans, but if a few annoyed pricks 'n a broken window is the most of your troubles, that ain't bad."
That was a fair point.
Merle Dixon was actually making logical sense? Yeah, it really was the end of the world.
You sighed, "I know, just don't teach them anymore bad habits, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, glancing between you both. "Am I dismissed now?" He asked sarcastically.
Daryl snorted, "get the fuck outta here, bro."
Merle smirked, walking back inside before you sighed and leant against the pillar to your right while Daryl plonked himself down on the porch steps and lit a cigarette.
"Should we confiscate their slingshots for a few days?" You asked, unsure of how to go about punishing them for breaking the window.
Daryl shrugged taking a drag from his cigarette. "dunno. Reckon they feel bad enough 'bout it already."
"Yeah." You agreed with a small nod.
You never thought that a broken window would be your biggest problem when just a few weeks ago you were fighting for literal survival.
"Hey." Your fathers voice suddenly called out.
You looked over to find him walking towards the house with little Judith in his arms.
"There's my favourite Grimes!" You greeted, the slingshots long forgotten as you jogged past Daryl down the steps and scooped up your baby sister into your arms.
Rick chuckled softly, handing over Judith without a word before he walked over to Daryl while you rocked Judith on your hip. The girl cooed happily, reaching up and playing with the dog tags around your neck like she always did.
"Have you asked her yet?" You heard your father say to Daryl.
"Nah, now probably ain't the best time."
You frowned, looking over at the two of them, "ask me what?"
Daryl spared a quick glance at your father, the two of them having a silent conversation that you weren't a part of before he looked over at you.
"Was gonna ask if you were okay with us teachin' Ricky how to shoot a gun."
You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. A gun? Little Ricky shooting a deadly gun? No. No, absolutely not.
"But... but he's just a baby." You exclaimed causing Daryl to give you a pointed look and you sighed, "okay, he's not a baby. He's a child. He's my child. He's our little boy."
You weren't sure why, but you could feel tears starting to burn in the back of your eyes at the thought of your son needing to learn how to shoot. He was just a kid. He shouldn't have to learn how to fire a gun. He shouldn't have to worry about one day using a firearm to protect himself or his family. That was what you were for. You were there to protect him, you were his mother, it was your job to protect him, he shouldn't need to do it, not yet.
Daryl stood up from his spot on the steps and walked over to you, noticing the emotion washing over you. He grabbed your shoulder gently, but you refused to look at him. You focused on Judith in your arms, staring down at your baby sister who was oblivious to everything around her.
"Hey, it's okay." Daryl whispered, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Rick 'n Shane taught Carl how to shoot when he was Ricky’s age. He should at least be familiar with a gun if something bad happens 'n we're not there to protect him. Hell, Merle taught me how to shoot a rifle when I was younger than Dean. Ricky will be fine."
Forcing your tears not to spill, you reluctantly look away from Judith and your eyes lock with Daryl’s gentle blue ones.
"But you saw what happened with the slingshots today. You really want him with a gun?"
"He won't have a gun. We're just gonna take him outside the walls and teach him the basics under strict supervision."
You sighed and looked back down at Judith who was babbling nonsense in your arms happily.
"We might be safe in Alexandria for now, but we don't know what will happen in the future." Your father suddenly said, walking over to you. "It's not fair, but he should be prepared if it comes down to it. It's for his own safety."
"Okay, fine. But he won't even need to use one though because I'm always going to be there to protect him. To protect them both, and this little girl. Isn't that right, Judy?" You asked, looking back down at your baby sister who squealed happily when you bounced her up and down and you smiled sadly at her.
God, you were not ready for the day when you’d have to teach this baby girl how to shoot a gun. But that was a long way away, thank goodness.
-
"Rule number one about firearms, is what?" Your father asked, looking between Ricky and Dean after going over basic firearms safety with them for the last 20 minutes.
"Never point a gun at someone unless you plan on shooting them. Even if you think the gun is unloaded, never point it at anyone." Ricky answered, with a serious look on his face.
"And never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot!" Little Dean quickly added.
You watched on proudly from where you were standing off to the side. Carl stood beside you, listening in on Daryl and Rick teaching the boys while helping you keep an eye out for any danger. There had only been one stray walker stumble upon you guys which you easily took down with a knife to the head.
"Now, Dean, we're gonna show ya brother how to shoot this handgun. I want ya to listen ‘n watch carefully to everythin', okay? It is important to know and once you're his age, then we will take you back to the woods ‘n give you a shot as well, okay?" Daryl explained gently looking down at his youngest who simply nodded.
"Okay."
If you were being honest, you expected Dean to complain or argue about that. He always wanted to do whatever his big brother was doing, but you were relief that your youngest seemed to realise how serious this was.
Carl walked over to the four of them and grabbed Deans shoulder gently, "come stand with me and we can watch together, yeah?"
Dean smiled, reaching up and taking Carl’s hand, allowing him to pull him a few steps away as Daryl gave your brother a small appreciative nod before he turned his attention back to Ricky just as Rick handed him the small handgun.
"I know this is unloaded but prove to me that it is." Rick instructed.
Ricky held the gun in his little hands correctly, mimicking how Rick and Daryl had been holding it earlier in the demonstration. Ricky pointed towards the empty magazine well before he racked and locked the slide back and pointed to the empty chamber.
"Atta boy. Where is the safety switch?" Rick asked, and Ricky pointed to the small switch above his thumb. "Good. Is the safety on or off?"
"It's on."
"Yes."
"How... how do you know if it's on or off?" Dean asked curiously, looking up at Carl before glancing over at the guys.
"If you flick the switch and a little red dot appears, that means the safety is off. If you can't see the red dot, then the safety is on. What I got taught at the Police Academy is that red means dead. Red means that you can shoot the gun, so the safety is off."
"Red means dead. Got it." Dean nodded, like he was mentally storing away that piece of information even though you were pretty sure he would forget by dinner time, but it was the thought that counted.
"Here. Do you remember how to load a magazine?" Daryl asked, crouching down and holding up the magazine which you knew only had two bullets inside.
"Yes. Can I do it?"
Daryl nodded, placing the magazine in his son’s free hand and you watched anxiously as Ricky carefully turned the magazine around the right way. He shoved it into the bottom of the gun before he reached for the slide but paused and glanced over at his father and grandpa.
"Can I load a bullet in the chamber?"
Rick nodded, "when you're ready, load the gun and aim for that glass bottle."
You watched as Ricky wrapped his fingers around the end of the slide and racked it, loading the weapon before he raised the gun in front of him and flicked the safety off with his thumb. It was surprising how well he was doing with remembering all the steps and you were proud of him for asking permission before loading the weapon.
A few seconds later, the gun fired and a spray of dirt appeared a few feet in front of the bottle, the bullet dropping a little short.
"I missed." Ricky frowned, glaring at the glass bottle like it had personally offended him by not breaking.
"That's okay. Missin' is a part of learnin’. Try again 'n remember to line up those three little white dots to aim." Daryl encouraged.
Ricky nodded, taking in a deep breath and you watched in shock as he fired again, and the glass bottle instantly shattered.
He did it.
Holy shit, your son hit the target.
"Yes! Go, Ricky!" Dean cheered, jumping up and down from beside Carl who was grinning ear to ear proudly.
"Mama, did you see that? I did it!" Ricky exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at you with a bright smile spreading across his face.
"You did amazing, sweetie. Good job." You praised, smiling at your boy happily.
"Eject the magazine, show me that the gun is empty before handing it back." Rick instructed, bringing Ricky’s attention back to him and he followed the instructions and before you knew it, the group of you were walking back to Alexandria after successful firearms training.
"I still can't believe we spent so long together, the quarry, the farm, the prison, and I never realised that the wife and kids you spoke about were these guys." Your father suddenly said, pointing at Ricky and Dean who were walking a few paces ahead with Carl.
"The amount of stories ya told 'bout ya daughter, I shoulda put two 'n two together." Daryl muttered, shaking his head with a small smile.
"Aww, you guys used to talk about me?" You teased causing them both to scoff.
"Mostly to complain about ya." Daryl wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his side while the three of you walked through the woods.
"Do not come near me with that thing!" Andrea exclaimed.
Daryl stopped in his tracks before he could reach the campfire near the Greene farmhouse. Andrea was staring at the dead snake in his hand with wide eyes and Daryl frowned looking down at the animal he had just shot.
"Wasn't gonna, but whatever." He muttered, walking past her tent and taking a seat in front of the campfire to start skinning the snake for dinner.
"Sorry, it's just... I hate snakes. Like, really hate them." Andrea apologised, but she made no move to get out her tent to join him by the fire.
Daryl smiled sadly to himself. Andreas words reminding him of you and your fear of snakes.
He had no idea if you were even still alive or not. He had no idea if the boys were alive, and he knew that the chances of ever seeing you guys again was basically zero.
"She sounds like my daughter. She used to be terrified of snakes." Rick commented, walking into camp and sitting down on the chair across the campfire.
Daryl lifted his head slightly and looked over at the former Deputy before lowering it again and he began skinning the snake.
"Didn't know ya had a daughter."
"I don't talk about her much... haven't seen her for over a decade."
Daryl could hear the underlying emotion in Ricks voice, but he didn't comment on it. Whatever happened between Rick and his daughter was absolutely none of his business and he didn't exactly care either.
"She was always a daddy's girl. She was like my damn shadow, following me around everywhere... but then something bad happened and she left. I don't even know if she's still alive." Rick began to say before shaking his head. "But, yeah, she used to really hate snakes."
"Sounds like my wife. She'd lose her shit whenever she saw one." Daryl found himself saying without meaning to.
And then it hit him.
That was the first time he had spoken about you out loud.
"You were married?" Rick asked in surprise.
"Mmm." Daryl hummed, continuing to skin the snake. "Married with two boys."
Ricks eyes widened, but he was quick to cover his shock, although Daryl had already seen it.
"That surprise ya?"
"No. No. Well... you just never mentioned a wife or kids before."
Daryl shrugged, "you never mentioned ya daughter either. Sometimes we keep stuff to ourselves."
Rick nodded in understanding and didn't say anything in response to that, but Daryl could feel the other man’s eyes on him while he fiddled with the snake.
"What happened to them? Your wife and kids?" Rick asked, his voice taking on a gentler tone, knowing it would be a sensitive topic.
"Dunno."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
Daryl glared at the man across the campfire. "It means I don't fuckin' know, okay? Drop it."
Rick raised his hands a little to show that he meant no harm and Daryl sighed, dropping the snake and staring at the dying embers of the campfire.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"S'alright. Just restock that fire so I can cook this snake."
Rick nodded, "of course."
-
It hadn't even been a week since the broken window incident, so when a guilty Ricky knocked on Mrs. McDonalds door while you were working, you had assumed the worst.
Another broken window possibly or maybe one of the boys had hit someone with their slingshots... you were still waiting for that to happen.
However, what you did not expect was for your youngest to step out from behind his big brother holding his left arm to his chest with tear stains on his face. Your heart shattered seeing your baby boy look so hurt.
"What happened?" You asked, dropping to your knees in front of him.
Dean tried to answer, but his words were cut off by a few strangled sobs as the tears in his eyes began to fall again.
"He fell out a tree... I-I think he has a broken wrist." Ricky answered, pointing at his brother's left wrist that Dean was still clutching to his chest.
Jesus Christ, why was he even climbing a tree in the first place?
"Oh, baby, it's okay." You reassured, grabbing Deans shoulder gently as you tried to get a look at the injury, but you couldn't see it underneath his long sleeve. "Can I see it?"
Dean nodded with a small sniff as he held his shaky arm towards you and you gingerly pulled the jacket sleeve up, revealing a swollen wrist underneath.
Shit.
"Okay. Let me go say goodbye to Mrs. McDonald and then we will take a little trip to the infirmary to get it checked out, alright?"
It wasn't long before you were walking through the front door of Alexandria's infirmary with Dean resting on your hip and Ricky following closely behind.
The little bell on the door ringed as you entered, and Denise turned around from where she was taking stock of the medicine on the shelf. She sighed when she realised that it was your family once again.
"This is becoming almost too frequent." She commented in amusement, putting her clipboard down as she walked over to you. "How are you guys?"
"Little Dean has seen better days. I think his wrist might be broken." You admitted, glancing down at your boy in your arms who was currently burying his face in the crook of your neck.
Denise gave you a sympathetic look, "oh, that's not good. But I know what will make you feel better. What colour lollipop do you like?"
That caught Deans attention real quick and he lifted his head from your shoulder. Denise grabbed a glass jar from the bench and walked back over, holding the candy filled jar up towards him.
Dean hesitated for a second before he reached in with his good hand and picked one before holding it out to you which you grabbed and teared off the plastic wrapper for him.
"Excellent choice. The red ones are my favourite!" Denise beamed, her smile bright before she looked down at Ricky. "Which one do you want?"
"A green one please."
"Green? That is the worst flavour." Denise exclaimed, pretending to take offence to your son’s candy choice causing Ricky to roll his eyes.
"It is the best."
"Nah uh, red is so much better." Dean argued, popping the lollipop in his mouth.
Denise laughed while the boys began arguing back and forth about what the best flavour was before disappearing to go and get the doctor.
"Dixon again, which one? The whole family's been through here, ya gotta be more specific. Big or little?" You heard the doctor say from the back room and you had to stop yourself from laughing.
"Little Dixon."
"Which little Dixon?"
"Wow, there are a lot of Dixons, aren't there? It's the littlest one. Dean. I'll tell them that you'll be ready soon."
A few seconds later, Denise walked back out the room and the boys had finally stopped their candy debate and were silently sucking on their lollipops when the woman made her way back over to you.
"The doctor will be ready soon."
"Thanks, Denise." You smiled.
A few minutes later, the doctor came out the room and shook his head when he saw your family.
"These two are like frequent flyers here." He joked, kneeling down in front of your sons before his eyes landed on the already bruising skin around Deans wrist. "This is a little more than some cuts and scrapes though, isn't it?"
"He fell out a tree. I think it might be broken." You explained, hoping and praying to any god that was listening for that not to be the case.
"Well, let's take a proper look and I will fix it right up. Does that sound good, kiddo?"
Dean nodded ever so slightly, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears.
After some inspection the doctor deemed the injury to only be a fracture and not a break which was a huge relief. Little Dean now had a black wrist brace that was meant to stay on for a few weeks before coming back to the infirmary to get it reassessed.
Daryl took one look at the black wrist brace when you and the boys walked through the front door and sighed, "what happened this time?"
"He fell out a tree." You answered, closing the door before joining him in the main room where a bunch of the others seemed to be gathered on the couches relaxing with a few drinks.
How the Grimes-Dixon house became the main hangout spot for your group was beyond you. Everyone just seemed to migrate to this house or more specifically this room and your fridge. It was nice though, you had spent so long constantly close by each other during those months on the road, so it just felt normal to be together now.
"Why the hell were ya in a tree for?" Daryl asked, looking over at Dean who was now sitting on the ground beside Carl showing him the brace.
"I was trying to be like Yondu. I'm a Ravanger." Dean explained, pointing at the Guardians of the Galaxy comic book on the coffee table.
You turned to glare at Merle sitting on the couch who was the man to blame for your sons addiction to the blue superhero. Merle just rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on it as he took a sip of his drink or whatever alcohol he had managed to get his hands on.
"I thought Spider-Man was meant to be the one climbing trees." Tara suddenly said, glancing around at everyone in the room.
"Nah, isn't that Hawkeye?" Glenn responded. "He's definitely the one that climbs trees. Hawks live in trees."
"Hawkeye isn't an actual hawk. He's a superhero with a bow and arrow." Ricky explained, like that was meant to be common knowledge.
"What about Superman?" Noah suggested.
"I'm gonna pretend that you didn't just say that." Carl deadpanned.
"What's wrong with what I said?"
"We're talking about Marvel superheroes!" Dean answered, empathising the word 'Marvel' as he spoke.
"Isn't Superman a superhero?" Your fathers voice suddenly questioned as he entered the house.
"He is a DC superhero." Carl corrected, giving Rick a tired look like this wasn't the first time they've had this discussion.
"What's the difference?"
"Doesn't matter, Superman can most definitely beat them all." Eugene called out from the kitchen.
And, oh, boy, did that open up a whole new argument as both your boys jumped to their feet and rushed into the kitchen to argue that statement, Carl right on their tail to back them up. You watch them disappear into the room followed by muffled arguing which you couldn't quite understand.
"I'd hate to be Eugene right now." You laughed, walking further into the room and sitting down on one of the couches.
"No way I'm arguing with those boys about Superhero's. I'd rather jump on a live grenade." Abraham commented causing you all to laugh.
"That I think we can all agree on." Rick chuckled softly before looking over at you. "Is Dean okay? I saw the brace on his wrist."
"It's fractured. He'll be fine."
"If he doesn't try 'n climb any more trees that is." Daryl muttered, plonking himself down on the couch between you and Merle.
"Falling outta trees is a gene that came from you, baby brother." Merle pointed out causing your head to snap towards Daryl waiting for him to explain, but he was just glaring at his brother for bringing up that topic. "Don't look at me like that. C'mon, it was fuckin' funny. You were five 'n got dressed up as batman 'n jumped out a tree because you thought you could fly."
Daryl snorted with a shake of his head, "only 'cause ya jumped first."
"I was nine 'n dressed up like Superman. Everyone knows Batman can't fly!"
"Well, I didn't know that. I broke my arm."
Merle chuckled, "I know ya did. I had to drive you to the ER on my handlebars."
"So, is that why your kids are obsessed with superheros and apparently have a thing for trees and gravity?" Michonne asked in amusement causing everyone to laugh.
"What other stupid shit did you do as children that I need to prepare for?" You asked, glancing between the Dixon brothers.
"There was the near drowning in the creek... and the roof tile incident... Oh, ya remember when we nearly burnt the shed down with that bonfire? Oh, how about-" Merle began to say before Daryl cut him off.
"I reckon she gets the point. We were idiots."
"Our kids are doomed." You sighed dramatically, dropping your head down on Daryl's shoulder as everyone in the room started to laugh.
Daryl wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side before placing a gentle kiss to your temple. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling as the group of you fell into comfortable silence before Eugene’s voice stating facts and statistics about Superman, followed by your sons and Carl's petty arguments filled the air.
The group of you shared a silent look while the arguing continued from the kitchen before you all burst out laughing. 
-
PART 4
-
MASTERLIST pinned to profile.
Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries ❤️
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bingusbongu · 4 months
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Ok ok so hear me out-- romantic or platonic tadc jax x fem! reader-where the reader is kinda a meanie like him but more so in an oblivious feral way-like they just love pulling pranks & dont rlly think of the consequences of there actions ( idk if youve seen the show but just ignore this if not ggbgghfvgv but theyd remind me of max & nikki from camp camp-) cant wait to c what you do with this !! 🐇💜
Authors note: omg, this was an intresting request! This one ended out shorter than the other one, but i wanted to squeeze out another one for today! Sorry if its abit wonky! I hope this works!!! Thank you so much for requesting!
Jax × Fem! Prankster reader
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○ when you first showed up in the circus, Jax could really care less about you. He really only thought of you as another didgital meatbag that he could try to push around, figuring that you wpuld either end up shy like gangle, or a mom friend like ragatha
○ what he didnt expect was you being the one pranking him first
○ it hadnt even been a day since youve been in the digital world, and you already stole and hid all his keys for him to find himself, which was tough mind him, the circus was a huge place, and you managed to hide them in places he never even thought of
○ at first, he would be annoyed with you, when you sometimes made snarky comments to him, like his appearance, calling him the 'bun boy' which got on his nerves
○ though, once he sees you pranking the others, almost out doing his own pranks. Like putting more than one centipede in Ragathas room, writing a fake document for Pomni, like an old record of the circus and make her go on this wild goose chase, etc.
○ he got a good laugh out of it
○ one time, you attempted to prank Caine, and nearly sucessed at it, befoe you were caught ad trapped in time out, and no one liks time out
○ and befoe you knew it, Jax wooshed in and found a way to release you from your prison
○ "i didn't do it because i like you, i did it because i need a good laugh"
Platonic
○ Jax got intrigued by you, and eventually started up a prank war, going againts eachother and seeing who can pull off the funnist prank, either on someone else or on the other competitor
○ you always found a way to out do him, which annoyed Jax, but in the end youd both get a punishment and it was worth it. You two just laughed a storm right after
○ after that, Jax and you became close friends. Hardly seen around without one hanging around the other. It was annoying to everyone else, because wherever you two went, chaos followed
○ you were a frightening duo lemme say that
○ he unironically finds you funny, especially when your making comments to one of the othed characters
○ you and Jax would do pranks together, though you were the one who took it farther sometimes, abd usually faced the harder punishments, but Jax always would come aroubd and free you so you werent waiting to long
○ def uses his keys to get into your room when he is bored just so you two can plan your next prank plan
○ no one likes you two but you guys could hardly care
○ once he realized how oblivous you were to when someone asked why you were so mean, amd you were like, "huh????" he made it his duety to keep you that way so he could actually have a friend (he needs one)
Romantic
○ it would still be the same, with the pranking, but instead it would be more like dates. You two would hold hands if he allowed, and watch tge entire circus glow ablaze with smiles on your faces
○ would call you 'doll' as your nickname, he really just does it to tease you
○ definitely takes you outside the tent to plan a trap for whoever walks outside next, and you two would just sit outside and watch and wait
○ jax likes seeing how your face lights up when one of your guys's plans go off, especially if it was one he planned. It makes him all proud.
○ Jax isnt the type to really care about what happens to others, but he cant help but admire how unafraid you are to take your pranks to anothsr step. He likes that about you, but he would be dead before he ever admitted that
○ when im private, will let you sit in his lap as you two plan. He would complain about it at first, but he really dosnt mind
○ i think he would be touch-starved, after being in the circus for who knows how long.
○ All you need to do is put your hand around his cheek and speak softly to him for Jax to immediately agree with you
○ watches you closely, just to make sure you donf get into trouble with caine while he is doing something else (will save you regardless)
○ now that you are together, Jax always has plans on how to get you out of caines punishments. Almost exactly when it happens, he is freeing you and running away with you close behind
○ jokes about you being a damsel in distress
○ he lets you use his keys, to get into other people rooms, he likes to snoop, and if you like to snoop, it makes ut even better to have a snooping partner
○ you two share all the gossip in the tent istg
○ youre one of the first people he actually likes in this place, so expect him to go wherever you go, youre not getting him off of you
○ points out flaws in your plans and helps you with making a better, fullproof one
○ never admits it, but he admires and loves your personality. Just like him! But not the same gender, and with a few more extra steps
○ again, everyone hates your duo, but you two are inseparable
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sprainedwriting · 6 months
Text
where are you? (i don’t want to die alone) 3
all might x child! reader
chapter 1 ; chapter 2
tags/cw: child neglect, slight self harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, VERY unrealistic everything
read on ao3 for better formatting + tagging
when you turn up on time to your first class, your friends seem relieved. ah, you nearly forgot, since its the 20 year anniversary for your school, the students will hold a cultural festival. there will be a concert, dancing performances and food.
you don’t perform on stage, especially not in-front of huge groups of people. your stage fright was too severe. still, you will spend the day helping to set up everything. being the man behind the scene and everything.
right now you were behind the gymnasium with your best friend, he was rolling a cigarette for himself. you were too paranoid to smoke, what if your voice changed too much and everyone ends up hating it?
leaning against the wall, you finished telling him of your crazy morning. he was the only one who knows who your father is. not because you told him, but because all might barged into your apartment and revealed his own secret identity. you don’t know how that could have happened, because you extra texted him AND left a message on his voice mail. who would have thought, he didn’t answer and screwed himself up.
the gymnasium is painted in a graffiti style, the new first years alway re paint it. a few years ago your group project was presented for everyone to see. now, it is buried under layers and layers of paint. even though the wall has been painted again and again, it still had a rough texture. your finger glided across it, nervously.
“…when’s your birthday anyways?” he asked, while patting his pockets, searching for his lighter.
scowling at him, you pressed your finger harder against the rough surface. your finger was starting to become raw.
“dude, that’s like the least important information in the whole world you could ask for.” reaching into your pant pocket, you pull out a lighter and give it to him. he quickly thanks you.
“it’s important to me! mmm, what’s your zodiac sign?”
sighing, you rub your forehead. you made sure not to tell the birthday story, yet. if someone congratulated you for your birthday you would start crying at this point. you straightened up when you heard voices coming close towards you. your best friend puts his cigarette out against the wall and puts it in his hoodie pocket. he stepped towards you, trying to look who was coming.
of course it had to be class 1a with their two teachers. so they were able to make it. with them was the director, giving them a tour of the campus. ugh you can never catch a break. you have to think fast, do you leave as quickly as possible or stay?
thank god you’re not a hero, so you don’t need to be brave and face uncomfortable situations!
“..i’m running, bro.”
“huh? wait..!”
before you could really think everything through, you started sprinting. not too far, just to put some distance between you and them. after a few seconds you slowed down and looked over your shoulder. the group just rounded the corner. quickly looking ahead again, you decided to walk towards the main building, since your next classes will be there. while you walked, you ignored the feeling of being watched.
________________________
end of the day, somewhat.
while your classes did end, it didn’t mean you could go home yet to rot away in your room. since today was the anniversary of your school, your job is to prepare the stage, so others can perform.
you aren’t late for the preparations! which is a blessing in disguise. right now you’re behind the stage, stashing away your bag.
“…so that’s why the hero class is here.” someone explained, a first year.
immediately perking up at the mention of hero class, you asked,
“why are they here?”
“ugh! dude, i explained it, like, 100 times already! they are here to play through like a boomb threat scenario. you know, since hero work also includes assisting during terrorism threats.” you knew if you were not an upperclassman, they probably would have refused to answer. children.
nodding your head at the explanation, you straightened your back and sighed. maybe you could fake sick…nah. gotta pull through.
massaging your temples you simply tried to focus on breathing.
“they will leave before the perfomances tho! they hid like a secret paper cut out somewhere. they also are not allowed to disturb us. so don’t worry, senpai!”
“well at least it is something. image how annoying it would be if they, like, were around us all the time…annoying like flies, man.” with those words you left backstage area. stepping into the stage was, maybe, not your best move.
the class, with their teachers (because why would they ever need to be independent) stood infront of the stage. at least they were no on here with you and a few others. you diged your thumb nail into your raw finger. the pain should ground you.
“ah! yagi! you know, our school was able to bring out not only small starts, but also a few big ones.” she winked at you.
schooling your face to stay neutral, you could hear a few whispers from the students. of course they remembered your face from the morning. that was some wild shit you pulled there. jesus.
“oi! aren’t you the one from the train station?!” called someone out.
furrowing your brows at the question, and thanking yourself for taking that action class as a joke, you answered in monotone voice, “huh? no, sorry. i have never seen you guys before, in my life. i swear on my fathers life.”
and then you smiled at them, brightly. fuckers.
what the hell are you supposed to say? yes? no way. why did you even do that. are you mentally unwell or something? …maybe it is some time for self reflexion.
turning around and scanning the stage, you make a mental note on what was missing. the piano was already there, thankfully. speakers, microphones, the drum set, amplifiers, the lights have to be tuned. and and and and.
much to do, with not a lot of time to spare. is the piano even tuned properly? ugh.
fucking back off back stage, you decided on starting with the lights and speakers, since you aren’t sure on what kind of perform order there is. not everyone needs microphones, but everyone needs lights.
“ayo! do we have anyone on the lights yet?” you called out. the answer came fast with a solid no.
thank god, you have a job. taking out your phone, you checked you text messages. your friends were not here yet. those traitors, tell you to be punctual but can’t do that themselves.
while you send out text messages, you could hear hushed whisper in the background.
“hello there! kid, which i have never meet before! could you assist me?”
great.
74 notes · View notes
d-andilion · 1 year
Text
sing me a tragedy
(geraskier, E, canon compliant, blood origin spoilers, getting together, angst with a happy ending, vague and handwavy smut, it barely counts tbh, 2.6k)
read on ao3
Hidden in the underground, far from the beaten path, Geralt watches his bard whip a crowd of humanity’s most despised into a beer-fueled frenzy. Not to earn their supper or their lodgings this time; the elf who owns this worn but well-loved waystation refused to accept coin for either after what the Sandpiper did for her grandson, seeing the boy on a ship to her arms. Right now, Jaskier plays because their fellow patrons chanted his name until he obliged. 
Geralt has to admit that Jaskier has more than proven himself as a travel companion these past few weeks. Since leaving the safety of Kaer Morhen, Ciri in Yennefer’s care for the season, finding places to keep their heads low has been a challenge. A challenge, at least, among humans. The Sandpiper, however, has won great favor with elves, dwarves, halflings, and just about every other intelligent species on the Continent. In their carefully concealed taverns and speakeasies, Jaskier is received like royalty.
“Sing loud and proud
The Song of the Seven
Be you halfling or gnome,
Or Dwarven or Elven”
This song is a new one. In fairness, most of Jaskier’s tunes are new to Geralt these days. Jaskier hasn’t abandoned his older repertoire, but he avoids large swathes of it to ward off any unwelcome attention. This one, though, feels different than the other additions to Jaskier’s catalog since their parting. More heroics than heartbreak, and a fiery call to action that sets it apart from his typical drama and sensation.
So much about Jaskier is different than Geralt remembers, his songs being the least of it. A few years is nothing in the grand scheme of their history, even less compared to all the years Geralt has lived, but it feels as though decades have slipped between his fingers. So many things have changed, things that Geralt didn’t realize he’d come to see as fixtures in his world until they disappeared, some of them forever. 
There’s the lute, for one thing. Jaskier has been cagey about how exactly a brand new elven lute came to be in his possession after the first one was destroyed against the side of his head, but it plays as beautifully for him as Filavandrel’s ever did. It’s nearly identical in style, too, with dark wood and golden patterns etched into it. Anyone who didn’t spend half a lifetime watching Jaskier’s long fingers dance along the strings would never be able to tell that this lute’s pattern of markings is different from its predecessor’s.
There’s the outfit, too. The waistcoat is similar enough to patterns and styles that Jaskier has worn before, but the hat and jacket make him look like a third-rate imitation of a storybook pirate. It’s nothing at all like the bright-colored matching ensembles he used to wear, though it’s nearly as impractical if not more so. Geralt honestly can’t tell if he hates it because it’s ridiculous or because it doesn’t fit into the gallery of bold greens and soft blues and glaring reds that roll through his mind when he thinks of his bard.
And there’s the bard himself, of course. Not really Geralt’s anymore if he ever was. He’s still loud and dramatic and filled to the brim with useless romantic notions about what the world is or ought to be. But there’s something lurking underneath it all now, something harder and fiercer behind his eyes than anything Geralt has seen in him before. The harshness of a man who’s seen the senseless death and darkness of war. The bitterness of one who’s been left behind and expects to be again.
There’s none of that in him when he performs, though. Or else he hides it far more efficiently. Even to Geralt’s honed eye, Jaskier exudes only joy when he sings.
“No oppressor can hide them
Carry their glories and rise!”
Jaskier finishes with a roaring flourish and the crowd chants his words back to him twice as loud. This Song of the Seven may be more popular than Toss a coin ever was. Geralt has never seen an audience warm so quickly to a new tune, much less poor folk in a war-torn country. These people need hope now more than anything.
The barkeep pushes a pair of ales at Jaskier as he passes by and refuses to take a cent for them despite Jaskier’s best efforts. He finally gives up when she threatens him with a broom, turning to Geralt’s dark corner of the room. 
“That’s new,” says Geralt as Jaskier sits down, passing a stein to his side of the table.
Jaskier crooks an eyebrow at him and smirks. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that. Before, he might not have thought twice about teasing so light as that, but this, too, has changed. Sometimes there’s banter and sometimes there are digs from that snarl of discontent that still rears up between them, and Geralt can never really be sure which he’s getting.
Jaskier takes pity on him, smiling easily. “It came from a story I heard in Temeria,” he says. “There’s a bard in it, you know. And a witcher.”
He looks for a moment like he means to say more, but then the corner of his mouth twists sharply and he snaps it shut with an audible click. Jaskier smiles again, this time cruel and close-lipped. 
“It doesn’t matter,” he says.
Before Geralt can think of anything to say, any comfort or correction to whatever it is he’s done wrong this time, Jaskier stands up and flees to a nearby table of dwarves. He doesn’t look back.
An hour or so later, the revelry dies down and the bar room clears out but for a few stragglers. Jaskier is among them, across the room now from Geralt at an empty table with a drink Geralt knows is almost completely full. Geralt watched the bard carefully while he made round after round of the room, soaking up the occupants’ stories and sharing his own entirely fabricated ones. Half a dozen rounds were shoved into Jaskier’s hands, and he took them gratefully with bright smiles, but he abandoned them just as quickly when their givers were occupied.
When Geralt found Jaskier in Oxenfurt, he couldn’t be parted from a bottle for his life. Now his drinking comes and goes. Some days he dulls his senses with wine from dusk till dawn. Some days are like this: feigning all the trappings of a man in his cups without downing more than a mouthful. 
Geralt leaves his own stein half-full with a few coins beside it and turns for Jaskier’s table. Another Geralt might have left his friend to sulk, but that Geralt wouldn’t have used the word ‘friend’ to describe Jaskier, not even in his head. This one is trying to make amends, still, all these many months later. 
If Jaskier hears him coming, he doesn’t show it. Geralt sits on the bench beside him, facing out towards the room with his back against the table, and Jaskier doesn’t give him so much as a glance. Their shoulders just barely brush.
“Tell me your story,” says Geralt. “About the bard and the witcher.”
Jaskier fixes him with a confused frown. “It doesn’t—”
“Tell me anyway.”
Geralt watches Jaskier watch him through a long, pregnant pause. Blue eyes, still so bright in the low light, search Geralt’s face and he can’t tell whether they find what they’re looking for or not. Either way, Jaskier huffs a humorless laugh to himself and speaks.
“It was a long time ago, just before the Conjunction.”
Jaskier pauses again like he’s waiting for Geralt to correct him. There were no witchers before the Conjunction; there was no need for them. Geralt doesn’t say so, though. Instead, he waits patiently for Jaskier to continue.
“The witcher was a warrior,” he says. “A protector, wrongfully exiled for defiling a princess.”
Jaskier eyes Geralt again, warier this time. Geralt feels that twist in his gut the way he always does, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“The bard was a runaway, fleeing a life that was chosen for her.” Jaskier grins at that, small and wistful. “Fate brought them together, but they chose to walk side by side.”
It’s not a pretty story, exactly, but it’s the kind of story that has always caught Jaskier’s attention. A ragtag group of heroes, an indomitable foe, magic, monsters, and romance to tie it all together. It might even be true for all Geralt knows. The way Jaskier tells it, his voice soft and his phrases unembellished, so unlike his usual way of weaving tales, makes the whole thing almost believable. They’ve all seen stranger things.
Geralt doesn’t miss the shift in the air around Jaskier when he talks about the Lark and her witcher. His heart beats just the slightest bit faster and his scent deepens imperceptibly to anyone who doesn’t know it better than their own. Geralt isn’t blind to his own reaction either, the heaviness in his chest that grows and grows.
Contrary to popular belief, Geralt isn’t stupid. It’s not that he doesn’t know how much he wants Jaskier. The depths of that desire plunge too deep to go unnoticed, and it has holed up inside him for so long, he doesn’t know who he would be without it. It’s not that he doesn’t know how Jaskier feels either. The bard isn’t subtle and he has never insulted either of their intelligence by pretending to be.
What Geralt doesn’t know has never been the problem. It’s what he does know. And what he knows, has always known, is that acting on his wants would be a singularly terrible idea.
But that was before. Before Geralt’s own Child Surprise foretold the end of the world and all of them with it. Before he landed with his own feet in another sphere of demons and monsters beyond his wildest imaginings. Before all of them wound up tangled in a war with nightmares, more terrifying than any foolish mistake, hidden around every corner.
Before Geralt knew what it felt like to lose Jaskier. And before he knew with crushing certainty that to have done so without ever knowing what it felt like to have Jaskier, really have him, is worse than any fear Geralt has ever felt.
“She killed him, in the end, to end his suffering,” says Jaskier softly.
“Not a very happy story,” Geralt replies.
“Some of the best stories are tragedies. It’s romantic.”
Geralt frowns. “But he dies at the end.”
Jaskier smiles miserably. “I think you and I both know that love doesn’t always have a happy ending.”
That plucks something sharp in Geralt’s chest, something that twists at the bitter shadow in Jaskier’s eyes. Fuck it, Geralt thinks, fuck all of it. He takes Jaskier's chin between his thumb and his forefinger and kisses him before good sense can frighten either of them away again. 
There’s a gut-wrenching fraction of a second where Jaskier’s mouth is still against Geralt’s, but within the same heartbeat, he’s kissing back and back and back. Jaskier’s hand curls around Geralt’s wrist, holding himself in place as if Geralt would ever let him go now. His lips part for Geralt’s tongue with a soft groan and he tastes like his last sip of ale. Geralt feels drunk on it, on Jaskier, the plush warmth of his mouth, and the scent of his growing arousal filling Geralt’s nose. 
The harsh scrape of chair legs on a wooden floor startles them apart. Geralt’s head snaps up to find the barkeep straightening her stools, eyes focused downward but a knowing grin on her lips.
When he turns back, Jaskier hasn’t pulled away but his uneasy expression says that the thought is playing on his mind. He looks at Geralt like he’s waiting to be pushed away, even as he clutches Geralt’s wrist. Geralt pulls Jaskier back to him, fingers still cradling the bard’s chin, until their noses brush. 
“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks and his hot breath rolls over Geralt’s lips carrying the taste of his mouth to Geralt’s tongue, and even that faint echo makes Geralt’s heart stutter.
“Kicking off another tragedy, I expect.”
Jaskier pushes their foreheads together. “You can still stop this one.”
“No,” says Geralt and it feels like surrender. “No, I can’t.”
The small hearth in their room is dark and cold when they stumble inside. Geralt can see well enough to guide them both, but he tears himself away from Jaskier’s hungry kisses to light the fire. When it’s finally ablaze and he turns to find the bard sprawled out on their bed, discarding the last of his clothing, Geralt is glad he took the time. 
Even if only in the dim red light, cast over with long and flickering shadows, he wants to see this.
This—miles of bare skin, calloused and scarred in places it wasn’t when last Geralt laid eyes on it, and quivering as he presses his lips to every place he should have been there to protect. Jaskier is so warm to touch, so much warmer than Geralt, his emphatically human heart hammering away in his chest for both of them.
This—achingly familiar hands with long fingers and soft palms, gliding over the shine of sweat on Geralt’s chest and his arms and his back. Jaskier is so gentle with his touches, as though Geralt could break beneath them, as though Jaskier would ever break him even if he could. But then Geralt touches just so and nails bite into his skin and he longs to see their matching bruises side by side. 
This—a hungry mouth that kisses wherever it can and urges Geralt to give, to take. Every graze of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, draws the sweetest sounds. Jaskier is so liberal with his voice, utterly without shame as he tells Geralt exactly what he needs and how good he feels, as he begs him to touch me darling, there, again, more, more, please, please, please…
Every sense, every synapse, every nerve is straining to capture this moment because if their world ends tomorrow, Geralt wants his last memory to be the way Jaskier clings to him, sings to him, as he pushes inside.
Each second stretches into a thousand and disappears in an instant all at once. An eternity is lived in the space between each of Jaskier’s gorgeous moans and breathless cries, but too soon, Geralt feels himself hurtling over the edge. He comes with Jaskier’s name on his lips and the hot burn of tears behind his eyes.
They lie there, silent but for their breath, while their sweat dries and the fire burns to embers. Geralt fits himself to Jaskier’s back, a knee between his, an arm circling his waist, and his face tucked into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. The bard reaches back to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s hair and begins to hum an unfamiliar tune.
“That’s new,” Geralt rumbles, muffled by Jaskier’s skin.
Jaskier hums in agreement. “I think it’s about a bard and a witcher.”
Geralt takes a few long, slow breaths before he replies. “Another tragedy?”
Jaskier presses the tips of his fingers against Geralt’s scalp and massages along the back of his head until he finds a spot he discovered years ago while scrubbing drowner brains from Geralt’s hair, the one that elicits a sound very near purring. Geralt no longer expects an answer, but he gets one after his eyes have long fallen shut, whispered into the gathering darkness.
“Not this time.”
~~
my masterlist
224 notes · View notes
abyssruler · 2 years
Text
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words spoken and left unsaid
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pairing: diluc x gn!reader
summary: arlecchino once told you that soulmates were a liability. years later, you come face to face with your supposed destined other, death looming over your shoulder and threatening to have you within its grasp. as the claymore draws inches from your throat, you’re more than inclined to believe her words.
note: soulmate au, the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin, reader is raised by the fatui, arlecchino and childe play major roles!
word count: 3.6k
warning/s: ambiguous ending, mentions of death and blood
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You’ve never known love. The other children in the orphanage formed cliques and made up families, calling one another brothers and sisters and falling into the delusion of comfort that at least someone in this world loved them.
Everyone had soulmates. Children who’ve known each other often share their words to each other, to gossip and giggle about their fated partner and how nice their words are.
Your words aren’t nice. Nor are they romantic or sad or even normal.
(“My father wants me to be normal,” a boy your age tells you in the distant future, lifeless eyes staring into the pile of recruits he’d just defeated, a pair of hydro blades by his sides.
You think about your life and your words and the vision hanging to your back. And to this boy who will one day outrank you, you say, “But normal is boring.”)
That has not happened yet, and as you lay in your bed alone with bruises and cuts after a long day of working harder than the rest, tracing the words on your skin, you had wished you were normal.
I’ll let you live this once, Fatui scum.
A promise and a curse written in neat, aristocratic lines on your collarbones, as red as the blood that dripped from your knuckles when you went too far and nearly killed a boy three years older than you.
It was his own fault anyway.
“Your soulmate must hate you, freak!” And so you showed him and everyone else who were unfortunate enough to be within the vicinity that you weren’t a freak. You were a monster.
As the boy lay bleeding on the ground with a crowd of onlookers around you, a dull purple glow emanated from your bloody hand. Everyone saw as you opened your palm and revealed a vision, a recognition from the gods.
Visions were rare, and as the main overseer of the Fatui-operated orphanage, Arlecchino was quick to place you under her close watch. You thought it meant something, for her to take interest in you and set you apart from the other children, but as always, you were wrong.
“You’re a flight risk,” she told you with that same voice that always held a sort of contemptuousness to it. “Your soulmate is strong, strong enough to defeat you and spare your life in the future. Naturally, their hatred for the Fatui makes them an enemy.” She looks at you then with her strange eyes that never fail to make you squirm. “And what do we, the Fatui, do with strong enemies?”
“We make them disappear,” you answer.
She nods as if pleased by your response, but you’ve known her long enough to know that the Knave is never pleased with anything, merely a facade amongst the many facades she wears. “Forget soulmates, the very concept of it is one cosmic joke. The moment they say those words to you, be sure to end their life.”
You think of your soulmate, of the words at your collarbones and the hollowness you feel at the thought of fighting your own soulmate—of killing your own soulmate. You’re not one to believe in fairytales and happily ever afters—none of the children in the orphanage can afford such dreams—but you think it’d be a terribly lonely existence if your soulmate was also your fated enemy.
But they were already watching you, waiting for the moment you’ll meet your soulmate and wonder who you’ll pick: the Fatui or the person destined for you?
You’ve always known without a doubt that you will never choose anything but your homeland—but they didn’t know that, so you worked hard and trained night and day with your vision until you were sure you could kill a man in your sleep.
And at the age of twelve you were officially enlisted in the ranks of the Fatui.
“General!” A recruit bursts into your tent. Annoyed at the interruption, you look up from the papers you’d been skimming through to send him a cold glare. You see him bow his head, his fear so potent you could almost see him trembling over his thick coat.
“This better be good.”
He raises his head back. “We’ve just found signs of a camp nearby, the others think it might be related to the person who’s been destroying Fatui bases recently.”
“You think?” You stare at him balefully, he shrinks from your gaze.
“We—”
An explosion from outside interrupts him. Instantly on alert, you stand up from your chair and run to the entrance of your tent, a hunch on the forefront of your mind. The recruit from earlier rushes outside.
The first thing you see are crimson flames before a recruit is sent flying your way. Dodging with ease, you let sparks of electro run through your fingers, the vision hanging by your back glowing purple.
You catch sight of the person responsible for the mess the Fatui have had for the past few months. The troublemaker, Arlecchino once called him, distate evident in her tone. Seeing the red flames licking through the air and his red hair and red coat and red claymore—Archons, did this person have no sense of color scheme?—you were more inclined to call him the Crimson Menace.
Electricity pumped through your legs as you ran through the camp to intercept the annoyance. Pyro was your least favorite element to contend with, simply because of the sheer collateral damage it caused, but since your entire camp was already a flaming mess, a little more explosions caused by overload probably wouldn’t do much harm.
Dead recruits rushed past as you made your way to him, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air. You leaped, blade in hand as you aimed for the neck while his back was turned, going straight for the kill. You didn’t anticipate him to have such quick reactions with that lumbering claymore he wielded as he blocked your attack.
In a matter of seconds, your surroundings are reduced to nothing but charred remains of what used to be a grassy field.
It feels like hours instead of just minutes as you parried blows against each other. Explosions occurring with each meeting between pyro and electro. For the first time since you were a child, you felt yourself smile as you let the thrill of battle wash over you. You think you finally understand what Tartaglia means when he says the aroma of battle is addicting.
It feels odd, fighting an enemy like him and realizing how much you enjoyed it, something familiar about it in a way you couldn’t quite grasp. You complemented each other’s fighting styles. Where he was stronger, you were quicker; where he preferred his fists, you preferred your kicks.
You could have spent the rest of eternity exchanging blows and you wouldn’t have minded the least. How strange. How terrifying. You’ve never felt this way before, such keen loss of control on your emotions.
If it hadn’t been for the stray blade of a brave fool of a recruit flying between the two of you and forcing you to leap away from each other, you think you would have spent the rest of your time fighting him.
That moment of distraction was enough for him to send a large flaming phoenix heading your way, much too fast for you to dodge completely, so you instead let out a barrage of electro. The explosion dealt by the corresponding overload did less damage than what his flames would have. You were sent flying to a nearby tree, hitting your head so hard against the trunk you momentarily blacked out.
When you next open your eyes, you’re leaning against the tree, blood dripping from a cut on your forehead and forcing you to close one eye. The crimson menace looms over your prone form, the tip of his claymore mere inches away from your neck.
Is this how you’re going to die?
Arlecchino would be so disappointed—but no, that’s not quite true. Disappointment is not an emotion that can be associated with the Knave. To be disappointed is to imply that she had any sort of expectation for you in the first place.
Should the report of your death reach her desk, she would merely discard it as another one of the Fatui’s failures, never giving it another glance.
How pitiful. To have lived a life without experiencing love. You wonder if your soulmate will be relieved or devastated that you’re dead. The former, most likely.
The stranger’s red eyes bore into you. You sneer at him through strangely blurry eyes.
“Go ahead and kill me, I won’t beg for my life.”
And for the first time since you fought him, he visibly falters, claymore lowering for a fraction of a second before it returns to its spot, although you can see that his resolve has been shattered, from what little you can glimpse of his face behind that mask. First words are sacred, you’ve always known, but with your brain rattled from the explosion earlier, you were slow to connect the dots.
He lowers his claymore slowly, almost reluctantly, to the ground. Then, with a voice filled with contempt, he utters the words that you’ve agonized over for the past nineteen years of your existence.
He leaves soon after.
You always thought that despite the words on your skin, despite how everyone has told you that he’s an enemy, you’d somehow find it in yourself to love your soulmate, your destined partner. But as you watched him walk away from you, his hair as red as the blood seeping from your wounds, you think you’ve never hated anyone more in your entire life.
Diluc has lived his entire life believing that his soulmate will die from his hands. It used to be so inconceivable when he was a child—young and naive and so utterly blind to the real world—but now he’s accepted it. His father is dead because of his weakness and his brother is a spy he almost killed (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t leave), so what’s one more thing to add to the list of things that’ll burn by his hand?
Everything he touches, he ruins.
But as he looked at your defiant eyes, that burning glare hotter than his flames could ever hope to be, he wondered if the world made you his soulmate for a reason.
“I’ll let you live this once, Fatui scum.”
There’s realization dawning on your eyes that turns into anguish before being overshadowed by the sheer hatred your gaze pierces him with.
He walks away and hopes you’ll hate him enough to snuff out the flames that would otherwise burn you like it did everyone he loved.
You’re the only person he ever spared throughout his rampage of destroying Fatui bases and raiding camps.
When Arlecchino, the Harbinger you’re assigned to—always have and always will, she told you as she gave you your mask when you were twelve—asks you if you know why he did so, you tell her honestly.
“He’s my soulmate.”
They detain you.
“Lord Tartaglia, what brings you here?”
“Aw c’mon now, is that any way to greet an old friend? Drop the formalities, I miss those days when you used to call me Ajax with that contemptuous look of yours, back when you were ranked much higher than me!”
You send him a baleful glare.
He raises his hand in peace. “Hey, don’t get upset with me, I’m doing you a favor. The only person who’s probably visited you other than me is Arlecchino, and Tsaritsa knows she’s not the best company to have around, I’d even argue to say that she’s the worst.”
The Knave did not, in fact, visit you in all your time within captivity, not even a written message passed on to a subordinate. Not that you expected her to do so. Despite what others may think, the relationship you two have is not that of a mentor and student, it was of a master and her servant. And what did masters do to useless servants?
They discarded them.
“What do you want?” You cross your arms, leaning against the ice cold walls. You suppose there were worse places to be than the cozy cells used for high ranking prisoners. And to think people were whispering about the possibility of you being promoted to the rank of Harbinger within a year if you kept up your training. How laughable. Now you’re nothing but a flight risk, the very thing you feared to become as a child. Your entire life’s worth of hard work pushed down the drain because of a few measly words uttered by a complete stranger.
Arlecchino was right, the concept of soulmates was nothing but a cosmic joke.
Childe grins, taking a seat on the hard ground in front of your cell. “I heard you met your soulmate the other day. I have to say though, not a big fan of the guy after he killed my favorite subordinate last month.”
“If you’re looking to interrogate me then it’s no use, I’ve already told Lord Arlecchino everything I know.”
“Oh, I’m not here for that,” he reassures you, scooting closer so that his face is inches away from the bars. “We’ve done some researching on that—what was it you called him?—ah right, the crimson menace.”
“I see you’ve read the reports,” you note, already tiring of this conversation.
“Of course I have! When I heard my favorite comrade got sent behind bars, I immediately went snooping around.” He then shakes his head, bringing back the previous topic. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to say.”
You sigh, turning your back to him, ready to end this conversation, but his next words make you freeze.
“Don’t you want to know who your soulmate is?”
It’s a test, your mind warns you, the other, more naive part argues otherwise, this is Ajax we’re talking about.
The rational part wins out. “I don’t care. Once I get out of here, I’ll personally set off and kill him to prove my loyalty to the Tsaritsa.”
He laughs, loud and bright, if only to hide how empty he truly is. He was even more of a monster than you are. “That’s all well and good, but seriously, do you wanna know or not? There’s no test here or whatever you’re probably thinking of, just a friend willing to dish out some info.”
You remain silent, still with your back to him but now more willing to listen. You don’t give out any sort of verbal assent, but he takes your silence as a yes anyway.
“Alright, I guess I’ll just tell you.” He leans close for theatrics, like he’s about to tell you some top secret information. “His name is Diluc Ragnvindr, and apparently he comes from a rich and noble family in Mondstadt. I suppose you lucked out on that one, huh? Ah, if only we were normal people.”
You remain silent, the name echoing in your mind, carving a hole for itself so that you might never forget the name of the person you vow to kill one day.
He glances at you with his lifeless eyes and smiles at the blank look on your face. “But normal is boring, isn’t it?”
Eventually, they release you after ascertaining that you won’t run off to the sunset hand in hand with your soulmate once you get the chance.
Upon your return, Arlecchino spares you the barest of glances before leaving for other, more important matters that concern her.
You tell yourself you don’t mind the casual dismissal. If you lie to yourself enough times, you start to believe them.
The next time you meet your soulmate, you’re out collecting a debt as a favor from Tartaglia. You come across a nearby Fatui camp and find it burning, dead bodies strewn across the ground. There was only one possible perpetrator.
He appears before you in a flash of flames.
The dance you engage in is familiar, like a person returning home to their lover’s embrace. Except the two of you are anything but lovers and the meeting of your blade against his can hardly be called an embrace, electro and pyro weaving through the air.
This was it. The battle that will decide which of you will live to see another day. There was no more hesitation, no more sparing the life of the other. The two of you were soulmates, but you were also enemies on opposing sides that both of you will never betray for anything else, even if it meant killing the other half of your soul.
The ground was rumbling but neither of you cared for it. Your inattention was both a blessing and a curse.
He stumbled, you wasted no time in taking the opportunity to parry his claymore and send it flying to the other side of the burnt camp. He was cornered with no weapon but his fists and—you note with disdain at his hypocrisy—a Fatui issued delusion.
You take one step closer. The ground shakes. You pay it no mind.
Diluc Ragnvindr’s eyes were wide behind the mask he wore. You thought it was because of his impending death, but then he opens his arms and tackles you to the side.
A missile explodes right where you’d been standing.
Ignoring the weight on top of you, you turn your head and saw four ruin guards by the entrance of the camp. You move your gaze to the person laying on top of you, and the two of you come to a silent agreement.
He picks himself up and runs to his claymore while you leapt at the nearest ruin guard, electro imbued sword aimed right for its weak spot. As you pushed off one ruin guard and onto another, a flaming pheonix ravaged the ruin guard you’d previously attacked.
Pyro and electro users never go well when used against each other, but when used to fight a common enemy? The sheer destruction was enough to level an entire mountain.
The burned and smoking remains of the ruin guards lay scattered all over the camp with the rest of the dead bodies of your comrades. Now, it was just you and him.
His mask had fallen off somewhere in the middle of the fight, his face visible for you to see. He was… you suppose he could be called handsome, but calling him that felt too personal, had too much attachment held to it because handsomeness and beauty were subjective terms. You did not find him handsome, but you didn’t find him unattractive either.
He was aesthetically pleasing, that was it.
You should kill him now while his guard is down, and your hand itches to do so once the thought forms, but something stops you. Guilt? A misplaced sense of gratitude? Or the fact that he’s your soulmate?
No.
A debt to repay.
You sheathe your blade, picking up his mask from the ground and handing it to him, not meeting his eyes and ignoring the way something in you twists when his fingers brush against yours.
“Consider us equal now,” you say, feigning ignorance to his stare boring holes to the side of your face. “The next time we see each other, I won’t let you escape alive. Leave now.”
He nods wordlessly and leaves without another glance. You tell yourself it wasn’t the greatest mistake you’ve ever made. If you lie to yourself enough times, you start to believe them.
You file the report about the burnt camp and dead recruits as the work of the ruin guards. In the report, you write how you came just in time to destroy the machines before they left the camp. There’s no mention of your red haired soulmate.
You tell yourself this isn’t treason as you place the report on Arlecchino’s desk.
Next year, you hear from Childe about your soulmate’s encounter with one of the Harbingers and how he barely managed to escape with his life. Your old subordinate retells it all with a grin, saying how he heard the rumor from Pulcinella and that Pulcinella heard it from Signora, who in turn heard it from Pierro.
You don’t hear much from his ramblings because of the sickening realization that you had felt relieved that he survived.
“Comrade? What’s the matter?” Childe leans his face close to yours, inspecting you. His eyes fill with understanding and glee. “What’s this? Were you worried? The mighty and fearsome general and right hand of the Knave was worried for—”
You send him the most hateful glare that would have shriveled a normal recruit on the spot. “Shut up.”
He laughs. “Don’t be like that! You know I can keep a secret.”
“There is no secret to keep. Your reassurances are unneeded.” Your vision starts to emit a dull glow, sparks forming at the tip of your fingers.
He regards you with a faint twist to his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. “If you say so.”
You hear of his return to Mondstadt, quiet and lackluster.
You tell yourself you don’t care.
“You mean to tell us that your soulmate’s from the Fatui? And a high ranking one at that!” Paimon exclaims with wide eyes, mouth open with disbelief.
“Paimon, be quiet,” the Traveler chastises her, turning to Diluc with an apologetic smile. “But yeah, I guess I’m curious too. Do you think you’ll ever meet again?”
Diluc hums idly, thinking of your last words to him and all the unsent letters to Snezhnaya that lay abandoned in a drawer somewhere in his office.
“Only time will tell.”
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here’s an ask about a continuation of sorts
717 notes · View notes
bellamybellamyblake · 9 months
Text
When the Sun Sets - Part 1
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Promises
Characters:
morgan winchester (OC), sam winchester, dean winchester, bobby singer
Summary:
When Sam Winchester dies, Dean and Morgan are left reeling. And before Dean can beat her to the punch, Morgan makes a choice. Her, or Sam?
Warnings (for entire story):
SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, vague mention of not eating for a while, SPN typical alcohol abuse, slight suicidal ideation, spoiler warning up to the end of season 8, following canon stops after the end of season 2, but things are definitely going to be mentioned.
Word Count:
4.5k ~ roughly
A/N:
this ended up being way longer than i meant for it to be. this one's kinda depressing (and the next part will be too) but stay tuned for the inbetween. this part and the next one covers the events of all hell breaks loose.
dean: 27, morgan: 26, sam: 23
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There was no getting around this, no forgetting it. There was nothing to do but sit. Sit in the horror that was watching her little brother die. Morgan's little brother was dead, and her older brother hadn't said a damn word since.
Bobby found a small house on the side of the road, where they could hole up and get their shit together, but she wondered how they were supposed to even start. How were they supposed to recuperate when the worst thing had happened?
The second-born Winchester could think of one thing, the fire that killed her mother. How Dean was acting exactly like he did back then. When he was a terrified toddler that didn't know how to vocalize what he was feeling. It was funny, that was a skill none of them had grown up to learn. Maybe not funny, but it was definitely ironic - in a cynical sort of way. 
Morgan was barely able to walk back then, but Dean had dragged her and Sam out of the house as fast as his little legs allowed him. He had one hand on her arm, pulling her with all his might, while he held little Sammy in the other. He had almost dropped the infant, the weight too much for his small arms to handle. He was only four at the time, and it was the first time he had to blindly obey one of his father's orders.
But it was, by no means, the last. 
In the aftermath, the part that Morgan remembered better, Dean didn't speak for a year. She could see it so clearly. Her begging him to play with her, begging him to play with talk, acknowledge her. But when he finally spoke for the first time, it was to yell at her to leave him alone. She, at nearly four years old, had started crying and ran to their father for a hug. When John pushed her off of his leg, she realized, for the first time, no one was going to help her. And that made her cry harder. She wanted her mother, she wanted to be old enough to hold Thammy, she wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would all be okay.
But that would take years, and by the time Sammy was two, she was five, and it was time for her to be the one comforting him. Not the other way around. 
Morgan couldn't recall too much about the day of the fire itself. It felt more like one of those vague childhood dreams, the kind where you can’t really tell if it’s a memory or not. But she could still smell it, and feel the heat pinching her skin. She remembered seeing the flames pouring out of the windows. She remembered that it was the last time she saw her father cry. She remembered that was the last time her family would be considered a normal one.
And now, staring at her little brother's lifeless body, all she could do was breathe in smoke. 
The world was dull and the room was quiet. It was as if Sam was its vibrancy, its light. She’d have to consider the possibility that he might've been the key to the damn rainbow, or something.
Neither her or Dean had said a word to each other in twelve hours. When things got hard, Morgan knew there was no way to reach him. He was not the one she ran to for comfort, he's the one that ran to her - and it was only when she would ask if he was okay at the right time. If she'd asked on a bad day, she'd either get a gruff, "I'm fine," or a detached, "leave it alone, Mo." Even when they both knew he was lying.
So, no. Morgan didn't run to him for comfort, she didn't run to anyone - except Bobby, maybe, but he was on a supply run.
This time, she had nothing to say to her brother. She wanted him to come to her, to tell her things would be alright, if not yet, then eventually. But she knew better. Morgan knew he wasn't okay and he knew she wasn't okay. Bobby was barely even okay. How were they supposed to move on? How were they supposed to keep living when the youngest of them drew the short end of the stick?
How was any of this shit fair?
The door shut and Morgan flinched, breaking her from her thoughts. When she looked up and saw Bobby, she sighed, letting her head drop again.
"Dean? Mo?" Bobby asked, his voice barely a whisper as he held up a bucket of fried chicken. Morgan sat up in her chair a little, picking her eyes up from between her shoulders. She stretched out her back by arching it, not even attempting to give Bobby a smile. "Brought you this back."
"Not hungry," She said quietly after a moment. She put her gaze back on her little brother, shaking her head. The Winchester girl didn't think she'd ever be hungry again. This was worse than their father's death, it was worse than their mom's. Sam was all they had, he was their bright-eyed, rebellious, annoying but kind little brother, and she and Dean had looked up to him. He was the researcher, the more emotionally-intelligent one, the one who could still see a light at the end of the ugly-ass tunnel that was their lives. 
There would be no healing, no better days after this. Sam was dead. Well and truly dead. And there was nothing they could do about it.
Dean denied the food without a second thought. "I'm fine."
"Should eat somethin'," Bobby insisted, unpacking the groceries. Morgan shook her head and looked back at her hands, even if she knew he was right. She hadn't had anything to eat for a day and a half. But the thought of even touching anything that wasn't whiskey, made her want to vomit. At the thought, she picked up her cup and drained it, trying to drown everything out. Bobby's words made her flinch, even as she tried to ignore him. 
Don't argue with Dean, Bobby. Please don't argue with him. I can not deal with that right now.
"I said, I'm fine," Dean replied, but his voice was sharp, leaving no room for disagreement. Morgan didn't know it until she glanced back up, but her and her brother had gone for the alcohol at the same time. Her's was in a cup, and his was in the bottle, really the only difference in their drinking habits, if she was being honest. There weren't many people that could drink her under the table except Dean and Sam. The thought made her wince.
They really were their father’s kids.
She knew Bobby was looking at them. She could picture his face, pale and expressionless. If one knew Bobby Singer, however, they'd know how to tell when he was truly, deeply worried. His eyes would widen a little, his brows would raise and he'd leave his lips slightly parted as if he was shocked. But Morgan knew he wasn't. He knew exactly what was going through the Winchesters' minds. And it wasn't like he could change their thoughts, no matter how much he might've wanted to.
"Dean, I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time..." Bobby paused, as if scared to even say the words. "We bury Sam?"
Morgan could see her little brother through the doorway on the bed. He was so gaunt, it was like she was staring at a ghost. Sam was tall and his feet practically dangled off the edge of the mattress they put him on. He was bigger than all of them, bigger than any of them thought he'd ever get, being such a scrawny kid and all. But seeing him now, so fragile and pale, he looked smaller than ever.
She couldn't help but remember when she was still taller than him, when she was faster than him. When her punches hurt more than his when they would play, or actually, fight. But by the time he was seventeen, he had shot passed her five feet nine inches, and grown right up to six feet.
She remembered a lot of things she selfishly wished she could forget. So she wouldn't have to feel the helpless and icy regret that was eating away at her, inside and out.
"No," Dean snarled as he sat down. He rubbed his hand down his face, the only tell she knew he had. Morgan wasn't an oblivious person, she'd learned how to gauge her family's mood based on how her father would open the motel room door, his footsteps, or how loudly he would set down a glass. But Dean was always the hardest to read. All she knew, was that her oldest brother was angry or completely devastated. And given the circumstances, it was probably both. She knew nothing she said would help, nothing anyone said would help.
"Well, we could," Bobby sighed. "Maybe-"
"What, torch his corpse?” Dean's voice was final. Gravelly and clipped, but final. There was a decision in his tone, he had already made his mind up about something. But Morgan had yet to figure out what it was. “Not yet."
Bobby wasn't letting him off, not the way the younger man was speaking. His words were desperate, like he hadn't cracked the code either. "I want you to come with me." 
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Dean, please-"
"Why don't you cut me some slack?" Dean rebutted, his voice cold and unyielding. He wasn't shouting yet, but Morgan knew there wasn't much left in him to hold back. Dean was a grenade, and the wrong word would pull the pin.
What would the right thing to say be, anyway? Morgan thought. Are we even supposed to know?
"I just don't think you should be alone, that's all," Bobby said, sympathetically, but she knew all her older brother heard was pity. And she had to admit, she didn't hear it much different. Bobby knew Dean was a ticking time bomb, and all he wanted was to diffuse the tension. "I gotta admit, I could use your help." Dean scoffed at his words and Bobby stopped at the interruption, like he was getting fed up. "Something big is going down, end-of-the-world big!"
"Well, then let it end!" Dean's voice finally rose, loud and ragged. And even if Morgan had expected it, she winced again at the sudden change in volume, like his words were a physical blow. She almost wanted to stop him, keep away from Bobby, knowing he'd probably throw a punch if he was mad enough. But she was still trying to find the energy. She was so damn tired. It was like the entire Earth had come crashing down on her and her brother's shoulders, and even if Bobby wanted to help, he couldn't keep the weight from crashing down on them.
And the worst part was, she agreed with him. Somehow, Dean was speaking for both of them, the only two people in that room that didn't deserve to be the ones left standing.
"You don't mean that."
Yes, he does, Bobby.
"You don't think so?" Dean sneered, his words eerily cold. He stood suddenly, pushing the chair onto its back as he went up. "You don't think I've given enough? That Mo's given enough? You don't think we've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and get the hell out of here." Without any type of warning, Dean pushed Bobby back, and let himself rage. "Go!"
"Dean!" Morgan jumped from her chair, grabbing her brother by the arm and pulling him away from the closest person they had left to family. She needed his attention on her as soon as possible, and used her other hand to hold his gaze on her's. She might've been exhausted, but she had to play peacekeeper again.
Whether that was a role she had been given or taken upon herself was up for debate, but by the time she was five, it was her's. She hated fighting with her family and especially hated when they fought with each other. So she did everything she could to prevent it. Usually, she would hold Sammy after their father had yelled, and tried to convince him not to take it personally. Usually it was calming Dean down, when Sam had said asked a question that pissed him off. Most of the time, it was calming their father down after a bad hunt, or when the boys had decided not to listen to him. "Calm the hell down."
Even if she was forcing him to, her brother looked at her for the first time since Sam had been stabbed. The tears in both of their eyes, the swollen black and blues from a lack of sleep, the utter defeat in their ripped-apart faces. He was heaving, and she mouthed for him to count to ten, the method she had made him try when they were teenagers. The method he hadn't needed since he was twenty-two, when Sam and their father almost came to blows.
They were breaking each other's hearts, just by staring at each other.
"I'm sorry," He muttered. And it was to her, even if the words barely made their way through his lips. He wasn't apologizing for pushing Bobby, he was apologizing for something else, something that he did to her. He didn't look at the older man when he spoke next, but he finally managed to talk without anger. This time, it was defeat. "I'm sorry. Bobby, please just go."
Morgan nodded, not taking her eyes off her brother. She gave him the forgiveness he was pleading for, even if she didn't know exactly what he was talking about. She needed to give him something. She needed to give him a moment to take a fucking breath. Give him a moment to believe he still had someone left. And maybe, a small part of her, just wanted to sink into her big brother's arms. She didn't know if it would hurt more if he accepted or turned her away, so she thought better of it. Settling for comforting squeeze of his arm and a whispered, "It's okay, Dean. It's okay."
Bobby looked at Morgan with a silent, you got him? She nodded, telling him she could keep Dean under control. His eyes were loaded, begging her not to let her oldest brother fly off the handle. The thing was, Dean was ready to lose his mind. He was ready to go off the deep end. But she didn't think Bobby realized just how fragile she was - how if he wasn't there to keep her head above ground, she'd probably bury herself alive in the dirt.
Morgan was the only girl in a house full of boys. She, according to Bobby, was the only one who had some damn sense. He thought she was smart enough not to do something stupid. He thought she had some foresight, because she was always trying to drill that into her brothers' heads. He didn't know she didn't believe it for a second, that everything that came out of her mouth was bullshit. He had assumed she was thinking about the future. He'd been assuming that she knew doing something idiotic wouldn't help anyone and would just lead to consequences. But, she guessed, there were some things even she couldn't reel herself in for.
She couldn't even begin to imagine a future without Sam. She knew damn well Dean wouldn't survive, and she wasn't convinced she would either. Sam, as much as he denied it, was the glue that held them together. Sam was the good one, he was the one that wanted them to live their lives the way they'd wanted, not the way their father drilled into them. He didn't realize they had no idea what they wanted.
Sam had always known what he wanted. To go to college, become a lawyer, have a family and die old like everyone else. That wasn't her and Dean. They didn't know what else they could do besides hunt and, most likely, die young. 
Dean and Morgan were followers. And they were exactly what John believed they were. Malleable, disposable, soldiers. And selfishly, Morgan had never wanted them to leave her for a better life. Selfishly, when Sam left for school, she was ready to, personally, go to California and drag his ass back to their motel room in Nevada, just so she wouldn't have to be alone.
She was no better than the toy army guys her little brother used to play with.
Before Bobby left, he asked, without words, if she was okay. And even if she wanted to beg him to stay, beg him to keep an eye on her while she did the same for Dean, Morgan knew that only reinforced her father's opinion. And she didn't want to be fragile, she wanted to have a purpose. She wanted to mean something. So, she nodded again, telling Bobby she was alright for now, that it was okay to go.
"You know where I'll be," Bobby accepted, finally leaving. Giving the siblings the space neither of them needed but thought they wanted.
With her hands still holding Dean close, and his eyes still on the floor, she pulled him in for what she wanted to be a quick hug. Just to break the ice a little, and to keep each other grounded. But when she went to pull away before he did, he didn't let go, like he was holding onto her for dear life. She felt his hands fist her shirt, his fingers digging into her back. They were promising each other something with this embrace. What, she didn't know, but it was better than nothing.
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Dean's voice was haunting.
When he had cried out for Sam, it was terribly high pitched and desperate. Then he caught their little brother before he fell to the ground, and Morgan had instantly wished it was her instead. Their pain-in-the-ass little brother was dying in the oldest's arms, and all Morgan could do was sit there and watch. Bobby had gone past them, trying to catch the guy that stabbed Sam, but Morgan was frozen. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't blink. All she could do was sit on her knees and stare. Even as Dean pulled his hand away from the wound and ordered her to start patching it up. She was almost gawking, like she was a spirit that didn't know how to materialize yet. It had been playing through her head over and over and over.
The blood, the wound, the way his head lolled forward, the desperation to save him.
And now, hearing Dean talk to Sam like she wasn't even there. She had stayed in the kitchen, tired of looking the oldest, who in some ways had the same complexion of the youngest. Empty, gray, pale. She had a drink in her hand, God could only know how many she'd had, and at the words coming out of her brother, she wanted to switch to the bottle.
"You know, when we were little, I mean, you couldn't have been more than five, you started asking questions." Dean was hollow and broken, and it was like getting himself to speak was hurting him somehow. "How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd dad go when he'd take off for days at a time? I remember I begged you, 'Quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't wanna know.' Just wanted you to be a kid, just for a little while longer. Always tried to protect you guys. Keep you safe. Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know. It's like I had one job. I had one job. And I screwed it up." 
Dean's voice finally cracked, and Morgan wanted to wince, but the alcohol had been doing its job in keeping her numb. She had no idea if he knew she was listening, she doubted he would even have to foresight to care in that moment. But she didn't have to be looking at him to know there were tears sticking to his lashes. She didn't have to listen to his words to know what he was feeling, what she was feeling. 
They were supposed to protect him, they were supposed to take care of him. And they failed, both of them. Not just Dean, not just Morgan, both of them fucked up, to an irreversible and unforgivable degree. They had let him get taken by Azazel, they had let him fight to the death with his competition. And they were too damn late to save him.
"I blew it. And for that, I am sorry."
She didn't know what it was that made it click, but that was when it occurred to her. There was one thing left. One thing left that she could try. It seemed it hadn't hit Dean yet, or maybe he was putting it off, and she thanked whatever god that might be out there it had gotten to her first. So, before she could second guess herself, she quietly stood from her chair, the whiskey she had been drinking all day making her stumble. Hopefully, Dean didn't hear, and when he kept going, she knew he didn't notice.
"I guess that's what I do." At his words, she paused. Her hand was reaching out for the keys to the Impala, and she was ready to go. Ready to fix this. "I let down the people I love." That's when Morgan knew what he'd been apologizing for. She felt a wave of tears flood her eyes, and debated if she should try to convince him that wasn't true. He hadn't let her down, he hadn't let anyone down, in her opinion. She did. When she didn't follow Dean's order to patch him up, when she just sat there and let him die. Maybe he'd have been okay if she just did as she was told. "I let dad down, I let Mo down. And now, I guess, I'm just supposed to let you down, too."
That was enough. She had heard enough. She wasn't going to let this end this way. So, when she heard Dean start to yell again, too distracted to hear her leave, she took the keys and ran out of the door. By the time she had turned the key in the ignition, she saw Dean calling for her, demanding she get the hell out of the car, that he has something to do. Morgan ignored him. You need Sam more than you need me, she thought. You'll be fine, Dean. I promise. 
It wasn't long before she got to the crossroads. She'd driven erratically, probably too drunk to've safely been behind the wheel and put together the ingredients for the spell. She buried them in the dirt, in the middle of the intersection and summoned the demon she was ready to sell her soul. 
Save him save him save him. 
The deal was fast, and totally screwed her. But she only had one bargaining chip, and the demon took advantage of that. The bitch knew Morgan would've agreed to anything. Anything to get Sam back. She got a better deal than their father, though, and that was almost enough to satiate her. Her father had only gotten the time to make sure Yellow-Eyes had held up his side, and after that, he dropped dead. 
Morgan would have another year with her family, and after that, her brothers would have each other to lean on again.
She didn't know what it was about them, but they had always understood each other more. It was always them and then her. Maybe it was something as simple as she was a girl and they were boys. Maybe it was the fact that Morgan wasn't an infant when their lives went to hell. She could walk around, she was mostly potty trained, she could eat by herself. Sammy was the baby. He was the one to watch, the one to protect, the one to teach things to. Morgan had to teach herself, and so did Dean. But regardless, thats the way it was.
She wondered if it might've been because she resembled Mary the most, that just glancing at her would bring up bad memories. For their father and Dean himself. And it didn't help as she aged, growing into her mother's looks. Her brother's had gotten their father's hazel eyes and darker hair, but she inherited their mother's crispy blue and golden blonde.
There had been a wedge driven between her and Dean since their mother died. As a teenager, Morgan resented that, she had resented her father for pitting her and Dean against each other, to see which one was better at keeping Sammy safe. Dean, in the end, had won. He was better at everything. Hunting, taking care of, protecting. As they got older, she got the feeling she was just another mouth to feed. So, to her, she was cutting them a break, their weakest-link would be gone soon. In a year, they wouldn't have to clean up her messes anymore.
It wasn't long before Morgan had returned to the house. When she saw Sam through the window, sitting up and talking to Dean, she let out a sigh of relief, and took a moment to collect herself. She'd hoped the oldest wasn't confused as all hell at the random resurgence of the youngest. She put on an air of nonchalance as she strolled in, and heard Sam speaking - mid conversation. She almost had to stop and sob but held it back, praying somehow that Dean hadn't clued him in. 
"But Dean," Sam argued, as usual. And Morgan was thrilled to hear he was back to normal, as trusting as ever in his siblings to fight with them. "You-you can't patch up a wound that bad."
"Well, we didn't." Morgan said, both of her brothers turning to look at the door. She looked at Dean quickly, and when she couldn't tell for sure what he was thinking, she glanced away. Maybe he knew what she did, maybe he didn't. But he was definitely mad that she had prevented him from going out. Sam, on the other hand, was relieved to see her. Like the small stretch of time had him missing his big sister. "But, uh, Bobby could."
Before she could hold stop herself, she bolted to her younger brother, pulling him up and hugging him tightly. Sam chuckled, but winced a little as she squeezed too hard. Having Sam in her arms again was the best feeling she could've asked for in that moment, even if Dean might've been seething at her side. It only solidified her decision. Him and Dean would live on, she hoped at one point they'd get out of the life, but if they didn't, they'd have more time together. That's all she wanted for them. She knew they wanted it for her too, but a choice needed to be made, and if it was between her and Sam? There was no contest.
"Nice to see you too, Mo."
"We were scared there," She breathed out. "For a minute, you, uh, scared us."
"I'm good, now." Sam smiled, and let go of her. It almost hurt how oblivious he was, how he was completely unaware about what was to come in a year. But she also knew it had to stay that way. "Really, I'm okay."
"Good," She sighed, grabbing his arm. "Good."
"Yeah," Dean said, heatedly, his stare burning a hole in the side of her head. "It's great."
She kept her eyes on Sam, entirely ignoring her older brother. "You hungry? I'm starving."
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little-pondhead · 10 months
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Day 6: Eclipse
DANNYMAY MASTERLIST
...
"Dude, you psyched about the eclipse?" Tucker whispered to Danny, who was practically floating with excitement.
"Maybe just a little." He admitted, shaking out his hands like that would get rid of his nerves. "It's the first eclipse I've seen since The Accident, I can't help but be jittery."
"If we're lucky, no ghosts will come to make a fuss about it." Sam, who was walking on the other side of Tucker, glared at a passing A-Lister that nearly stepped on her boots.
"Don't jinx it!" Danny hissed, flapping his hands harder.
"It'll be fine, Danny," Tucker reassured. "And besides, we haven't seen a drop of ectoplasm all day. It's not that unusual."
Danny deflated like a balloon, letting his two friends drag him along behind their science class. "You're right." He pouted. "But if there is an attack I'm blaming you two."
"Fair enough."
The trio settled into a flow of comfortable bickering and jabs until their teacher called for attention. "Make sure you wear these special sunglasses!" They called out, having the class rep pass them out. "They'll help protect your eyes, just in case. We don't want anyone to go blind, do we?"
Danny chuckled. "Not like that would hurt me anymore." Sam punched his arm for that.
The trio received their paper sunglasses, awkwardly adjusting them to fit their faces, and patiently waited for the totality of the eclipse to occur.
"This is my favorite part!" Danny grinned, pointing to the sky like he was watching a movie.
Sam just squinted up and then removed her glasses for a better look when she could no longer see the sun. "Danny-" She cut herself off when she turned back to her friend. Sam elbowed Tucker, who had also taken his sunglasses off.
"What the fuck?" Tucker whispered in awe and panic.
Danny was off in his own world now, gazing at the solar eclipse like it was the most beautiful thing in existence. He hadn't noticed his...change.
And holy fuck did he look different than he did thirty seconds ago.
Even without going ghost, Danny's hair had turned shock white and stood on end, swaying in a gentle breeze. His regular hazmat suit was nearly gone, burnt off or sticking to Danny's sickly pale skin. And his scars.....Sam wanted to cry. She knew what those scars were. Danny's death scars traveled up and down his body, literally glowing from within and making him stand out more. Parts of his skin were burnt and peeling, making the smell of human flesh a strong one. And his face...Danny had lost his right eye, an empty socket that glowed green was his only proof of its existence. Part of his jawbones were exposed, showing off this black skeleton underneath white skin.
This was their friend. Sam realized. They would have had to bury him like this if Danny hadn't survived that portal accident.
Danny sighed wistfully. As the eclipse ended, the sun started peeking back out from behind the moon. The two rushed to put on their glasses once more, and when they blinked, Danny was back to normal. "That was lovely," Danny stated, then turned around to the pair. "What happened to you two? It looks like you've seen a ghost."
"...Now I think I know why we haven't seen any ghosts today." Tucker mumbled to Sam, to which she (surprisingly) agreed.
...
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vellaphoria · 3 months
Note
hello! 2, 5, or 6 for the ask meme? : D
Thanks for the ask, anon! (questions are from this ask meme) 2. Will you participate in any fandom exchanges or fic challenges, etc?  I really really really want to, but I always seem to either miss the signups for them or forget that they're happening... 6. Which yet-to-be-started fic is first on your list?
It's 100% a DickTim witcher au >:3c further details in another answer (here)
5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?
Definitely the Tim comes back wrong fic, now with vampirism XD
The fic is currently 21k long, so this counts as an excerpt, right? right
Forty-two minutes after Tim’s alarm went off, Dick watches him shuffle past the kitchen’s bar counter. It’s five minutes longer than it took him yesterday morning and nine minutes longer than the one before that.
There’s a dull, flat-sounding whump that is almost certainly Tim collapsing onto nearby couch.
Dick gives himself the space of two inhales before he puts aside the peppers he’d been chopping, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.
The area just outside of the kitchen is a moderately large, well-appointed living room. Couches form three sides of a square, with the fourth side being closed off by an unnecessarily large flatscreen.
As he approaches the nearest couch, he sees several of the throw pillows scattered across the floor. Peering over the back of it, he sees Tim lying prone with his face buried in a pillow. There’s a faint groaning sound coming from him.
“How did you sleep?” Dick asks, trying not to sound as hesitant as he feels.
Another groan.
“That well, huh?”
Tim shifts, flopping over onto his back with all the grace of a fish left on the shore. His eyes are still closed, and that makes it harder to ignore how the skin beneath them seems almost translucent, highlighting the veins in his lower eyelids.
“I’m not sure I did,” Tim mutters. “Not for lack of trying…”
His eyes blink open. Today they’re a deep, nearly-luminescent green. The color’s full in a way that the rest of Tim isn’t. Each day, his skin seems a little more pale and his cheeks seem a little more gaunt.
The urge to reach down and stroke the too-defined line of his cheekbone makes itself known in the back of Dick’s mind. But he quashes the thought before it can gain any traction.
“Do you want tea?” he asks. “Coffee? Something else?”
“Breakfast?” Tim asks, sounding hopeful.
“Sure. It’ll be a few minutes though.”
Right on cue, Tim’s stomach rumbles. He rests his hand on it delicately, his expression screwing up a bit.
“Did I hear a delivery person come by earlier?” he asks before Dick can voice the concern that he’s certain is bleeding through his expression.
“Uh, yeah. I sweet-talked Tam into having some more groceries put on the company’s discretionary spending budget.”
How, exactly, Tim heard that from upstairs is anyone’s guess. When Dick had checked in on him before coming down to the kitchen, he’d been sleeping so deeply that he seemed dead to the world.
“Anything good?” Tim asks him, looking hopeful.
“Depends on what you think is good. My current plan is making a mountain of bacon and maybe some toast.”
Tim’s hand finds the back of the couch, curling around it as his fingers dig in hard enough to look nearly bloodless. He uses that grip, plus a hand on the cushions beneath him, to push himself up until he’s sitting.
When he wobbles a little at the top of his arc, Dick puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
Tim narrows his eyes a bit, shaking off the assistance. Stubbornly, he starts to stand. A tremor runs through the muscles of his legs and back. He circles around the couch, walking to the kitchen. He even manages to make it most of the way there before his legs start to give out on him.
Dick rushes to catch him, getting an arm around his back and looping one of Tim’s over his shoulder. The maneuver thankfully keeps Tim from crumpling onto the floor. Its also ends with Tim pressed up against him, his hands flat on Dick’s chest.
His body trembles where it’s pressed against Dick. When he shifts, his breath is warm against Dick’s neck.
Dick’s skin tingles with the feeling of it. Even more so when he feels what might be Tim’s lips brush against him - before Tim is pulling back out of his arms, doing his best to stand on his own.
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masterofengene · 9 months
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ENHYPEN reaction to their idol! S/O passing out on stage
Warning: mentions of sleep deprivation and passing out
Heeseung
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He had known you had worked hard for this comeback, anyone could see it. But the last he had seen you was three days ago. You two always tried to make sure the other didn't overwork yourself, but both of you were stubborn beings. Eventually it came time for your group to perform at an award show that enhypen was attending. Everything went well and smoothly until right before your song ended. During your part your dancing slowed down and became sluggish.
As soon as he saw you go down, he made his way back stage and was quick to take you into his arms. He didn't care if it caused a scandal, he had to make sure you were okay even if his heart was in his stomach and his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Please be okay...it's all gonna be okay."
Jay
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You bet your ass he was right there in the wings of the stage. A proud boyfriend watching you perform at the kick off of your first world tour. Except it was right after a comeback, you had hardly slept in the past weeks, choosing to practice more than sleep in your bed. His schedule was just as hectic so he wasn't able to notice before now. When you passed out, he tried to push past the managers and staff to get to you. They wouldn't let him because it would cause too many scandals.
"If you don't let me see them-"
Sunghoon
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Your group and Enhypen were doing a collab stage to help boost your groups comeback, you had been working harder than the other members, not feeling satisfied with your performance. So needless to say your body and mind was at its wits end. Luckily for you, you passed out at the end of the song where sunghoon had to hold your hand for you to do a dip. So you never hit the floor.
As soon as the lights went out, he picked you up and got you to the doctor. But once he knew you were in safe hand he turned straight to your manager.
"So this is what we do now? Let our artists work themselves to the point of breaking?"
Jake
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He cried. He cried like a baby. His manager wouldn't let him go to you as your members got you off the stage, he felt complete hopeless. He couldn't go to see you until before enhypen would perform, but believe he stuck to your side until the very moment he had to leave again. It was clear he had been crying, his eyes were red and his fresh makes was already messed up.
"You have no idea how worried I was....they wouldn't let me see you."
Sunoo
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Cue sassy sunoo. He had known your members were pushing you harder, making you do all of the physically draining parts of the choreography. So when he saw you pass out, he acted calmly until he saw one of your members. Of course he checked if you were okay.
"How do the people that live with them not notice when they are struggling?"
Jungwon
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He got to you as fast as he could, literally as fast as he could. It started a few scandals and certainly made headlines. But to be fair, you had nearly given him a heart attack. When you passed out at the award show he was quick to run backstage, literally run backstage. He didn't let go of your hand until after you had woken up.
"Dont push yourself...I got you."
Niki
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He had no idea what to do. He felt everything all at once. Anger, frustration, worry, heart ache. But he pushed it all aside and got to you without causing a scene. He dropped to the floor and pulled you to him, only letting him and the doctor touch you. Although he handled you as if you were made of glass.
"Let them breath."
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kimiheartblade · 4 months
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A Mandalorian Lesson on Fear
Seba is a Mandalorian, of course you all know this by now. What some of you don't know is how her father trained her to face fear head on.
When she was ten years old she was taken by her father to the planet Vendaxa for a hunt. She'd been on hunts before with her father and brother. Some were to watch and learn other times she was included in the hunts. These hunts could be actual bounties or just animals. This hunt was to be her first hunt alone. She would receive no help from her buir or her ori'vod. As this hunt was to serve as a lesson, an important one in the eyes of most if not all proper mandalorians.
She was tasked with hunting an acklay, specifically a large one. The problem with this is large ones are harder to come by on their native planet, because acklay are popular in execution arenas (such as the Petranaki Arena on Geonosis.) So for a large one to remain on Vendaxa means it'd been too strong/dangerous to catch for such purposes. She was armed and sent out to hunt, her buir would observe but she had no guarantee that he would even step in if things became too much. This was part of the lesson.
She encountered a very large and very territorial male acklay who did not appreciate her presence while he was on dry land hunting for a meal, nor did he appreciate her attempts to end his life. The acklay put up a terrible fight, there were several times where it nearly sliced her or speared her with its deadly claws. At one point she took cover behind a huge bolder only for it to punch a hole right through it missing her by inches. Eventually she had been able to outsmart it and crushed it's head with a large boulder killing it instantly.
When her father approached her after she demanded to know why he'd put her through that. She couldn't recall her ori'vod having to do anything like this, though she had seen him on dangerous hunts before but she'd never once seen him afraid like she had been. Her father explained that in a real fight there will be times you don't have time to feel scared. That in a fight for survival fear can cause you to make mistakes and get yourself killed. Now that she had faced something that frightened her and killed it, she would know in the future she could face anything without fear. That mandalorians do not fear death that they face fear head on and fight with everything they have.
They skinned the beast and took what meat they could as to not let it go to waste. As it was her first kill her father made a pouch from some of the beast's hide as her first trophy a reminder for her of the dangers she's already faced no matter what life throws at her next.
tags: @daimyosprincess @matchademi @t3mpest98 @techs-stitches @king-chaos-world @the-bad-batch-baroness @starrrgazingbunny @wackylurker @hideflen @dystopicjumpsuit @homemade-clones @dukeoftheblackstar @powdered-kneecaps @aza-trash-can @sgt-morgan @sunshinesdaydream @littlemissmanga @badluckqueen ( idk who else may wanna see this)
Note: This is based off something Jango did to Boba as a child in one of the comics, this is not much nicer than what Jango did but... I feel it's tamer. I still say Jango was a very good buir and loved Boba so much.. but ... WHAT THE KARK SIR?!
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