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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Word Count: 5796 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader Gender: Female Era: The prison Summary: After a close call on a run, the archer explodes at you.

Warnings: Language

Your name: submit What is this?

Another run, another disaster. You needed supplies. What you got was a pile of problems. Daryl, Maggie, Glenn and you ended up in a tight spot with far more walkers than you had expected. You were trapped inside a small flower shop with walkers banging on all the exits.

“How many you got, Glenn?” you whispered harshly to him over the banging fists and gnashing jaws.

“Uhh, too many out this way. Maybe twenty. Possibly more.”

“Fuck…” you muttered. You rushed back to Daryl and Maggie who were both leaning against the side door with all their weight to keep it closed. “Too many out Glenn’s way,” you relayed. You sighed and wiped a slightly shaky hand across your sweaty brow. “I—I’m gonna clear out the back.”

“What?!” Maggie snapped, readjusting her back against the door. “You said there were ten walkers out there.”

Daryl shook his head vehemently. “Nah! That’s too many. Ya can’t—”

“We don’t have a goddamn choice! Look, it’s the exit with the fewest geeks, so unless either of you can suddenly come up with a new and brilliant idea in the next five seconds, I’m doing it!” You waited, staring at both of them.

You shook your head. “You’ve gotta keep this door shut with Maggie until the back is clear. She and I won't be enough. I’m going.”

“Wait—Y/N!” Daryl yelled after you but you were already gone, disappearing into the back stockroom. “Son of a bitch!” Daryl was letting fly a lengthy string of expletives and there was panic in his eyes. Maggie noticed the overwhelming distress on his face as her own stomach flipped.

“She’s—she’s a good fighter,” Maggie stammered.

“And she’s too damn impulsive!” Daryl yelled, straining to keep his weight against the door behind them. “If we get outta this, and she makes it, I’mma kill her,” he growled. Maggie gulped.

In the back room you could hear the walkers still on the other side of the door and you steeled yourself, checking the magazine of your pistol and making sure there was a bullet chambered. You unsnapped the loop on top of your knife’s sheath and heaved in a forced breath. Here we fuckin’ go. You unlocked the door, barely opened it, putting your boot in the way to try and hold it open just enough for you to get your knife into the space. But the pressure of the walkers on the other side was too great for you to manage it for long. You stabbed your knife into the temple of the nearest walker pressing its face toward you in the opening and it was immediately replaced with another.

“Can ya hear anythin’?” Daryl asked desperately.

Maggie shook her head. “No! Just hold on,” she urged. Her back was sweaty from exertion and the stuffy air inside the store and she was starting to slide down the door behind her, constantly having to readjust her position to keep her bodyweight against it beside Daryl.

Just then there was a tremendous crash from the back room followed by gun shots. Daryl and Maggie exchanged a desperate look but the walkers outside the door just behind them had obviously heard the noise too and they attempted to surge forward. Daryl’s boots began to slide on the floor.

“We aren’t gonna be able to hold this much longer!” Maggie yelled, straining to press back into the door and hold the flood of walkers at bay. Over the groaning and mawing she and Daryl could hear more bangs in the back room.

Daryl leaned his head back against the door and shut his eyes for a moment. He felt sick, terrified. What if you were—? He couldn’t hear anything else from the stockroom. “Fuck this,” he growled, glancing at Maggie next to him. As if on cue, Glenn showed up and added his weight to the door behind them.

“I got the entrance jammed shut finally. Where’s Y/N?” he asked, incredulous.

“She went to clear the back way out,” Maggie said.

“What?!” Glenn’s eyes went wide.

“We ain’t waitin’ anymore! C’mon. On the count of three we make a run for the back,” Daryl said. “One. Two…”

Right then you emerged from the back room covered in walker blood, sweaty, your chest heaving, and looking completely exhausted. More concerning was a stream of blood pouring down the side of your face from a gash near your hairline. You absently wiped it out of your eye with your sleeve. “It’s clear! Let’s go!” you yelled at the trio, who were all staring at you in bewilderment.

“…Three!” Daryl said, and they threw themselves forward off the door. It immediately flung open and a flood of walkers began to pour in behind you all. “Go, go, go!” Daryl roared. He tossed anything he could get his hands on in their path behind him as he ran.

They leaped over the bodies of fallen walkers and debris as they rushed through the stockroom, but there it was—the back door standing open, sunlight streaming in, free of any biting jaws or clawing hands. Daryl slammed the door closed behind him as he exited the building but there was no telling how long it would hold.

You were all out of breath but had to keep going.

“Let’s get to the van. Now,” Daryl drawled, not even stopping to glance at any of you.

“My God,” Maggie said, looking over at you as you ran. “Your head—are you alright?” she asked you.

You pressed your sleeve to the gash again and nodded. “Yeah. I think so. You know, head wounds always bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is.”

“What happened?” Glenn asked, running beside his wife, one hand on the strap of his pack and the other entwined with Maggie’s.

“When they started coming in, I had to slow them down. They were coming too fast for me to kill. I pulled those shelves down but it was a bit of a domino effect.”

“Ain’t the place for story time,” Daryl snapped over his shoulder. “Let’s just get the hell outta here.”

You made it back to the van, exhausted, clutching a stitch in your side, your head pounding. You collapsed into the passenger seat as Daryl slid in behind the wheel. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, finally feeling the tightness in your lungs lessen, but you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you and you glanced over. They were narrowed but his expression was unreadable.

“What?” you asked in an undertone.

You thought you saw the muscle in his jaw tense but he simply looked away and started up the van. Soon you were behind the safe, high fences of the prison, climbing out and truly feeling the pain in your head now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Carol and Carl ran to greet you all when you came in. Her eyes clouded with concern as she saw your bloodstained face. “Are you alright?” she asked you urgently, taking your chin gently and turning your head to the side so she could inspect the gash.

“Fine,” you said. “I think. Hurts a bit…”

“I’ll get Hershel so he can take a look at you. I think he’s planting in the garden plot with Rick. I’ll send him up,” Carol said. She paused to give Daryl, who was hanging back, a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and a once over.

You glanced back and he had the same moody expression on his face. It had been a close call for all of you but you couldn’t help but feel like his irritation was directed specifically at you. You tried to shrug it off, but couldn’t suppress the twisting knot in your chest.

Maggie and Glenn broke off to grab some fresh water and Carol went over to talk to Hershel, Carl trailing behind her. That left just you and Daryl heading up to the cell block. The air was tense between you as you crossed the yard but as you stepped into the small common area just outside the cells, it was like it suddenly ignited white-hot.

Daryl threw his bag down angrily on one of the tables and your eyes snapped over to him.

You were a little worried your voice would shake when you spoke. “What’s the matter?” you asked him.

“Are ya shittin’ me?” he challenged you, his chest thrust forward, his eyes now locked on your face.

Your heart started to race and you gulped at the constriction that had suddenly appeared in your throat.

“That was real dumb what ya did back there today!” Daryl roared, pointing an accusatory finger directly at you. His eyes kept flickering up to the gash in your head and his stomach twisted every time. “You’re lucky all you got was that thing on your forehead!”

“What—I—” you stared at him, in shock from his rage. “I got us out of there… I had to.” “Nah. It wasn’t your call to make,” he spat back venomously.

You scoffed. “It was nobody’s call to make, Daryl! We were trapped and we had to get out. We were sitting ducks. Sooner or later they were going to come through the glass up front by Glenn or through that door right behind you and Maggie. I made a choice. And what I did, it didn’t thrust anybody but me right into danger. I can choose to gamble my own life if I want to! Hell, you do it all the time!”

This only seemed to infuriate him more. “Ya ain’t goin’ on runs anymore,” he roared, turning and stalking toward the door that led to the cells. His broad shoulders were squared and rigid.

You let out a noise of disbelief. “That isn’t your decision! And don’t walk away from me! I’ve had enough of this bullshit!”

“Yeah, well that makes two of us,” Daryl spat back over his shoulder.

You let out a frustrated groan. “Ugh! You are so infuriating! What is your problem with me? I haven’t done a damn thing to you and you treat me like I’m a complete waste of space! It’s like I can never do anything right for you, even when I save your ass!”

He spun around and took a few powerful steps back toward you, a scowl on his face, his blue eyes darker than usual. You refused to wilt under it. “This ain’t a shrink’s office, okay? And I sure as shit didn’t sign up for a little feel-good chat. So, why don’t ya leave me alone and go get your damn head stitched up.” He thrust a hand against the back of a nearby chair and it toppled over, echoing harshly in the high ceiling. You watched his broad shoulders shrinking away from you.

“No,” you said loudly, forcefully.

He froze mid-stride and you watched his fist clench and unclench at his side. He slowly turned to face you. “The hell did ya just say?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, resisting the urge to back down beneath his intense stair. “I said no. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck your problem is with me.”

His jaw clenched hard and he started back toward you, that familiar stalk and swagger in his gait. “You are my problem. You’re always getting in my damn way!”

You were trying to stay cool, but your confusion and his unwillingness to explain his anger was infuriating. “In your way? What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean what I said.” He pointed a finger in your face, standing hardly a foot from you now. “On runs. On hunts. Scavenging. Hell, even around here!” Daryl wasn’t prepared for the flash of hurt that crossed your face. You were always so tough, admittedly one of the things he loved about you. He hadn’t considered that his words might actually impact you so heavily, but he saw it flash in your eyes as plain as day and it snapped him out of his rage and filled him suddenly with regret.

Your brow furrowed and you just stared back at him, unwavering, puzzled, like you were trying your hardest to understand just what he was talking about, scrutinizing every past interaction you’d ever had with the archer, running over the events of the day, trying to decode his harsh words. Daryl would have preferred it if you had yelled back again, even if you had stormed out. But this? This was tying him up in knots inside in a worse way. You just went on looking at him… with that blood all down the side of your face.

And when you did finally speak your tone was so soft, so controlled in contrast to his that it only made him feel worse. Your words were measured. “Well, uhh… Sorry. I guess I’ll just—try harder to stay out of your way.”

And that was it. You just breezed past him and headed toward your cell, the sun coming through the high windows glinting off the shine in your hair before you disappeared. Daryl rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. You worthless piece of shit. Why the hell did ya do that? He cursed himself internally. You’re such an asshole.

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night the air was unseasonably cold but despite the chill you were spending the night on the outside balcony of the guard tower during your shift to keep watch. Every so often you shivered in the cold, but something about the bite of the air matched your mood after Daryl had exploded at you the way he had earlier. It was sharp, unexpected.

You still didn’t really understand what he had meant and you couldn’t stop puzzling over it. In his way? What the hell did he mean? Literally? Or did he mean something more… figurative?

The clank of the door behind you snapped you out of your swirling thoughts and you looked over your shoulder to see Rick emerging.

“Hey,” you greeted him, shrugging a little more deeply into your flannel.

“Hey,” he drawled back, coming to lean his forearms on the railing beside you and stare out across the yard. It was quiet tonight. He was grateful for that. “Cold tonight isn’t it?” he mused aloud, glancing over at you. When you didn’t respond and just continued staring into the night his brow contracted. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” your eyes finally snapped to his. “Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. I thought you were supposed to be resting tonight,” you said pointedly. “I can handle the next shift. I’m not tired anyway.”

“Mmm,” he nodded, turning back to let his eyes wander across the perimeter. “Not tired? Even after that run today? Maggie said you all had a close call.”

You nodded. “We did. But we all came back so… about as good a day as any. Can’t ask for more than that.”

“Mmm,” Rick hummed again in agreement. There was a long silence and you could feel some growing tension in it, sensed that Rick was searching for how to say just what he was mulling over. He did finally manage it. “This whole ‘not tired’ thing have anything to do with that fight you and Daryl had this afternoon?”

You gulped and looked down at your hands. “You heard that? I really thought everyone was outside…”

“They were. I just happened to be coming in to clean up a bit.”

You sighed heavily and felt your cheeks redden a little. You put one hand up to your face. “That’s… great…” you muttered.

Rick turned so he was facing you, just leaning on the railing with one elbow now. “I wouldn’t worry about what Daryl said or how he said it…” he drawled. You looked at him like he was insane.

“…you did say you heard him, right?”

Rick nodded. “Oh, yeah. I heard ‘im. But there’s a saying and it truly does apply to Daryl Dixon.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

“The dog that barks the loudest? That’s the one that’s the most afraid.” Rick watched you puzzling over his words for a moment before you turned back to the night.

“Afraid?” you repeated. “Daryl? He’s like—the most fearless of all of us.”

Rick sighed and followed your lead, again looking out into the darkness. “He is. Until he isn’t. Listen, I’m not making excuses for how he yelled at you. All I’m saying is not to think on it too hard.” He straightened up and pulled off his jacket, holding it out for you. “Take this. It’s cold. I’m gonna take this opportunity while Judith is asleep to also sleep. Let’s hope I didn’t just jinx it. Ya sure you’re alright up here?”

You nodded and slipped Rick’s jacket on. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Alright.” He patted your shoulder kindly before again leaving you alone with your thoughts, possibly even more confused than you had been before.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were exhausted by the time you climbed down from the guard tower the next morning as the sun was cresting over the trees. All you could think about was collapsing into your bed. The prison was still fairly silent as you came in, most people still sleeping. You yawned as you turned the corner into the room just outside the row of cells. When you looked up you saw Daryl sitting on one of the tables sharpening some bolts for his bow. You actually froze, before forcing yourself to move out of your falter.

You could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the room, purposefully giving him a wide berth, your head tilted down. When you turned into the cell block you let out an exhale you hadn’t meant to hold. You breezed into your cell and collapsed down onto your bed, hugging the pillow as you sank into it, too tired even to pull the sheet across the doorway. You were asleep the next minute.

Carol was up and found Daryl still in the same place you had seen him, but although he had a bolt in one hand and his knife in the other his hands were still. He seemed frozen there, just glaring into space across the room, obviously in some deep thought.

“Mornin’, Pookie,” she said, ruffling his hair just to annoy him.

He let out a growl and leaned away from her hand before glancing over at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line. She knew the look in his eyes. Something was eating him. “What’s wrong?” He let out a non-committal hum and shrugged his shoulders vaguely, his hands suddenly fidgeting endlessly with the bolt between his fingers. “Obviously something,” she prompted him again. Daryl glanced back over his shoulder toward the cell block. “What?” Carol pressed.

He only hummed again and shrugged. “What’re ya doin’?” he asked quietly.

“Just gonna go out and haul some water. Wanna come?” she asked.

He nodded and hopped to his feet, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and sheathing his knife. He followed Carol out into the morning light and trailed behind her as she went to the waterline. As she waited for the bucket to fill she straightened up and wiped the dirt from her hands. “Are you going to talk to me or not? I can tell something is bothering you.”

Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and thought hard for a moment. He’d hardly slept. He’d laid awake on his bed roll all night, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and tracing them with his eyes over and over in a futile attempt to distract his mind. It didn’t work.

“I just—I screwed up yesterday. Big time. And I—” he shrugged. “I dunno how to fix it. Or if I even can,” he drawled.

Carol watched the turmoil in his eyes. She crossed her arms and studied him. “Is this about the run yesterday? Did something happen out there?”

“Kinda. Not exactly.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that to go on.”

“I just—I said some things yesterday and… they ain’t even really true.” He was staring down at his boots, and in that moment, it struck Carol how boyish he looked.

“We all say things we don’t mean from time to time. You just have to apologize,” she said thoughtfully. “We’re a family here. Family forgives.”

Daryl’s eyes shot up to hers again and he shrugged, chewing on the side of his thumbnail. “Just like that? I dunno. Don’t seem that simple.”

“Daryl, it happens to all of us. We say things out of anger, exhaustion… hunger. Fear.” She stooped to turn off the flow of the water.

“But—when ya’ve said somethin’ and—and, I mean, ya can’t unsay it. Even if ya apologize, whatever ya said is still out there,” he mused. There was a gruff rasp in his throat, the gravel in his deep voice heavier than usual.

Carol sighed and picked up the bucket. “Well, the first question you have to answer for yourself is why you said whatever it was you said in the first place. And just apologize and try to explain.” She watched his expression. He didn’t look any less uneasy. “Just try. See what happens. If it blows up in your face you can come back and let me have it,” she joked.

Daryl rolled his eyes and watched Carol head back up to the prison. He remained standing down by the fence, leaning against it, and wondering how he was going to explain away his outburst at you… wondering if you would, if you could, forgive him.

The truth was that he was terrified of something happening to you, and being helpless as he held the door while you so willingly threw yourself into danger was agonizing. And that fear had come out in a blast directed right at you, with all sorts of unsaid things behind it.

There was a shuffle near the entrance of your cell and you shot awake, sitting partially up on one elbow and barely catching a glimpse of the back of Daryl’s vest as he moved out of view. Had he been standing there looking in at you? Did he need something? You puzzled over it and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You were probably just imagining that shuffle. He was most likely just walking by. Just then you saw Rick going past your cell in the opposite direction with Judith in his arms and you jumped up, realizing you were still wearing his jacket. You hastily pulled it off and jogged to catch up with him. “Rick!” He turned. “Hey. Thanks for this,” you said, holding it out to him.

He accepted it with a nod. “You can borrow it anytime you want to take over my shift,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

You laughed lightly. “I guess the little one let you get some sleep then, huh?” you asked, fondly stroking Judith’s soft hair.

“She did. I think she’s getting better at this whole sleep thing. Soon she’ll go straight through the night,” Rick said.

“That’s great,” you said.

“Hey, I know you were up all night but… I think there’s a bit of a pile up on the fence. If you’re rested up enough would you mind—”

“No problem,” you said urgently, grateful for a task to distract you. “I’ll get out there right away.” In a few minutes you were down at the fence, a sharp metal rod in your hand. You plunged it into a walker’s skull through the fence and immediately moved to the next one… and the next… Despite the cooler temperatures in anticipation of autumn, you were drenched in sweat. You were grateful for the ability to focus on the heaviness of the metal rod in your hands and the snarls of the walkers separated from you by nothing more than a thin barrier of chain link. It was hard work and you’d been at it a long time.

Maggie was just thinking the same thing and she came to stand beside Daryl, who was also looking out across the yard and seemed to be watching you. “She’s been out there for hours. We should tell her to come in and take a rest. Get somethin’ to eat,” she thought aloud.

“Mhm,” Daryl agreed, not looking away from you.

Maggie glanced over at him. “Well, do you wanna go and try to convince her or should I?”

The archer chewed his bottom lip for a moment before straightening up. “I’ll do it.” He headed for the far end of the yard. As he approached, he could see your skin was glistening with sweat in the sun, the hair on the nape of your neck sticking in the heat. He tried to ignore the jump his heart gave and the warmth blooming in his chest as he approached. “Ya keep at it like this you’re gonna drop out here,” he said loudly, trying to make sure you would hear him over the snarls of the walkers.

You spun in surprise, the metal rod hanging along your side, a bit of walker blood and gore dripping off the end. Daryl’s voice was just about the last one you expected to hear. You turned back to the fence and stabbed another walker. “I’m fine,” you said over your shoulder.

“Nah. Ya been out here long enough. C’mon.” You only continued at your grim work, your shoulders tensing as you raised the rod. “Ya deaf or somethin’?” Daryl yelled.

You turned and looked at him again, your expression mostly blank, except for your furrowed brow. “I’m not deaf. I’m—” you sighed and crossed your hands over your chest. “What are you even doing down here?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Daryl’s blue eyes looked away for a moment. “What d’ya mean?” He was gripping the chain link in front of him, his fingers poking through.

“I mean, yesterday. Me down here working on the fence is about as out of your way as I could get, Daryl. And now you’re here.”

You watched as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit it anxiously. “That why you’ve been out here so long?” he asked.

“No, I—Rick asked me to come down and—”

“Mmm. Mhm,” Daryl hummed, his nose inclining a little. “Ya, that makes sense. You’d do anything Rick asked of ya, right?”

You gave him a confused look. His tone was so… odd, almost hostile. “What are you—”

“Yeah, I saw ya earlier. Wearin’ his jacket. Givin’ it back to him…” He felt a swell of jealousy in his chest as he thought of you laughing, your eyes fixed on Rick’s face, light in your eyes.

Your jaw dropped open. “I was—it was cold last night. I was on watch. I was taking over Rick’s shift too and he came up to check on things and left me his jacket… What are—are you—?” You were bewildered. It sounded like Daryl was jealous. What the hell was happening? One day he’s screaming at you to stay out of his way and the next he’s acting like he’s under the spell of a particular green-eyed monster. Daryl scoffed and straightened up off the fence. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Just you and Rick up in the guard tower. Alone,” he growled, flicking his hand in your direction.

“Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on with you?!” you asked, flabbergasted. “Not that this is even relevant or any of your damn business... and Rick’s a good man but I’m not interested in him like that. I don’t know what—”

Daryl interrupted you again. “Uh huh, ya. He is a good man. Only one here now, right?” Daryl spat back.

You were stunned. “Daryl! Daryl!” He had turned away again and started stalking back up toward the prison, but you were now infuriated and let out a frustrated growl before booking it for the gates that would let you get back into the yard.

By the time you made it, he was a good distance ahead of you, out in the middle of the grassy area and you had to run to catch up to him. “Hey!” you yelled, grabbing onto his shoulder lightly. He threw your hand off and spun around, but you were surprised to see that he didn’t look mad anymore. He looked… defeated. But now you were mad. “Are you gonna fucking explain to me what the hell is going on with you?!? I don’t know what to think! One minute you’re screaming at me to stay out of your goddamn way and the next you’re acting jealous because—what, you think I’m fucking Rick? Which, I’m not, by the way, not that it is any of your damn business.” You scoffed. “And just FYI, I don’t appreciate you trying to tell me what I can and can’t do! Now, what the hell is going on?” you demanded.

He stood there in front of you, his fists clenched at his sides, just looking back at you for a long moment, blue eyes narrowed in either a glare or a squint against the Georgia sun. He couldn’t stop looking at the neat row of stitches on your forehead and the dark bruising around them that had developed over night. His stomach twisted every time. He tore his eyes away and stared down at his boots, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I—you’re right.”

“…what?”

He sighed heavily and looked back up, meeting your eyes again. “M’sorry. Ya just—I thought I was gonna lose ya out there yesterday.”

You just continued to stare at him, confusion muddying your expression.

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment trying to come up with the right words to explain, to apologize. “Ya scared the shit outta me, pullin’ what ya did. And every time ya go out there, I can’t stop thinkin’ about what if somethin’ happens to ya. And it almost—it’s like I can’t breathe.”

You just stared at the archer, your heart continuing to race in your chest, but not from anger anymore.

“And I know it isn’t fair that I yelled at ya like I did. I was bein’ a jackass. I guess it was just how all that fear… came out. And I didn’t mean how it sounded.” Now that he had started talking it was almost like he couldn’t stop.

“Then what did you mean?” You felt like you were imagining this.

“I meant that…” he licked his bottom lip nervously and his blue eyes met yours. “I couldn’t bear it if somethin’ happened to ya.” He studied your expression for a moment, his eyes landing on the soft pout of your lips. “And I was jealous of you and Rick.”

“Daryl, there’s nothing—”

“I know. I know…” he trailed off. “But I was an asshole and then ya were wearing his jacket and smilin’ at him, laughin’, and I just—” He gulped at the restriction in his throat. “I—I wanna be that for ya.”

Your brain still wasn’t entirely registering what he was saying, but the way he was looking down at you was certainly sending jolts of electricity through you. “Be what?”

His eyes flickered between your lips and eyes repeatedly and you felt like you were waiting in anticipation on the edge of something. He shrugged vaguely. “Everythin’. Anythin’ ya need,” he said simply.

“…so, when you said that I’m in your way—?”

“I meant I can’t hardly think of anythin’ but you all the time.” Daryl was quickly losing his courage, nerves starting to take over and he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed on it anxiously. You were looking up at him but he couldn’t read your expression. It was seemingly blank, and finally he was so anxious he started to turn away, but your hand landed on his arm gently and he looked back at the contact of your skin on his before his eyes rose and met your gaze.

There was a small smile on your face and Daryl’s heart leapt even as he tried to prepare himself for disappointment. “Where do you think you’re going?” you asked quietly. He again squared his feet to yours, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. Your hand was still on his forearm and it felt like it was sending out radiating waves of heat.

Your smile faded and your expression became more serious. “Everything you just said—is how I feel about you.”

Daryl gulped, feeling suddenly breathless in disbelief. Your hand dropped from his arm, leaving a tingling sensation behind.

“Listen, I’m on watch duty again tonight. First shift. I’ll probably be cold. Why don’t you come keep me company and maybe bring me a jacket,” you said, with a small smile.

Daryl’s heart leapt at the thought of spending so much time with you alone. He nudged his nose up in a nod and was about to leave when he felt your hand on his arm again. You arched up onto your toes and placed a kiss on his cheek, giving him a warm smile, he felt he didn’t deserve. He stood rooted in place in the middle of the grassy field, a hesitant excitement blooming in his chest, as he watched you disappear into the safety of the prison.

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

Note

Can we get some drabbles on Renji’s time with Squad 11 especially his interactions with Kenpachi and Yachiru? Obviously shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika are welcome! Also, how did you think he was promoted to Squad 6 lieutenant? It’s safe to assume he applied (I can imagine his Squad 11 gang even helping him out with this) as that’s part of his “master Get-Back-Rukia plan” but moving from 6th seat to lieutenant is a leap and I imagine that Byakuya is super picky. Imagine his job interview!

I’ll do the meta part first.

#0. For starters, Renji spent 40 years reverse-engineering how to make Squad 6 Vice-Captain. He read every Teen Vogue profile on Byakuya, he clipped Byakuya’s unreadable etiquette column in the Bulletin, he studied Kuchiki military history, he hung out at Shirogane Ginjirou’s sunglasses shop and knew exactly when the guy planned to retire and got a bunch of spilled tea on Byakuya’s pet peeves, of which there are many. Byakuya is not exactly a complicated guy, it isn’t all that hard to figure out what the right answers to his interview questions are gonna be.

#1. I think there is an exam that qualifies you to be a vice-captain, and that Renji vastly over-prepared for it and got an extremely high score. Byakuya loves big numbers.

#2. There is a standard application for Vice-Captain that’s probably about 5 pages long. Renji’s application was 15 pages long. He included a personal essay and a long paean to how much he admired the principles of Squad 6. Byakuya loves Squad 6, and he loves a guy who is really enthusiastic about Squad 6.

#3. Renji is great in an interview. I headcanon that he and Rukia did a lot of con artistry back in Rukongai. Byakuya is a mark. Primarily, Renji gave him opportunities to pontificate, which Byakuya loves. Byakuya talked through 90% of Renji’s interview, and walked out feeling great.

#4. The only thing Renji had going against him was the reference section. Byakuya hates Zaraki and would go out of his way to avoid talking to him. Aizen was still salty that Renji left his squad, and tried to reverse psych Byakuya into not hiring him. (“Oh, I think he’d be an excellent second for you, Byakuya! He’s a bit impulsive, and I’m sure your influence would overcome some of that hotheadedness! His poor kidou skills shouldn’t be a problem, I’m sure you’ve got that covered yourself…”) Unfortunately for Aizen, Byakuya was already 80% on Team Renji and he realized Aizen was trying to play him, and Byakuya hates being played.

Job offer within 24 hours. Regrets came later.

I do a lot of shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika, but not usually Kenpachi and Yachiru, so let’s try that for a change!

🗡️ 💖 💪

“I have a Special Assignment for you, Abarai,” the Kenpachi grumbled.

Special Assignments could be anything, really. Running around dive bars in the upper Rukon, stapling up posters to advertise their next Recruitment Brawl. Delivering blotchy hand-written notes to Captain Unohana. Helping Zaraki set up elaborate obstacle courses that would then necessitate another Recruitment Brawl. The majority of Renji’s Special Assignments involved helping the captain get somewhere he needed to go. Zaraki was very good at getting lost, but Renji was exceptionally good at finding places. This worked out rather nicely, because there was almost always something interesting to fight in the places that Zaraki wanted to go, and the more Zaraki saw Renji fight, the more willing he was to bring him along.

“We goin’ somewhere, sir?” Renji asked hopefully.

Zaraki scratched his ass pensively. “Not today. C’mon in, I don’t wanna talk about it outside.” He let the way into what was occasionally jokingly referred to as his “office.” It was the place where Zaraki hung out and took naps during the day, in case anyone wanted to find him for fighting purposes. “Chisaka had to go to the Living World last week,” Zaraki explained, rummaging around in his kosode and pulling out a well-thumbed magazine. “She brought Yachiru back some manga she thought she would like.”

“That was nice,” Renji commented carefully. Giving gifts to Yachiru was nearly always an exercise in “no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Yeah, it went over real good,” Zaraki grumbled. “She liked it so much, she wants her hair done up like the kid in it.” He thrust the crumpled booklet at Renji. It was a girls’ manga, the kind with a lot of sparkles and girls in sailor suits. Zaraki poked a gnarled finger at a picture of a little girl with pink hair, twisted up into two little buns, with fluffy ponytails trailing down from them.

Renji rolled his eyes up towards his captain. “What the actual fuck, sir? Isn’t this more Ayasegawa’s department?” Zaraki didn’t like to be called ‘sir’ unless there was a profanity somewhere in the same sentence.

“Dammit, Abarai, I know you’ve let Ayasegawa do your hair. It takes him four fucking hours and he screams at you if you squirm. Yachiru can’t sit through that shit.”

Renji made an uncomfortable face. “Your hair always looks great, can’t you--”

“I tried! She doesn’t want me to use any gel, says it needs to be ‘fluffy’. How the hell are you supposed to do a hairstyle without gel, answer me that!”

“What makes you think I can do anything?” Renji finally whined.

“Look, I started at the top. Madarame ain’t got any hair, and Iba might as well not. You’re pretty fast, and you’re probably strong enough to hold her down, and at least you know how a ponytail holder works.” Zaraki sucked his teeth. “If you do it, I’ll fight you later.”

“Really?” Renji asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Zaraki didn’t usually feel that anyone below Ikkaku merited his time, and Renji jumped at every opportunity to convince him otherwise.

“Yeah, sure.” Zaraki flung open the door to the room where Yachiru sat, scowling, surrounded by an assortment of ribbons and barrettes. “I got help.”

“Wrong Way doesn’t know how to do hair!” Yachiru shouted.

Renji and Yachiru had an ongoing philosophical disagreement about the geography of the Seireitei. Yachiru had zero legs to stand on in this argument, but also, she was the one who came up with nicknames.

“He has a lot of hair,” Zaraki countered.

“That’s boy hair!” Yachiru returned. “It doesn’t count!”

“I… have done girl hair before,” Renji admitted, somewhat painedly. “Hair is hair!” He almost yelled “Gender is a construct!” because he had been reading some of the books Iba’s mom kept leaving in their room, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain what that meant. At this point, he just wanted to get this over with, preferably without getting kicked in the nose, which tended to happen a lot around Yachiru. “If you let me try, I’ll let you do my hair.”

Yachiru’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“You can’t cut it, but sure. Whatever.”

Zaraki was looking over at him with something that might have been respect. “Do you know what you’re doing, you crazy bastard?” he mumbled.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied.

🗡️ 💖 💪

“They’re uneven, is all I’m saying,” Yumichika sniffed.

“I love them, he put extra ribbons on!” Yachiru howled, swinging her sheathed sword at Yumichika, who deftly ducked. The ribbons swung delightfully around the sides of her head.

“I’m honestly surprised there were any ribbons left,” Iba commented dryly.

“You can shut it, fucko!” Renji yelled. His hair was styled rather similarly to his vice-captain’s, except that his was in three (rather lumpy) buns, and his ponytails trailed more majestically. The curling iron had been a terrible idea overall, but the big, loopy curls at the ends of both Renji’s and Yachiru’s hair had definitely been worth all the burns.

Ikkaku rubbed his own bald pate. “I kinda like that look on him. 100 kan says it helps him fight better.”

“You’re on,” Iba agreed.

“What’s the hold up?!” Zaraki roared.

“Here I come!” Renji bellowed.

“Ganbatte, Wrong Way!” Yachiru cheered.

There was a loud crunch.

Ikkaku handed over the 100 kan. “It was worth a try.”

#happy birthday renji!#renji abarai #squad 11 #my writing #drabbles

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bxckle-up · 3 years

Text

about.

FULL NAME: [ REDACTED ] (former) DRISCOLL (COLE) JAMES CASSIDY (current) NICKNAME: [ REDACTED ] (former) CASSIDY (current) AGE: 35 BIRTH DATE: MARCH 12 GENDER: MALE ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: DEMIROMANTIC SEXUAL ORIENTATION: PANSEXUAL OCCUPATION: VIGILANTE, BOUNTY HUNTER, OUTLAW PARENTS: CLINT MCCREE (FATHER) , JESSE CASSIDY (MOTHER) EYE COLOUR: BROWN HAIR COLOUR: DARK BROWN HEIGHT: 6'1 , 1.85m BODY BUILD: ATHLETIC TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: PRINCE ALBERT PIERCING NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: LEFT METAL ARM PROSTHETIC, CIGAR BURNS ON HIS BACK, DEADLOCK TATTOO INTELLIGENCE: STREET SMART LIKES: COFFEE, CIGARS, APPLE PIE, BEING ALONE DISLIKES: THE THOUGHT OF DYING ALONE, "KNOW IT ALLS" EXTRAS: He frequently hooks up with people, but doesn't allow them to get close. He sees sex as something to release any sort of frustration. He hasn't actually had any true passionate nights with someone he's deeply cared about, and the thought of it frightens him.

BACKSTORY

CHILDHOOD/TEEN YEARS [ REDACTED ]

REASON: ❝ past is th’past. never understood bein’ obsessed with what used to be. we should all be focused on what is. ❞

❝ i lied most ‘bout it anyways, thinkin’ reyes would pity me if i said i had a rough upbringin’. truth is, ma ‘n pop were dirt poor, yet determined t’keep the farm up ‘n goin’. pop taught me how to hold and shoot a gun proper before i sprouted hair on my chin if i was to defend the farm from coyotes, bandaged my hands when i burnt myself cleanin’ the barrel, cheered when i brought shot duck for dinner. when he got sick ‘n kicked the bucket, the farm felt gray ‘n dull. ❞

❝ ma gave me his gun from way back when he was sheriff. he was ‘supposed to gift it t’me the summer after he died. she said he called it peacekeeper, as thugs ‘n criminals always fessed up just by lookin’ at ‘er. crime was lowest when pop was in service, ‘til his knee started givin’ him problems.❞

Born into a motherless life, his father was a strict man that initially did not even want a son, and hoped for a daughter instead. Growing up, his father refused to speak about his mother, only hearing from him that she was a "selfish whore" that "got whatever was going for her" as she had passed during childbirth. [ REDACTED ] was an energetic boy with plenty of dreams; all shot down by cold shoulders and aggressive attitudes from his father. If he were to speak out of turn, he'd be punished. Snuck out snacks from the pantry, he'd be punished. Didn't reach the quota on the farm, he'd be punished-- he'd be punished more often than not. He doesn't like to talk about the type of punishment he received, but know that this is where the cigar burn scars came from. He never held grudges; he was a wise kid and knew better than to get angry. It wasn't his fault, despite the persuasive words from his father. Reaching his teen years was when he was able to do as he pleased as long as it did not anger his father. He'd work on the farm, keep outside far from the old man as much as possible. Though, shooting was the only thing that bonded father and son together, as they created a makeshift shooting range somewhere on the farm. When they weren't shooting together, his frequent lounging spot was a pond nearby their shooting range, spending a lot of time reading about the history of old American southern culture; not to mention watching old cowboy movies when he could. In the last few months of his father's life, him and his father bonded immensely. Peacekeeper is his father's gun, and the first gun that [ REDACTED ] had ever held. It kept him out of a pinch from times to come. He'd take care of it, bring it in for repairs if needed, and DID NOT ever misplace it.

YOUNG MCCREE/PRE-OVERWATCH [ REDACTED ]

REASON: ❝ i was told i needed an explanation for my misdeeds. that i needed to look poor ‘n needy to even be considered t’become part of overwatch. ❞

❝ i started doing the odd job here ‘n there, scroungin’ up any money i could get to help ma keep the farm. when she passed, i figured it was best to sell the property. farm started losin’ more than it was givin’ and it was time to let go of the past. i sold it ‘fer a pretty penny, but most o’ that money went towards connections ‘n keepn’ peacekeeper pretty. ❞

❝ had a ‘couple friends hook me up with a solid job at another farm ‘fore runnin’ into a pretty gal with a rebel spirit. she had the brains, i had the brawns. it was stroke o’ luck, findin’ her when i did. i was down to my last dollar when we talked ‘bout runnin’ heists for a livin’. ❞

❝ i don’t like talkin’ much ‘bout it. we... had our differences. one bad heist, and now she probably thinks i hate her. if that ain’t the furthest from the truth... ❞

When his father passed due to heart complications, he found himself leaving the farm to avoid grief and ran into a couple of ruffians. Respected once winning in a duel, [ REDACTED ] worked alongside them, robbing local stores and small banks in exchange for a sense of familiarity and friendship. His charismatic demeanor made him the recruiter of his small group, using the art of persuasion instead of force as a means to gain numbers. Upon stumbling across Elizabeth Ashe, the two would immediately hit it off and eventually pursue a life of crime with one another. Various heists planned by both would be proven successful, and although they had friends by their side, the true duo behind all the antics was Ashe and [ REDACTED ]. Both being history nerds and lovers of old American southwestern culture, they created the Deadlock Gang. They never killed unless given reason to, never killed the innocent either. Sure, they were reckless, but they weren't stupid cold-blooded killers. The Deadlock Gang had hearts, souls and were aware of others too-- frequently stealing from the rich to give to the poor as well. The ones who they would kill would be the assholes that were stupid enough to try to foil their plans and get them caught. Even then, they'd make it quick, but made sure that they all had a chance to live. During a heist that Ashe was not present for, Overwatch intercepted the operation and captured [ REDACTED ] along with a couple of other gang members. However, impressed by [ REDACTED ]’s skills, they gave him two options: rot in prison, or work for Overwatch's covert ops, Blackwatch. Not wanting to leave what was oh-so familiar to him but at the same time not wanting to go to prison, he'd reluctantly join Blackwatch.

BLACKWATCH

Initially, [ REDACTED ] did not want to be in Blackwatch. Operation after operation passed, and he grew to enjoy being in it. He found that, working for an organization whose intentions were genuine at best, simply felt better than constantly living on the edge. In the beginning, he chose to keep himself reserved from the other associates in Blackwatch. That eventually changed as he warmed up to them-- Commander Reyes in particular, whom he spent most of his time training with. What [ REDACTED ] did not agree with for the most part, however, was that Blackwatch killed whoever got in their way. He always knew that to every soldier was a family, something that he and Ana Amari bonded over greatly. The longer he stayed in Blackwatch, the more souls he'd have to take, the more it weighed down on his conscience. The people in Overwatch were nice, and often debated asking for a transfer to one of the other Overwatch divisions as he grew to dislike his own dispatch team in Blackwatch. Unfortunately, [ REDACTED ] would lose his arm out on a mission for Blackwatch, post-Venice. A fellow cyborg was forced to amputate on the battlefield, and [ REDACTED ] was never the same since. He left a couple weeks after receiving his new prosthetic, the breaking point being his failure in saving Mina Liao from an attack on her laboratory. He blamed himself greatly for this mistake.

POST-BLACKWATCH/PRESENT DAY

❝ i lied ‘bout who i was ‘cause i knew reyes loved his rags-to-riches stories. i thought ‘bout the boys in the farms that spoke ‘bout gettin’ beat by their fathers, ignored by their mothers, the unfortunate orphans ‘n homeless men. jesse mccree was all o’ them.❞

❝ y’know, ashe never knew my real name was driscoll. i think i just wanted my real name t’be reserved for the good, ‘n good only. deadlock was none o’ that. neither was blackwatch. but overwatch... overwatch is different. i can feel it. ❞

❝ now that overwatch is gettin’ its second chance, i’m willin’ to take mine. ❞

❝ the name’s driscoll james cassidy, but i go by cole now. cole cassidy. ❞

#( ooc ) bit o housekeepin hurt nobody.

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internationalspacehobo · 6 years

Text

tagged by @saints-row-2

Name: oof, there’s like a bunch of em. Catholicism will do that. Leo Lukas Enric is what it says on my birth certificate but i go by sherry too so :shrug emoji:

Gender: When you microwave your food but it’s still cold in the middle but you keep eating anyway bc you just don’t care anymore

Star Sign: Born on the cusp of scorpio/saggitarius

Height: Uuuuhhh like 1.87m? I think that’s like 6′1

Sexuality: Bisexual but like, as a deepfried jpeg

Lock screen: The gates of Moria

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher: Nah

Where do you hope to see yourself in 10 years: Out of the education system fuck me uuuhhhh hopefully more active in my hobbies

If you could go anywhere else right now where would it be?: Haven’t been to hamburg in a really really long time :/

Your coolest Halloween costume?: We don’t celebrate halloween over here. Or, well, we didn’t use to, and we only do now in the sense that people dress up in costumes go clubbing and get drunk. I still refuse to tho bc im a bitter bitch. I did dress up as maid Marian and the sheriff of Nottingham when I was a kid a lot though, which says a lot about me I feel.

What was your favorite 90’s TV show?: I mean I was born in 95 so like.... duck tales? Spongebob Squarepants? I don’t fucking remember man

Last kiss?: Been a while, was alright

Favorite book?: the hobbit, the children of hurin (both by tolkien)

small gods, good omens, the entire city watch line (all by terry pratchett)

hitchhicker’s guide to the galaxy & its sequels (by douglas adams)

name of the wind & a wise man’s fear (by patrick rothfuss)

Have you ever been stood up?: Nah. I have a friend who takes between one and four hours to arrive but that’s about it.

Have you ever been to Las Vegas?: Nope, don’t plan on goin either.

Favorite pair of shoes: By process of elimination, the only pair I own

Favorite fruit?: Kiwis & pears. I always say bananas bc they’re easy to eat but lets be real. Kiwis & pears.

Stupidest thing you’ve ever done?: Oh man this list is entirely too long. Uuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh got really drunk, got a text from my sort-of ex saying she was drunk as hell and wanted to see me, and deciding to not ignore it. Ended up throwing up in her kitchen and with a sprained wrist.

gonna tag @bialoth @ghartok-padhome @v-lkyries andddd @thelesbianscrolls

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ariespageofbreath · 6 years

Text

Monster Summer Mash: Naps and Lazy Days

Fourth entry!! Tbh these will all probably be either art or reader inserts lol. Anyways, once again, could be platonic or not, up to you, reader is gender neutral, and it's with Swapfell Papy (you decide which version lol)!

Edit: Fixed the paragraphing issues lol. Dunno why that was a problem in the first place.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Summer has always been your lazy season. The warmth of the sun makes you slow and lethargic, content to lounge around your hours sleeping or relaxing. You get more days off, so you can stay up as late as you want without repercussions, or just binge-watch whatever show holds your fancy.

And even though most of your human and monster friends are notorious busy-bodies and athletes, you’re a well-known couch potato. So your friends understand when you turn down a day at the beach, or to go to the movies, or-ugh-running. This year, you’re staying in more than usual. This whole year has been astonishingly stressful, and you wanted a nice, long break to recuperate.

So you wanted to spend most of your time at home, doing little things to make you happy and pass the time. You feel bad turning down your friends so often, but you know you wouldn't be able to enjoy it as much right now.

Or maybe that's just your excuse. Who knows.

You’re in the middle of binge-watching yet another series on Netflix, eating potato chips on the couch, when your phone goes off. You grunt, scrambling up to pause your show and grab your phone. You don’t bother to check the caller ID before answering. “Y’ello?”

“knock knock,” comes the raspy tenor of your best friend, Papyrus.

You snort, completely forgetting that he can’t see your eye roll from the other side of the phone. Still, you decide to humor him, drily replying, “Who’s there?”

Someone rings your doorbell, briefly distracting you until he chuckles. “me.”

Paling, you glance down at yourself. Thanks to a malfunctioning AC and too-hot weather, you’ve been chilling in a tank top and a pair of underwear in the dark all day. You’re also sweaty and you’ve got crumbs of food littering your body. Cringe. “Uh, hold that thought, buddy, I gotta go make myself presentable.”

“psh. you know i don’t care about that,” he states, unaware of you rushing into your bedroom.

It’s true, he’s the chillest dude you know, and of all your friends, he’s the least likely to judge you for your current state. But still! “Yeah, well I do. Go ahead and come in, I’m taking a quick shower. You know where the food and stuff is.”

“thanks doll.” There’s a weird noise, presumably him teleporting into your living room. You hear him snort. “wow, you weren’t kidding. have you even moved at all this week?”

Betrayal! You trusted him not to judge you! Scowling, you huff, “Speak for yourself, kettle. If it weren’t for Sans, you’d never get up at all.” You collect a towel and a change of clothes from your bed, heading to the attached bathroom. “Make fun of my life choices later, I’m hanging up now.”

Despite your threat, you still wait long enough for him to chuckle and return the farewell before you hang up with a smile. You duck into the bathroom, taking the shortest, coldest shower possible while still getting clean. You might linger just a little longer to enjoy the cold before climbing out again. You get dressed just as quickly, leaving the towel around your shoulders to catch the water.

When you emerge into your living room, you find that he’s taken over your couch and your TV. You snort when you see what’s on. Traipsing over, you lean on the back of the couch to smirk down at his sprawled form. “Horror movies, Goldie? Aren’t you a little young?”

“older than you, whippersnapper,” he drawls, barely shifting to look up at you. The sharp gold of his canines catch the light as he raises a brow bone at you challengingly. “what’s’a matter, sweetheart? afraid of the boogeyman?” He makes a point of leering at you threateningly.

“Please. The boogeyman is sitting on my couch, and I’ve seen him cry like a baby when he’s drunk. I’ve stopped being afraid of him. His older brother’s the one who spooks me,” you tease, reaching out to flick his forehead.

He swats you away, pretending to be offended even as he smiles. He places one hand dramatically on his sternum. “really? You’re more afraid of sans than me?” When you nod, grinning, he drops the act, crossing his hands behind his head. “good call. have you seen his workout plan?” Cue dramatic shiver.

You chuckle, shaking you head at his antics. “No kidding.” You reach down again to swat at his knee. “Move over, Mr. Boogeyman, you’re hogging the couch.”

For a moment, it seems like he’s actually considering it, but then his familiar smug smirk is back. He stretches his already-too-long legs farther, sinking lower into the couch. “nah. think i like it the way i am.”

“I will sit on you,” you threaten, though it isn’t really much of a threat. Not only is he stronger than you, he has magic, so if he wanted you to move, you’d move.

He was also evil and knew all your ticklish spots, but you digress.

Papyrus simply continues to smirk, once again raising his brow bone. You shrug, giving him a “you asked for it” look. Without further ado, you clamber over the couch, landing directly on him. He lets out a little grunt, reaching up to stabilize you. You half-expect him to make some stupid remark about sitting on his lap, but he simply grins at you like this was his plan all along.

Actually, when you think about it, it probably was.

You don’t have time to ponder. Keeping one sharp hand on your back, Papyrus uses the other to fish the remote off the ground and restart the movie. You lean back, getting comfortable on his semi-rigid body, and you settled into an easy silence. Occasionally, you’ll feel his hand twitch, thumb rubbing your back.

The movie is boring and predictable, an old number you’ve seen a ton of times, so you pass the time making fun of how bad it is. Some of the jumpscares still get you, however, and Papyrus won’t stop mocking you for it.

Somehow, it turns into a horror movie marathon. You’re half-way through a second one-one you’ve never seen, but Papyrus has-when the hand on your back sides up to your shoulder, lightly tugging on you. You give him a curious look, so he pauses the movie to speak to you. “mind layin’ down, doll? Pressure’s kinda gettin’ to my ribs.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you agree without pause, shifting as carefully as you can so you’re on your side in front of him, back to his chest. Papyrus drapes his arm over your side, curling slightly to pull you closer. “That better?” you murmur, and are rewarded with a quiet grumble.

Snorting, you take control of the remote and unpause the movie. For a while you’re both quite again, watching the action play out. His fingers graze your stomach occasionally, just firm enough so it doesn’t tickle. Despite it still being hot out, you don’t feel too warm-he’s the perfectly cool temperature.

It’s not until the sixth movie, as you’re beginning to doze off, that Papyrus speaks up in a quiet voice. “missed doin’ this, doll. you ain’t been around lately.”

You bite your lip, guilt settling in. Papyrus has been a constant source of comfort and support this whole year, and yet so far you’d practically ditched him. You stare at the carpet, frowning. “I’m sorry, Paps. I’ve been kind of a crap friend lately. I just wanted some time to myself to just… recharge, you know? I really should have hung out with you guys more.”

“that’s not what i’m sayin’, sweetheart,” he chuckled, sitting up slightly and leaning over to make eye contact. His sockets are soft. “there’s nothin’ wrong with takin’ time off to relax. take all the time in the world, i ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He gave you a little squeeze, suddenly looking a little nervous. “y’know we don’t, uh, have to go anywhere, right? t’hang out? if you’re feelin’ a little drained, y’know, we can always just chill here or at my place, doin’ what we’re doin’. i jus’... heh, sounds a ittle selfish, but i uh. i miss seein’ ya.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, touched. Count on Papyrus to be so understanding but bashful. You reach up, gently touching his cheekbone to give him an honest smile. “Thanks, Papy. i’d love to do this more often. I miss you too, Mr. Boogeyman.”

He snorts affectionately, relaxing again. “glad m’ not the only one. jus’ remember that i care about ya’, an’ i wanna see you be happy, okay?” You nod, and he smirks, back to his normal self. “great. now enough of this mushy crap, let’s get back to blood’n’guts.”

You chortle, sinking back into his hold. He presses his face into your neck, not even bothering to pretend to watch the movie, and within moments he’s snoring. Though you leave the TV on, it doesn’t take you long to follow him.

Outside, birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and on days like these, lazybones like you… Are happily napping with their best friends.

#Monstersummermash #event #UTSS #raffle entry #entry #fourth #papyrus #reader insert #I'll make corrections tomorrow lol

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sparkledeerfr · 6 years

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The Stranger

Peoria was having one of those strings of days when she just didn’t feel like being around anyone, and instead camped out in the wastelands near the city. She loved and hated these days. She liked the peace and quiet, the setting up and tearing down of her small camp, scrounging for dinner, liked reminding herself that if really all did go to crap somehow she could survive. She of course also hated being alone, of having no one watch her back aside from the occasional visitor or wanderer, the feeling that she knew Plague so well she may as well have red eyes. Eventually the disquiet, the feeling that ‘Peoria, this would be your life forever if you had no friends’ would eat into her bones like an increasing sense of anxiety and she would return back to the 3 Cities.

But it was fortunate for someone that she was out there, as one day she noticed that particular mix of circling birds that told her something was dead or dying. She always checked these out just in case, but generally it was just some animal that definitely wasn’t worth fighting the various local scavengers for. This time though it was that one case in a thousand that made it worth it.

(Read More Link)

At first she just saw a spot of blackness laying on the ground, definitely odd and worth getting closer. She darted her eyes and noticed that there seemed to be no terrestrial scavengers circling, which only compounded the oddity. Something was always hungry out here, and a meal that wouldn’t fight back invited quite a few around here.

As she got closer (low to the ground, poking her head up occasionally like a spooked cat. This could be trouble, or a trap, or any variety of thing) she noticed it was a skydancer, though she couldn’t quite tell their gender. They seemed quite small and slender, even for their breed, so perhaps a teenager? They also seemed to have no packs or supplies with them. She checked them quickly for weapons and wounds, but nothing seemed apparent. She quickly checked the eyes and while they seemed glazed they were also a vibrant red- good, not likely a disease that caused them to collapse, then. Perhaps just a case of hunger and dehydration.

Peoria carefully picked them up and slung them over her back. She was on the smaller side even for a pearlcatcher, but this stranger was easy enough to move (though, truth be told, even if it had been a guardian or imperial Pea woulda tried her damndest to drag them somewhere safer). She made her way back to her camp and laid them on her bedroll, checking over them with the limited field medicine that she knew. If they woke up she would happily hand over her food and drink, but the question was that if. There was no telling how long they had been wandering out there and how much danger they were in. They needed a doctor.

Pea settled on the dirt floor of the tent, staring at the stranger, watching the rise and fall of their chest, praying for a moment that they would simply sleep for a few minutes. When that did not happen she faced a conundrum - if she left them there to get help the tent offered poor protection. If she stayed there was a chance they wouldn’t wake ever again. She stayed there in silence, solid as a statue, mulling over the possibilities and the best possible answer longer than most would. She did not like making decisions on her own, least of all ones that gambled other people’s lives.

Luckily she heard a noise- that particular moaning grumble and shuffling that let her know exactly who was outside and nearby. “STITCHES!”

---

“Oh hello Stitches!” Sparks said brightly to the imperial, who had his vibrant purple eyes trained on West. “What can we do for you today?”

“Doctorrrrr…” Stitches said in that low, rumbling way he had. “Get help, outside the gates.”

“Doctor? You’ll need Lady if someone needs medical care.” West said, snapping to let Stitches know he was being unreasonable. Unluckily for West, Stiches knew no such thing as vocal tone or subtlety- and instead walked behind West and began very gently pushing him with his strange bone white and twisted horns. “Stitches you-” West started when Sparks began laughing like this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. She in fact kept laughing as Stitches practically picked the black skydancer up in his horns in an attempt to shove him in the right direction.

“Oh, oh man,” Sparks said, wiping away tears as West was gently herded away from her. “Okay I’ll go get Lady. Just follow him, West. He obviously ain’t gonna give up.”

“But-”

“Oh just go its not worth fighting and now I’m super curious about what’s goin’ on.”

-----

‘Go get a doctor please, they need help,’ Peoria had said to Stitches, showing him the black skydancer that was lying down. Stitches could barely get his head and neck into the tent, but the way he’d looked at the skydancer had told her the strange undead imperial understood. ‘I’ll guard them, you go get help. Can you do this?’ Stitches had nodded and set off immediately, but after a while Peoria began to doubt. There was no doubting the imperial’s tenacity, to be sure, but his speed and accuracy often left a lot to be desired. Stitches couldn’t fly- his wings would often shred if he tried- the best he could manage was gliding. Peoria tore her claws into the dirt bottom of the tent, doubting herself and her decisions. If she’d told Stitches to guard, no doubt he would have, no doubt most wasteland beasts would be put off by his size alone. Perhaps she should have gone.

But soon she heard the noise well before she could see them approaching, and Pea immediately knew the voice making most of the noise- West. She ran outside and sure enough there was the black and yellow skydancer being shepherded by Stitches. “Peoria!” West yelled, the loudest vocalization she’d ever heard out of him actually. “Finally someone rational- what is going on?”

Peoria blanched for a moment and then swallowed a fit of giggles that was threatening to well up. She had been so scared, but she knew exactly what had happened- Stitches found the first person he knew as a ‘doctor’ and refused to do anything except make them follow. Unfortunately the first person he’d come across had been West. “West- help?” Peoria asked as he walked up to her tent. He dusted himself off and looked at her like she was stupid, which told her exactly nothing.

“I can try better than most,” he said, ducking into the tent as Pea looked to Stitches.

“You did a very, very, good job,” she said, meaning it and yet also praying it was true. The imperial wagged his jagged, oft broken tail and looked to the tent. “Don’t worry they’ll be okay. You can go back to the city if you want.” Stitches shook his head no and promptly laid down. Peoria let out a sigh and patted his head before looking back to the tent. Should she bother what was likely a very surly West? May as well chance it.

“Need anything?” Peoria asked, poking her head in the tent. She saw West carefully poking the other unmoving skydancer, running his fingers along bones, pausing to check joints, spreading the other’s wings gently. Peoria was curious. She had known West for a while thanks to Sparks, but she had never honestly seen him in any kind of work capacity. It seemed silly really considering what he did that she didn’t think he could be quite so deft and gentle with his hands. A person who worked with delicate machinery needed a precise touch after all.

When he was finished West finally looked over his shoulder to acknowledge her. “I don’t see anything immediately wrong aside from likely dehydration and malnutrition. They’ll need an infusion and I believe Lady will have the needed supplies.”

Peoria nodded. “Right. Thank you West.”

West snorted haughtily, turning to look at the other skydancer. “Just give Stitches more precise instructions next time,” he said, surprising her again by neatly picking her new charge up and putting them across a shoulder. “Let’s get going.”

Peoria shadowed him as West gently laid the other skydancer across Stitches’ back, Stitches responding by lifting his wings slightly, creating a sort of cradle on his back. The three of them set off, Peoria eyeing the passed out skydancer occasionally to make sure they were still okay. They sort of looked like West, didn’t they? Then again they were a black-ranged skydancer, so that was not very surprising, but still the two of them looked more alike than say Daud and West. How odd. Perhaps a distant relation?

They walked for a while in what could be considered companionable silence, though it was mostly that the trio wasn’t much in the way of talking. Sparks they spotted first flying around in looping circles looking for them, and Lady quickly afterward. The ridgeback asked West his assessment, he gave it, and naturally she took a second to look over the patient for herself. It was only Peoria that noticed (because Pea is very very good at noticing things) that when Lady first laid eyes on the patient, her eyes shot open for just a second as though she had seen a ghost. It was only the barest of a second, but Peoria mentally tucked that away. She’d ask later around less company, lest it was something personal or embarrassing.

“Should be easy enough,” Lady said, clearing her throat. “Though I’d wager they’d be in much worse shape if you didn’t find them so quickly, Pea. I’ll also run a few tests to make sure there’s nothing else underlying, but let’s get them to the clinic first.”

Lady looked to the pearlcatcher, who gave a slow nod while not taking her eyes off her. Peoria had seen her little slip up, but that could be explained away easily, she hoped. “Haha, well, let’s go!” Lady said nervously and walked on ahead. Sparks glanced to West, who shrugged. That was weird.

-----

The patient was fine, Lady reminded herself as she set up her tests and readouts. She didn’t have quite the tech she’d like in her small clinic, but she was lucky in that every time someone did buy or scrounge some interesting piece, it got immediately sent to her. People knew after all that having the local doctor on your side and well supplied paid off eventually.

But she did not much feel like that friendly small town doctor today, and as the printouts and tests came back, one after the other, the increasing sense of guilt and fear began to take over. Positive, positive, positive- every test on almost every virus and bacteria was coming back positive. She’d taken precautions of course and handled every sample as the deadliest of biohazards, but the fact remained- her patient should not be alive, they should not be breathing, and in fact everyone who ever touched them should be very dead. But Pea and West had thus far seemed perfectly healthy (Stitches, of course, likely couldn’t even get sick), and her patient was recovering well, well enough that they scared the crap out of her when they woke up and asked for a glass of water.

She got it for them, and they thanked her. Lady waited cautiously, wondering if the stranger could possibly recognise her. It wasn’t very likely. When they didn’t seem to after a moment she said “My name is Lady- may I ask yours?”

“Eight- Eights,” the dragon replied. They seemed to notice the look on her face and sighed. “Don’t worry about what any blood tests you’ve done say- I’ll be perfectly fine, and so will you.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“Absolutely.”

#sparklelore #this one seems a bit long but it's too short to break into 2 parts I think?#also a tiny tiny hint at Lady backstory and why she peaced out of lightning #peoria #eights #west #lady

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