#treeline farm

[jvstinderosa]

A glimpse of the beauty to come

#tree #treeline #rainbow #pennsylvania #spring #springtime #nikon photography #nature #nature photography #nikon #grass #green #farm #fence #trees #sky #clouds #storm

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Make It Back

A/N: A right of passage- sticking the reader character into the 'Andrea shot Daryl' scene :) Reader goes OFF on her, so be prepared lol. Sorry if you love Andrea

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader

WC: ~4k

Warnings: talk of Daryl's injuries, falling down the cliff, Walker attack- nothing too graphic; Andrea shooting Daryl but just grazing him; mentions of gore/blood- nothing too graphic; angst, comfort, fluff, cuddling; Daryl being sassy; reader character fighting with Andrea (yelling match)

Summary: You confront Andrea after she shoots Daryl, thinking he's a walker. With your anger taken out on her, you then comfort Daryl as he spends the night in the Greene farmhouse.

You heard the gunshot. Everyone on the farm did. You just didn’t know exactly what had happened.

Following Lori’s lead, you jogged around the house, hoping it wasn’t another accident like the one that almost killed Carl. It was a single shot. Why would anyone risk a lone round out in the open like this? On this beautiful farm.

Once you circled the house, landing in a clump of Herschel’s family and a few others from your group, all you saw was sun. Its rays were blinding yellow as they cut over the tall, deep treeline on the edge of the meadow. It was the middle of a gorgeous day.

You heard Rick scream. It was a booming, worried thing. Then he screamed again.

“What the hell is going on here?” Herschel bellowed. 

You moved closer to the field, the gravel of the driveway turning to grass under your feet as you neared the van. Dale was standing beside it with his hands on his head, panic clear in his figure as he looked out to the scene in the pasture. 

“Shit,” Andrea said as she hastily climbed down the ladder from the top of the van. She started whining, more to herself than anyone else. “No, no, no, Daryl.”

“What?” you asked, a cold shock running down your spine from the back of your neck to your heels in the dirt. “What? What about Daryl?”

“I-I thought he was a walker,” she said.

Your head whirled to the cluster of men at the treeline. You tripped, your feet rooted to the ground in horror and misunderstanding. Was Andrea actually saying-

“I shot him.”

You bolted at her confession. These days, you were used to running, having done plenty of it through the woods to escape walkers. Then, you had to be careful of roots and puddles and dead bodies and the trees slowed you down, making sprinting difficult. Now, as you watched Rick fall to his knees in the distance, reaching for Daryl’s head after it hit the ground, speed came easily to you. The open meadow of freely growing grass under the clear blue sky was practically a racetrack.

Andrea panted behind you and the useless coins in Dale’s jeans clinked together, but you were faster, your feet agile in their swiftness. Your boots didn’t pound into the dirt like theirs. You sped to Daryl, only slowing when Rick threw one of Daryl’s arms over Shane’s shoulder and took the other one over his own. Daryl’s body fell limp against them, his feet dragging.

As the men caught their balance, you took Daryl’s face in your hands, seeing it drenched in blood.

“He’s unconscious,” Rick said to you. “We’ll get him back to the house.”

You nodded, otherwise silent. 

Andrea, however, let loose her apologies and worries in a shrill voice that made everyone around tense up like their limbs were attached to drawstrings. 

You didn’t listen to her words. Or T-Dog’s or Glenn’s and you didn’t notice Rick pull something from Daryl’s neck. Only the grass had your attention as your mind ceaselessly spun. Your boots pushed the tall blades around, making them sway with your every step. The shades of green were glowing in the slowly setting sun until they were marred- darkened by the looming three-headed shadow making its way across the field. Daryl’s blood dripped with every step, leaving red droplets behind with the last of the dew.

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said. When she touched your arm, you jumped, jarred back from the peace of the meadow and into the grisly present.

You didn’t answer her.

Daryl was still unconscious by the time Rick and Shane laid him down in the bedroom. While they’d carried him into the house, you beelined straight to Maggie, asking for a rag and some warm water. You ducked into the bedroom and dodged the panicking men so you could sit on the bed and wipe as much grime from Daryl’s face and hands as you could manage before leaving Herschel in peace to bandage his wounds.

When the door to the bedroom closed you out, you sat on the floor in the hall. Earlier, you had wondered if what Rick told you was true, if Daryl was only unconscious. If the bullet had truly only grazed him. You only fully believed Daryl was alive when you washed his face clean. His brow even crinkled when the wet cloth touched it. He was in there still. 

Lori sat down quietly next to you in the hallway. She patted your knee. She didn’t have to say anything. You knew her well enough by now to know what she thought. You’re a good friend to him, she’d say. And he doesn’t have many.

You leaned your head back against the wall with a soft thunk and closed your eyes. It was tranquil there for a moment before a familiar, unwanted voice interrupted. 

“Can I talk to you?”

You opened your eyes to see Andrea standing above you and Lori.

“Now’s not a good time,” you said. It was awkward and uncomfortable. “I’m waiting for- for some word.”

“I’ll be quick,” she asked, sliding down the wall and sitting beside you.

Andrea had a knack for rubbing you the wrong way at the worst times. You wouldn’t call yourself a ‘strong personality,’ but she certainly was. Whatever it was deep down in you was constantly butting heads with whatever lived in her core. You disagreed with her most of the time, but tried your best to be patient and gracious given the losses she’d suffered and the emotions clearly wracking her. Still, you couldn’t help but feel she went about most things all wrong.

Like insisting she speak to you now.

So you stood up. You asked Lori to come find you when Daryl woke or when you could go visit him- whatever came first- and you left the house. The turmoil in your chest almost made you scream. But instead of letting it rip through you, you sucked in a deep breath and walked down the front steps. To be alone.

“(Y/N), wait.”

You could tell it was her by the sound of her voice. 

“Andrea,” you warned, “I’m not in a place to talk right now.”

“To anyone? Or just to me?”

“Does it matter?” you asked, spinning around in the gravel to face her. “Can’t you just respect that I’m- I’m trying to-”

“What?” she shouted, hands in the air. “Trying not to yell at me? What if I want you to? What if I want you to scream at me? Tell me I’m reckless! Tell me-”

“Tell you what you need to hear? That’s not my job.” You were calm, considering the outburst in front of you. “Just leave me be.”

“No.” She ran in front of you, standing with her feet spread wide, blocking your path from the farm house. Like a child. “I need to… I need to apologize. To you. For what I did to Daryl.”

A laugh escaped you. “Apologize to me?”

“Yes. And-”

“You know who you need to apologize to, Andrea?”

“Daryl, I know, but-”

“And Herschel and Rick and Glenn and T-Dog, and everyone else you put in danger when you decided to not do what you were told.”

You watched her jaw clench and set in place. Lowly, she said, “I don’t need to be told what to do.”

“Apparently you do. Apparently you don’t have your head screwed on straight!” you said.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“No, Andrea!” you cut her off with a stabbing shout. “You’re gonna follow me around like this and beg for a piece of my mind? Let me give it to you! Lord knows no one else here will.” You took her arm, leading her away from the front of the house where your temper- or loss of it- wouldn’t disturb Herschel’s family. When she tried to talk over you, tell you she knew what she was doing with that gun in her hands, you snarled at her. “Shut up! I’m speaking now.”

***

You didn’t realize that the hidden spot you led her to happened to be just below the bedroom Daryl and the other men were in. You had no clue that your every word rode the breeze up and through the window above where Rick, Shane, and Daryl could hear you as clearly as if you stood right before them.

And you didn’t know Daryl was already awake.

Shane, arms crossed over his chest, peeked out the window at the sound of Andrea’s voice. He whistled to Rick. “Catfight.” 

“What?” Rick asked. He followed Shane’s gaze and shook his head when he saw you. “Nah, (Y/N)’s good. She’ll keep her head.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure,” Daryl grumbled. “Girl’s got a temper.”

“Never heard anything out of her,” Shane said.

“Thas ‘cause you ain’t never heard her complain ‘bout you.”

“Man, shut up,” Shane growled over Rick’s chuckles. “If (Y/N) gives Andrea a talkin’ to, that’s one less thing on my list.”

Daryl violently shifted the pillow under his head. “Dun even wanna know what’s on yer list.”

Shane shushed him, spitting on the window screen, and nudged Rick. “Wanna listen to her.”

***

You stuck an accusing finger at Andrea, keeping her staring at you and squinting into the low sun. “You need to understand, there’s no ‘girl jobs and boy jobs’ here. It’s not that simple. Just because you don’t like doing laundry and washing dishes doesn’t mean you get a gun to flaunt around by default.”

“They’re wasting my skills!” she hissed.

“Those guys,” you pointed out to the pasture, where Daryl went down, “Rick, Shane, Daryl- those guys are trained with those weapons. They were fucking cops and hunters, Andrea! That’s why they get the guns right now, not because they’re better than us, or whatever the hell story you’ve told yourself.”

“Then I should be trained the way they were,” she said. “Before they took it from me, I had my own gun for years-”

“After what you did today, I hope you never get your hands on another gun! You put every one of those guys in danger today. What if your aim was further off, huh? What if you shot Glenn? Or Rick? You could have killed him right in front of his boy! Right after Carl got back on his feet, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does!” 

“Are you sure?” The sun was beating down on your back. The heat of its rays added to the roiling in your gut, making sweat drip down the side of your face and pool on your lower back. Its slick had your t-shirt clinging to you. “Are you really sure? ‘Cause if your shit aim was a half an inch better, you would have killed him today! One of our own. And you’re acting like you barely care- you’re here apologizing to me?”

“You’re closest to him,” she grumbled. “I was trying to be-”

You spoke over her meaningless words. “Daryl is an asset to this group. He keeps us safe, feeds us- he was coming back from looking for Sophia and what thanks does he get? A fucking bullet to the head. You took down a good man today-”

“I thought he was a walker!” Andrea screamed in defense.

“So what?” Your throat ached from its work and Andrea flinched. You forced a calming breath before you continued slowly and deliberately, hoping some of your words would actually stick in her head. “We are so lucky we’re allowed on this property. That we found this doctor.”

“I know.”

“And he asked one thing in return. No guns. You were told by Rick, by Shane- no guns. You saw- you thought you saw one walker and you waste a bullet on it? That one gunshot could have led a whole herd to this house, Andrea. What would have happened then?”

“I get it, okay?”

“I don’t think you do. Four men went out there to take down that walker. They explicitly told you not to shoot that gun. And you did it anyway. And for what? Pride?”

She stared at you. Then she shrugged flippantly. “I wanted to do it. I knew I could do it.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it to you.”

***

Shane whistled again from his spot in the window. “If we ever need a lawyer, she’s the one.”

Daryl laid his head back on the pillow after holding it in the air to listen carefully to your argument. His cheeks, ears, neck and chest were hot and flushed from your words about him. 

“She still down there?” he asked. 

“No,” Rick said. He rounded the foot of the bed and walked towards the door of the bedroom. “I’ll go check on her. She’ll wanna know you’re alright.”

“He’s red as a tomato,” Shane said, slapping Daryl’s foot, “but alive, right Daryl?”

“Barely,” he grumbled. 

***

It was Lori who found you first. She grabbed your wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Daryl’s okay,” she said. “You can go up and see him now.”

You ran your palms up over your cheeks and into your hair, feeling the sweat that had gathered. You sighed. “Maybe later. He should probably rest.”

“He was askin’ for you,” Rick said, appearing behind Lori with a hand on the small of her back. “Go on up.”

At that, you nodded and headed for the bedroom.

Miraculously, you didn’t run into anyone else as you made your way through the house. You would have been embarrassed to see one of the Greenes after what had gone down today in the pasture or even after scolding Andrea, whether anyone had heard you or not.

You couldn’t quite get yourself to open the bedroom door, even as you stood before it, hand on the knob. There was no talking or snoring or shifting of sheets from the inside and you debated if you would be a disturbance or a comfort to whatever mood you’d meet inside.

Finally, at length, you pushed it open.

Daryl was shirtless, legs tangled in the thin sheets on the large bed. He only took up a small portion of it, though he was laying almost diagonally across it so he could watch the door. Of course he and his tracker’s ears had heard you open it. He looked at you with narrowed eyes. 

“Hey killer,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t even.”

You stood in the doorway, watching him. His arm was tucked tight under his head as he looked away from you and down into the sheets. He tucked them up all around him, blocking his injury and most of his skin from view. You knew why, but ignored it. You instead stared at the bandage tied around his head. It made his short hair stick up wildly, like a bloody coyote in the woods. 

“You wanna be alone, or you want me to stay?” you asked, hanging onto the doorknob. 

He shrugged. “Dun matter ta me.”

That was the closest to a yes you were ever going to get. You closed the door behind you with a soft click and walked to the emptier side of the bed to sit on its edge. “You need anything? Water, or-”

“Got it,” he said, blindly pointing to the nightstand beside the bed.

“Kay.” The air in the room was hot, but since the sun was setting lower and lower each minute, you knew there’d be a breeze blowing through the lacy curtains soon enough. You wiped your brow again. “How are you feeling?”

“‘Bout as bad as I look.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

You breathed out a laugh. “You looked like death itself before, though, so this is an upgrade.”

He glared at you, but it was playful. For him, you knew it was. “Well, I was shot.”

“Yeah.” 

You swallowed hard at the reminder. Next to his glass of water was the bowl and cloth you’d brought to him earlier. You reached for it now, wringing it out some before bringing it to his forehead which was as damp with sweat as yours was. 

“What else happened out there?”

“Nuthin’,” he said, shrugging off the cloth. 

You didn’t budge and asked again. “You look rough, Dare. Herschel said there was something with your side too? I saw all the blood.”

He was quiet, attention again on the sheets as you dabbed at his forehead and cheeks. There was still blood on his chin and grime on his neck- mud and something else you didn’t care to guess at. You stopped at his shoulders. It was clear he didn’t want you looking anywhere near his chest or back, buried in the sheets. 

Then you noticed him watching you.

“You…”

“Hm?” you pushed.

“You were worried? ‘Bout… ‘bout me.”

“Of course I was. Still am. You’re one of us, we’re all worried-”

“I fell. And a couple’a walkers found me.”

Panic shot through you like lightning, branching through your veins and up your limbs. “Walkers?” No one told you. No one said anything about a bite or scratch or anything- “Is that, the injury on your side, it’s from a walker?”

“No,” he was quick to correct. “Nah, I fought ‘em off. Didn’t get me.” “Christ,” you whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to keep the unshed tears stuck in your eyes.

“When I fell down the cliff, I took an arrow through my back.”

It didn’t-couldn’t-register. “You fell down a cliffside?”

“Twice.”

That was all you could take. The emotion, the stress and panic of the day, of the weeks past, caught up to you in one drowning swell. You felt your lips tremble and tried to keep them shut up tight, tried to count the bumps in the washcloth still in your hands, dripping on the knee of your jeans.

“Ay,” Daryl said, gruffly. He took the washcloth from you and smacked your arm with it before tossing it near its bowl. “Dun do that. Dun- dun cry fer me-”

“Argentina?”

“Wha?”

It made you laugh. It was a wet, snotty laugh and the curve of your cheek pushed out a fat tear that carved its way down your face. “It’s a song,” you said.

“Don’t start singin’ neither.”

You chuckled again, losing more tears and the fight to not cry in front of Daryl. 

With a painful grunt, he moved himself on the bed, opening a spot for you. He patted the empty space, mumbling. “Come on.”

You kicked off your boots and laid down on the bed, mirroring him. One arm supported your head, while the other tucked tight against you, keeping to your own space as you looked at him. His teeth dug into his lip over and over as he studied the hair and freckles on his arm as if he’d never seen it before. 

“Were you scared?” you whispered.

After a long while, narrowed blue eyes met yours and he nodded.

“Out there alone.” Your voice broke, shaking with the tight breath in your chest. 

“S’alright. M’back now.”

You flopped on your back, away from him for a chance to breathe. You were losing your grip and you didn’t want to break in front of him. You were there to support him, not force him into comforting you. But the thought of him in fear and suffering alone was stubbornly lodged in your throat. 

“When I was out there climbin,’ that’s what I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Daryl said. “Thought ‘bout comin’ back. Seein’ ya. Knew I had ta get back.”

His words hung in the air. They were soft and open, his voice less harsh than usual. 

“That’s right,” you said. Using the collar of your t-shirt, as sweaty and dirty as it was, you wiped the tear tracks from your face and cleared your eyes.

“Now we both look bad as I feel,” Daryl said.

“Shut up,” you said. But you laughed.

The air felt clearer now. It wasn’t so stifling hot and you watched the transparent curtains dance in the breeze coming in through the window. Again, you turned to him, laying on your side, able to study him more. Daryl, however, seemed like he couldn’t bear the attention. His flitting gaze fell on just about everything in the room except you until he seemed to settle upon the safety of the bare ceiling above, studying it as if it were a map to a hidden treasure. Like a cure to the world’s mess.

“You okay?” you finally asked.

“Did you mean it? What ya said?”

“When?”

One of his hands flew up, gesturing toward the window. “Earlier. To Andrea.”

You hummed, lips glued together for a moment. “You heard all that?”

He chuckled. “Loud and clear. She deserved it.”

“Mm. Just lost my temper.”

He grunted, agreeing. “But’cha- what ya said ‘bout me.” He struggled for the words, throat and mouth working for the right thing to ask. “Said I was a good man, ya mean that?”

“Of course.” You sat up, moving your face into his line of vision. You made him look at you. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. And I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I didn’t think it.” Your fingertips grazed his skin, tickling down his cheek until they turned the other way, your knuckles running the same path for good measure. “You are a good man. I see you. I see the things you do and no matter how much you like to hide it, I know you have a big heart. I’ve seen it.” You gave him a soft shove on the shoulder, teasing. While you were there, close to him, you brushed the hair off his forehead before returning your hands to yourself and laying back flat on the bed.

He grunted and pressed his lips together, staring at where your face had been, the spot that was just the bare ceiling now. Then he shrugged away from you and turned to the opposite wall and grumbled, “S’not what I asked, girl.”

“Gave ya some extra bang for your buck, that’s all,” you said. When he didn’t turn or even chuckle, you bent towards the floor for your boots. “Want me to go? So you can get some rest?”

He gave you nothing in answer. You at least hoped he heard what you said, took it to heart. But, you thought, that’s what you get for blubbering all over his bed. Only slightly bothered, you leaned towards the nightstand to see if he had enough water for the evening. Then, you’d leave-

“Dun haf’ta go,” he mumbled. 

“Oh.”

“So long as ya don’t go all girly ga-ga on me again.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he peeked at you over his shoulder. “You mean telling you that I actually care about you? Then don’t go tryin’ to die on me again.”

He flopped over. “Ya think I wanted to fall off the damn cliff? Fuckin’ horse threw me off.”

Setting your boots back down, you settled into the bed next to him. “Horse shoot you with your own crossbow too?”

“You shut your mouth, girl.”

“Mhmm.” you hummed, grinning.

Like two parallel beings, you laid opposite each other, close, but not touching. You used your own arm for a pillow and tucked yourself under the sheet of the bed. Daryl looked past you, as if watching the door as another breeze blew through the room.

“Here,” he said, shimmying up towards the head of the bed and sliding the arm of his uninjured side under your head. You laid close, tucking your arms into your chest so only your elbows and your knees crossed over into Daryl’s space.

At least, it was that way until he leaned down into you, resting his chin on your forehead and letting his other arm drop over your side. You let loose a sigh at the touch- he’d made it back.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead Daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead Daryl dixon x reader #my writing #daryl dixon comfort

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumptober 2023

No. 4 Shock | No. 7 “Can You Hear Me?”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Platonic/Early Relationship)

Setting: Post farm / Pre prison

Warnings: Electric shock, blood, CPR

“M’gonna check the fence.”

“I’ll get the generator.”

It was a safe enough place to make camp. It was freezing, snow coming down in large flakes to stick to the couple of inches already on the ground. Being inside a building was already a blessing but with a fence around it? You couldn’t ask for more! 

The few vehicles left to your group were unloaded, everyone else was inside getting set up. You opted to stay close to Daryl, as you often did. Sometimes, he seemed annoyed. Other times, indifferent. But since the fall of the farm, you found that he didn’t seem to mind your company. Hell, he had even sought you out the nights you had watch. Conversation was always light, but the silence in between became comfortable. The man didn’t sleep much, but when he did, he opted to sleep close to the group so that he was near you. 

It wasn’t until he started putting his arm around you on cold nights, pulling you back against his chest, that you began to question exactly where you stood with him. Friendship was one thing. That was an entirely different animal. Not that you were opposed. Simply confused. Even more so, when it became a common occurrence. 

There wasn’t much you could do right now to help. Staying out of the way, hovering somewhere between Rick and the archer, was probably the best option. You began to check out the treeline, eyes peeled for any signs of danger, living or dead. Thankfully, it was quiet. You felt like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Glancing down at Daryl, he was pulling on sections of the fence, checking their integrity. It seemed like a kind of heavy wire, not chainlink. If it kept out walkers and unsavory characters for the night, it could have been made of playdough for all you cared. 

A glance back to where Rick worked found him studying the generator. There was barely enough light of day left for him to see without a flashlight. Maybe you should offer yours. You let the idea move about uselessly in your head while your eyes curiously followed some of the cables from behind the generator. Strange. What was out here that needed power? 

The generator was sputtering when you found the metal clips at the end, your brow furrowed. They were attached to the fence. That didn’t make— ‘Oh, shit!’

Y/N, meet other shoe. 

“Daryl, let go!” You cried as the noise from the generator spurred to life, your eyes filled with horror just as the archer turned his head toward your call, both hands on the wire. There was a loud sound, like one of those lights meant to fry mosquitos but amplified. Your feet were already moving before Daryl had hit the ground, tendrils of smoke rising from his clothes. 

“Oh my god, Daryl! Daryl, can you hear me?” His eyes were closed. Small streams of red filtered from his nose and— oh, god — his ears. His palms were burned, charred and smoking from his grip on the fence, while smaller burns were scattered across parts of his skin that you could see. You didn’t know if you should touch him. Your knowledge of anything medical was limited to smacking someone on the back if they were choking. What help could you be now? “Rick!”

The ex-sheriff was already stumbling onto his knees beside you, nervously assessing the situation. You heard the door open, the others obviously hearing your cries. “What’s going on?” Hershel. Yes! Yes, you needed Hershel!

“Fence. Daryl. Shocked.” You stammered, not making much sense but the old man was jogging over anyway. 

“He’s not breathing.” Rick muttered, mostly to himself, with a haunted, panicked glaze over his eyes that you were slowly coming to know very well. He lifted Daryl to remove the crossbow from his back. It’s a wonder the thing wasn’t broken from the impact. Maybe it was. Hershel and Rick moved as if they could read each other’s thoughts. The veterinarian began chest compressions, halting only long enough for Rick to force air into the archer’s lungs with a trembling hand pinching his nose shut. 

Everyone had moved closer but kept distance to let the men do what was needed. Except Carol. Through her own tears, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you to your feet. 

“No.” You mumbled quietly at first, shaking your head before pulling against her to get back to Daryl’s side. “No! Daryl! Daryl!”

“They’re trying to help him!” The older woman reasoned, spinning you so that your cheek was pressed against the front of her shoulder. You could barely see through your tears but Rick was shouting in frustration, and Hershel kept shaking his head. “It’s okay.” Carol whispered. Her fingers carded through your hair but offered little comfort. 

“Daryl.” You whimpered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

A loud, wheezing inhale came from the ground, followed by a series of coughs. It was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. 

“Glad you’re back,” you heard Rick practically gasp the words, his tense posture relaxing a little. Hershel slumped in exhaustion but it gave you a glimpse of Daryl. He was pale, drawing in quick breaths, and had yet to move. 

“Think… fence s’good.”

In all your time with your little apocalypse family, you had never seen Daryl sleep as deeply as he was now. It had only been a few hours since the incident, but the image of him, unmoving, was trapped at the forefront of your mind. Everyone was asleep, aside from T-Dog being on watch by the door. The room was warm, the small fireplace enough to keep a little heat going even as the flames burned lower. 

You sat next to where they had placed the archer, giving him the only bed in the building. He protested that Lori should have it, of course, being pregnant and all, but even she had insisted. Exhausted from the trauma, he had fallen asleep soon after Hershel had done his initial checks for early signs of nerve damage or any heart abnormalities. His palms were wrapped heavily, having received the worst of the burns. Dried blood was still beneath his nose and ears, but that could be dealt with later. Gauze covered the other burns on his arms and neck. You were instructed on how to check his pulse and what to watch for while he rested. 

“Ya ain’t tired?”

Your eyes had been glued to the rise and fall of his chest, so engrossed that you hadn’t noticed his eyes open. Those pretty, pretty blue eyes. 

“No, I’m, uh…I’m good.” You sniffled and moved forward to the edge of the chair, reaching for his wrist. He flinched but didn’t pull back as he would have only a few months before. “Just checking your pulse.” He gave an almost imperceptible nod, eyes slipping closed. Satisfied, you sat back and rubbed a hand over your face. You really were exhausted but letting someone else watch over him wasn’t an option.

“Y’alrigh’?” His eyes were still closed. He must’ve picked up on your uneven breaths or the tap of your foot. Clever jerk. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Like a human Pop-tart.” He turned his head toward you, eyelids heavy and expression pinched. He was in pain, though he’d never admit it. Hershel had left some Tylenol but you’d have to wrestle him to get him to take it. 

Still…

“Hershel left—”

“Don’ need it.”

“Of course you don’t.” You pursed your lips and crossed your arms. “Go back to sleep.”

“Ya need ta sleep too, y’know.” 

“I have to keep an eye on your heartrate.” 

He hummed, eyes opening a little wider. Without warning he pushed himself up onto his elbows with a wince and moved to the opposite side of the bed, collapsing back onto the pillow. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” You whisper yelled. You hoped he could see your irritation in the glare you were giving him since you couldn’t verbally express it at the moment. 

“Shuddup an’ get in.” Daryl gave a jerk of his chin toward the now empty space in front of you. 

“Daryl, I need to—”

“I gotcha covered. Jus’ get in, damnit.” With an annoyed huff, you toed off your boots and climbed under the blanket, flopping onto your side to face him. “Now c’mere.” The archer stretched out the arm closest to you in invitation. You hesitated. Sure, you’d slept next to him before but he was behind you, keeping you warm. This was…not that. “C’mon, ain’t got all night.” Gulping audibly, you scooted closer, gently laying your head against the front of his shoulder. His arm came around from behind you to rest against your side. 

“Won’t this irritate those burns?” 

“Nah, s’fine. Gimme yer hand.” You lifted your hand from where you had it sheltered in front of you and allowed him to gently grab your wrist with his fingertips. He was carefully avoiding his wrapped palm coming into contact. Your hand was placed, palm down, against his chest, his fingers pressing it flat. “There. Monitor away an’ get some sleep.” His heart thudded strongly at a regular pace, the feel of it soothing. You found yourself smiling at this sweet gesture, only to look up and be met with his raised brow. 

“You’re such an ass. Go to sleep.”

“You firs’.”

“Fine.” A beat of silence. “Think I’ll dream about Rick kissing you again? That was kinda hot.”

“Stop.”

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #no.7 #shock #”can you hear me?” #the walking dead #fic #electric shock #cpr #blood #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #murda writes

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Whatever you make of me

some word vomit i came up with. Special dedication to @trippygalaxy! Enjoy your SR!Link. Not proofread, im going to bed, this took hours

Tw: Kidnapping, mention of murder

｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’d always known Link to be kind. From the earliest days of your childhood you’d known him to be the definition of kind. He’d run errands for his grandfather, look after injured animals and even stood up to your childhood bullies on a few occasions. Point of the matter was, Link was a good willed person. Someone you could trust, and have on many occasions, with your life. Someone you would spend time, and currently are, walking to the edges of the world to ensure his safety.

He’s changed on some levels, sure, but he’s proven he’s still Link. He’s grown to be taller than you now, he’s let his hair get longer, he no longer trusts people with the same open heart, but you can tell that ultimately he’s the same person. He never pushed past your boundaries, he still lets you braid his hair, he still regards you with the same crooked smile as always. He’s just Link.

You were worried first upon seeing the Realm, it’s softly glowing gem off putting. There was something new about the scruffy farm boy you grew up with that you couldn’t place. Something aside from the obvious. There was more about him than there always was, something you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about. You felt as if the era you knew him was coming to a close, as if watching him leave for his adventure was seeing him out of your life. So against better judgement, you followed after him.

It’s been months since then, though it didn’t really feel like it. You learned a lot since as well. Swords didn’t feel unfamiliar in your hands, you learned the basics of healing and even met a few spirits. Learning to fight was the hardest of the three, surprisingly. Between having the spirits of heroes since passed trying their hardest to pretend you’re capable of fighting alongside Link and the man himself making your heart rate double whenever he’s within a two metre range of you, learning how to sword fight was difficult. And yet you learned. You learned how to manage the weight of the sword and your body, you learned when to swing and when to dodge, you learned responsibility and respect for your blade. You learned to fight.

You also had to learn collateral for after the fight. What herbs numb, which others will actually heal. You were reckless on your own when you didn’t know how to use your blade, but Link did and somehow managed twice the bruising. But it allowed a methodical chore that bought you some time alone when it was needed. You’d take your journal of herbs and head off into the treeline, throwing an explanation to Link over your shoulder. And that’d be it. And you’d usually return an hour or so later, flowers and herbs in hand. And usually Wild and you would joke and share stories as you prepped the herbs into elixirs.

But the longer you struggled against the rope blinding you to the pillar, the more you realised that may not be the case. You may not make it back to Link. You may not see your village again.

Link has always known you to be courageous. Despite himself being the literal hero of courage, he often found himself looking toward you. From the earliest days of your childhood, he can recall the never dying fire within you. That determination to fight in whatever you’d set your mind toward, you had a grit to you that he found admirable. Alluring, even.

He’s aware now more so than ever that there are people who’d fight to take your place at his side. People who’d give up every bit of themselves to be with him. But seeing you grow around your own will of betterment made him realise how unique you really were. He really didn’t have anyone as much as he had you. Or, At least, He didn’t want to have anyone else as much as he wanted to have you. You were the one to see past the circumstances that shifted him of kilter, and yet you accepted the whole for what it was. You changed to adapt and yet stayed much the same.

He admits that while the both of you could’ve done anything and spent your time with anyone else, he’s glad he got to live with you. It was privilege, or perhaps payment for the life he was given. In any case, it’s not like he’d ever admit it wholly.

Maybe some small part of his heart could understand it of himself, but it’d never be something he’d speak out into the world. He wouldn’t dare so much as write such vulnerability into existence. It was something for years he’s wrestled down, a hunger he’s learned to manage. He’d never force himself upon your side, he’d come at your every beck and call, but he’d never even dream of being the source of your discomfort. He only wished to bring you the love you brought upon him. Such a feeling he told himself he could not acknowledge. Such a feeling that could drive a man to madness if they were not careful. Such a feeling would to him if he were not careful.

It had been hours since you’d told him you were leaving to forage, and with not much more aside from your scream, you were gone.

He could feel him pushing at himself, pushing for him to find you, to help you. And yet he was effectively helpless. It took him nearly a week to track down the solitary fort you were presumed to be in -of course that was always presuming that they hadn’t moved your location since then and that you were still alive.

His sword felt oddly light in his hands as he trekked through the entry to the fort. His memories from there are hazed, mixed and muddled together until he can’t make much sense of them. Such a thing tends to happen when he taps into too much of the realm’s power. He embraces his soul, it guides him through the movements, cutting down body after body with little genuine regard for the consequences. All he cares about is getting to you, making sure that you were safe as he should have been able to ensure. He failed in keeping you safe once, but you would be again by the end of the night.

Seeing your slumped body tied to the support pillar was a mixed sight. He was endlessly relieved that you were alive, sure. But if there was so much as a single scratch on your skin, he could not guarantee the lives of anyone in the building. It was as if, at that moment, there was no filter to him. There was no better judgement telling him to stop as he cut you free from your bindings. There was no second guessing as he stole the breath from your lips with his own. He drank you in after so long of being starved by your absence. There really wasn’t any replacing you, the sentiment was incorrect down to the principle.

Seeing Link again, there was something different. Not odd or bad, just something about him that you couldn’t place. The blood was the most glaring, you’d have to double check him for injuries when you both were out of here.

Rather, it was his behaviour that struck you as off. He fell to his knees and desperately cut you free of the rope, hardly giving you a moment to process before he kissed you. It was uncoordinated and a little messy, but it was made up for in giddy enthusiasm.

He pulled back, his eyes glowing -no short of the word- as they searched you over. They fixated on your rope burns before he pressed tender kisses there too and lifted you up bridal style, not so much as a murmur passed between the two of you. There was something off about Link, but you suppose nothing really changed.

#legend of zelda #link x reader #link x you #yandere link x reader #sacred realm #sr!link #sr!linkxreader #loz sacred realm

[samspenandsword]

The Fields of Sorgan: Din Djarin/Reader (Fem)

Summary: When Mando takes the job on Sorgan, he runs into the reality that he’s never had to take care of a baby before. Let alone a non-human baby. Luckily, the woman housing him is more than happy to help.  Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader; fem!reader with no mentions of her appearance. Rating: GEN — SFW Warnings: None — allusions to violence, small amount of language, domestic bliss, fluff, ridiculous amount of baby and child antics, topics relating to being/becoming parents (NO PREGNANCY) some angst towards the end. Word Count: 4.3k

When you and your sister-in-law Omera volunteered to house the ones who promised to help repel the attachs and raids on your village, you hadn't quite been expecting who actually came. One was a woman, tall and obviously strong with dark hair. She left quickly with Omera, Winta and her million questions bounding along right behind. But the other, the one who followed behind you with steps quieter than his armor seemingly should've allowed, was the Mandalorian. You'd never met a Mandalorian before, though you'd certainly heard of them. Even on Sorgan, you'd been told stories of the greatest warriors in the galaxy.

Mando was quiet as he followed you, weaving around the pools and paddies of krill your village farmed to brew spotchka. You lived around the outskirts of the village, closer to the treeline than anyone else. You had your small hut, and your barn, equally small. You hoped it would be enough for the warrior, but something told you he had slept in worse conditions than a small barn.

He himself was quiet, which you imagined helped him sell the whole brooding-warrior-in-beskar image he wholly embodied, but as you came back into the barn, carrying a pile of hand-stitched and woven cushions and blankets, he thanked you.

"I appreciate it."

He had a soft voice, with a mild gruffness behind the modulator. You couldn't tell if the gruffness was natural or if it was simply a result of him not talking much.

"It's no trouble, really. I appreciate everything you're doing for us. I know we weren't able to pay what a man like you would usually make."

His weight shifted a little, caught out, but you didn't allow him to feel awkward for long, disappearing once more. When you returned, only a moment later, you set down a bassinet not far from Mando's makeshift cot.

Mando's baby, or foundling, you supposed, was cute. In an ugly sort of way. You'd never seen a lifeform like him before. He was little, green, and wrinkly, with wispy hair on his head. His ears were the size of his entire body, his eyes huge and curious, and he wore clothing that could've doubled as a sack for potatoes.

You couldn't help but smile at him. "Hi, little one." At your voice, the baby cooed, raising his arms up in a clear request to be held. After a subtle nod from Mando, you obliged the baby.

"Ooh, you are a cutie, aren't you? You're going to be spoiled rotten. Are you hungry, baby? I bet you're hungry. Let me get some food for Mando and then I'll get some bone broth for you."

You soon learned that the baby was a bottomless pit when it came to food. He truly would eat all day if you and Mando let him. Thankfully, he was occupied most days by the village children, who were absolutely delighted to have the child as a playmate. He spent the days both before and after the attack running around the paddies with the other children. And came back with his insatiable appetite. You might be annoyed by it if he wasn't so damn cute.

And if you didn't have such a soft spot for his father.

You'd only referred to Mando as the child's father once, and you had seen the way he shifted. He obviously wasn't sure what to make of the term, so you'd never used it again. Eventually, in the days following the successful defense of your village, he told you how the child came to him: the bounty, the Imperial remnant, the rescue, the Guild coming after him, the Covert coming to his rescue. You weren't sure exactly why Mando was telling you everything, but you had the feeling he simply needed someone to vent to. He'd obviously never had that before, and you were happy to listen. A lot had changed for him in a simple matter of days, and he had no idea where his future would lead. But all the same, he had still helped you and your village, so you were happy to give him whatever he needed. Food, shelter, cover fire, an ear.

Childcare lessons.

It had been fairly obvious from the start that Mando had no idea how to take care of an infant, even if that baby was 50 years old. And even for you, who had helped to raise your younger siblings, there was a bit of a learning curve. The child wasn't human after all, so neither of you had been sure what was and wasn't safe for him to eat, or what would provide the best nutrients for him, and Sorgan didn't have the resources for either of you to go researching. Mando told you, with a dry sort of humor in his voice, that the child seemed happy eating everything from bone broth to live frogs. You'd grimaced.

"Let's hold off on the live frogs for now," you said. "I'm not sure all those bones are good for his digestion."

The baby was miffed every time the both of you scooped him up when he went after the frogs hopping around the paddies. But you both held firm.

But he definitely loved bath time.

He loved the splash Mando, and to blow bubbles under the water, smiling and giggling all the way. He loved when you made little swirlies in the water, and seemed genuinely upset when bath time was over. At least, until you wrapped him in a blanket warmed by the fire and let him snuggle with you.

He was a cuddler, that was for sure. Even with Mando, who was constantly covered with his beskar. The baby didn't seem to care. He simply liked being in the arms of others.

Especially you and Mando. Though he loved toddling after Winta and the other kids as well.

He was a good sleeper, too. Sometimes, he could be fussy when he was put down, but he usually fell asleep and stayed asleep.

Though there were definitely harder nights. Nights where he woke up, wailing and crying.

The first night it had happened, it had taken you a moment to realize what was happening, unused to the sound of a baby crying in your home anymore. It was a few days after the attack, and the town had been sleeping soundly for the first time in what felt like months. But as the baby continued to cry, you stood up and padded out to the barn.

Mando was kneeling at the baby's bassinet, awkwardly, shushing him like he was a too-loud droid and not a baby. Feeling a little amused, you knocked on the door slightly, announcing your presence.

The slump of Mando's shoulders either meant that he was relieved to see you, or that he was guilty the baby had woken you up.

Maybe both, but you didn't mind.

"Hi, baby," you cooed gently, padding towards the bassinet. You kept your voice soothing, gentle, warm. The baby had fat tears rolling out of his big eyes, and though you weren't sure what was wrong, you knew the baby needed to be held right now.

You just didn't think it was you he wanted to be held by at the moment.

"Go ahead, Mando. Pick him up."

He hesitated slightly, but stood and gingerly lifted the child from the bassinet. You huffed with amusement. He was holding the baby so awkwardly, like a bomb about to go off.

"Closer," you instructed, gently guiding the baby into the Mandalorian's chest, which you realized was beskar-free. For perhaps the first time since you'd met him. "Hold him closer."

You kept your hand on the baby's little back, soothingly rubbing it as he released a little hiccup and continued to cry.

"Rub his back," you said, taking Mando's hand and pressing it to where yours had just been. You kept your hand over his. It was the first time you'd seen him without gloves as well, and his skin was warm against yours. You tried not to dwell on that. "Like this. It grounds him."

Mando slowly rubbed the child's back, a little awkwardly still, but you could tell he was trying.

"Rock gently," you continued. "Just a gentle shift of your weight, side to side, with the barest bounce. Yeah, just like that."

Mando slowly rocked the baby, your hand still covering his own. Your hand had come to smooth over the child's wispy hair. Mando eased closer so you could continue more easily. You felt his proximity more keenly than you cared to admit.

You swallowed.

"Talk to him," you said next.

"About what?" Mando asked, sounding a little confused.

"Anything. Everything. Just let him hear your voice."

Slowly, and maybe a little unsurely, Mando began to talk. He was clearly unused to making idle chat, and you smiled amusedly as he began to list the specs of his ship. A Razor Crest, he said. How it was pre-Empire. The engine speed and capabilities. The weapons systems. Both spec and modified. How he'd built a chamber into the ship so he could freeze his bounties in carbonite.

Slowly, but surely, the baby began to calm down, his cries quieting to sniffles and hiccoughs, and eventually fully ceasing, his little face smushed into Mando's chest as he slept once more. Mando fell silent again too, slowly, and a little tensely, replacing the child into his bassinet. You gently tucked him in, and the baby continued to sleep soundly.

You gave Mando's arm a gentle squeeze. He didn't tense or jump at the contact for once. You tried to chalk it up to him being tired.

"Why was he like that?"

You chewed on your cheek a little, wondering how to answer.

"Children get scared, Mando. What happened a few days ago was scary. And he may not have seen everything, but children pick up on their surroundings more than you'd think. We were tense and scared, so he was too. He could've had a nightmare."

Mando was still, like he'd never considered the possibility. You squeezed his arm once more.

"I got him next time. We can take turns."

And with that, you both went back to bed.

But the next morning, things were undeniably a little different between the two of you. It became less of Mando taking care of the child while you gave tips. More of you both taking care of the baby. You ended up sewing up a quick sling for the baby so he could be with you when you woke early and made breakfast, letting Mando sleep in a little further. Or when you did laundry and mended clothes from the village. There had been one day where the baby had been particularly insistent on staying close to Mando, and it had been more than a little funny to see the baby, smiling and swinging his little arms from the sling around Mando's beskar-covered chest.

The memory of Mando's sigh still made you giggle.

You also remembered when you'd taken the baby with you as you ventured out for a hunt. As one of the only people in the village other than Omera who was proficient with firearms (your brother, her husband, had taught you both), you often brought meat and foraged plants back to the village. The baby had been strangely thrilled when you'd brought down a particularly large grinjer.

You'd chuckled at him, dropping a kiss to his little head. Traveling with a Mandalorian was going to do weird things to the child's sense of humor.

The days came and went in relative normality. And somehow, the warrior-in-beskar and his little foundling simply became part of the village. As did the former shock trooper, who you found a bit intimidating, but good-humored. Winta seemed to really like her, and Omera seemed happier and more at ease than you'd seen her in a long time. And the longer the village went with peaceful, raid-free nights, the more it seemed to settle. Children laughed and played more, the work in the paddies no longer seemed so draining, and the village simply began to feel like home again.

But a stone grew in your gut with each passing day. Because you were beginning to wake with the fear that each day would be the last you got to spend with the Mandalorian and child.

And that day soon came.

It was a nice day. The sun was shining and the sky was blue with lots of fat, fluffy clouds. It was perfectly warm with the more pleasant breeze wafting over the grass fields around your village, just before the thick trees of the forest.

You'd packed some lunch for the kid, trying (and failing) to keep him from slurping it all up in five minutes flat before he toddled off to chase some dragonflies.

You smiled, shaking your head fondly from where you sat on a well-worn, well-loved blanket. It had become the baby's favorite in the weeks he'd spent with you. He didn't want to go anywhere without it.

You were so, so conscious of the fact that Mando was sitting just beside and slightly behind you. So close you were aware of every breath he took. So close that all you had to do was lean over an inch, and your shoulder would brush against the armor on his chest.

"It's... very nice here."

Your good mood dropped. You'd been fearing, expecting this for days now. But it didn't stop the swell of disappointment in your gut. The words made you feel chilled, as if the warm midday sun had simply decided not to touch you. The fond smile that had graced your face was no longer there, replaced with something grave.

"It is."

Your voice was level. More level than Mando had ever heard it. He winced beneath his helmet. You knew where this was going, and it made you upset.

He had made you upset.

It hurt him more than he wanted to acknowledge.

"He's very happy here."

Mando's helmet tilted in the direction of the child, who paid the two of you no mind as he chased dragonflies and butterflies over the grass in your peripheral.

"He is."

There was a pregnant pause, and Mando realized you were going to force him to say what he meant. What he was thinking. What he was feeling.

You were good at that, in a way no one else he'd met was. He both loved and hated it.

"We raised some hell here a few weeks back. It's too much action for a village like yours. Word travels fast." There was a pause, as Mando swallowed and forced himself to continue, unable to meet your heavy, upset, knowing gaze. Even from behind the sanctuary of his helmet. "There are kids here. And everyone's finally happy again. I can't stay knowing it could bring more attention to your home. More danger. It's time to cycle the charts and move on."

Your throat began to tighten, and it took physical effort for you to keep your voice level when you responded. And when you did, it was still in barely more than a whisper.

"When do you want to tell him?"

The two of you looked over towards the baby, playing happily in the grass. The sight of his little mud-stained outfit, and the idea that you might not get to cuddle and hold and feed him again made your eyes sting too.

"I'm leaving him here."

You whipped your head back around, mouth falling open with shock.

"What?"

"He's happy here." Mando's voice, gruff as it usually was, contained a softness to it you'd never heard before. He almost sounded... sad.

"Mando, no -"

"I can't take him." The softness left Mando's voice, replaced with a vehemence that made it sound more solid, more organic than his modulator should've allowed. "I'm a bounty hunter, not a caregiver. You showed me that. You can take care of him better than I ever could. I track bounties for days, sometimes weeks at a time. And I'm wanted now. I can't bring him with me and knowingly put him in danger. Knowing I can't provide for him like he needs. The credits your village gave me is barely enough to cover fuel for my ship, let alone food or toys or new clothes like he needs. I —!"

Mando's voice never increased in volume, the two of you still speaking in hushed tones so as not to gain the baby's attention.

"Traveling with me..." Mando's voice was soft again, and this time you were certain of the sadness in his tone, "that's no life for a kid."

Your throat was still tight. Maker, you were upset. But you couldn't deny Mando had some good points. His lifestyle was dangerous even before he went rogue and rescued the child. And now, he would be forced to take jobs with less pay and more danger than before, now that the Guild was looking for him, thirsty for retribution. It wasn't a stable life. Not by any means.

And children needed stability. If not from a lifestyle, then from people. Mando could provide neither.

You could provide both.

But Maker, you were upset!

"It'll break his heart," you whispered. You didn't add that Mando's leaving would break yours too.

"He'll get over it. We all do."

His words made you angry this time.

"Get over what? Losing a parent? Or being abandoned."

Mando actually flinched.

"That's how he sees you, Mando," you said. Now that you'd started, you couldn't stop. "You rescued him. You saved him. You were the first positive figure in his life in who knows how long. You're as good as his parent, Mando. And he needs a parent."

Mando looked at you, gaze piercing into you. "He has a mother."

The words that once might have made your heart feel warm made you, instead, feel cold.

"He needs a father, too."

A tense silence fell between the two of you, broken only by the happy squeals of the child, some feet away. He was now digging in the dirt. Maybe looking for a worm.

Or maybe a frog to eat.

Your anger melted away as you looked back at Mando. You knew this was upsetting him as much as it was you. In the weeks he'd been in your village, you'd seen how much the warrior had grown to care for the baby. The increasing involvement in his daily routine. The way Mando cuddled him closer on bad nights, the way he spoke more, the way he helped you with bath time, even took care of the baby in the mornings to allow you more sleep. You'd seen the way he'd grown to see the child as his charge. Maybe even as his own.

Just like you had.

You scooted towards Mando, sitting as close to him as you possibly could without being in his lap. He didn't shy away from the press of your legs against his, and his gloved hands covered your own as you reached up to grip the cowl around his shoulders.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel worse, Mando. But he's not going to understand that you're doing this for his own good. All he'll know is that you left him. That is what he's going to remember, fifty years from now, when he's grown and talking and has maybe grown out of his habit of eating live frogs."

Mando's shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. A sad chuckle.

"You don't have to do this," you whispered. You clutched the fabric tighter in your fingers. "I know your Creed is important to you, and I would never ask or expect you to abandon it. But... you could stay. The village wants you to stay." You bit your lip, voice lowering until he nearly couldn't hear you. "I want you to stay."

Mando's hands squeezed your own, and ever-so-gently, leaned his helmeted forhead to yours. You exhaled shakily, blinking back the wetness in your eyes. Because even as you'd said it, you knew it simply wasn't possible.

Mando couldn't stay.

"Cyar'ika, I —" But he stopped. Because you'd stiffened. And in a blink, you'd grabbed his pistol and shot into the trees.

Mando whirled around in time to see a dark figure fall to the ground.

"Get the kid! Get back to the village!"

He grabbed his phase-pulse blaster and sprinted towards the trees. You gripped the pistol still in one hand, scooped up the scared child in the other, and ran back to the village.

Omera and the trooper, Cara, met you.

"What happened?" Cara questioned.

"There was a figure in the trees," you panted. You cuddled the baby close. You'd stared at the edges of the forest every day for your entire life. You knew what they looked like. You knew when something was different. "They had a rifle."

Cara darted towards the trees, drawing a blaster of her own.

Omera wrapped an arm around you. "Come on, let's get inside."

Mando didn't return until nearly an hour later. There was a cup of tea clutched in your hands. You'd settled the baby down for a nap. And though he'd fussed and refused, your rocking and singing had eventually lulled him into slumber. Mando stopped in the doorway before slowly approaching. Something about his posture made you feel dread.

"Bounty hunter?"

"Yes."

"Was he tracking you?"

There was a pause. "No."

Your eyes closed. "The kid?"

Mando didn't need to answer. He sat down beside you, shoulders tight with tension.

"They'll keep coming for him, won't they?" you said.

"Yes. They knew he's here."

You swallowed hard. You could not imagine what had led to someone putting a bounty out on a child.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll get his stuff."

But when you went to stand, a gloved hand stopped you.

Mando didn't say anything for a few minutes, but it was clear there was something on his mind. So you waited, squeezing the hand that held yours.

"Come with me."

The words came so suddenly and so quietly you were sure you'd imagined them. But you blinked, looking into his visor, and saw the sheepish, almost hesitant set of his shoulders.

"What?"

"Come with me." Mando stepped closer, gripping your hand more surely. "The kid can't stay here. And neither can I. The bounty hunters will keep coming. They won't stop. The pay-out for him alone, let alone both is too high. But... you were right." He squeezed your hand again. "We were both right. He needs stability. He needs a caregiver. A parent. Someone who can watch him when a bounty is too dangerous to bring him. Someone who can take care of him and my ship when a bounty takes me away for days at a time. Someone who can provide a more consistent, stable presence than me."

You were sure you looked a picture right now. You had never left your planet before. Barely ever left your village. The life of a farmer was one you had been born into, and while you had entertained the fantasy of something different in your youth, you had been forced to accept that your place was on Sorgan, in your quiet little village where everyone grew and married and farmed krill.

"I don't know anything about taking care of a ship."

"I'll teach you."

"I can't fight."

"You can shoot. You took that bounty hunter down in one shot from several meters away. And you're strong. Farming has made you strong. With some training from me, you'd be able to hold your own. You'd be able to protect yourself, and him if it came to it. And it'll come to it."

There it was, the admission that if you accepted, your life would become far more dangerous than you were used to. The recent raids on your village had been the most danger you'd ever experienced before. But for Mando, it had been just another day. And part of you still couldn't believe what you were hearing. Go with Mando? Leave Sorgan? For real?

But the young spirit in you who'd never gotten to stretch their wings or see the stars beyond Sorgan was roaring at you to accept. No matter how reckless or irresponsible it may be. You knew it'd be difficult. You knew the learning curve would be a steep one. You knew there'd likely be days where you wanted to get angry and yell and cry. Days where Mando wanted to storm off and grumble and get frustrated at having to suddenly share his space with two more people, one of them a child. You knew there'd be hard days, and maybe, maybe in the end you'd grow to regret it. Decide to leave and barter passage back to Sorgan on cargo ships and merchant vessels that came to Sorgan to pick up spotchka.

But then, Mando's words from earlier rang in your ears.

"He needs a mother."

The baby sleeping in your barn was the closest you'd ever come to having a child of your own. To being a mother. And even though it had only been a few weeks, the stinker had thoroughly worked his way into your heart. You literally couldn't imagine your life without him anymore. And you looked at the beskar-covered Mandalorian in front of you. The figure who'd come into your wet little village, armed to the teeth, and saved you all. The man who'd also wormed his way into your heart without even trying. The closest you'd come to truly falling in love.

And you knew you wouldn't regret it.

"Give me thirty minutes to pack?"

Mando touched his forehead to yours once more, squeezing your hand in his. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed into something far happier.

"You have twenty."

Taglist: @redheadgirl @nekotaetae @theroguesully @hotpinkplastoid @starstofillmydream @ttzamara

Join my taglist here!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #grogu #grogu is a menace of a child and that's why we love him #star wars #star wars x reader #f!reader #fem reader #fem!reader #star wars oneshot #gen rating

[mocha-gladiator]

Chapter 1

I dont intend to post the chapters in succession, but maybe just a few favorites would be nice. This is based on my favorite fae, the ghillie-dhu, and as many doubts as I've had, I've always kept this one passage. I only hope it means well to you

Year 3702 BT

“Why do you cry, girl?” It was a simple question, never easily answered, but it came from such a soft and honest voice that she at first did not notice the teeth behind the kind smile. Ivy stared at him for a moment, a man dressed in green with moss growing over his shoulders and down his cape. His hair was wavy and black, and his eyes a pale yellow and ever changing, like a cat’s. She watched the pupils grow from slivers as he spoke again. “Why do you cry, girl?” Her own voice sounded like a lamb’s bleat, something she was not used to. But this was not home. This was not a place to be used-to. “I want to go home.” The creature grinned again, with teeth that were certainly not human. Ivy knew that if she had seen him from a distance, she most certainly would have ran, but here close she could see the humanness in his face and the warmth in his laugh. “I know all the trails,” he assured her. “The rabbit’s trail, the mouse’s trail, that of the deer and that of the man. Tell me—where is it you want to go?” “Home,” she bleated at once. But of course that made no sense. Not to him. “Whythiecomb.” The man in green nodded, and reached out a hand. A normal, human hand. “I will show you the way.” Ivy put her hand in his, and was a bit surprised to find it warm. But what had she expected? A cold, dead one? The fae were living creatures, too, after all. She walked with him out of the briar patch and stepped onto a trod path that had not been there before. Or else, if it had, she would have found it and followed it, right? The girl did not even know up from down in this forest anymore, not with night falling. Maybe the path had been there, and she had just been too tired to notice. Regardless, the dirt felt better on her bare feet, and the forest not nearly so scary with someone there for comfort and guidance. “Thank you,” she breathed, watching out the other way. “Do not thank anyone in the fae forest,” the black-haired man warned. “Someone might think that you owe them a favor if you say those words.” Ivy looked up at him. His tone felt different, but still gentle towards her, and his face was still on the road. “What do I say instead?” she asked. The fae was quiet for a moment, and she watched his yellow eyes dart around as he searched for the right thing to say. “You do not say. You choose some small thing to do or say instead.” He held up a silver hand, pointing up. “But you do not owe me a thing. Understood?” “Yeah.” She said on reflex, and he could tell she did not. His strange eyes turned back to her. Was it worth explaining? They had a little ways to go yet. He turned back to the road and drew a breath. “If you speak the thanks, the other person takes it as an owed debt, and they can choose to take it from you whenever they like, but you act out the thanks yourself, you get to choose. Sometimes all it has to be is leaving out a bowl of cream, or a shiny trinket. Does not have to be much.” Ivy tugged on his hand. “Isn’t a bowl of cream for cats? Do you like cream?” The fae chuckled under his breath and tugged her hand in turn. “No, girl. I asked for no thanks. I am just warning you if you were to meet someone else. But don’t come back this way again, yea? There are beasts in these woods that would like to eat little girls like you.” “No, there’re not.” she said at once. “Yes, there are,” he insisted. “Do not come back. I will not be here. I will not let you find me if you look. It is not safe.” He slowed to a stop as the treeline faded into a grassy field, and beyond lie a mill and farm and a pen with goats. The fae knelt down in the tall grass and set his other hand atop hers and looked her in the eye with his strange ones. She watched as his cheeks smiled kindly, and the darks of his eyes grew big. “But if you are ever lost in the woods again, you can call me, and I will come find you.” Her face drooped as she realized she would have to leave soon. “How will I call you?” she asked.

“I am Morad. Do you think you can remember that?” He cocked his head at her. “You are quite young. You may not.” “I will!” she said at once, bouncing on her feet. “I will, I promise!” Worry flashed in his eyes, followed by bemusement before his sharp-toothed grin returned and he shook his head. “Well, what is my name, then?” She stopped and stared at him. “Uhhhhm….” Another quiet chuckle stirred in his throat. “Morad,” he reminded. “My name is Morad.” “Morad,” she repeated back, then looked at him rather puzzled. “That’s a weird name.” The fae shook his head. “Not really, but I have forgotten my real one.” He winked. “Somebody stole it.” Her face crinkled up. How could somebody steal a name? You could not even touch it. “You’d best be off,” he pressed. “The stars will be out soon, and your family will start to miss you.” Her face sobered again. “Do you really have to go? You could come live with us.” For a moment, the strange creature almost looked hurt, as if he might cry, but the softness soon came back. “Nae. Homes are for little girls like you.” He poked her belly. “I am a wild thing, like the deer. The woods are my home.” “Can I see you again?” she asked as he rose to his feet. “Maybe,” he considered. “But do not come looking for me. You will never find me that way.” “But—“ Her mother’s voice came on the wind, and she turned her head to see the woman at the bottom of the fields near the stream. When she turned back, the fae was gone—nothing there beside her but a few crushed stalks. Her face saddened, but she turned towards home. “Goodbye, Morad,” she called anyway, waving her hand at the pitch dark. A pair of eyes glowed from the bushes, and the shadows brightly answered, “Goodbye, girl.”

#white stag #my writing #the weeping faun #Ivy #Morad

[karniss-bg3]

Writing prompt! While travelling in the forest Tav and Kar'niss meet a human (probably druid, at your liking) who lives in the hut. The man greets them with surprise, but with no hostility. He is ok with Tav and absolutely fascinated by the drider.

A/N: Switched a few things up as I had an idea in my head. Hope the minor changes still suit what you were after. Thanks for the prompt!

[AO3 Mirror]

***

The first chill of the autumn season had cracked through the summers heat which carried across the realm, inducing change in the landscape. Orange and yellow hues dominated the treetops creating a harvest season ambiance that uplifted the traveling pair while also warning of winter’s steady approach. Kar’niss in particular seemed fascinated by the array of new sights and smells as it was his first time on the surface during such a time. The scents of burning wood wafted on the breeze, drawn from nearby farms who were discarding excess leaves and fallen trees. The crunch of withered foliage beneath their feet followed their every step, the path they traveled surrounded on both sides by thick woodlands that spanned on into forever. Squirrels were heard above them leaping from branch to branch, their cheeks stuffed to the brim with nuts collected from the ground in preparation for the upcoming season of famine. This place was full of life and activity and Kar’niss could focus on little else, his curiosity too great. Tav noticed the drider stopping at various intervals to examine which ever caught his eye, including a collection of red capped mushrooms growing from a dead log.

“It is nice out here, isn’t it?” Tav asked.

Kar’niss stepped back from the edge of the road, turning his body to better face his companion. “Yes. Is there a reason the trees on the surface change like this?” He pointed above his head and then motioned to the ground where many leaves had come to rest.

“It is what they do before winter comes. Their leaves change colors and fall away, leaving the branches barren during the winter months. I assume it is so they won’t break under the added weight of the snow.”

He hummed and craned his head back, his many eyes blinking in unison. “Snow?”

Tav chuckled. “Snow is...frozen water that forms into small flakes and falls from the sky when it is really cold. It’s white, soft and covers the ground.”

“Oh,” Kar’niss crossed his arms, “that sounds unpleasant.”

“It can be. But I imagine we’ll find a town to settle in long before it becomes a problem. Once the frost breaks we can continue our travels.”

Satisfied with the answers, Kar’niss resumed following Tav on the path forward. As the pair rounded the bend in the road they were promptly met with a problem. Ahead of them a wall of winding thorn covered vines stretched between the trees either side of the road. The obstruction seemed to extend a great distance in either direction preventing them from advancing. Kar’niss frowned and took a cautious approach while sliding his sword free from his back.

“A strange growth,” Kar’niss said.

“I don’t see a way around it, either. I wonder where it came from.”

He swung his sword in an effort to cleave into the blockage. While the blade did make a dent in the thick creeping plant it seemed that it was still rather resilient and would not yield. It didn’t stop the frustrated drider from trying again, unleashing a series of strikes against the barbed barricade which did little more than shear off smalls chunks. The wall proved to be immovable.

“You will not break through,” a peculiar voice rumbled behind the pair.

The duo whirled around, startled and on high alert. At first they didn’t spy the source of the voice until they spotted subtle movement in the treeline. Their vision adjusted in the mid-afternoon sunlight, seeing what looked to be a pile of earth with leaves spread over top. Upon further inspection they realized it was not earth but rather an individual, a bizarre one at that. Seated on a patch of grass looked to be a humanoid shrouded by layers of worn cloth. The fabric itself was frayed at the edges, the colors a mixture of muddy brown and faded green. Twigs and autumn leaves were collected on a patch of moss that had grown on the back of their garb shifting their position only when their host moved. A heavy cowl was tucked over their head with an off white deer skull mask protruding from underneath the folds. Atop their head, pushed through the fabric of the cowl, sat a crown of antlers which had a few strings of moss and dirt dangling from the various curved hooks. In the sockets of the macabre mask were an illuminated pair of green orbs acting as eyes, focused and staring at the pair.

Kar’niss scuttled forward and in front of Tav taking on a protective stance. He thrust his sword out to point at the mysterious creature, on high alert. “Who are you?? Did you make this barrier?”

“No,” the stranger began, “I do not know why it is here.” The voice sounded masculine in pitch, a drawn out, breathy monotone that was neither threatening nor friendly; Neutral.

Tav stepped around from behind Kar’niss to get a better look at the new comer. “We need to get through before the frost comes. Do you know another path?”

“None you would care to traverse,” he said.

Both Kar’niss and Tav sighed in frustration, both with their current conundrum and the stranger’s casual response to it. The drider was still on edge, the appearance of this unknown individual a bit off putting to him.

“You didn’t answer me. Who are you?” Kar’niss asked once more.

“I am Valkier.” He shifted enough to lift an arm, his skin ashen in tone and fingers capped with black claws.

“My name is Tav and this is Kar’niss. Do you live around here, Valkier?” Tav asked.

“Yes and no. I’ve come to investigate the barrier. Once that has concluded then I shall depart.”

“Have you learned anything or know when it may be removed?”

Valkier shook his head. “No.”

Tav clamped a palm to their forehead and tapped a foot. They’d then look to Kar’niss with a scowl. “Well this is a problem. The nearest town is half a days walk and where we just came from. Even if we push it we won’t make it before nightfall. It’ll be an uncomfortable experience camping in these temperatures.”

Kar’niss shuffled side to side nervously. “What do we do?”

“If I may offer,” Valkier began, “my home is a short distance that way.” He pointed behind himself. “You may shelter there for the evening if you are so inclined.”

Both Tav and Kar’niss side eyed one another with a wary glance. They didn’t know this man and couldn’t even be sure of what he actually was with his appearance obscured so.

“Without meaning offense, why would you offer two strangers entry into your home? One being a drider no less,” Tav said.

“Most tend to cower when they see me, you aren’t,” Kar’niss added.

Valkier rocked his body from side to side, picking up the gnarled quarter staff that had been resting in his lap. He’d use it to hoist himself up from his seated position, excess dirt and leaves trickling off of his body as he did so. “A drider on the surface is most unusual. In fact, you would be the first I’ve encountered. My reasoning is thus; If you were a danger you would already be dead or imprisoned. It is not as if a drider can easily go unnoticed, especially in towns. I offer my home as an act of kindness. You do not have to accept if you are worried.”

It was a sticky situation for the pair. While wary of Valkier they feared their fate if they camped on the road more. With reluctance and little choice Tav took Kar’niss by the hand and ushered him toward the treeline where their would be host stood.

“Lead the way.”

Valkier nodded and turned to guide them deeper into the forest, away from the familiar road they’d traveled most of that day. The unusual man walked ahead with more of a wobble in his gait, using the quarterstaff as a walking stick. He seemed to be compensating for the weight of the many layers of cloth piled on his frame making it unclear as to what type of build was hidden underneath or even his race. Unsure of how long it’d take to reach their destination Tav opted to fill the silence with a series of burning questions.

“If it’s not rude to ask, what are you?”

“I am Valkier,” he responded simply.

“R-Right but I more mean...what type of creature are you?”

“Unimportant. Know that I am benign and mean you no harm, that is all that matters.”

Kar’niss and Tav side eyed one another, confused but deciding it was best not to press further. Kar’niss had to choose his path through the woodlands carefully to ensure he didn’t get stuck on the way, weaving his large body between trees and over obstacles in their way. The thick layout of the forest began to relent, opening up more as they approached their destination. Soon the trio came upon a vast clearing surrounded on all sides by towering trees. Beams of light filtered into the glade casting light across a sea of tall grass mixed with wildflowers. At the center stood a rustic cottage that was dome in shape, built from wood and mud which made the structure sturdy. Piles of straw capped the roof lined with wooden beams to keep the hay secure. A small brick chimney poked from the right side of the building pumping out thin plumes of smoke, the scent of honey and sage permeating the air. A single, round wooden door stood closed at the front flanked either side by two small windows of the same shape. To say it was cozy was an understatement and it looked as if it had been sitting in this spot for quite sometime.

“Oh it’s beautiful,” Tav whispered.

“Mm thank you. It could use some repairs but it is holding strong,” Valkier said.

As they made their approach Kar’niss shrank once he got a good look at the homes size, particularly the front door. “I don’t think I can fit through that.”

The druid chuckled, the sound coming out in a broken wheeze from beneath the bone mask. “You can.” He lifted his staff and pointed it toward the entrance, waving the wooden rod in slow, tight circles. As he did so the pair witnessed the home expand and outstretch, it’s dimensions increasing before their very eyes. The door increased in height and width until it nearly overtook the front of the home, now more than large enough to accommodate one of Kar’niss’ size. They both gasped in surprise, the drider taking a few steps back with an anxious gait.

“How did you do that?” Kar’niss asked.

“It is my home. It does what I tell it to,” Valkier said. “Come inside.” He waved his staff and the door swung open effortlessly. He waddled his way through leaving it open for his reluctant guests.

“Should we?” Kar’niss asked, looking to Tav.

“Well, we’ve come this far and now I am curious. Be on your guard.”

Tav stepped inside first to survey what awaited them. While the exterior size appeared to increase the interior didn’t look to match, at least at ground level. Directly ahead of Tav was a square wooden table with four chairs made of the same material with intricate swirled designs etched into their backs. To the left sat a compact kitchen with limited counter space and a wood burning stove, a few cabinets attached to the walls above. Hanging over a hand washing basin were strings of dried herbs that likely explained the earthly aroma about this place. To the right of the table was a comfortable arm chair upholstered in forest green fabric. It looked old and well used suggesting it was a spot favored by the druid. It rested in front of a small, stone fireplace which was currently lit by a warm fire that kept the temperature a stark contrast to the chilly outside. In the back corner was a single, solitary bed covered in a nest of quilts piled at the center left in a state of disarray that mirrored the rest of the interior. Books were strewn about haphazardly and potted plants dotted the shelves and every available corner. When Tav focused their gaze upward they’d see the ceiling was impossibly high up and likely caused by the forced expansion. Timber beams crisscrossed over the canopy providing stability.

Kar’niss stepped in behind Tav and like them he marveled at the inside, careful with his steps so as to not knock something over by mistake. “A marvel. You said you came here to investigate the blockage, yes? Has it been here that long?”

Valkier meandered to the stove to put a kettle of water on. “No, I suspect only a day or so.” He waved a hand which prompted the door to close behind Kar’niss.

Tav squinted. “But this house looks like it’s been here for years. Did you find it abandoned and move in or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Valkier said, maintaining his neutral tone.

“If you’re not from here, then where?” Tav asked.

Valkier shook his head and slowly turned around, green orbs within darkened sockets focusing on his guests. “Make yourself comfortable then we might chat.”

Tav exhaled and pulled out one of the wooden chairs to take a seat. They looked to Kar’niss who obviously couldn’t fit. Before either could voice their concern Valkier held up a hand.

“One moment.”

His clawed fingers curled then outstretched in the direction of the floor beneath Kar’niss’ wide legs. Both of them felt a mild tremor, the floorboards creaking audibly as they splintered and crackled. From beneath a series of vines stirred but unlike the ones blocking the road these didn’t carry thorns. They slithered beneath the driders body which did startle him. Having little room to back up he could do no more than watch as they bunched together to form a solid surface beneath his body, raising up to conform to his unusual shape. When the movement stopped Tav realized that Valkier had made Kar’niss a seat of sorts, the back cradling his bulbous abdomen while the front curled up to support his humanoid torso. It appeared almost like a wavy, green slide from the side point of view and it conformed to him perfectly. More so, Kar’niss was able to get up and move away without trouble if he so chose.

“There, that should do,” Valkier said.

Tav smiled a little while Kar’niss clutched his arms to his chest, still a little confused about the entire affair. “It looks comfortable at least,” Tav said.

“A bit...yes.” Kar’niss said.

Valkier approached the table with three mugs in hand, steam rising from each. He’d place them down and slide two to his guests. “Now then, I believe it is my turn to ask some questions.” Valkier steadily lowered himself into a seat, clasping the mug in his palms to warm them. “Where is it you’ve come from?”

Tav eyed Valkier from across the table, lifting their mug to take a cautious sip of the hot liquid within. It had a distinct floral taste to it with a mild bite on the tongue, a tea of some sort they concluded. “Baldur’s gate.”

“Ahhh Baldur’s Gate, a city recently under siege to my understanding. Mind flayers and the very elder brain itself descended upon the nation stirring up chaos. Were you caught in the middle?” Valkier asked.

The drider took a sniff of the concoction in the cup and scrunched his nose, finding it too potent for his liking. He’d roll his shoulders still a bit tense but trying to follow Tav’s lead. “In the top, the middle and the bottom. We were the ones who felled the beast.” Kar’niss murmured.

The green orbs hovering in the sockets expanded in size, as if widening from such news. “You are the heroes of Faerun? My, what an honor it is to host such esteemed guests. If I had known I’d be receiving such legendary company I would’ve taken the effort to tidy up.”

Tav smiled and shook their head. “No need, we’re just grateful you welcomed us at all. We would’ve had a hard time of it if we had to camp outside overnight.”

Valkier hummed, a funny sound that reverberated within his throat as he did so. “I am curious how a drider not only came to be on the surface but somehow aided in saving the world as we know it. I must say you are a delight to look at, Kar’niss. Your very form speaks to me.”

He’d jerk his head back with some surprise, the drider’s expression twisting to mirror his clear confusion. His pedipalps clicked against the surface of the chair of vines he sat upon. “How does the way I look speak to you?”

“You have a haunting beauty. Your body tells a story, one of tragedy and struggle. I know little about the drow, I admit. But I have taken to studying them since my arrival. If you are here traveling by your own free will it means you’ve broken the chains that bind. It’s an admirable feat and one you should be proud of.”

“I try not to think about what it’s taken me to get here,” Kar’niss stated, his voice quiet, “but I do acknowledge the road has been long. I hope you don’t intend to gawk at me the entire time we’re here.”

Valkier snorted, his fingertips tapping in clean succession along the side of his mug. “If by gawk you mean stare for hours on end, then no. But if you would humor me I would enjoy the chance to speak to you on a more personal level. It is not everyday you meet a drider much less one that isn’t hostile from the start. And a hero of the realm, besides! Any information I wish to gather will be non-intrusive if that helps.”

He tensed, sinking deeper into the chair as if trying to hide away. He looked to Tav, the only one he trusted in this situation. While he said nothing his gaze suggested he was searching for their approval more than anyone.

“It’s your choice, Kar’niss. If his questions or requests make you uncomfortable then you can turn him down. I’ll be here the entire time.” Tav reached over and rested a hand on one pedipalp, issuing a gentle squeeze to put him at ease.

He seemed to think it over, his gaze darting between Tav and Valkier in contemplation. Choice was still a new concept to him and one he had trouble coming to terms with, the very idea that he could say something and it would be honored. His arms crossed before he issued a single nod. “Very well. I will answer what I am able but no more than that.”

Valkier held up his hands. “That is all I could ask for.”

The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Valkier doing precisely that. With a journal in hand he would ask a series of questions about Kar’niss and his origins, jotting down the pertinent information as it was provided. Tav sat by and watched, paying particular attention to Kar’niss and his overall comfort levels. As promised much of what he asked was non-intrusive. All but one.

“How did you come to be a drider?” Valkier asked.

A silence fell over the room, a budding tension rising in the air. Tav frowned and looked to Kar’niss who shrank in his make shift seat, his legs clicking at the ground either side. Strange as Valkier may have been he wasn’t oblivious to the change in the atmosphere.

“If it is too much you don’t have to answer,” Valkier murmured.

Kar’niss took in a slow inhale of breath, his claw tips picking at the winding vines he was perched upon. “Not...too much, sensitive.” He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, hesitation written all over his features. Tav reached to take Kar’niss’ hand into their own, offering a gentle squeeze to help ease his anxiety. After a pause he nodded to affirm to himself and continued. “I would rather not recount that.”

“Very well. Forgive the offense.”

The line of questioning continued, topics varying from the culture of the Underdark to the travels Kar’niss and Tav went on to bring them to this point. The exchange was relatively pleasant and without incident. As evening morphed into night everyone at the table felt the creep of exhaustion overtake them.

“Where is it we should rest?” Kar’niss asked.

“I don’t have much room but I can provide blankets and you may rest near the fireplace. You are free to make a web in the rafters if you so choose. I can find uses for the silk you leave behind.”

Tav smiled and nodded. “That sounds perfect, thank you.”

Kar’niss took the given permission seriously. He climbed the wall and began weaving a web from one side of the home to the next until a thick veil of silk hung above the ground floor like a sticky tarp. The lines were secure and strong ensuring both he and Tav could rest comfortably. “It is done,” he’d call down to his companion.

Tav wandered over to Valkier. “Thank you again for allowing us to stay. I don’t know where we’ll go tomorrow if the road hasn’t cleared but this kindness did save us some trouble.”

“Of course, think nothing of it. I am certain tomorrow will yield you good fortune,” Valkier said.

Kar’niss climbed down far enough to scoop Tav up into his arms, carrying them up into the nest he had built for them both. Tav’s sleeping bag rested on a curved incline of webbing where they could sleep without getting stuck on the adhesive strands. Kar’niss placed them upon it letting them climb in and get comfortable. He then lowered himself and took advantage of the raised webbing so he could lay his torso over top, his preferred method of snuggling with his companion. His arms and pedipalps wrapped around them while his head settled on their shoulder. The pair saw Valkier climbing into his bed below but rather than lay down he instead crawled into the mountain of quilts situated at the center. Sitting cross legged he’d wrap himself in the pile until only his antlers stuck out, his own comfortable cocoon acting as a hideaway spot.

“He’s a bit unusual, isn’t he?” Tav whispered.

“Mm, a bit. So are we, I suppose,” Kar’niss murmured in return.

“True,” Tav chuckled. They ran their fingers through Kar’niss’ long white locks with one hand while stroking his back with the other, taking the moment to revel in each others company. A thought dawned on them considering the lengthy discussion they’d had with the druid. “When you told me why you were turned into a drider you mentioned you changed your name. If I may ask, what was your name before?”

The drider lifted his head to look at Tav, his chin resting on their collar bone. “My mother named me Rhyltran.”

“Rhyltran? What does it mean?”

“Moon weaver,” Kar’niss explained. “She said my skin looked as if it was woven from the very fabric of the moon itself.”

Tav cupped the side of his face. “Moon weaver, I rather like it. Do you miss that name?”

He shook his head. “No. It belongs to a man who doesn’t exist anymore. I...had considered changing my name again after the battle in Baldur’s Gate, a way to mark a new era for myself. But you seemed attached to the name Kar’niss so I thought better of it.”

Tav blinked with surprise, their head cocking to one side. “Oh? What name did you have in mind?”

“Selds’yrr.” He’d make eye contact with Tav and smile. “It means sworn protector.”

Tav sucked in a gentle breath, their heart swelling within the depths of their chest. They’d lean in to bump nose to nose with their dear drider. “It suits you. No matter the name you take you’ll always be the man I grew to love.”

The pair shared a kiss, their lips coming together in a tight seal. They’d hold one another until they drifted off for much needed rest, warm and cozy in their hosts home.

The night passed and morning would come. The pair were greeted by the steady chirp of birds outside the home as well as the rustling of leaves tussled by autumn winds. Tav rose first, peering down from the webbing to greet Valkier. To their surprise the druid was no where to be seen having long since abandoned their quilt pile.

“Strange.” Tav gave Kar’niss a gentle shake which prompted a groan of disapproval from the drider. He was very comfortable in his position over Tav, burying his face deeper into their neck to avoid being forced to move. “Valkier is gone,” Tav said.

With reluctance, Kar’niss would skitter back and helped Tav rise from the bedroll. “Then we should seek him out.” He’d let Tav climb onto his back while peeling the bedroll from the webbing, rolling it up to store away among their things.

After retreating from the rafters they moved to the front door, opening it to peek out into the clearing. There they’d spot Valkier, seated in the middle of the glade where the morning light shone brightest. He basked in the rays, his head craned in such a manner that it appeared he was staring skyward. Tav wandered outside to approach him, looking on with curiosity.

“Morning, Valkier. I hope you slept well. The druid gradually craned his head to look up at Tav, those swirling green orbs enlarging in their sockets as if sparking awake. “I did. I trust you both did as well.” That monotone voice ever present.

“Yes, quite well in fact. Now we must face the troublesome task of working out where we’re heading. I assume the vine barrier still stands,” Tav said.

He shook his head. “No, it has fallen. The way is now clear.”

“What?” Tav squinted and looked to Kar’niss, confused. “How? That wall was massive. It couldn’t just...up and disappear.”

“It seems it has. Some questions are better left unanswered.” Valkier rocked side to side to get the momentum needed to rise to his feet. With quarterstaff in hand he would turn to face the pair. He lifted a satchel that he had packed at his side, handing it to Tav. “For your journey.” They took the pack and peered inside. A collection of food and small potions were contained within, mostly cheese, bread and smoked meats. “Oh this is very generous. Thank you, Valkier.”

“Of course. Thank you for the company, it is so rare to have guests. You have a long road ahead and time to make up. Do not let me keep you.”

“You’re right, we are behind. We appreciate your hospitality. Maybe we’ll meet again?”

Valkier rolled his shoulders beneath his many layers. “Perhaps. Have a safe journey.”

Tav motioned for Kar’niss to follow once they had collected their things. Valkier stepped forward to stop the drider, at least for a moment. “I won’t forget what you’ve told me. Hard as life may have been it seems you’ve been gifted a new start. I sense good things in your future, Kar’niss. Find peace in that.”

A moment of quiet fell between the pair as they looked at one another. Kar’niss couldn’t explain why but he felt a sensation of calm wash over him, from one end to the other. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes locked on the verdant orbs ahead of him. He’d step away to follow Tav, leaving Valkier standing firm in the middle of the clearing. A gust of wind tossed a flurry of fallen leaves across the landscape, fussing the branches of the many trees surrounding them on all sides.

Just as they approached the treeline ready to depart, Kar’niss turned to look back only to startle himself in the process. “Tav, look!”

Tav turned to do just that, their eyes widening once they realized what had surprised the drider so. The cozy home had disappeared from sight along with any evidence the area had been occupied at any point. Only an empty glade remained, unspoiled and serene. “He’s gone.”

Flabbergasted and a little unsettled they decided to move on, not wishing to incur the ire of forces unknown should they linger. Both were quiet once they found the road and resumed their travels, pensive and wondering what it is fate had caused them to meet. When they reached the point in the road where they were blocked before they saw the vine wall had vanished just as Valkier said. The way was clear and bright, silently inviting them to travel onward. Tav lead the way following the road around the bend which led them out of the forest and into a mountain pass. The rocky cliff side was steep on the right and open on the left, revealing a vast landscape down below. They knew if they slipped off it was likely the end of their journey so they stuck close to the wall instead.

Not far into the new territory they spotted activity up ahead. A series of ox drawn carriages appeared to be hauling large rocks and boulders in the direction they were heading. A crew of half orcs and tamed ogres were hard at work chipping away at a pile of stones that were scattered across the road. One of the half orcs turned to see the approaching pair and immediately went into high alert.

“DRIDER!”

This prompted all to shift their focus from the clean-up efforts to preparing for a fight, weapons drawn and formations taken. Tav jogged ahead of Kar’niss and held up their hands defensively.

“He’s with me, he’s friendly! We’re no threat. We’re just looking for passage,” Tav called out. Kar’niss tensed behind Tav at the ready. It wasn’t the first time his presence stirred up conflict and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

The group ahead appeared wary, eyeballing the duo with great scrutiny. “What’s your business?”

“We’re just heading to the next town over. A wall of vines blocked our path from the forest but it has cleared.”

The foreman of the crew, a large half orc with dark green skin and black hair tamed into a loose ponytail, approached with mallet in hand. “Wall of vines? Not sure what you’re talking about. We came that way last night, wasn’t anything there.”

Tav and Kar’niss glanced at one another, the drider shuffling side to side. “What happened here?” He asked.

“Rock slide, took out the entire road. We’ve been clearing it for hours, almost free.”

Tav rubbed the back of their neck. “A rock slide? About when did this happen?”

“Ehh our sources say sometime mid-afternoon yesterday. Took out a caravan of poachers, bloody mess that was.”

A silence fell over the pair. Tav turned to look up at their lover. “That was about the time we reached the wall of vines. If we had been caught up in it—“

“We would’ve been killed,” Kar’niss interjected.

A chill ran down their spines, both peering over their shoulders in unison to look back at the way they had come. The silence between them was deafening while trying to rationalize events over the last day. Kar’niss would be the one to break the silence, recalling something their host had said before their departure.

“Some questions are better left unanswered.”

The drider lowered himself to the ground, a sign that he desired Tav to climb on his back. They did exactly that, straddling behind his back with their arms looped around his waist. Once Tav was secure he’d lift himself up and resume marching the path forward, weaving between the carts and wary road workers.

This would be a tale the pair often reminisced about in the future wondering who the stranger in the woods really was. While they’d never see him again his words of encouragement stuck with Kar’niss. He did find that peace and oh so much more with his beloved Tav by his side, a new purpose that he held onto until the end of his days.

The sworn protector for the hero of Baldur’s Gate.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #karniss #drider #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #answered #my oc character #oc: valkier #kar'niss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #kar'niss x tav #gender neutral tav #fluff #adventure #mystery #romance #cripes these are getting longer #need to put a cap on myself if I want to do these in a timely manner #but when I saw druid I couldn't resist sticking Valkier in there #a minor moment of self indulgence #long post

[skyscratch-wc]

The Forest Territories

The Skyfall AU takes place (roughly) in Western Scotland, drawing inspiration from the counties of Argyll, Bute, Ayrshire, Dumfries, and Galloway. Loch Lomand and the Trossachs (in Argyll and Bute) in particular serves as an inspiration for the environment of these clans.

As such, some of the clan's environments are going to be shifted (especially Shadowclan) in order to better match the environment of these areas.

[A map will be added to this post and posted separately once I get the chance to draw one]

Thunderclan

upland oakwoods (oak dominant, rowan, alder; some ash, hazel, hawthorn, blackthorn, and bird cherry)

upland mixed ashwoods (ash, alder, hazel, downy birch, oak)

Thunderclan territory is predominantly old growth oak, stretching from the Fourtrees through to the road that separates the main woodlands from the Sprucewood (the new name for the Tallpines). The area around the Thunderclan Camp and Sandy Hollow are mixed ashwoods with a wider variety of tree species. Trees such as willows and birch are more common close to the river, but are still few and far between. The Sprucewood/Tallpines is human-planted Sitka Spruce, frequently cut for lumber. As such, the really is almost exclusively young spruce growth with very little biodiversity.

Shadowclan

fen (sedges, rushes, scrub, etc)

native pinewood forest (pines, birch, rowan, juniper)

wet woodlands (alder, willow, birch)

Shadowclan territory is very wet and trees much more sparse than in the neighboring Thunderclan forest. Most of the territory is fen and wet woodland, dominated by alder and birch trees, with the occasional willow. Upland stretches of the territory, especially by the road and the Carrionplace, are largely pinewood forest. However, the lower elevation center of the territory is entirely wetland with a stream carving through the territory. Think of Shadowclan territory as a bowl with pine on the rim and wetland in the middle.

Riverclan

river shoreline

wet woodland (alder, willow, birch)

lowland mixed deciduous woodland (oak, ash, birch, hazel, elm, etc.)

Riverclan is a lowland stretch of sparse woodland squished between the road, river, and twolegplace. The smallest territory by land area, Riverclan territory is dominated by willow and birch trees, thicker in the middle of the territory and much sparser by the edges. Meadow covers the northern part of the territory bordering Windclan and some spruce trees dot the border by the Sprucewood.

Windclan

moorland/heathland

montane scrub/treeline woodlands

blanket bogs (peatland, sphagnum mosses, cranberry, sundew, etc)

upland birchwood (birch dominant, rowan, hazel, oak, alder, cherry, aspen, juniper)

Windclan territory is a mix of heath and bog and is in general the highest elevation territory of the Forest Four. If Shadowclan is a bowl, Windclan is that bowl flipped upside down. The edges of the territory by Riverclan are wet meadow and the border with Shadowclan is more boggy and covered in peatland bog. The rest of the territory is largely heathland, grassier by the Fourtrees and rockier as the territory gets closer to Highstones and Barley's Farm. Small pockets of upland birchwood exist on the southwestern patch of the territory around the river, just before the falls.

Skyclan (Ancient)

upland mixed ashwoods

upland birchwoods

Ancient Skyclan territory occupied the region now covered by the Sprucewood and part of the Twolegplace. When this territory existed, it was mostly mixed ash and birchwoods, dominated by ash, alder, juniper, and birch trees. Patches of meadow also dotted the territory, especially in the area that is now the Twolegplace. The forest was much denser by the Riverclan border (now the Sprucewood).

Skyclan (Gorge)

upland mixed ashwoods

The Gorge Cats/Skyclan occupy a territory is actually fairly similar to the original territory in the forest, just rockier and more barren. Dominted by ashwood with a occasional patch of oak, Skyclan gorge territory is rocky and sparsely planted with new growth forest, presumably planted after humans were done quarrying in the area. The forest is thicker down by the river and the land above the gorge by the twolegplace is mostly farmland with the occasional patch of ash and oak trees.

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

If you are knowledgeable about this region and have corrections please message me! I am not a local and might have made mistakes picking where to put what biomes.

#warrior cats #warrior cats territories #wc skyfall au

[darylspissslit]

Heard you were looking for some Daryl inspiration??

Thank you for all your love on The Dog series and I’d love to return the favor!!

Request/Inspo/Idea: Daryl and wife!reader reunite on the highway after the barn/farm burns down ! He thinks she’s still out there but like emerges from the woods!!

Thank you 💕✨

Thank you so much I love this. The dog series is so cute thank you for bringing it to life 💗💗

So this isn't the greatest and it wasn't proofread so idk how it turned out. But I got something done so that's a plus 😅.

The flames were bright. The sound of Walker teeth clacking and loud groaning quickly being drowned out by the pulse that seemed to beating like a drum in your ears.

The farm was overrun by the dead and soon the fire would finish the job. Spreading from the barn across the field to the farmhouse to devour what the walkers couldn’t.

You tried to find Daryl in the chaos. Fighting off the dead while looking for the living. For a second you thought you could hear Daryl’s bike over the moans of the herd. Trying to clear a path to the entrance of the farm you started running. Shouting for Daryl as you saw him drive off with Carol behind him but he couldn’t hear you over the rumble of the bike speeding down the dirt road, you were alone.

You ran through the woods just trying to get away from the walkers following you. You were up all night fighting and running. Not knowing where to go you decided to try and make it back to the highway where there was food still left for Sophia and hopefully someone else in the group would be there, hopefully Daryl would be there.

“I gotta go back an’ look” Daryl said walking back to his bike.He was arguing with Rick about leaving the group to search for you.

“The farms overrun. She probably ran” Rick said resting his hands on his hips “we’ll wait for a few more minutes” he said trying to compromise. He didn’t want to lose another person and going back to the farm so soon was a death sentence.

“Nah I ain’t waitin” Daryl said in a gruff tone turning back to us bike. Rustling in the trees startled the group. Swiftly lifting his crossbow and aiming at the trees, Daryl slowly started walking towards the sound.

You came tumbling out of the treeline falling to the ground. You were exhausted, covered in dirt and spider webs. There were still a few walkers behind you that weren’t able to put down loosing your knife in a scuffle with a walker at some point in the night. You tried standing up only for your legs to shake and give out.

“Y/N!” you heard Daryl shout as he started running down the side of the highway. Taking down a walker with his crossbow and bashing the heads of the other two with the end of the trusty weapon.

Daryl grabbed your arm helping you up and quickly pulling you into him for a hug. Wrapping your tired arms around his waist you buried your face in his chest and started crying.

“I… I thought I lost ya” Daryl’s warm breath caressed the top of your head as he cried. “I tried to find ya but I couldn’ see anythin but walkers and smoke” he squeezed you tighter

You cried harder remembering seeing him driving off the farm. You were right behind him. “I ran after you” you choked out looking up at him.

He looked down feeling ashamed for not looking harder but you weren’t upset with him for leaving you behind. “they were everywhere I’m so sorry” he said sadly resting his forehead against yours.

“Its okay. I’m alive. I did learn how to survive from the best” you said lighthearted and kissed him sweetly. “I love you” you said hugging him tightly again. “I love ya more” Daryl replied kissing the top of your head and holding you close for a moment.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x you #fluff #twd fanfic #twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl imagines #daryl x you #non gender specific

[sezja]

Undercover, Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

The path from their cabin to the beachfront restaurant is a gentle, winding slope, elegantly paved in grey and black stones, flanked here and there with small brass lanterns. With the sun still blazing high overhead - Sanson gauges it to be perhaps two bells before noon - the lanterns are still dark, but they'll be a welcome guide once the sun sets. He peers behind him, back up the trail: the paved path winds up past their own cabin, vanishing into the treeline, no doubt tracing a path from one cabin to the next.

"If we wished to do so," he muses aloud, "we would have no trouble at all finding the other cabins."

Guydelot nods thoughtfully, pausing a moment to follow Sanson's line of vision, as well as his train of thought. After their years of working together, Sanson could nearly swear Guydelot can read his mind. "Aye, it ain't half so wild as it seems at a glance, is it? Wouldn't be hard at all to find a cabin, wait 'til someone went inside..."

"...And vanish back into the trees." Indeed, thick vegetation lines the path... though it's evident much of the greenery has been trimmed back by several fulms, and recently. Doubtless the island's owners are taking what steps they may to prevent future murders from taking place on their piece of paradise.

Sanson hopes they work.

It's a mixed blessing that their own cabin is closest to the beach, he reflects; while it will be easy to make their way to the beach each day, they'll have no ready excuse for wandering deeper into the forest toward the other cabins. Taking a romantic stroll, perhaps? There is a great deal of the island to explore: forests, mountains, rivers... surely no one would find it odd that they might seek out some quiet scenic vista? Part of the island's appeal, after all, was its many secluded romantic nooks and crannies; surely no one would take it amiss if they happened to go missing for a time while they were investigating-

"Ah!" Sanson lets out a startled squeak; Guydelot wrapped his arm around the shorter man's waist while he stood there ruminating.

"Right, that's enough woolgathering." The bard steers him back down the path, his arm resting comfortably around Sanson while they walk, as though they've been doing this their whole godsdamned lives! "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. What sort of food d'you reckon they have here? Fish?"

"They..." He can't quite make himself return Guydelot's embrace, and he prays his face isn't burning quite as hot as it feels, but he manages to keep himself from pulling away. It is best if they maintain their cover even when they presume themselves to be alone, after all... and this close to the beach, who knows who might be watching? And what will anyone observing have seen so far - they've left their cabin, taken in their surroundings... and then cozied up to each other to resume their walk to the beach. Harmless. Unassuming. Even their conversation - should it chance to be overheard - has been innocuous. Sanson thinks. He hopes.

Matron, what he wouldn't give to have this mission in more experienced hands!

"Th-they keep livestock on the island," he continues at last, stumbling over his tied tongue. "And they farm their own produce. Some species native to the Cieldalaes, some imported from Vylbrand and the mainland. The cuisine here is highly praised."

"Someone read all the advertisements. And the information booklets." Guydelot smirks. "Glad one of us did."

"It was research! I wanted to know what we were getting into-"

"I'd rather learn on the ground. You know me." The bard gives him a teasing little squeeze. Unaccountably, Sanson's heart stutters; he tenses.

It isn't quite a flinch, no, but it's enough to make Guydelot frown - frown, and release him. "Gods, Sanson," he says, quietly. "How long's it been?"

Now he knows his face is aflame. "Never mind that." He takes a deep breath. "I'll adjust. I must. We cannot guess who might be watching-"

"When this is over, remind me to set you up with somebody." Guydelot slings his arm around Sanson's shoulders instead - more familiar, more comfortable. They've walked home like this a thousand times. The wave of trepidation that threatened to swallow him recedes... leaving something in its place that feels curiously like disappointment. With himself, surely? He should be more than capable of rising to any challenge his commanders place before him, no matter what those challenges might demand...

But that is neither here nor there.

He shakes his head, smiling. "You know I've no time for a personal life."

"We'll make you some time." The bard grins. "Carve out a little space between you and the Adders where we can fit someone else. It'll do you good, Chief."

"Hush." He elbows the fool in the ribs, laughing despite himself. "How will it sound if my husband is plotting to set me up with someone else? Is the idea not to save this marriage?"

At last, they reach the beach: golden sands warmed by the sunshine, glowing beneath a perfect blue sky. A humble-yet-serviceable pier stretches out into the water, but at present, no ferries are docked; the island has its own private ferries, Sanson recalls, having arrived on one just that morning, and they make regular, alternating trips to and from the mainland. It wouldn't do to leave their prestigious clientele stranded, after all. Just now, both ships must be somewhere en route to Vylbrand...

"How well do you suppose the ferry captains monitor their passengers?" Sanson speaks quietly, glancing up at Guydelot. "One would hope-"

The bard nods, his own gaze flicking toward the empty pier. "The way things've been lately? I'd wager no one gets on without proof they've got themselves a reservation."

Sanson nods. "They did request that we identify ourselves." And there had been a guard onboard - a quiet, stern Sea Wolf who'd kept a careful eye on the passengers. How recent a development is that, Sanson wonders; there had been some grumbling among his fellow passengers, complaining that they were being watched as though they were common thieves. "He glares as though we might peel the gilding from the doorknobs," one woman had huffed, clutching her purse tightly - and glaring at Sanson in all his scruffy glory, as though he might very well be a thief.

Well, he couldn't very well tell her the man was likely meant to ward against far worse than thieves, could he? He and Guydelot are meant to be ignorant of the murders-

A small shake of his shoulders brings him back to the present: Guydelot is alerting him that they've reached the beachfront restaurant. Sanson drags himself out of his own woolgathering to better take in their surroundings.

And pleasant surroundings they are, at that; the restaurant is surprisingly cozy, for a building whose walls are open to the elements - the better to allow patrons to continue enjoying their ocean view, uninterrupted. Aside from a few private booths in the corners, the tables are spaced well apart, Sanson observes to his dismay; it will be difficult to listen in on conversations for any potential leads... but the open layout ought to make it easy enough to observe, he supposes. Surely they can find reasonable excuses to listen in on - or perhaps even follow - anyone who appears to be acting strangely...?

"Awful quiet for brunch," Guydelot says, and he isn't wrong - aside from themselves, only a few other patrons have deigned to descend to the beach just now. An elderly Lalafellin couple have nestled into one of the corner booths, whispering and giggling quietly to one another, their plates neglected. An Elezen man reads a book, taking occasional sips of his coffee, while his wife kneads his shoulders with a small, self-satisfied smile. A sulky-looking Seeker sits alone, fingering the truly ostentatious triple string of pearls around her neck, with fingers bedecked in gaudy rings.

Before Sanson can further observe any of their fellow breakfast-goers, however, a young Sea Wolf in a neat, crisp uniform approaches, her golden-amber eyes alight.

"Ah, new faces!" From her apron pocket, the woman plucks a notepad and quill, with efficiency even Sanson has cause to envy. "Welcome, sirs, to the Radiant Queen. Will ye be havin' a table? We've booths aplenty, if ye prefer."

Before Sanson can trip over his tongue, Guydelot gives his shoulder another small squeeze - this one a reassurance that he will take the lead here. Thank the Matron. The bard gives the hostess his most winning smile. "I reckon we'll take a cozy spot in the corner," he says, turning that smile on Sanson himself. "Don't you think so, love?"

Why in the world has his mouth gone so dry? Sanson clears his throat, praying he's not blushing again. Over a smile! Honestly. He's seen Guydelot smile a thousand times!

Matron preserve me, I'm bad at this.

Fortunately, the waitress reads something into his dizzy silence, giving them a knowing little smile - quickly covered, artfully masked by swiftly brushing a stray lock of dark hair over one ear. "'Tis a lucky thing ye came so early, it is; the booths go quick in the evenin'." she says, then bows, straightens. "Right this way, sirs?"

Pull yourself together, he orders himself, furious. He shrugs off Guydelot's arm, the better to follow the hostess. A corner booth isn't a bad idea, he reasons; they can observe the rest of the restaurant in relative peace - and without fearing eavesdropping. He fears he might know what the hostess suspects they'll be about in the privacy of their booth; mortifying as it is, he hopes it might convince her to give them some privacy, the better to make their observations...

Although... who better to ask about the island itself?

"Have you worked here long?" He asks, pleased to hear his voice emerge steady.

The woman nods as she walks, leading them to a booth not far from the kitchen; heavenly smells waft out. "Oh, aye, since the first! 'Tis me parents what own this slice of paradise, after all."

"Your parents!" Startled, Sanson glances over his shoulder at Guydelot; the bard looks just as surprised as he does. "And they have you seating patrons at tables?"

She laughs as they take their seats. "What are we, blood royals? Nay, sir; me folks were born to piracy, took to adventurin', and when they had ample gelt to toss about, they took to this place. We're workers, sir. We don't sit idle, and we don't scratch our bums while others do the work." She taps her notepad with her quill. "Right, then, lads. Me name's Mynarael, and it'll be me honor to take yer drink orders."

With their orders well in hand, Myrnarael saunters her way into the kitchen, calling orders as the door closes behind her. Guydelot watches her go, a look of admiration plain on his face.

Sanson kicks the man's shin beneath the table.

"Ow!" Guydelot scoots an ilm or two away, scowling. "What? She's got a commanding presence, is all."

"She's very likely married."

"There's no crime in looking." The bard's gaze slides sideways, toward the dining room. His voice lowers. "And speaking of looking..."

Sanson needn't follow Guydelot's eyes to know what the bard sees. The Miqo'te woman. "Aye. I saw her." Without looking - it won't do for them both to stare at her - Sanson recalls what he took in at his brief glance: she's their age, more or less; it can be difficult to gauge a Miqo'te's age. Coppery red hair, pinned up. Fine clothes. Tail swishing, agitated. No partner in sight - perhaps that was the source of her frustration? She'd not be here on the island alone, surely.

"Not a chance in any hell she belongs to those jewels," Guydelot observes. "She's as fiddly with them as you are with that ring." He looks pointedly at Sanson's hands.

He'd not realized he had begun fussing with his false wedding ring again.

Placing his hands - pointedly - flat on the table, he asks, quietly, "Do you think we may have our first suspect?"

"I reckon she's worth a look." Guydelot shrugs, leaning back in the booth. "She's all alone, eh? Reckon I could talk to her, see what's on her mind..."

"Tell me you don't mean to flirt with her," Sanson says, fighting the urge to groan, and struggling to keep his voice down. "Guydelot! She's at a couples' retreat!"

"And all by herself. No other half in sight. She's lonely, I'd wager."

"You'll blow our cover."

"I say I'm just bein' friendly-"

But their conversation - very well, argument - is interrupted by the return of Myrnarael with their drinks. "What's all this, then?" She sets the drinks down carefully, then stands with her hands on her hips, looking like nothing so much as a disapproving mother. "Trouble in paradise? In my Queen? What's all this bickerin', lads?"

Once more, Guydelot comes to the rescue (As well he should, Sanson thinks, worrying about what the woman might have overheard). He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. "We were just curious about our fellow patron," he says, nodding toward the Miqo'te woman. "Seems like an odd place to be all by one's lonesome, eh? We wondered if she might be lonely, is all."

To Sanson's surprise, for a moment, Myrnarael's professional mask slips - he catches a glimpse of something, too quick to name.

He thinks it might be fear.

Then it's gone, replaced by a smile that doesn't quite light up her golden eyes anymore. "Never you mind Miss R'Shenna," she instructs, shifting to position herself between them and the Miqo'te, blocking their view. "She's something of a regular here, and we take her privacy very seriously."

"A regular," Sanson repeats, before he can stop himself. Who could commit multiple violent crimes on the island, if not someone who returned to it again and again? It would have to be someone who spent a great deal of time here - an employee, he'd thought... but what if the murderer was a visitor?

A regular client, visiting the island over and over, taking advantage of her fellow patrons...

He meets Guydelot's eyes, and sees the same realization reflected there.

Guydelot recovers first, of course, blinking in not-entirely-feigned surprise. "A regular," he also repeats, but this time with a sense of awe. "Huh! I didn't think a place like this'd have regulars. Cost us an arm and a leg just to come the once, didn't it, love?"

His heart is hammering in his chest; he wants nothing so much as to arrest the woman - R'Shenna? - at once... but without proof, his hands are tied. "Yes," Sanson manages, smiling. "But... but surely she isn't here alone?" An accomplice acting as her lover, perhaps?

Some tension fades from Myrarael's shoulders, and she smiles, nodding. "Ah, it's kind boys, ye be," she says, warm. "But never ye fear. She's here with her man, same as you. He just don't take kindly to the sea - like as not, he's still green-gilled back at his cabin. Might be as he'll turn up for dinner... but you mind me," she adds, stern. "You leave 'em both be, you understand me?"

So there is a partner! Gods, if only they could find some way to convince Myrnarael to tell them which cabin the couple were staying in... perhaps by pretending to be concerned for the sick man? But no, 'tis best not to tip their hand too early; perhaps they might be able to tail R'Shenna back home...?

"You'll have to excuse him," Guydelot is saying; Sanson blinks, resurfacing from his thoughts. The bard is smiling at him, all soft and warm in a way that makes Sanson's stomach flutter (even if he knows it's all an act, damn it all), and he gets the uncomfortable feeling he's been staring intently into space for several heartbeats. "My Sanson's a fretful sort; he's likely working himself into a fit," Guydelot continues, "worrying about Miss R'Shenna and her man."

"I-"

"Myrnarael's been trying her damnedest to get your order," Guydelot replies, sounding tremendously amused. "Unless you want me to order for you? You know I know what you like."

Stop that. Sanson manages an indignant squeak in response. "I swear-"

"He'll have the same as me," Guydelot says, all innocence, beaming up at the woman. "And another cup of coffee, by the time you're done."

She glances at Sanson for confirmation, to her credit - and to Guydelot's, Sanson reluctantly nods his agreement; though he doesn't know precisely what the bard ordered, history suggests it will at least be something Sanson can stomach. While Myrnarael bustles off once more, he kicks Guydelot's shin again.

"Ow! You know, I'll probably have to walk around with my bare legs showing at some point, and people'll wonder about the bruises-"

"'You know I know what you like?'"

"Am I wrong?" Guydelot grins. "Just playin' the part, Chief. Relax a little. Have fun with it."

Sanson sinks in his seat, taking a deep swallow of his much-cooled coffee. "We have a lead."

"Aye, and fast, too." Guydelot's looking at R'Shenna again; she's eating her own food, with a ferocity that suggests she's angry with it. Or perhaps she is angry that her man's not here? Frustrated that she's left to work alone, maybe? "We'll keep an eye on her. And her man. We'll pick him out tonight, if he shows."

"Ought we try to follow her?"

"Reckon we can make it look natural?" Guydelot shrugs. "We don't want to put her on edge, eh? Let her think we're just a pair of bumbling Gridanian lovebirds... shite."

"Wh-"

"She's caught me staring."

"Guydelot. Stop staring, then!"

"Say somethin', will you? Loud enough she'll hear it."

"Wh-"

"Act the jealous lover, will you? You were doing it so well earlier."

"I was not-" He takes a deep breath. Puts on his very best offended face - not difficult; he's frustrated as it is - and sets his coffee down firmly on the table with a smack. "You know, perhaps the reason this marriage is failing is your wandering eyes!"

The room, already not terribly loud, quiets abruptly.

As though being startled from a trance, Guydelot turns to blink at him - batting those lovely eyelashes of his, with only Sanson to see the pure amusement lurking in the depths of his bright eyes. "My eyes might wander," he says, having the audacity to slide his hand into Sanson's, lacing their fingers together. "But I assure you, light of my life, my heart never does."

Sanson's vision swims. "Oh."

Guydelot lifts Sanson's hand to his lips, the better to hide his wicked grin. Quietly, he adds, "At a loss for words, Chief? That's new."

A ripple of quiet laughter spreads through the room, and the interrupted conversations resume. Sanson, his heart racing for new reasons, risks a glance at R'Shenna. Her violet eyes are still on them, narrowed... but she looks away at last, returning her attention to her meal. Sanson lets out a breath.

"Not bad," Guydelot says, plainly fighting the urge to laugh.

Sanson tugs his hand back, gripping his cup once more with hands that are not trembling, from nerves or anxiety or... or whatever he felt just a moment ago. "You laid it on too thick."

"Aye, well, next time I'll smack your arse and say, loud as I can, 'What more does a man need?'"

"You are insufferable," Sanson says, mortified, but he can't help laughing; the sheer ridiculousness of this mission... but with a target in sight, he thinks, surely it won't last much longer. They'll find some proof of R'Shenna's crimes - and her man's, like as not - and put an end to the bloodshed, and return to their lives. Their lives, and their usual relationship, with none of the odd twists and turns that make the very ground beneath Sanson's feet feel queerly unsteady.

Strange, how he isn't quite looking forward to that part.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #undercover fic #sorry this one took so long; i've been sick and work's been hell #sanson's beginning to enjoy the game a little too much. u wu

[mandsleanan]

One of my favorite things about having a farm near the river is that I sometimes see a bald eagle soar on the wind up over the trees....

.....and then see much smaller bird furiously hustle out from the treeline to kick its ass.

#Birds #Wildlife #Hobbitcore #Farmlife

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

A measure of reverence, Pt. 1

Please accept my genuine apologies for the month long delay again, slowpokes. I do have the next two stories after this typed out, which amazes even me :D

When - the morning of the season 2 Chupacabra episode whooo. For the Slowpoke Series, the morning after A mighty good team.

What - the group is gearing up for another day of searching. There’s caffeine, chattering about an iconic early 2000s TV show, Daryl cracking funnies (”What are you brayin’ at, jackass?”), and Shane’s gradual descent. And you finally primp your eyebrows

Relationships - slow burn Daryl x You at the friendship level growing stronger every day, platonic Glenn, and more.

Perspective - You 2nd, Him (Daryl POV) 3rd

Pronouns? - she/her for convenience

TWs? - some language

Is it super long? - nope, about 3,500 words

Is it boring? - at times, y’all, you know how it is. This one was kept lighter because the next two are a bit darker

Are there plot references to other stories? -  aw yeah, here’s a link to the Masterlist, slowpoke

Are there lame screenshots from the episode? - naturally, and word-for-word dialogue!

(never wanted to do a bleach wash for a fictional character’s costume so badly)

................................

Early-morning

................................

your morning

“Your mama said yes?” you check with Jimmy again.

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s smart, he knows the area.” Glenn sounds unsure of himself when he next volunteers, “And hey, after we get back, I can help you with…stuff. What, um, what stuff around the farm needs doing? I grew up helping my parents in the garden?”

While those two talk about that, you see that Lori is up and dressed and already hanging laundry to dry. She didn’t really sleep in as much as she probably needed to, but you call “Good mornin’!” just the same and go over to help her.

Dude, you’ve been buzzing around since 6am. The migraine that hit you last night you were able to pretty much do away with after taking the prescription Glenn found—but you woke up early to desperately use the toilet (not even in the RV, you’d used a quickly dug hole by the treeline behind some brush and trees. Blame the magnesium and charcoal).

Anyhoo, you made the coffee today while still half-asleep, and dude, one cup of coffee usually doesn’t perk you up so much!

You’d set up a jar of sun tea for Carol, did laundry, spent some time with Carl, chatted with Maggie and Patricia, survived the lengthy discussion between Rick and Hershel about Carl’s transfusion this afternoon during which Rick still didn’t confront you about how Carl getting shot was your fault and you really wish someone would just out and say it and get it over with, then you opened up + fed + watered the chickens before collecting the eggs for the Greenes, sacrificed a t-shirt to be made into fabric strips for the search party today, primped your eyebrows (finally), made your hair look passable, and wiped down with baby wipes in your tent by way of showering, AND learned some shoulder/neck PT exercises from Jimmy, it was great! You’ve barely even fallen into an inner spiral about the Shane/Lori/Rick/baby situation and about poor Sophia all morning!

Trotting over to Lori, you place your mug (it’s Jacqui’s old mug, actually) on the ground and start to help hang the damp, cleaned clothes. “How’d you sleep?”

Something about the way she says it seems hint that she feels guilty for not waking up early. “Slept like a log, if you can believe it. I didn’t even feel Rick get up.”

“Good.” You shake out and flatten Dale’s cargo pants to get some of the wrinkles out before hanging them.

“Was that your doing, then?”

“Might could’ve told him to sleep in with you last night.”

She takes a slow breath, then pastes on a smile and is most likely trying to sound normal when she asks, “Next time, wake me, especially on laundry day. How are you, is your dizziness gone, honey?”

“All gone.” But ouch, you lift your injured shoulder a little too high while hanging the pants.

She notices and lightly tuts. “Let me hang them, you can hand me the clothespins.” While fixing the line, she makes sure, “Last night, Patricia mentioned checking your stitches. Did you see her?”

“Saw her this morning when I was talking with Maggie. My stitches are doing great, gonna have ’em for another week or so. Why did you have on that frowny face as I walked over here, Lore?” You glance down at her belly then back to her eyes.

With a subtle shake of her head, she hangs up another shirt. “It’s nothing, it was…” she peeks over at you. “Carol just called me our ‘unofficial first lady.’ At first I thought it was funny, but...” That pasted-on cheerful expression falls away to reveal a sort of nervous look. “I-I don’t know why—was that just her saying that, you think?” Her tone of voice suggests that she hopes it’s only Carol who thought so.

However, you shrug very unhelpfully. “Rick is kinda the group’s head, I guess. How’d it come up?”

“She wants to cook dinner for the Greene’s.” She pauses, frowns, and becomes visibly uncomfortable. “But she thought the offer would sound better coming from me. I should’ve told her that was just Ed’s voice in her head, but I was too…I-I didn’t know what to respond so I just kept hanging laundry.”

At least her brows smooth out when she adds, “Dale’s boxers, of all things.”

That got you giggling. “On that topic, I don’t know how y’all got all the bloodstains out of all these. You’d never know.”

The clothes T-Dog had been wearing when his arm got sliced open + the clothing you, Rick, and Carl had been wearing when Carl was shot = clean as if nothing at all happened. Even the clothes the Greene’s lent you that you wore for two and a half days straight (and got egg and blood stains on) look fresh.

You crouch down to grab your coffee and cannot help but remember the phrase Daryl used last night regarding your ‘mother-henning’ as you check, “Did you eat enough breakfast, Lore? That way your vitamins will absor—shoot, we have to get vitamins.”

“I had some water when I woke up.”

“Oh, that’ll keep you going.”

She bumps you with her hips, entertained enough to smile a little.

“Wanna use Jacqui’s mug after I’m finished?” you offer, holding it up. The handle had broken during the rush to leave the CDC, but Lori glued it after. “Have a sip, it’s nice and strong. A little bit is okay, right?”

Nodding, she takes it and her eyes turned glassy. “I miss her.”

Which is why you aren’t expecting the sudden grin after she drinks some. “Honey, this is espresso.”

...........................

his morning

He’d woken up early and taken out the original map to bring to his tent so he could fix all the grids. When his stomach started yelling at him for breakfast, he brought the map back to the campsite and downed a can of beans while working. He even put timeframes down, it was a productive-ass early morning. And that’s with his slight headache after getting slightly drunk last night.

It was Y/N who actually, um…she noticed he wasn’t feeling too hot and went and brought him some painkillers. After poking fun about his breakfast choice, obviously.

Speak of, she’s on her way over with a mug of coffee.

“Good morning, troublemaker,” Dale calls to her. He’s holding this real teeny mug (teacup? fancy shot glass?). “It’s nice to be using Irma’s demitasse this morning.”

Not knowing what that means, Daryl watches as Y/N twists her mouth playfully while chirping back, “G’morning, Dale.”

“You’re definitely feelin’ better,” Daryl muses when she reaches him.

“Miles better from last night. Good stuff is gonna happen today.” She holds out her mug for some reas—oh, the coffee is for him?  

Again, he has to quickly pause and digest what it feels like for somebody to give a damn, then has to shove back the assumption that there’s some hidden angle behind it.

Except, when he goes to grab it, it’s barely full (?).

Carol’s voice pops in from his right, and he hasn’t ever heard her sound so teasing before. Never heard her make much noise at all. “Was the espresso accidental, pookie?”

Ha, ‘pookie.’

“Might could’ve been?” Y/N admits with a groan. “Yo, feel my pulse, it’s goin’ haywire.”

That explained why there wasn’t much coffee in the cup, he guesses. Intending to check over the map again, he’s next aware of Y/N snickering to Carol, “Ohh-ho, can that be his nickname?” with her thumb pointed at him.

What does she mean about a nickname? Best ignore that.

...wait, did she mean ‘pookie?’

His ears perk up again upon hearing Y/N happily announcing, “Nah, I slept off the migraine like almost completely!”

 That makes him stop nit-picking the grid boundaries and look up at her. “Last night?” Is she even okay to go out today?

 Y/N gives a little bow and takes a sip from her water bottle. “Like two hours after falling asleep I woke up ’cause I was getting one, so I took one of the pills Glenn found at the drug store and,” she pauses and turns around. “Glenn, air high-five!” she calls over, and he and she do a little clapping motion from a few yards away. And yeah, she winces because she used her bad shoulder.

Turning back with a shrug, she finishes, “But yeah, I simply went back to sleep, woke up feelin’ pretty good. I th-think having all those other painkillers already in my system helped,” she adds as Carol walks back to, uh, he didn’t know, someplace, wherever she came from. “How’s your hangover, any better? Stomach ain’t queasy?”

“I didn’t drink enough to get hungover, m’fine,” he grumbles. “You, uh, doing okay with what you got goin’ on?”

“Same as yesterday.” She starts concentrating on the new grid lines and appears to be silently mouthing directions while pointing out the path they’d taken yesterday. It’s like she’s studying for a test.

Then a dumb thing happens: when he goes to wipe his nose on his shirt, he smells tuna fish.

Cigarettes he knows he smells like, and BO, obviously, everyone’s sweaty as hell these days, but tuna? He’s gotta draw a damn line somewhere.

When he asks Y/N about it, she’s too absorbed in the grid to give a helpful answer. “I never really mind how you smell, to be honest. Ain’t there a thing to do with gene compatibility and that or some such?”

She doesn’t really mind how I…and what was that about jeans?

Lifting up his shirt again to sniff it then fast as he can, yanking it down where it rode up in the back so his scars won’t be on display, he asks more plainly, “I don’t smell like fish?”

“Oh, that, yeah.” She nods, taking another sip of water. “You had tuna with your breakfast again, right?”

He shakes his head and stands there dumbfounded, trying to figure out how it was possible that he smells like fish (and why he cares).

Rick comes over to study the grid, positioning himself next to Y/N with a “Good morning, weirdo. Daryl, how’s things?”

Then, Daryl remembers how he’d tossed that can of tuna he’d had for breakfast yesterday into his tent. When he took off his overshirt last night, he must’ve flung it right onto the can.

Maybe he should clean up in there…

…Either way, he’s jogging over to change.

.................................

You

“Colored strips to mark the boundaries and searched areas, that’s clever,” Rick mumbles. “Hey Dar—wait, where’d he g—” He looks up and all around. “Y/N, where’s Daryl? I was about to ask him a question.”

“Grabbin’ a fresh shirt.”

He nods and points to a spot on the map. “Do you know what this here is?”

“A high ridge. He wants to get to the top ’cause it’ll show a lot of the search area.”

“Then it looks like you and he are set to head this way after searching this stretch right here?”

“Mr. Greene said most of the houses there were cleared of any sick ones—um, walkers,” you share, massaging the side of your neck the migraine hit last night. “Our hope is Sophia found a safe place to hole up there, it’s right off the trail.”

On her way back to finish helping T-Dog cut the fabric strips for the search grids, Andrea briefly comes over and stands beside you to get a look at the new plans.

Rick’s doing The Squint at you. “Are you okay to join us today? How’s your head? I know Shane doesn’t…” he gestures at you leaves it at that.

Yeah, you know what Shane doesn’t want and what he thinks about the whole thing.

You assure Rick, “My head’s pretty good, all told,” and leave it at that.

“And the rest of you?” he presses, maintaining the squint.

Andrea raises her brows and has your back when she says, “She's able to decide for herself,” as she turns back to rejoin T-Dog, who, as you now see, is inclining his ear to listen in.

“Are your energy levels even any good after givin’ almost three pints two days ago?” you more remind Rick than ask.

He glances behind at the T-Dog and Andrea. Why’s he about to smile? “Well, after about a coffee mug’s worth of espresso,” he chuckles, “I’d say so.”

Ah, another accidental victim. You’re grateful no one in the group has heart issues (and that some of them recognized the mistake by the taste. You and Rick did not have that skill).

“Sorry, Ricky,” you say through an awkward smile.

But it’s cool, he’s still grinning about something. He looks at Andrea and T-Dog again. “When I mentioned how Shane doesn’t feel comfortable with her searching today, she licked the ridge of her teeth just like he does when he’s mad.”

“You’d think they was raised in the same house,” T-Dog dryly comments.

A dumb thing happens: the comment doesn’t hit you like you expect it to. You should have giggled and forgotten about it.

And you like being compared to your siblings, you love them. You loved it when your foster siblings started adopting mannerisms like you guys.

But hearing that silly, little, meaningless observation comparing you and Shane, it hit different…

Stop being an idiot about it. Stupid girl. Shane is a good man, you know that. Give him a damn break.

Rick looks more serious when he murmurs, “Speak of, let me go get him. Just need to go over a few things. Be ready in a few.”

.................................

Him

He had to take a dump first, so he’s only just now grabbing a different shirt. He figured he’d just yank his clean one from the clothesline.

“I can give you one of Shane’s ribbed tanks if you want,” he then hears Y/N offer.

He looks over to where she’s walking with two bundles of strips, one white, one yellow.

Then he looks down at his tank top. Is it that bad?

Whatever, he’s gonna put something on over it, anyway. “It’ll get just as mucked up as this one.” Speaking of, he grabs his shirt off the clothesline and starts to unbutton it.

This look passes over her face as she peeks at his tank top for a stretch longer than he would think was normal. “That was Merle’s,” she figures out.

How, he has no idea.

“You’ve always worn the ones with the thick straps that go up higher, your brother tended to wear the more wife-beater type—sorry! The kind with thinner straps. Ma hated the nickname for those types of tanks.” She follows this up with an apologetic mention of, “They called them ‘wife-beaters’ in The OC, so it’s on my mind,” as if whatever that was made sense to him.

“...That a movie?”

“A TV show. Oh, Glenn!” she suddenly calls over to him.

One of their little exchanges starts. Daryl forgets to put on his shirt because truth be told, it’s kinda easy to get kinda sucked in when those two start, even though those two can jabber on about literally damn nothing.

She stretches her arm carefully. “Your middle sister made you watch The OC with her, right?” she asks Glenn.

“She and I did, yeah. Appa, too, but it was more of a hate-watch thing. Kinda weird they only ever had one Asian on the show, dude, like, Orange County’s got a huge Asian population. We’re like 1 in 6.”

Y/N looks at Daryl in expectation of him being surprised, too, then back at Glenn. “For real?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s crazy.” She flops the bundle of fabric strips from one hand to another. Glenn starts to sword fight it or whatever with the other bundle of strips.

“Oh right, sorry—anyways,” Y/N starts up again, “Maggie and I got to talkin’ about the show over breakfast. We both decided it stopped existing five minutes before the third season ended but we both love that Kirsten and Sandy had another baby in the season four.”

“Oh, and the thing with Kirsten’s alcoholism? And the way Ryan—”

However Glenn was gonna end that sentence gets cut off by Rick as he and Shane stride over to the map laid out on the hood of Carol’s old Jeep station wagon.

“Good mornin’, guys. Let get going. We got a lot of ground to cover.”

Daryl jogs over with his shirt. It’s hot as hell outside, he’s already sweating like a pig in a bacon factory.

He ends up next to T-Dog, Rick in the middle, Andrea beside him, Y/N, then Shane.

“All right, everyone’s getting new search grids today,” Rick starts. “If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might’ve gone further East than we’ve been so far.”

As Daryl finally puts on his shirt, the teenage boy appears from out of nowhere. “I’d like to help,” he pipes in. “I know the area pretty well and stuff…”

“Hershel’s okay with this?” Rick asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, um—he said I should ask you.”

Unless he was just nervous, what that Jimmy kid just said was either a lie or a white lie. But, Rick doesn’t argue.

For a cop, that guy’s a little too trusting. “All right, then. Thanks.”

Daryl catches Y/N’s frown as she looks at him, then at Jimmy, then at Rick with her brows all low, unconvinced. It looks like she’s about to wave Jimmy closer when her brother interrupts.

“Nothing about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me.”

Not even looking at her directly, Daryl sees his friend’s muscles tense up, he can tell even from his spot across from her.

“Give this a measure of reverence, Shane,” she hushes. She’s trying not to react too strong.

“I’m bein’ upfront about the situation, Y/N,” Shane insists. Then to everyone there, he goes on to declare, “Daryl brought her back there just yesterday, she wasn’t convinced. Anybody could’ve been holed up in that farmhouse.”

The way his friend hunched when her brother mouthed off made a big part of him want to mouth off right back. But Andrea, classy as hell, steps in without missing a damn beat. “Anybody includes Sophia, right?”

She was so casual about it that it pretty much made it seem like she was brushing off a bug from her shirt. That chick is good, shit.

..................................

You

Andrea must’ve been such a good attorney, good Moses. You’ve never seen her feathers ruffled, like, ever, she lets it all just roll off. How is she so calm? Because while you were fixing to pounce, probably very obviously, she slid a hand around your waist and smoothly (so smoothly!) pointed out to Shane, “Anybody includes Sophia, right?”

It’s either the jitters from the caffeine or your damned hot head, because you’re just—you’re ready to start clawing at the man who’s overtaking your brother, because why would he have said that out loud? To all them? You’re fucking mortified.

That wasn’t Shane, it wasn’t Shane! Why is he being like this? And why can’t he button his stupid shirt all the way, huh?

Dale is coming out of the RV and gives you a look as if asking ‘what happened?’ so, you imagine taking the stupid tea kettle off the stupid burner to calm down.

No one else seems to be as agitated as you, not even Daryl, which is a huge relief.

Echoing Andrea, he’s as nonchalant as they come when he scratches his nose and reminds everyone, “Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yea-high.”

To which Andrea is quick to reinforce, “Good lead,” along with Rick when he agrees, “Maybe we’ll pick up her trail again.”

“No ‘maybe’ about it,” he grunts. “We’re gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird’s eye view of the whole grid.” Except, Daryl hadn’t mentioned anything about a horse before, neither yesterday nor today.

First of all, he can ride a horse? Hot. Second…who did he ask for permission about borrowing one? He briefly catches your confused stare as he points to the spot on the map. “If she’s up there, we’ll spot her.”

T-Dog’s been nodding away at all of this, impressed. “Good idea,” he tells Daryl. But then his brows lift and his lips pout a little in the way that happens before he cracks a joke. Lo and behold: “Maybe you’ll see your chupacabra up there, too.”

The tension in your body from a few moments ago goes *poof* as you grin.

“Chupacabra?” Rick repeats, again sporting The Squint.

“You never heard this?” Dale, now next to Daryl and across from you, hoists the gun bag on the hood and begins handing them out while staring into space and narrating. “Our first night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole things reminds him of a time he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra.”

Sweet little Jimmy finally relaxes and lets out a quiet giggle while Rick’s squint turns into a mild smirk.

Unfortunately for sweet little Jimmy, Daryl grates at him, “What are you brayin’ at, jackass?”

Okay, you’re sorry, but even though it wasn’t appropriate of him to react that way to an innocent giggle, that comeback was really quick and you’re snorting. Still, poor kid. You switch places with Andrea to be next to Jimmy and make a point to openly laugh at the conversation.

Rick is stuck in squint-mode, isn’t he? “You believe in a blood-sucking dog?”

And Daryl is quick on the draw. “You believe in dead people walkin’ around?”

Yet again, you’re somehow the only one who finds this funny (Glenn, dude. Where are you?).

Next thing you see is Jimmy casually reaching for a long gun.

Rick and you both stop his arm, and T-Dog cautions, “Hold on there, kid.”

“Hey, hey. You ever fire one before?” Rick challenges.

“If I’m going out, I want one.”

Daryl shoulders his crossbow and tosses out, “Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees.”

You’re the only one laughing, again. Rough crowd today.

“Jimmy, yesterday I got ‘quit cluckin’ like a mother hen’ from him, don’t even worry about it,” you share. “You mentioned you did skeet shooting with your dad before, right? So you’ve fired a shotgun, then?”

“Once or—I mean, yeah.”

That means he has no idea, never mind.

Shane speaks up and sounds much more like himself when he does. “Why don’t you come train tomorrow? If you’re serious, I’m a certified instructor.”

“Not to brag, but he’s a really good one, too,” you definitely brag.

Jimmy, overwhelmed at all the attention from grown-up strangers, nods slightly.

Andrea (so smoothyl!) tactfully and kindly solves the problem. “For now, he can come with us.”

“He’s yours to babysit then,” is Shane’s brusque surrender, and he waves Jimmy over with his hunting tomahawk.

Andrea, of course, doesn’t pay this any mind and goes to arm herself with her pistol. You try to follow suit by not staring daggers at your brother.

Instead, you finally let everyone know, “Glenn is going with him, y’all. I don’t know where he ran off to, but these are theirs.” You hold up the yellow fabric strips, then look at Jimmy. “Glenn’s smart and fast, you’ll be in great hands with him,” you say out loud, then whisper in his ear, “I know you asked your mama, but you gotta ask Mr. Greene, too, okay?” Back to a normal volume, you wish him and those around the station wagon, "Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

You’ve just started to jog off to join Daryl and start today’s search when Shane stops you and pulls you in for a hug. He kisses your head. “Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

.................................

the official teeny tiny taglist

@its-freaking-bats​ @spenciepoo338​ @whistlesalot​

#twd #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #reader insert #reader-insert #reader insert fanfiction #canon compliant #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #slow burn #slow burn fanfiction #Shane Walsh #glenn rhee #Rick Grimes #jimmy twd #theodore douglas #T-Dog #andrea twd #Andrea Harrison #Lori Grimes #espresso #Shane's descent so sad y'all #the Slowpoke series #Dale horvath

[echo-goes-mmm]

Hoarding Behavior #1 (Intro)

Masterpost

Next

Warnings: implied consumption of human flesh (dragon)

The village was growing, and there was a problem. Nestled between the mountains and surrounded by forest, Rolling Hill’s population was soaring. That meant more farms, more houses, and more land to clear.

That wasn’t the issue. There was plenty of space to go around, and the business would be good for everyone.

The dragon was the issue.

It lived at the base of the mountain, half a day's travel on foot and a few minutes flight for the beast. It slumbered there when the village was first settled, and the founders hadn’t realized what they’d done until it was too late.

The dragon ate off the forest, and they had to be careful not to hunt too much. Its sights might turn towards their cattle or worse if the deer population got too thin. 

The small council worried. The more people in Rolling Hills, the smaller the forest got. And the risk of driving the dragon to hunger rose every time a new family came to tend the land and feed themselves.

They couldn’t stop new people from moving in. It just wasn’t feasible, and the existing residents had growing families anyway. How could they possibly ask people to stop having children? Refusing newcomers would only push the issue further down the line. 

The small council sent a letter to Kings University asking for an expert on dragons. Surely there was something they could do.

“Well, you definitely have a dragon problem,” said the professor. Curt rolled his eyes. They were not far into the wood, staring at the vicious claw marks in the trees that signaled the beast’s territory.

“We know. That’s why we sent the letter in the first place.”

The professor didn’t seem to hear him. The council sent Curt to escort the professor of dragonology (he was certain that wasn’t a word), and Curt was pretty sure it was a useless endeavor.

“Do you have any useful advice, or should we send you home?”

“Yes, definitely a dragon. How fortunate! I’ve never gotten to study one up close of course.” Curt groaned.

“We’re not out here to study it, we’re here to avoid getting it mad!”

“Do you know if it’s a male or female?” 

“Who can tell? Should I check underneath its tail?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, the females are bigger. Does it sleep during the winter?” Finally, a reasonable question.

“No, it never hibernates.”

“Male, then.” The professor wandered past the treeline.

“Wait, where are you going?” Curt jogged to his side.

“I need to see the cave, of course.”

“Absolutely not.”

The professor pulled up short. “It’s essential for the investigation! If you’re going to negotiate with him, you need to see his cave, or at least the entrance.”

“Negotiate? Are you insane?” he hissed. 

The professor adjusted his glasses. “Dragons are sentient creatures, Curt. More than mere animals. They can have conversations as well as you and I. And unless you have an army, I suggest negotiating. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t already have a treaty with him.”

Curt thought about it. 

“Okay. Tell you what, we’ll go back and get another man. We’re just going to see the cave. We’re not going to go in, and we’re not going to talk to it. Yet. Got it?”

“That seems reasonable to me.”

Andrew also thought they were insane, and Curt couldn’t blame him. The trek to the cave was quiet, and they had to keep reminding the professor to stay on track. He kept getting distracted from the more threatening claw marks in the stone and stray dragon footprints. They came across the charred corpse of a bear and wasn’t that comforting. Even the exposed bones had crumbled to ash from the heat of dragon fire.

After hours of walking and following the gradually increasing marks, they came to a giant hole in the mountainside. The stone had been carved into by something massive, and strange smooth parts of it looked like calcified drops of water. Curt knew vaguely that dragonfire could melt stone, but seeing the evidence was a whole different matter.

“Holy shit,” said Andrew.

Holy shit indeed. The professor walked close to the entrance. He bent down to examine the ground. Were they really doing this? They glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed the professor.

The professor picked up something rusty. It was a piece of armor. Curt glanced around the surrounding ground. Shards of bones were everywhere. He’d brushed them off as white stones, but they were really standing on crushed bodies. 

“Uh, Curt?” Andrew toed at something ten feet off. Curt came over, and nearly threw up.

“Oh, god.” 

It was a skeleton. Charred and crumbling from heat.

“Hey, professor,” he called over his shoulder. “Do dragons eat people?”

“Eh,” shrugged the professor, “sometimes. If they’re very hungry, or have developed a taste for it.”

This dragon had certainly developed a taste. 

“We should leave. Right now.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

#my writing #whump #Hoarding Behavior #carewhumper #slavery whump

[giantologist]

A Simple Matter of View

In which Finch saves both a giant and a village

Giant Trouble? Not Enough Gold For Expensive Monster Hunters? Professor J Finch. Fast & Free.

"I don't actually know who keeps making these posters." He lifted the hems of his trousers as he stepped through the muddy streets. The man who had contacted him wasn't fazed by the filth of his village, meandering his way past a loose pig. "Let alone hanging them. I'm meant to be an educator, and I spend all my time fixing people's inter-species relationships."

Ol' Ben paused to let Finch catch up, making sure he was turned to face him. "Y'know, you didn't have to come." The professor took a beat to appreciate how he didn't feel the need to patronise him while making sure he could fully understand him. Some people spoke so slowly at him, as if he had the intelligence of a pond skater. "I wrote only if y'weren't busy."

"No, no, I never miss an opportunity." He was glad when he stepped into the grass finally, trying to get the street filth off his shoes. "It slows research and lecturing, but I daresay it's worth it."

From the edge of the village, Finch could already tell what their problem was. A roofless farm house, a slightly sunken silo, footprints and gouges through crops, a suspiciously sheep shaped pancake near the road. "Thing didn't eat anyone. Only Belle died, but she was gettin' on in sheep years."

"Was this an act of passion?"

"Nah." Ol' Ben hooked his thumbs into his belt as they approached the woods. "No anger or nothin'. Just came out, did this, left."

Finch paused when the farmer indicated his unwillingness to follow into the forest. "Well, you've been very helpful, sir!" He gave him a hearty handshake, bidding him farewell. On his first step, he froze. Ol' Ben clearly heard it too, as he looked around with a previously hidden anxiety. "Alright." Finch backed away from the forest when he felt three shuddering steps in succession. "Good, I was not looking forward to traipsing through the woods."

The farmers fleeing their fields was quite a sad sight, but he understood. Anyone who wanted to stay around a giant who just caused this chaos was a fool. Himself included.

The boots that emerged from the treeline showed no hesitancy, and ploughed straight through a fence with an explosion of wood fragments. Ol' Ben wheeled backward with a yelp, leaving Finch stood watching with interest. The giant wasn't the largest he'd met, but still cut an imposing figure, towering and powerful and broad. His head wasn't visible over the bulk of his belly, but Finch stared up anyway as the giant slowly followed the fleeing farmers, the toe of his boot clipping a grain store. The structure crumbled like a waffle cone, wheat spilling over the ground.

The giant lifted his foot in surprise, stepping backward and immediately flattening a wheelbarrow full of watermelons, the juices spraying every which way. He grunted and looked beneath as if he'd trodden in something unsavoury, and Finch took the opportunity to walk closer. Eyes locked on him as he moved, and he realised that his pince-nez had caught the sun and betrayed his location. The giant narrowed his eyes, turning his mass to face the human, his neck bowing as he drew closer, his vision cloudy and unfocused.

"Ah!" Finch cried out with a smile. "I think I know what the issue is here." He waved his arm above his head as he approached. "Excuse me, sir! I've heard you're causing some problems for this village!"

The giant growled and bent at the waist, and immediately tried to grab at Finch, who yelled that he'd happily get into an offered hand. When the momentum didn't slow, he sidestepped with such surprising and precise agility that the giant's fingers instead wrapped around a tree. He didn't track him with his eyes, only realising he hadn't crushed his target against the bark when Finch raised his arms again, the sun sparkling off his bolo tie. "Stop moving! Skrelkan!"

Upon hearing the giantish tongue, the titanic man paused. "You're not a slayer." He grumbled with clear surprise.

"I'm not, no! But I must speak with you, if you don't mind! Could you sit down where you are?" His stomach tightened when there was a beat, but he clumsily sat down, squashing quite a bit of the crop behind him, leaning on his bent knee. "There. Now, might I ask why you've been destroying everything around here? I have noticed that you're squinting a lot…" He didn't mention the obvious scarring on his face, or his damaged irises.

"Mmh." The giant grumbled, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. "I can't help it. I keep trying to look for work but…"

"But you can't see to get close without damaging property." Finch completed for him.

"Mm. Ever since I got burned helping put out a house, I've just been destructive. I try not to be, but it's hard. I've had so many slayers sent after me…"

The professor fumbled in his satchel, then pulled out a pocket mirror, rotating his wrist in the sunlight so he sparkled as he moved closer. "May I ask your name, sir?"

He easily followed him then, clearly appreciative. "Kark." Finch smiled and introduced himself in turn. "Have I… is anybody…"

"I think a sheep is the worst of the casualties." He stopped at Kark's boots, then lifted himself onto the toe of them. "What precisely can you see?"

Kark shrugged. "Vague shapes. Colours. That sparkle you're doing." He sighed heavily, his breath making the nearby windmill spin like a propellor. "Where am I now?"

"The outskirts of the intact farm. Well, mostly intact." Finch hummed, twirling his moustache. "What kind of work are you looking for?"

"Anything. But I can't even get close enough to apologise, let alone ask. I've tried just staying away, but I find it awfully lonesome."

"I promise." Kark replied, sincerity in his voice. "It is difficult, but I shall try my best."

"Let me help. I will need some time to organise a solution for you, but it is feasible." Professor Finch said, his mind already buzzing with plans.

Kark hummed in thought. "I don't know. It feels weird, I'm not sure why..."

"I understand completely. I, personally, use an ear trumpet quite frequently. But be it an aid to physical impairment, or a concoction to help with mental illness, receiving any sort of help is nothing to be ashamed of. It may feel odd, and I shan't force you to accept my assistance, but you should not feel in any way bad about needing something to improve your life."

There was a beat as Kark pondered his words, then he nodded firmly. "Okay. I trust you."

"Wonderful! In the meantime, could you ensure that you won't cause any more damage? Stay here on the outskirts, away from the village, and avoid stepping on any structures or crops."

"Thank you, Kark. Believe me when I say that this is the first step toward your new life." Finch smiled warmly.

Over the next few days, Finch worked tirelessly, reaching out to acquaintances from his days at university. He sent pigeons to Doctor M. Astra, a renowned ophthalmologist who had experience with non-human eye conditions, and to Professor L. Salt, an engineer who dabbled in enchantment. They were more than happy to attempt the journey, as they both owed Finch respective debts of gratitude for his support during their academic experiences.

As the experts arrived in the village, Finch explained the situation to them and introduced them to Kark. Naturally the pair were nervous, and Astra insisted on holding Finch's hand as she was lifted toward those slightly cloudy eyes to begin her examination.

It took almost a week of engineering and enchanting to create a pair of spectacles that would suit his needs. The glass was forged with sand from the nearby beach, with at least three steins of fae dust added, which cost a pretty penny but Finch had more than enough to spare. As they worked, the giantologist played the role of a guide, sat atop Kark's shoulder, chatting with him and instructing his movements.

"Nobody wanted me around after I got hurt. Even though I'd saved three children from the flames, my scarring and my blindness scared people, so I've been looking for a new home since. And every time I've been pursued by slayers."

"Not anymore." Finch grinned. "Your spectacles should be finished today!" Indeed, not two hours had elapsed from that conversation when the glasses were ready to wear. Kark was tentative when he tried them on, but when the village below him immediately came into sharp focus, tears began to well in his eyes, his gratitude insurmountable. His first action with his newly restored eyesight was to lift Finch tenderly to his face, and the human was only too happy to be smothered against his cheek in a warm, if slightly damp, embrace.

With his vision greatly improved, Kark felt more confident and capable. He started exploring ways he could contribute to the village without causing any harm. Professor Finch suggested he could help with heavy lifting tasks, like moving fallen trees or large rocks from trade routes, completing felling jobs in the night, or helping with bridge building, despite the workers fleeing at the sight of him.

Slowly, the villagers began to notice the changes in the behaviour of the giant. They saw him helping out from a distance, and the previously fearful glances turned into curious looks. Finch arranged a meeting with the village elders and Kark, where the giant sincerely apologised for the destruction he had unintentionally caused. Of course, he explained how he burnt himself, which did a lot to curry their favour. The village elders, impressed by Kark's sincerity and the efforts he had taken to change, agreed to give him a chance. Under Finch's guidance, they established a way Kark could become instrumental in the village's workings, a single meeting of giant and human becoming a testament to the transformative power of empathy, knowledge, and a willingness to give second chances.

At the end of the week Finch decided that his job was done. He strolled through the tidy streets, hearing children making plans to picnic in the 'giant side' of the woods, and farmers celebrating the easy harvest as they sold their crops in the square. He glanced at the poster tacked to a wall and exhaled with amusement, tugging it free and folding it neatly so it fit in his pocket.

Giant Trouble? Not Enough Gold For Expensive Monster Hunters? Professor J Finch. Fast & Free.

#Writing #g/t #giant tiny

[k00299539]

Animation Brief 01 - Week 2 - Parallax Background

Above: Snufkin just chillin

Putting together a full parallaxed background was the biggest individual step in our "World Building" brief, which is why I kept putting it off. I was told by Yvonne that the work had to be produced physically before being digitally composited, for someone who hates painting this was bad news.

I guess like always, the first step was research and gathering reference. I chose Tove Jansson as my artist-to-emulate which proved a bit of a headache in itself. Jansson was prolific and diverse, working with different styles in different mediums regularly in her seven decades long career. A lot of my favourite works of hers are simple black ink on white paper illustrations. But mimicking that style would've gone against the spirit of the project.

I decided to buy a beginners set of gouache paint for a tenner and try to emulate her painted work, the likes of which can be seen on the covers for her children's books. I'd never used gouache before so I don't really know what I was thinking, other than that I knew I was sick of acrylic. Anyway, the first step was a sketch.

Above: Yeah not much going on...

Honestly looking back on this I probably should have spent more time drafting a good composition and actually thinking through the shot I was intending to make. It's not that I didn't give it any thought, just that when you're on a tight schedule and commit to an idea, you're stuck with it. The longer I worked on this project the less I liked it, a bit more foresight at the beginning could've helped prevent that. Ah well.

The composition I went with was a combination of a couple of my landscape sketches. I decided with my "mini-me" limited to being shot from the shoulder up, a horizontal parallax would work best. Basically a simple side-scrolling shot, like holding a camera out a car window. I took the forest backdrop from Cratloe Woods, the classic Irish dry-stone wall from the farm, and I threw in some road signs (and Snufkin) for a bit of fun. The only problem was now I had to paint it...

Above: A real Artíst's palette...

I had no idea how to use gouache. I even used the regular ass paper from my sketchook which was probably a mistake considering the number the water did on it. I started out dampening the paper a bit before going over the major areas with a wash of an approximate colour. You can really tell I worked left to right on the wall because it gets slightly less shitting as your eyes pan across it. The wall was great fun in general, basically just laying down shadows, darkening the crevices and building up the tone. I think I overworked it looking back, although that's true for the painting in general.

Above: Cameos

Don't have much to say about these sketches, I was working fast and trying to have fun with them while keeping in Jansson's style. Also if it's not obvious I take all these photos at night when there's no natural light cause I'm stupid...

Above: Ignore the giant pile of rubbish, I cleaned it up after I promise

At first I really wasn't happy with the treeline in my first painting so I tested out some ideas on another sheet. I liked how it turned out, and I was thinking of incorporating it into the animation, but as the trees are the furthest element in the composition, they will move the least in the parallax shot, making it a bit infeasible. I did reuse the bushes as a foreground element though.

The next step was a tedious one, scan the water-warped paintings on my shitty scanner, disassemble them in Photoshop and stitch the edges as to make them tileable. Honestly I actually enjoy this kind of tedious Photoshop work, I just hated my painting and the shot in general so having to look at them over and over wasn't exactly fun.

Anyway, having made liberal use of the offset filter in Photoshop I had all the layers cut and tileable and ready to import into After Effects. I kind of suck at After Effects so this took longer than it should have. I tried to create the parallax effect in an old school manner by parenting all the layers together and setting a keyframe on their position, and adjusting their start position individually to control the speed at which each layer scrolled. Sounds easy.

I wasn't. Apparently I can't parent properly cause it was anarchy trying to control the speed of the individual layers. Eventually I just watched a Youtube tutorial and used that guy's method, creating a new camera and parenting everything to a null object, then moving the individual layers back in z-space to create the parallax effect as the camera pans.

I'm tired as I write this and I'm unsure how intelligible it is. Here's the horses mouth explaining things if you want to watch for yourselves:

The worst part is after all that it's still just a rough composite. Even beyond the obvious absence of my mini-me, there's a lot of problems in regards to the speed of the individual layers, the foreground elements look more like they're moving on a treadmill than receding in space. A particular cardinal sin I committed was not matching the speed of the grounded elements to the ground on which they're well, grounded.

Anyway I can fix all that later, I'm just sick of looking at it for now.

#lsad #art #animation #world building #Youtube

[virtie333]

Day 13 - Life Day Damerey Celebration

Prompt: Stars

Summary: Stargazing on Yavin IV

Notes: This one can be considered a sequel to Day 8's story.

AO3

“See that one, right there?” Poe asked as he pointed upward. “About three degrees from Astrides?”

He and Rey were lying on their backs looking up at the night sky. It was Tinieblas, what locals called the few nights every month when complete darkness settled over this particular area of Yavin IV. It was the best time to view the stars, most of which weren’t visible the rest of the month thanks to the gas giant Yavin lighting up the night sky.

“Yeah,” Rey whispered, responding to his question.

“That’s Mandalore.”

“Is there anything there anymore?” Rey asked, a bit breathless. She had heard many legends regarding Mandalorians.

“Not much, from what I understand,” Poe answered. “But I think there are some Mandos out there that want to bring it back.”

He pointed again. “Now look just to the left of Mandalore’s star. The larger of the three there. That’s Kashyyyk.”

“Really?” Rey smiled. Chewie was there right now, going to take some time with his family after dropping both Poe and Rey off at Poe’s father’s farm. They had been spending the last six months looking for old Jedi temples. Or the remains of, in most cases. The Emperor had scoured the galaxy and destroyed as many as he could access years ago.

“Oh!” Poe said suddenly, looking at the star chart on his datapad. “I had to look this one up, and you can barely see it, but…” He held up the chart for Rey to see, and together they used it to find a faint star off to the right, just above the treeline. “You see it?”

“Yeah,” Rey answered. “What is it?”

“Jakku.”

Rey looked at Poe, her eyes wide.

Poe shrugged. “I know neither of us have fond memories of the place, but it is where you found BB8 and Finn.” He gave her a long look. “And they brought you to me.”

Rey gave him a soft smile, then looked back toward the star in question. “I used to stare up at the stars often at night back on Jakku. The moons are both small and there were many nights the sky was so full of stars you could never look at the exact same cluster from night to night.” She paused. “I wonder if I ever looked at Yavin without knowing it?”

“Maybe,” Poe answered quietly.

“Maybe the Force pointed it out to me unconsciously,” Rey said. “I often wonder what the Force was responsible for during my life on Jakku,” she continued. “Or was it dormant until I left?”

“Did you ever have any strange dreams or premonitions growing up?” Poe asked.

“Nothing like I have now when I meditate,” Rey told him. “Dreams are dreams. How do you know if they mean anything or not?”

“True,” Poe conceded. “I’ve had some really weird dreams before. And some pretty scary ones, too.”

Rey turned to lay on her side facing him, resting her elbow on the ground and holding her head in her hand. “Did you ever dream of me?” she asked with a playful smile. “I mean, before we…” She gave him a little half-shrug.

Poe laughed. “You mean did I ever fantasize about making love to the cute Jedi Leia was training? I would never!”

Rey snorted. “I had a vision about making love to you, once.”

Poe’s eyes widened. “Really?”

She nodded. “I didn’t have any idea if it would come true or not,” she continued. “But I wanted it to,” she added softly.

“I’m so glad it did,” Poe told her, patting his chest in invitation.

Rey accepted, laying down next to him with her head on his shoulder. “Me, too.”

#fanfiction #damerey #jedipilot #poe x rey #yavin 4 #stargazing #life day