#that is why merle has a baby beard

[moreclaypigeons]

The Seven Birds as Hexside students in the Boiling Isles!

#i might make older versions of them later #that is why merle has a baby beard #anyways hes like the TA or whatever #toh #taz #taz balance #taz b #the owl house #the adventure zone #art #the seven birds #taz ipre #taz seven birds #taz art #taz fanart #taz barry #taz lup #taz lucretia #taz davenport #taz taako #taz magnus #taz merle #barry bluejeans #lucretia #Lup #davenport #the zone cast #the adventure zone balance #taz toh #toh taz

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 36)

When the darkness falls over the quiet, enclosed suburb, turns quiet. The clinking from the construction site stops, the volume of the residents’ voices is turned down, there’s no sound of cars or gunshots. Instead, on the other side of the wall, as soon as the sun has set, the cicadas begin to sing. Their clicking and chirping noises, their mating call, is powerful enough to overpower the rattling, guttural sounds that the walkers make. But it’s not the high pitched mating call from the loud insects that lures the Alexandria residents out this night and to gather at the new wall, next to the construction site, but the scent of a hot stew boiling over a crackling fire, a pleasant buzz and the feeling of belonging. The feeling of a secure, pleasant atmosphere, the social needs; to gather up around the fire, eat and drink together.

He’d never understand the almost collective need all other people felt about socializing with others, in all sorts of social forms. Daryl still doesn’t understand it; he’s incapable of feeling that need and large crowds make his skin crawl. For him, it doesn’t matter, but for the sake of the community, he participates. Somehow he has learned how to handle it, accept that others need to sit down to eat with others. And like this, at the end of the world; well, he goes with the flow. Sometimes, not that he would admit it, it’s actually pretty fine. 

It’s the feeling of fine that’s laying over him as he walks over the grassy lawn next to the calm pond, with Juri ridin’ on his shoulders. The small, soft hands clings to his worn out vest and he softly bounces the heels of his small sneakers towards his chest.

“Ya’ sure ya’ up for this?” Daryl looks to his right, down at Mila.

Mila mumbles something inaudible in response. She walks somewhat stiffly, pulling Daryl back in time to when she stumbled up the stairs when she healed from the machete-wound, but she’s too damn stubborn, or proud, to say anything. She wouldn’t admit defeat even if she lost a leg, he’s sure ‘bout that. 

Behind him, Daryl hears hurried steps towards the soft grass, whereupon Carol walks up next to Mila.

“Look at that-” Carol smiles. “I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you three for the rest of the day.” She looks with a radiant smile up, above Daryl’s head, at Juri. In the presence of Juri, Daryl’s like air to Carol; she adores the blonde little rascal clinging to Daryl’s shoulders, who’s probably giving Carol a wide, sunny smile back.

“There’s no chance we’d miss dinner.” Mila says and nods up at Juri. “One doesn’t simply say no to soup.” 

“You’re right about that.” Carol sniffs the air. “It smells delicious.”

A couple of the original Alexandria folks  have already set up, prepared and started to serve dinner when they arrive. Well, he already knew; in his mind Daryl curses Glenn for what happened earlier. Over the firepit a big pot is spreading a pleasant scent of vegetables, broth and herbs around the perimeter. With ease Daryl grabs Juri under the arms and lifts him over his head and puts him down on the ground. He adjusts the legs in his small pants before he runs around the fire, to Carl and Judith.

“Off he goes.” Carol says with a chuckle and crosses her arms.

“Juri-” Mila hollers and waves at him. “We’ll eat first, then you can play. Davay!”

Over the fire they see how Juri nods, then gives Judith a pat on the cheek before he runs back around the fire. On the way, he’s hauled in by Abraham, who lifts him off the ground into his arms, while bursting into an open guffaw.  “What ‘ave we got here!” He utters between the clenched teeth, holding the small stump of a bad cigar in place.

As Juri wrestles Abraham, Daryl turns to Mila, who’s in action to attempt sitting down on the barked log. Goddamn stubborn wonderful woman, he thinks as he watches her bite the bullet, bending her knees to lower herself down. The bruise on her hip, the one that turned all red in front of his eyes while she was in the shower couldn’t be missed. It looked like hell. With a firm but gentle grip around her upper arm Daryl helps her down; Mila grimaces slightly, then gives him a grateful, silent ‘thank you’, hugging his hand with hers as she’s in position.

“If you could get me a bowl, I’d be forever grateful.” She says softly. “I’m not twenty anymore.”

Daryl can’t help but grin slightly.

“Yes ma’am.” He lets his fingers softly slip out of her grip, a touch that sends warm, pleasant sparks throughout his arm, and goes over to the fire, where Abraham and Sasha stand, preoccupied with Juri. “Go easy on ‘im, kiddo.” He smirks at Juri, tirelessly wrestling around in Abraham’s arms. Juri opens his mouth into what looks like a roar, a very silent roar, exposing his small, sharp white baby teeth towards his captor.

“Heh, well how ‘bout that!” Abraham exclaims dramatically. “I’ve caught a tiger! Must be ma’ lucky day!”

Juri looks somewhat displeased at Abraham’s proclamation. He shakes his head, making the blonde mane dance. Then he shapes his little hand into a claw and pulls it back over his head, while making his roaring face, and a hissing sound; the closest he can get to an actual roar. Daryl blinks at him.

“Ya’ don’t see the difference between a tiger and a lion?” Daryl glances amusedly at Abraham, who gives him a mighty impressed face behind the mustache. Daryl’s far from an expert, but he remembers the sign for ‘lion’ pretty well by now. 

Juri repeats his silent roar, before he pats the big red haired, red bearded man on the bushy cheek and wrestles out of his grip. He runs over to Mila, where he was heading when he was captured, and throws himself head first into her lap. She laughs and digs her fingers into the sides of his stomach, making Juri flounder his legs in the air behind him. 

“Good heavens-” Abraham looks over at Juri and sighs; the big man gets a look upon his face that Daryl hasn’t seen before. A wishful glance of resignation for the little boy that makes everyone he meets smile. “He’s precious. What a blessing it is, havin’ those lil’ ones around, right? Makes one reevaluate what we are fighting for. Well, there’s the answer.” He shifts his gaze to Daryl. “Ya’ lucky, Dixon.”

Well, what should he say in response? Daryl nods, barely noticeable; he’s not sure what Abe meant by that. Does he mean what Daryl believes, or more like what Daryl wants him to refer to? He glances at Mila and Juri, now sitting curled up next to each other, talking to Carol. Juri’s little hand is clasped around Mila’s finger and he looks so calm, so happy and healthy. And Mila, who awakes feelings inside of him that are difficult to describe in words. Well, he cannot deny that he likes what he sees. Three of the most important persons in his life, together; his best friend, the woman who’s the love of his life and the kid he would take a bullet for. 

“Yup, he knows.” Sasha states with a grin and buffs Daryl in the side. “Look at that, Abe, our archer’s in-”

“Shut it.” Daryl cuts Sasha off in a husky voice, instinctively lowering his eyes to the ground.

“Just sayin’-” Sasha says, still grinning amusedly, as she’s handed a bowl and a piece of bread from the woman, Liz, scooping up soup. 

“Minestrone.” She smiles as Daryl hoarsely asks for four bowls. “There’s bread too, but I doubt you can carry that too.” She continues jokingly as Daryl manages to hold on to two bowls with each hand. It ain’t hard, he’s used to carrying’ around a couple of ferrets or other dead animals without problems while out hunting. 

“Yeah.” Daryl replies mumbly and returns to Mila, Juri and Carol. “Here ya’ go, kiddo.” He hands Juri a bowl, then hands out the others to Mila and Carol before sitting down between the two women. “Ladies.”

“Thank you.” Carol says pleased. “This looks yummy!” She sniffs the rising steam from the soup and stirs it around. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I love to cook! But it sure is luxurious to have food prepared for you like this. Like being in a restaurant.” 

“What lousy places did Ed take ya’ to?” Daryl lifts his head and looks at Carol with a raised eyebrow.

“None.” Carol blinks at him. “That’s why this is extra special.”

“That won’t do.” Mila says and looks at Juri, who’s in full action to stir his spoon around the bowl. “Ostorozhneye. Careful, it’s hot.” She exhorts and returns to Carol. “I’ll invite you to bistro Sergeyevna someday. Best russian home cooking around. You’ll not have to go hungry.” Mila takes a spoonful of soup and meets Daryl’s eyes. “So, what’s on the menu at the Daryl Dixon diner, then?”

“Game.” He replies simply. Why complicate things?

“Yeah it would probably be some sort of barbeque.” Carol agrees. “Steak house, I’d call it.”

The two women laugh, Daryl shakes his head with a faint smile; well, he’s glad they’re having fun. While Mila and Carol talk about all sorts of food he’d never even heard of, Daryl looks around the gathered community. He briefly meets Glenn’s face; the terrified face he had earlier, bursting into the bedroom, is all gone and all seems to be as usual. Well, if Glenn felt embarrassed about it, it was nothing in comparison what Daryl felt - completely mortified. The anger had quickly turned into shame; like the time Merle happened to walk in on him with his first conquest, well... the first girl he tried to get it on with ever. She left in a hurry, he never saw her again and Merle tantalized him for days afterwards. It was only thanks to Mila’s easy outlook on the matter Daryl set his foot out of the door to go to dinner; at first she laughed about it, then entrusted him that she’d happened to walk in on Glenn and Maggie both once and twice ‘doing it’ since her arrival in Alexandria. 

“They seem very fond of fresh air.” She said casually as she stepped into a pair of clean jeans after the shower. “The first time I just laughed.” Mila shrugged and shook her head. “Second time not as much. He’ll get over it. Worse things have happened.”

He glances at Glenn again, they nod at each other before returning to their bowls with great interest. Daryl shifts his focus to Juri, who has emptied his bowl of pasta. Instead he plunges his spoon into Milas bowl, who’s still engaged in conversation with Carol, and starts to clear her soup of macaronis. In return he drops red peppers into her bowl. When the big blue eyes notices being watched, he looks up at Daryl and lifts his small index finger in front of his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“They’re good for ya’.” Daryl says and puts a spoonful of soup in his mouth. “Makes ya’ big and strong, like a lion.”

When the dinner’s over and they’ve cracked open both two and three beers, collected by Spencer and a few others during a run earlier in the day, around the crackling and heating fire, Juri starts to yawn. He makes himself comfortable in Mila’s lap, covered by her jacket, while resting his feet on Daryl’s thighs. After unleashing his third lionesque yawn within a few minutes, Mila states that it’s time for him to sleep.

“Time to put on pajamas, malysh.” Mila gets up from her place laboriously, with Juri in her arms. The blonde head rests on her shoulder and he looks sleepy. “Say ‘goodnight everybody’.” Mila says and glances at Juri, who throws kisses to right and left, before she starts walking in the direction of the houses, while talking to Juri about what goodnight story they shall read.

“He’s lovely.” Carol chuckles softly, looking after the toddler as they are engulfed by the darkness. “Did you see what he drew earlier? At the cul-de-sac?”

Daryl shakes his head. He just saw the happy trees and the sun in front of the house. Carol grins and chuckles once more.

“Ya’ gonna tell me ‘bout it?” He asks. 

“Go check it out later.” Carol shakes her head and smiles. “It’s sweet.”

“Sure.” Daryl takes another sip of beer. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout this other group, the looters?” He looks at Carol. “Honestly.”

“I don’t know.” Carol replies, rubbing her hands against each other to warm them. “Frankly, I think it would be foolish to think we’re alone out here. I think we should be prepared at all times, looters or no looters. Walls or not, we’re never entirely safe.” She looks down at her hands, then back at him. “I’m glad you made it back safe.” 

“Yeah.” He puts down the empty bottle between his boots, rests his forearms at his thighs and looks into the dancing flames. “Thought I’d lost her there for a while.”

“Well you didn’t.” Carol says with ease. “Why ponder what could happen, when it didn’t?”

Yeah he has thought about that too. Still he can’t help but feel guilty. Carol’s right. Nothing happened, nothing worse than a couple of bruises. He smiles faintly at her.

“That’s the spirit, Pookie.” Carol pats him on the cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed.” 

She gets up from the log and wraps her knitted sweater tighter around her. Daryl follows, they say goodnight to the others and start to walk back towards the house. When they reach the porch the front door opens and Mila steps out, wrapped in his poncho as protection against the cold. The long hair lies in a tousled braid over her shoulder and she smiles at them when they walk up the steps.

“Sleep’s like a rock.” Mila greets them while wrapping the woolen poncho tighter around her shoulders. “Barely made it halfway through Benjy’s Dog House.” 

“He’s had a busy day.” Carol says. “Good night you two.”

“Night.” Daryl responds.

Carol opens the door, walks into the dimly lit house and closes the door behind her. They are left alone on the porch, Mila leaned up against the white post, Daryl standing on the second step.

“Wanna go for a walk?” She smiles softly. “It’s a nice evening. Starlit.” 

He nods and a warm feeling spreads throughout his body as she slips her arm into an arm hook with his. They start walking, or more like dragging their feets along the empty road. It’s a cool evening, but spring is on its way. It’s in the air, he can smell it. 

At the cul-de-sac they stop, looking down at the street. Juri sure kept himself busy while they were gone. He’s drawn most of the Atlanta group. The figures are made out of blocks, but they’re pretty good for a three and a half-year old. In the starlight he can see Carl and Judith, Morgan holding a stick, the church with a broken church tower, the houses and- he spots three figures standing close together. One small, one tall and one somewhere in between. He does recognize himself, the childishly drawn crossbow and the vest is hard to miss.

“That’s-” He points.

“Yup.” Mila says, squeezes his arm tighter. “Picasso has outdone himself on this one, right?”

Fuck, he suddenly feels all squeamish. But it’s darn cute.

“He’s great.” He says hoarsely and swallows, puts his arm around Mila’s shoulders. “Really.”

They continue to walk, until they stop at a parked pickup; shoulder to shoulder they lean up against the truck bed, eyes fixed on the sky, before they climb up on the truck bed and sit down. Daryl leans up against the back of the cab and Mila curls up against him, braiding his arms around her.

“I love to watch the stars.” Mila sighs, her breath stands like a vague cloud above her mouth in the cool evening air. 

He can’t disagree, however the mere thought of space, the vast eternity that is spread out above them, scares him.

“It’s like the sea.” He says. “Too big.”

“You’ve ever been to the sea?” Mila asks.

“Nah.” He replies. “Haven’t been around much.”

“We’ll go there someday. That would be nice.” Mila says softly, like a summer breeze, but suddenly she gasps. “Look!” She points up towards the sky. “A shooting star.”

Daryl tilts his head back, eyes fixed at the sky. A small, bright white dot shoots over the starry sky, passes its neighboring, resting stars, cheering it on while twinkling. He’s seen stars fall before, but this one shines brighter than any other he has ever seen. As if it was the brightest star in the sky, calling out for attention.

“Some say fallen stars represent souls that have been released from purgatory, so they can begin the ascent to heaven and eternal peace.” Mila says. “Others say they represent the soul of a new life falling to Earth. My mama always said shooting stars possess magic and good luck for anyone who happens to gaze upon one.” She turns her head and looks up at him. “Come on, make a wish.”

“About what?” He asks.

Mila shrugs a little underneath the poncho.

“Anything.” She replies. “But don’t tell me. Then the magic stops working.” Mila closes her eyes. “Close your eyes and make a wish.”

Daryl sighs. He doesn’t believe in magic, but for her sake he closes his eyes. Wish what, he wonders; right now he can’t seem to think of anything he wants. Nothing more than he already got. It’s just mumbo jumbo. Half-heartedly he thinks of something, before he opens his eyes and looks down at Mila’s dark, soft hair. As for now he’s got all he needs.

“Ya’ made a wish?” 

Mila smiles, a good enough answer.   

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like, if all this hadn’t happened? I mean, if all of this hadn’t happened-” Mila turns her head backwards, towards him. ”-you’d taken me out to the movies? Or a bar?” 

”Not sure I’d dare to ask ya’ out at all.” Daryl replies in all honesty. She had never even looked in his direction in such a scenario, because the other guy, Jim, had been alive. ”To be fair, ya’ outta my league, Jersey.” He therefore says. 

”Schh.” Mila hushes softly and curls up closer to him. “Yerunda. Gibberish. Please, play pretend. Take me on an adventure, Dixon.”

She becomes silent and rests in his arms, head upon his chest; her hand finds its way to his collarbone and softly she caresses it. Her touch is affectionate, loving. Daryl thinks to the point of him almost getting a headache. He has no idea what he would have done in such a scenario, he can’t even imagine it in his wildest imagination. A bar? Nah, that would never work. He has never set foot in a movie theatre and he would never dream of going out to eat. Mila is all rock concerts, karaoke, bar rounds and hanging out with friends. Daryl doesn’t know much about any of those things, minus the drinking. Wait, didn’t she used to go hiking? 

“I-” He pauses, hesitating slightly before he continues, remembers. “There’s a place.” 

A memory he most of all wanted to repress, or simply just chose not to spend time on. It wasn’t long before the outbreak. He had had enough of everything; Merle, himself and life. The days before was a jumble of alcohol, drugs and gut punches. They hung out at Merle’s junkie pal’s house, the same house where they each and every day drank themselves to the point of no return, where he’d been half beaten to death, threatened with a gun and whatnot. The place he reluctantly had called ’home’ for quite some time until Merle managed to get a place on his own, where he let Daryl stay. It more or less turned into Daryl’s place since Merle was in and out in prison more than he wasn’t. Being involved in the contraband of meth gave him a prison punch ticket, but he rarely went in for longer periods. As soon as he got out there was a party that went on for days. Booze, drugs, prostitutes and fights in a never-ending loop. 

That day when he stormed off, he’d just been in another fight. Once again Merle stood by and watched, too drunk and high to really care, leaving Daryl to fend for himself against three beefy bikers that did a pretty good number on him. It was as if the zest for life was knocked out of him, bit by bit, for every blow he received, until he managed to fend them off and fled out of there with only one thought in his head; “This ends now.”   

In a fit of rage, he set off on the motorcycle; where to, he didn’t know. Whether it was fate or his subconscious that took him out into the wilderness that afternoon, he doesn’t know til this day. But he stood on the brakes at a lay-by at the edge of the mountains with a throbbing head. His thoughts raced, blood boiled in his veins and he got off the motorcycle, didn’t care to either park properly or remove the key from the ignition. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Without purpose or meaning, he went out into the wilderness, equipped only with a knife, crossbow and a gun. He kept looking upwards while climbing, resilient like a fox, uphill. It didn’t matter that he cut himself on sharp rocks or slipped, he no longer felt pain. Suddenly the slope ended and he found himself standing on almost leveled ground. He moved forward, knowing that he would soon reach the precipice. However he misjudged his route and he came out on a raw ledge, a lookout point that had not yet become part of the hike trail. Staggering, with his heart in his throat, he stumbled out onto the ledge where he collapsed; head spinning, eardrums beating. He cried out with rage, his cry of anger bouncing between the rocks and the peaks. He sat up, pulled his knees up to his chin and felt how everything was breaking apart around him. It was over. It was now or never.

Nature has a strange, almost supernatural power to feel how it can be in danger. How its beauty can quickly face a threat, how it in the blink of an eye can change forever and never being able to repair itself from such a tragedy. Just as Daryl took -what he thought was- his last breath, deep into his lungs, and was about to let his finger pull the trigger, Mother Nature intervened. The sky burst open, a cloud moved and paved the way for the sun to let through its rays that lay over the view and colored it as if by magic, in a myriad of colors. The sudden change, how all the gray suddenly turned green, yellow, red, orange, pink and blue, made him hesitate. He exhaled, gasping for breath and feeling the beads of sweat dripping down his hands, which cramped around the pistol handle.

The treetops that burst out of the soft fog that lingered after the rain before seemed to float in the air. The pistol slid out of his grip, his muscles didn’t seem to be able to hold it up and he sat with his arms hanging along the sides, the backs of his hands resting against the cold, hard stone. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the first time he cried in god knows how long, Daryl watched the surrounding beauty, while the breeze gently caressed his face, like the soft touch of a loving mother, the mother he never had. As if it pleaded to him to breathe, to take in everything around him, the beauty and the wilderness. This was his home, this was his safe space. Nature wouldn’t hurt him. Daryl’s eyes fell upon the gun next to him. He took it and threw it in a wide arc into the air, down the cliff ledge. Not his will, but Mother Nature’s.

“I’d take ya’ up the Blue Ridge mountains.” He says therefore.

“Like the John Denver song?” Mila starts to hum. “Almost Heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River- is it?”

“It ain’t far from here.” Daryl adjusts, makes himself comfortable against the back of the cab. “There’s this place, down Chattahoochee National Forest, at the southern edge of the mountains.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just making names up for fun!” Mila laughs softly, still with her eyes closed. “Chattahoochee? Another country song?”

“Will ya’ lemme do this or not? It’s a goddamn river.” Daryl says. ”I grew up there, ‘round the northern mountains, nearby Blue Ridge.” He continues, wraps his arms tighter around her, tries his best to fantasize a scenario in his head; he has never had a particularly vivid imagination. Maybe as a kid, but that’s a long time ago. “We’d drive out there in summer, when it’s all green; Watch the azaleas bloom in scarlet, crimson, orange- There’s so much life out there one couldn’t believe their eyes if they could only see it. Most folks don't, like they’re blind. But they’re out there. Foxes, songbirds hindin’ up the tall pines. Grouses, coyotes... A place where no human has dared to put its foot down. It’s untamed, maybe the last wild, untouched place on earth.” Daryl pauses. He doesn’t know much about the world. He hasn’t traveled, barely been outside Georgia. But he’s still sure of his thing, feels it in his body. He’s more familiar with nature, the wild, than anything. He spent more time in the woods and up the mountains than in his godforsaken childhood home. “There’s an undisturbed ledge up the mountains-” He continues, holding her closer as he watches the stars, his eyelids begin to feel heavy. “We’d put up camp there, an open fire. Roast something, corn, game… watch the sunset over the mountaintops, listen to the coyotes-” He closes his eyes and at the memory of how the sky let through the sun and lit up the whole valley, he can not help but smile faintly. “-watch the sunrise over the treetops.” 

More than that he doesn’t get time to tell, before he’s lulled into sleep with Mila on the truck bed.

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

[shimmershaewrites]

A Matching Set (Caryl Post Season 10 One Shot + Grimes babies + Lydia and some Aaron).

Just a little tooth-rotting fluff I found on my hard drive half finished.  Kinda, sorta Christmas fic but not.  Read it.  You’ll see.  Sorry not sorry.  

“Play lots of Tetris as a kid?”  

 The mountain man beard does precious little to hide Aaron’s brief grin as he waits for Daryl to add more to that blurted, out of the blue question.  

 Daryl doesn’t blame him.  They ain’t talked a lick since they set off beyond Alexandria’s gates with a wobbly ass wheelbarrow and an ax in dire need of sharpening.  Once or twice, Aaron’s hummed a few notes of a couple vaguely familiar Christmas tunes, but other than that?  Radio silence.  Surprise or not, however, he figures the question’s pretty on point.  Especially considering their current means of passing the dwindling daylight hours.  “So.  Did ya?” he asks again, blue eyes averted and squinting as they search out any signs of potential danger, human or otherwise. Nothing’s there.  Hasn’t been since they took the head of the last Whisperer snake, but old habits?  They die hard.  And if they’ve kept his heart beating this long, he’s not looking to abandon them. ‘Sides.  If there were anything out there, he has no doubts Dog would be the first to alert them.  Provided, of course, he wakes his lazy ass up in time.      

 Rising and carefully slotting the last piece of tinder into place atop their firewood pyramid, Aaron lets his own eyes flit over the gray horizon.  “See anything?”  Soon as Daryl shakes his head, he allows his shoulders to relax.  Then he laughs to himself quietly.  “As a matter of fact, I did play.  You?”  

 Breath whining past his chapped lips, Daryl doesn’t respond.  He’s too focused on heaving the wheelbarrow out of the mud that’s caked around its wheels, his boots, even the abandoned ax.  Loaded down as it is, shit’s definitely heavier than it looks, and he gives up, at least momentarily.  “That the last of it?”  

 Aaron nods, bending to reclaim the ax.  “That’s the last of it.”  Daryl’s muttered thank fuck has his eyes crinkling in a way they haven’t in ages, at least not in the presence of anybody but Gracie.  “Need a little help?”  

 It takes the both of them working together to get the wheelbarrow out of the rut and bumping along the path home.  They’ve been walking a while, Dog trotting on ahead, before Daryl picks the dangling thread of conversation back up.  “Played,” he admits.  “Hell else was detention good for?”  

 “Homework,” Aaron quips.  

 “Pfft.  Bet your ass was the permanent hall monitor.”

 “You’re looking at a Hall of Famer.”  

 Daryl simply smirks.  

 “Ah, the Daryl Dixon approximation of a belly laugh.  I’m breathing rarified air.”  When his teasing is merely taken in stride, his steps start to slow and he regards Daryl with something akin to wonder.  Dog even turns back to stare.  

 Feeling his friend’s eyes boring a hole in him, Daryl mutters, “Hell you staring at? Wanna trade places?”  

 Aaron takes but a second to consider the offer.  “I think I’ll pass.”  

 “No shit. Figured you’d say…”  

 “Carol prefers you.”  

    ---

 The sky’s bleached of any color by the time Daryl’s finally headed home.  The streets of Alexandria empty.  

 No wonder because there’s a storm blowing in.  First one in what promises to be a long winter season.  At least according to their self-appointed weather man Eugene.

 Personally? Daryl thinks it’s all some grade A bullshit.  Pouring over half a dozen dusty old Farmers’ Almanacs like they hold the answers. Plotting random patterns and pieces of data on time-yellowed paper in chicken scratch that would have put Merle’s own to shame.  He doesn’t need or believe any of it because he can feel it in his aging bones like some kind of wizened old wizard.  Course, it doesn’t take much these days to make old hurts echo.  And the cold he’s feeling now?  It chills his blood.  Makes him ache and wish to high hell he’d worn the ridiculous hat Carol had tried to shove down over his ears this afternoon before he and Aaron had left out. Embarrassing piece of yarn might have come in handy filtering out the hollow, haunted whistle of the wind, but damn if he was going to sacrifice his dignity like that.  Wearing a whole-ass pom-pom on top of his head.  A rainbow one at that.  Nah.  Weren’t all that long a walk from Aaron’s.  “Almost there,” he reminds himself.  “Almost.”      

 Dog’s got a little extra giddy-up in his step as he trots ahead.  

 The mutt looks back and whines as if to tell Daryl hurry and Daryl can’t help but huff something resembling a laugh as he reshuffles the load of firewood stacked clear to his chin to get a better grip.  His breath fogs in front of him like thick, odorless cigarette smoke and shit.  His fingers might be halfway numb, but they twitch reflexively for the vice he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in months.  Shaking his head, he includes Dog when he grumbles.  “Getting soft.”  

 Dog hangs back and stares him down as if to say speak for yourself.  

 “Ain’t the only one,” Daryl generously allows when a particularly biting gust of wind swirls around them both.  It lifts his hair from his forehead and makes his eyes sting.  Has him hunching his shoulders clear to his ears as if that’d do him any good, and he finds himself hurrying just as much as the little fucker that finally abandons him, home within his sights.  “Ain’t the only one.”  

    He sheds his muddy boots just inside the kitchen door and tries to make a grab for Dog before he runs off, he really does, but the damn animal’s too squirrely.  Too excited to see his kids.  To see his girl.  Daryl can relate.  

 “Ten minutes later and we were going to send out a search party.”  

 The soft lilt of her voice brings a smile to his mouth before he’s even seen her.  “Promised I’d be back.”  All the leftover tension from the trek back through the woods melts away beneath her gentle touch and he leans his head back against her chest with a sigh.  

 “I know that,” she murmurs fondly.  “Judith knows that.  RJ too.”

 “Lydia?”

 “She worries. It’s sweet.”  

 What’s even sweeter is the feel of her hands in his hair, her nails tickling his scalp, and the smile he feels curve against his cheek before her lips leave a kiss there. “C’mere.”  

 She’s straddling his lap, arms hooked around his shoulders, and nose nestled against his own before he can ask her twice.  

 Daryl cups her head and coaxes her closer, her hair slipping like silk between his fingers. He kisses her until they both sigh.

 “Miss me, Mr. Crossbow?”

 Her smile fills his heart and works a lump into his throat.  “Always.  Know that.”

 She traces the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, and pouts. “Your ears are cold.”  

 “Should have worn the fucking hat.”  

 “I’m not one to say I told you so, but…”  

 “Pfft.”  

 “You really should have worn the fucking hat.  I mean, look at me.  Really look at me.  This isn’t the time or place for vanity,” she teases.    

 “That’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.”  She giggles like a girl.  Like Judith. Like Lydia when she doesn’t think anybody’s watching.  And he’ll tell her a thousand times the sweater is ugly just to hear that sound again, even though she’s still the prettiest thing he ever did see.  “The ugliest damn sweater.”  

 “The ugliest.  I left yours upstairs at the foot of the bed.”  

 “Carol.”  

 “They’re a matching set.”  

   ---

 The logs are crackling in the fireplace when he comes back downstairs and joins them.  

 RJ and Judith have their heads together nearby, talking in whispers and giggles.  Both of them seemingly transfixed by the orange sparks that float and flicker like fireflies against a midnight sky.  

 Lydia’s got a book and Dog in her lap and a blanket tucked around her toes.  A soft, hesitant smile plays upon her lips when she spies him, and she’s quick to bury her nose back in her book before it can visibly stretch from ear to ear.  

 “Stahp,” he gives a preemptive grumble when Carol glances up from mending his raggedy ass pants and her sassy mouth starts to twitch.  “Woman,” he warns with an accusatory finger when the first laugh sputters free. “If I didn’t know better…”  

 “Is Aunt Carol in trouble?” RJ asks his big sister.  

 Judith’s smile is soft and knowing even at her tender age.  “Not really.”  

 “They gonna kiss again?”

 Lydia does the answering this time.  “Probably.”

 “Did the Brave Man kiss Mama all the time too?”  

 “He did,” Judith answers wistfully.  

 “Why?”  

 “It’s what two people that love each other do.”  

 The dancing twinkle in Carol’s blue eyes softens into something else altogether, something that although it makes Daryl’s cheeks flush pink in the glimmering firelight, he brings her hand to his mouth and presses the imprint of his smile to her palm.  “Hear that?”  

 “Ain’t telling me nothing I don’t know, Sweetheart.  Now ‘bout this ugly ass sweater…”  

 “Nobody else could pull it off as well as you do, Pookie.  Nobody.”  

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #stuff that I write #Aaron #Grimes babies #Lydia #mentions of Michonne #Rick Grimes #fluff #some adult language

[naturesgender]

oh my god this lunar interlude is so sweet :’))) here are my thoughts as i go (kind of, i listened to the magnus part while i was out so i couldn’t take notes then so i just kind of had to remember) under the cut! (now edited to include character work)

ooh magnus is gonna get stealthy!! and i got my wish about seeing more of carey!! she’s super cool i love her

wait are she and killian,,,,, oh my god power couple power couple power couple i fucking Knew It

carey being awful at carving ducks and accidentally making one with two asses is So Funny to me

wait how Did he get that scar?? now i’m curious

OH MY GOD HE MADE CAREY A RING FOR HER TO GIVE TO KILLIAN,,,,,,,, OH MY GOD,,,,,,,,,,, THE SEROTONIN IN THIS EPISODE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,HOLY SHIT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

aw high five :’)))

ooh merle time!!!! ok what’s this funky lil lad gonna get up to

oh my god okay tree puns right off the bat. yep that’s merle

oooh hold on. the director?? and merle?? at a spa?????

i just remembered that she has a name aside from The Director i forgot what it was i’m gonna look it up

lucretia!! that’s right!!! nice name

oooh Personal Growth that is my jam

oh my god ok. he chose pan as his patron deity because. pan has a cool beard.

ok yknow what yeah. i can see them being friends. i can actually see them being really good friends. i can totally see it

“what’s this purple shit you’re drinking?” “grape juice.” “how old is it?” “125 years old.” “yeah well yknow there’s a name for grape juice that’s 120-something years old!” “that was what my jokes sound like.” “yeah, we’re gonna - we’re gonna work on that.”

:’)))

taako time babey!!!! taako from tv!!!!!!

but first i go and get a snack

ok i’m back it’s taako time

ANGUS IS GONNA LEARN MAGIC

also taako’s being nice!!!!! we love to see it

ok well kind of

angus is such a sweetie i adore him

BACKSTORYYYYYYY

aw he ate the macaroon all by himself :(( and there weren’t many presents under his candlenights bush :(( and it was the highlight of his holiday :((((( i would be giving this poor baby so many hugs if i were in this world

oh no wait,,,,,,,,, he killed a bunch of people?? or just. injured them???? it sound like he killed them oh no oh my god oh shit

he’s becoming a baby wizard!!!!!!! i’m so proud of him

oh shit. oh shit. he is threating this child. oh shit. taako what the fuck. taako sir what are you doing. taako he is a Child. taako what the fuck. taako. sir. stop it. stop it.

every time they say prestidigitation i think they’re being silly

oh???? oh????? scorching ray?? not prestidigitation??

oh shit the macaroons :((

oh shit???????? what the fuck??? why the wall???? a shape??? L??????

wait hold on. hold on i know where this is going

I WAS RIGHT

oh my god

ok yknow what. i bet. i bet she was the red robe he took the umbrastaff from. i am kind of hoping that’s not true bc that would mean he’s probably gonna have to fight her but based on what i have tried very hard not to see i think that might be right. i think she might be. the red robe he took the umbrastaff from when they went to the lost mine of phandalin

ok that was a Wonderful lunar interlude and i am gonna move on to the leveling up/fantasy gashapon/fantasy costco section now but oh my god. i think this is one of my favorite episodes

oops i posted this pre-emptively accidentally so i will come back and edit it when i’m done with the next section

i feel so bad for leon that’s pretty much all i have to say about fantasy gashapon

on the items they got:

i want that armor i rlly want that armor

zone of truth glasses!!

taako you fucking asshole

FANTASY COSTCO, WHERE ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE (GOT A DEAL FOR YOU!!!!)

i can’t decide whether i hate or love garfield the deals warlock. he definitely has some sort of sinister intent

ooooh multiclassing!!!

:)))) all my serotonin comes from this podcast (and my friends)

[gamzeenmakara]

TWD - Their History ((The Beginning))

Merle Dixon and Barbra Jean Greenberg

He had lived in a small community with his family in a cabin his great granddaddy built on the edge of the woods. The spot of land was some gift from a big time farmer that couldn't pay back all the money his great granddaddy had leant him. So, from that point on the Dixon family has lived there and raised their kids there. Merle was sure his life was gonna be full of people looking down on him for where he's from and how he lives cause that's what his mama always warned him about. But you can imagine his surprise when one day, in the middle of the hottest summers in Merle's short nine years of life, a moving truck had pulled up to the one house that had been built a a good twenty or so feet in front of them. It woulda been a normal move really if not for the bright almost white blonde hair catching his eye.

At first, his interest was the mildest because it was something to do while their tv set was broken. Merle sat by the window, peeking past their curtains as sneakily as he could to watch all the movement. The burly men move around the fancy looking furniture with beards and mustaches that would put his pa's to shame. He liked to imagined the yappy dog that's rushing around sounds like a squeaky toy and that the lady in high, high heels was the one barking. She was like his pa was with all her yelling, she liked to be in charge and ruled with an iron fist. Three kids much older than Merle taking in small things in various states of disarray but excited none the less. A man in thick glasses worked alongside what Merle assumed was his wife, she was the oldest lady there and they were both dressed too nice to be anything but the owners, focusing his efforts on directing the children instead of the men. The only ones not moving around in a hurry was two kids that sat on a large blanket a couple feet from the commotion. That's where he first saw her.

The first kid he saw was small, had to be like three or four, and was fighting real hard to put any grass he gets his hands on into his mouth. Tiny face all scrunched up and red as it yelled in frustration at the other kid stopping him. And the moment Merle's eyes slid over to the other did he find himself staring in wonder. She was around his age, a little on the chubbier side from probably getting fed by fancy people all day, dressed up in a pretty sun dress like the girls he'd see in church, and a mass of long bright blonde hair that looked white in the light. Her big eyes could be mistaken for white from where he was standing and it made him wanna stare all day. How could they be so bright? What color are they really? He'd never seen someone so fancy and shiny before... Someone so close...

"Now what are ye lookin' at, Sweet Darlin'?"

Merle feels like he's jumping outta his skin at the voice of his mama right behind him. He jerks his head to the side finding her thin face surrounded by thick brown hair looked paler than before, especially from the strip of sunlight that was shining on her from beyond the curtains. Even his young mind knew that she'd most likely woke up from a bad night terror hours ago but her 'paralysis' as she called it had kept her down for a couple more. She was as exhausted as she looked.

"Nothin'..."

"That don' look like nothin', baby. Ya interested in all the ruckus this mornin'? Thinkin' o' makin' friends with 'em," his mama says knowingly. She nudges him slightly away from the window enough to open the curtain fully, the action catching the attention of the kids Merle had been watching. His mother's tiny arms bulged as she pulled the rickety window open with a good bit of effort. When she turned back to her son a smile graced her features at the confused look on Merle's face. "Honey, ya can't make friends hidin' in here now can ya? Ya gotta get out there 'fore they decide to shack up with the kinda kids who won't play with people like us."

He knew what she meant. Money made the world go round and he'd seen that for most of his young life. People were mean to people who couldn't make much and they sure loved to keep kicking when you got knocked down. Merle's pa loved to say that everything he did was toughen Merle up cause the big wide world wanted nothing more than to break him down into nothing but dust. His mama never liked how his pa treated him but she never said he was wrong for thinking like that either. So if even his mama thought the world was out to get him then how could Merle pretend that wasn't his reality?

"Yeah. Early bird catches the worm and if I ain't goin' now then 'm never gettin' no worms," Merle answers back with a hard look in his Georgia blues.

The nod his mama gives him is enough to boost his confidence and power his thin legs into rushing out the door towards the blanket. He comes to a halt a foot from the blanket, his little heart pounding and his face flushed as his determination slowly died down as he realized he had no plan beyond running up. It doesn't help either that both of the kids on the blanket were now staring up at him and-

"You're eyes are white?"

"Wha... uh, no my mama said they're grey," the girl answers back with a voice so soft and pretty that it had to be fake.

Being the type to not let shit lie Merle immediately says, "Why ya talk like that?"

"Excuse you," she says with a brow raised and her round nose scrunched up. "What's that 'posed to mean?"

"Ya voice is all soft and stuff... Why ya talk all soft an' stuff," Merle amends quickly, seeing that what he said bothered her.

"Dunno. Mama says ladies should sound soft and pretty and my voice is weird so, uh, I just do?"

"Oh, okay," Merle rubs his hands nervously against his oversized pants and wow his hands are sweaty. His mama shoulda told him to change because what is he supposed to do now that he's like a hundred degrees and is now in a hundred degree weather? Probably die from heat stroke. And push through, Merle fiddles with the end of his t-shirt as he continues, "My name's Merle. Uh, Merle Dixon and... err, heh.... Welcome to the neighborhood or somethin'."

"So yer the welcome wagon?"

He gives a high pitched laugh because this is harder than he expected and he's fumbling hard. "My mama said that I should welcome ya cause yer new and ya probably don't know nobody yet. Plus, we're neighbors so its all neighborly like to say hello."

"And ya didn't bring nothing with ya? No cookies or nothing," her voice is definitely teasing like those kids at the park he hated seeing. He doesn't like voices like that cause it always means they're making fun of him. He clenches his fists and takes a deep breathe.

"We don' got any ta give..."

"Oh, I didn't really mean- It was a joke, ya know? Sorry it was a bad one, huh? Ya don't gotta bring nothin', promise. Uh, so, ye live in the cabin," she pushes past the joke in favor of putting the other kid down and standing up. "My name is Barbra Jean Greenberg and this is my little brother, Gregory. Most people call me Babs or just Barbra and it's real nice to meet you, Merle."

The girl, Barbra, offers her hand to him and Merle plans to smack himself later for how fast he latches onto her hand to shake it. He probably feels all clammy and nasty. Barbra just smiles brightly at him though as if it doesn't matter, him noticing that she was missing a tooth on the bottom row. They matched!

"How'd you lose your tooth?"

Barbra quickly pulls her hand away and covers her mouth as she gasps, "Oh no, you can tell? Ah man..."

"What're you embarrassed fer? Ya ain't notice nothin'? We match," he exclaimed excitedly as he carefully pulls her hands away from her face. "See? Look! Look!"

"We do!"

Maybe its the relief in the realization or maybe its because she's been outside for a good couple minutes, but for whatever reason it is she starts to laugh. Its loud and sudden, like a firecracker going off, that shocks Merle into laughing along with her. Seeing his older sister and this new kid laughing causes little Gregory to burst into little fits of giggles as well. The excited laughter must catch the attention of Barbra's mother because suddenly someone's yelling.

"Barbra Jean! Gregory! Let's get outta this heat already."

The two kids look between Merle and their mother before slowly getting up. Barbra rolls up the blanket and takes her brother's hand as she turns to head towards her mother. She moves to take a step towards her before saying over her shoulder, "I'm gonna talk to my mama about playin' with ye later after we get the house all nice, okay? We'll play out here cause we're sharing a lawn and 'm sure mama will like that she can see us. We'll play again later, alright?"

"That's a promise?"

Barbra nods and quickly shouts goodbye as she drags her little brother along to the house. Merle waves to the retreating duo, a smile on his face at Gregory's shy wave. And the moment he's alone he's dancing around excitedly. He did it! He did it!

"Merle, Sweet Darlin', are you comin' back in," the sound of Merle's mama calling him makes his thumping heart jump.

"I did it, mama! I did it!"

And man, he can't wait for the next time they meet.

#TWD #Merle Dixon #Merle #Dixon #merledixon #the walking dead #zombie apocalypse #za #oc x canon #oc x canon character #my own charater #my oc #original female character #original character #short story #flashbacks #writing #creative writing #writing for fun

[charmandhex]

Part one.

Previous/part two.

When the Red Robe Lady -Lup- had said they needed to get everyone here before she’d explain what in the actual fuck was going on, Taako hadn’t had the slightest clue who everyone was. Since everyone had apparently included himself, Lup, and the Director, he’d been expecting some mysterious, powerful, highly capable group.

Instead he’s looking at Magnus, Merle, and Davenport.

Why exactly do you want to talk to these two chucklefucks and Davenport again? Lup hums, and it reverberates through Taako’s mind. Mm, soon. Patience is a virtue.

Says who?

Says me, the lich who had to be patient for ten fuckin’ years while waiting for you to break an umbrella, Taako.

Taako snorts. Okay, fine. Wait, actually one question. Not about this mess.

Uh, sure, okay?

If the anti-lich ward is down, why the FUCK are you still possessing me? Taako near yells, and Lup’s laughter fills his head.

I don’t wanna scare Mango, the old man, or Cap. Uh, I mean, Davenport.

Well, uh, I dunno about Davenport, but Maggie and Merle have definitely seen a Red Robe before.

I know; I was there.

Right.

Davenport, for his part, seems more aware than Taako has usually seen him. The gnome is currently eyeing Taako like he knows something isn’t quite right, like Taako isn’t really himself.

You gonna give me my body back soon or what?

As soon as I’m sure I won’t scare them. Lup says, sounding almost hesitant. And… as soon as I know you’re gonna… you’re gonna be okay given what’s happening next.

“Let me explain.” Lup says her next words out loud, and Magnus and Merle’s attention now snap to Taako.

“Taako? You good?” Magnus asks.

“Yeah, you know, you sound like you’ve got a cold or something.” Merle scratches at his beard, looking vaguely concerned.

Taako can’t really answer that, and Lup doesn’t bother. “Lucretia? If you’ll bring out the… well, the thing that I can’t say right now but that thing.” The Director stares at Taako, or at Lup, for a long, long moment before nodding slowly. She turns, opening the secret passage in her office again, before disappearing.

Naturally, that’s not the thing the other two Reclaimers give a shit about.

Merle asks, “Who’s Lucretia? Is that the Director?”

“Is this some kind of elf prank?” Magnus ponders for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Wait, no, the Director is human. Hm, regular prank?”

“Uh. Yes, Merle, and no, Magnus. Not really a prank situation. So, uh, I really don’t know how to say this, because I can’t say it and you can’t hear it right now either, but, uh, you remember how when you -uh, we- got here, we got inoculated from the voidfish and remembered basically a whole bunch of shit we’d forgotten.”

“Yeah?”

“Something like that.”

“Uh, L- T-Taako?” The Director comes back in, looking older and younger than Taako has even seen her look. In her hands is a small tank.

Don’t try to put it together. Lup pleads. You won’t be able to yet.

“I- I want you all to know.” The Director clears her throat. “I’m sorry, for what happened. I tried to do the right thing.”

There’s a vial of murky water in front of him. There’s a tank he can’t quite look at on the table. There’s the curling smoke of what is almost a thought just past the edge of realization.

Taako has been here before.

And again, he drinks the voidfish ichor.

The first memory to hit is one from childhood. Standing on his tiptoes, clinging to the edge of the counter, just barely able to see as his aunt carves a turkey for his birthday. Their birthday. Next to him, Lup wiggles in excitement before losing her balance, knocking into him, sending both twins falling to the floor laughing.

There’s more. Taako had never thought much of his childhood memories, assumed that time and distance had cast their inevitable veil over them, rendering the memories fuzzy at the edges. The veil is lifted, the picture resolves, and there’s a hand always, always in his.

Then it’s faster. The IPRE. The Light of Creation and the bond engine. The Starblaster and the mission. The Hunger and the apocalypse, cycling again and again still. Lup is always there.

And then she isn’t. She’d disappeared. She’d been -fuck, Lup had been in Wave Echo Cave, in the Umbra Staff the whole time, all those years. She’d been lost, but then he’d lost her altogether because of-

Taako makes to pull out the Umbra Staff, but of course that’s gone. His repaired wand is in the apartment at the bottom of the moon base. The Krebstar is… who knows where the Krebstar is.

Melee attack it is.

Taako, no!

Lup, get OUT!

In person, they might have been hissing in Elvish, even yelling, but now Taako is silent, the fighting all in his head. It’s not the first time the twins have fought, nor will it be the last, and nor is it even the first time they’ve fought while Lup has been possessing him. There’s a certain part of Taako that even wants to laugh in relief, because Lup is here to argue with, Lup is here. As it is, he’s locked in place, fighting with his sister to punch Madame Director with all of his +0 strength.

But even with the distraction of his own mind, Taako can see what’s happening around them. Davenport has his head lowered, clenched in his hands. Taako can’t see his eyes. Magnus looks like he’s been sucker-punched by the Power Bear. Merle is a whirlwind of emotion- pain, guilt, joy, fear, hope, hurt- that eventually lands on peace.

And Lucretia. Lucretia has one hand wrapped tightly around her staff, knuckles whiter than the Bulwark Staff itself, hands older than Taako had seen them in a century, cast into stark relief from the soft light of the baby voidfish glowing in the tank next to her.

But the quiet that followed inoculation is not peace, and all at once, the storm erupts.

“Lucretia, what have you done?”

“What happened?”

“Why would you do this?”

“Why did you do this?”

“You had the Bulwark Staff this whole time?”

“What have you done with the other Relics?”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Where’s Barry?”

“We saw Barry! Why did you lie to us about Barry?”

“Yeah, where’s- wait. Wait.”

Magnus, Merle, and Davenport put a momentary halt to their rapid-fire questions to stare at Taako. Before they can say anything, Lup lets go, rising, her red-robed lich form appearing next to Taako. Now that he knows who this is, he can again see his sister even in the lich, in the flare of magic and flicker of fire woven into her form. How could he have forgotten?

“Hey, everyone. Uh… miss me?”

As the three begin to bombard Lup with questions, Taako turns to Lucretia for the first time.

“You took everything from me.” He hisses, hands clenched into fists.

“I had to make it right.”

“Sure had a funny fuckin’ way of going about that. Gee, Taako, Cap’n’port, Barold, Mags, Merle, Lup, let me ruin your lives and call that fixing everything.”

“Taako, I- it’s not that simple, and-”

“Oh I’m pretty sure it is.”

“It was destroying the world; it was destroying us.”

“Enough.” Davenport’s voice, the voice of a captain who’d guided his crew and his ship through a century of storm, cracks through this one with ease. Taako scowls before putting as much distance between himself and Lucretia as he can. And putting himself as close to Lup as he can. He’s not losing her again. “Lup? This is your doing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is, Cap’n’port. Well. This was kind of part one. Step two is find Barry.”

“Well, we know he’s dead!”

“Yeah, that’ll make him easier to find.”

Lup laughs. “Thanks, Magnus, Merle. But once we find Barry… then we need a real family meeting.”

#taz #taz balance #taz fic #taz fanfic #taako #lup #charm works #hey guess what i impulse wrote more of this #is it terrible who knows not me i need sleep

[ain-t-bovvered]

15X12 Commentary

Bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

@smol-and-grumpy​​​​ (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon​​​​  (Kat)  

@waywardbaby​​  (Zee)

@ain-t-bovvered  (Giulia)

Nat: welp i guess we'll start?

Giulia: Ye

Zee: I know we’re not ready but yes

Nat: count as usual?

Giulia: U r the only one ready snort

Zee: Shush I’m faking it

Nat: 3

Nat: 2

Nat: 1

Nat: go

Zee: The recap

Giulia: Already hate it

Giulia: ...kaia

Giulia: Ok but i loved dean shout there

Giulia: But i also don t give a fuck about kaia

Nat: i could make a list of people i don't give a fuck about

Giulia: Why the empty has a dick

Nat: earth 2

Giulia: Look how much-waisted air time

Nat: this better go somewhere

Zee: What is he on?

Giulia: Oh look das me every time a clerk looks too clingy

Zee: President Hillary Clinton

Giulia: Nice

Giulia: Radio shed ads look like mediaworld *winks in italian*

Zee: Can he shut up?

Giulia: Nerd

Giulia: Oh and another nerd

Nat: weird that on every earth people are still dumb as fuck

Giulia: The World

Zee: Oh no

Giulia: Yeah that looks my kinda world

Giulia: Aaah beard dean

Zee: Other toys

Nat: He can't even make a world that's gonna function

Giulia: I can get what I want from a hundred worlds

Giulia: What she said

God/ ME A DESTIEL SHIPPER ABOUT DESTIEL ENDGAME: Dean says I'm not gonna get the ending I want. And I don't know. Maybe... I...I mean, that shouldn't matter, right?  I've gotten what I want from hundred of Sams and Deans. I could get what I want from a hundred more. And I don't care.

Nat: you can see the green screen. I mean him standing before one

Giulia: Amazing

Zee: Clear the board

Giulia: Can he clean this one too. I think he’s already doing it

Nat: our world

Nat: how do you know. still, he doesn't take out the dumb

Zee: Vegan

Giulia: ...vegan lasagna *cringes in Italian*

Giulia: Because he feels for them. Between similars u no

Giulia: Aah veins

Zee: I still don’t like it

Giulia: Ah so we are actually where we left off. I can tell u where my head is

Zee: I can tell you where I want his head to be

Giulia: Ooooh nice

Giulia: Look at Jack hair tho

Giulia: BABE

Nat: "I HAVE SPEND TIME WITH HER" *wink wink nudge nudge*

Giulia: 50k

Giulia: Scythe kink

Nat: ouch

Zee: FOCUS

Giulia: Bottom Dean

Nat: on what? dildo scythe?

Giulia: Please comment and reblog

Giulia: Hey

Giulia: No OnE

Zee: Is jack chubbier?

Giulia: Don t talk to my son like this

Zee: Sam should stop doing that thing with his face

Nat: He's just older

Giulia: I can count his gray hair

Giulia: ...

Giulia: AAAAAAAAH beautiful

Zee: How domestic

Giulia: Babe

Zee: Look at that little smile

Giulia: SO CUTE

Giulia: thank you for a small bubble of happiness. That shook my soul a bit

Zee: They seem a little happy. I’m scared. Oh there it is

Giulia: That’s a fancy-ass whiskey bottle. I want it

Zee: Kaia came looking for the spear

Giulia: Cute where is cas

Zee: Babysitting

Giulia: Of course she kicks their asses

Giulia: I wanna choke him too

Nat: they can't even fight one small girl. they're getting old

Zee: Can he get any deeper?

Giulia: What she said

Zee: THE VOIVE I MEAN

Giulia: Oh come on HOW CONVENIENT

Giulia: they pulled a Mary Winchester

Zee: Snort

Nat: i don't know what to think about all this

Giulia: Oh looks it’s us after the coronavirus. Eating lizards

Nat: I mean

Giulia: I just watch

Nat: I would eat it 🤷🏻‍♀

Zee: Dean said not tasted kinda decent

Nat: do I have to

Zee: YES

Giulia: SNORT

Zee: SEE? Babysitting

Giulia: ...listen….How in the hell...War Strategist angel of the lord cas loses at force 4. Fuck off

Giulia: Always makeup on point

Giulia: Not Kaia not helping

Nat: oh I see jody had time for lash extensions

Giulia: She must not be in quarantine

Giulia: ...La piegatrice mondiale. What a horrible translation

Giulia: Oh dean has nice hair. I wanna pull it

Zee: This is going so well

Giulia: Look at cas hair

Nat: He always goes like "Cas-tee-el"

Giulia: Tee-el

Zee: Are you only looking at hair?

Giulia: Cas sounds so done

Zee: But so good

Giulia: WHAT A SOFT LOOK I HATE IT DON T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

Giulia: A bit of a smokey eye on Kaia, What she used? Burned sticks? charcoal? Burned lizard’s tails?

Zee: Is it me or Jody looks older and Cas looks younger?

Nat: sorry but not Kaia can go fuck herself

Giulia: WHATEVER

Nat: so much airtime

Giulia: WASTED

Giulia: ...Shouldn’t he be strong af

Nat: I hate that the female's make up is always on point.

Zee: He’s gonna do something stupid

Giulia: Definition of a Winchester

Giulia: What a dad tone

Nat: I like Merl. Merl is me

Giulia: HEEEEY

Giulia: AHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Giulia: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Nat: Winchester dumb

Zee: Winchester dumb

Giulia: what a mood

Nat: she's my fave character

Giulia: I love her

Nat: i want her in all the ep

Giulia: I stan her

Nat: give her more air time

Giulia: She’s the smartest in the room

Giulia: What a sassy reaper. Like my fav sassy demon

Giulia: I love how the Winchesters are there watching, being all: yup, that’s our dumb kid

Nat: Winchester stupid

Zee: They know she’s right

Giulia: DONT BORROW MY ANGEL LIKE A BATTERY

Zee: Dead angel walking

Nat: I seriously thought Cas holds out the cup he ejaculated in like in a sperm bank

Giulia: Can I unread this

Nat: No u can't, that's what happens when I’m in lockdown

Giulia: Look at that cutie with his cute backpack

Nat: boy scout dean

Zee: Sam’s smirk

Giulia: Babysitting again

Giulia: BS angel chivalry

Giulia: SHE’S SO DONE

Giulia: love it

Nat: she should have said "in your own time"

Giulia: Me and you have all eternity, they don’t

Giulia: ...wasting seconds of intense glares

Giulia: Oh look the gremlins again

Giulia: The last healthy Italians vs the infected ones

Giulia: Last Toilet paper’s rolls and dumb scared people

Nat: snorts

Zee: You’re on a roll

Giulia: Dean eyelashes are fluttering in the wind. Sam needs a hair elastic

Nat: I wish something else would flutter in the wind

Giulia: my fucks

Zee: Hey kid

Giulia: WHY ARE THEY HUGGING

Zee: It’s before corona

Nat: I thought they didn't like each other that much

Giulia: Exactly. They have like 0 relationship, I don’t understand

Nat: It's weird.

Nat: if she should hug someone it should be sam. but what do I know

Zee: Have y’all understood the point of all this? Cause I haven’t

Giulia: Literally none

Nat: I’m bothered by all the other things

Giulia: She had time to do her eyelashes

Nat: so we did literally waste an ep with getting Kaia back, like for real? I watched this?

Giulia: ...AH

Nat: you know the last season could have been so fucking good

Zee: Wtf?

Giulia: K

Nat: ah

Zee: She found out

Giulia: What a meme

Giulia: Billy: last season

The reaper: my joy

Giulia: Death is angry

Zee: I was busy In Italy

Giulia: Oh wow

Nat: Merl had one job

Giulia: The writers had one job

Nat: Billy is us because she has no patience in them wasting an ep freeing Kaia

Giulia: Then u killed me

Giulia: Smoulder time

Giulia: Aaaah a baby

Zee: What?

Nat: Meh

Giulia: Why

Nat: God's destruction is Jack

Giulia: Another meme

Giulia: Writers

Giulia: Us asking if season15 will be amazing

Nat: right

Giulia: Go watch the promo

Nat: is that a fiat

Giulia: That’s a 500, my old car snort

Nat: Are they gay antiques, dealers

Zee: Apart from the reaper everything else was pretty lame. We waited almost two months for that?

Giulia: We went through corona for that

Nat: they look like gay antique dealers. especially being outraged when Sam has to lose the man bun

Giulia: With their cardigans and shit

Giulia: We should all live together. Yikes. They gonna die

Nat: they would scream

Giulia: High pitched

Zee: Tf did I just watch ? Loved deans bracelets tho

Giulia: They’re Jensen’s . Probably

Giulia: Oh maybe they are sam and dean that grew up as men of letters

Zee: Gay men of letters

Giulia: Can they get hot and bothered by Castiel?

Zee: Maybe not both of them

Giulia: Nah Nah both

Zee: Will the angel be gay too?

Giulia: There will be no angel probably. Also, Angels are probably sexless so who cares.

Kat: Y’all finished?

Giulia: Yup

Zee: Yes

Kat: And?

Giulia: WHERE IS THE FLAVOUR

Zee: LLLAAAAMMMEEE

Nat: I wasted my time

Kat: Yeah. Who gives a flying fuck about Kaia. Literally no one

Giulia: guess they are tying the loose ends

Kat: No one has thought about her in 2 years, she was a dead end

Giulia: Idk what the point was

Kat: Idk to have Jack use his powers for some reason? Surely they could have found something better

Giulia: Idk man. Between this fucking virus and jib and life and this writing, I’m very much blegh. I mean I love my boys. But

Zee: Let’s just hope they give them a decent ending and not something so lame that it will ruin everything

Nat: You love them and you want the best for them. not half-assed writing

Giulia: Yeah

Nat: lol what show have you been watching the last season

Kat: Yeah. It’ll be ruined. I have no hope of anything else

Nat: I don't have much hope but also that will maybe make me feel better when it's not as bad as I think it will be

Zee: I know but I can’t let it drag me down

Giulia: Yup

.

.

.

If you want to get tagged send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby​​ or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @wayward-angelgirl​​​​  @destiel-honeypie​​​​      @mariekoukie6661​​​​      @dragontamerm​​​​       @closetspngirl​​​​    @rainflowermoon​​​​     @mattiecat​​​​       @bunnybaby121115​​​​  @aliaitee2​​    @jacks-word-of-the-day​​​​     @4evamc​​​​       @dammitsammy​​​​     @legendary-destiel​​​​   @winchesterprincessbride​​​​    @destielhoneybee​​​​​    @castiellover20   @ravenhg​​​​ @evvvissticante​​​​ @emoryhemsworth​​​​​ @markofdean79​​​​ @janndishsstuff​

#supernatural 15x12 #15x12 galaxy brain #spn 15x12 #Episode commentary #SUPERNATURAL COMMENTARY #spn commentary #15x12 commentary #spn gifs #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel

[ancient-artificer]

Bounties, Booze, Etc.

A Cowboy Bebop AU. Found on FF.net and Ao3

NEW* Fic

After a devastating break-up, Spike turns to old medicines to remedy the hurt. Concerned for her good friend's overall health, Faye strikes up a deal: if she can set Spike up with a good woman within a month's time, he must give up drinking and live a healthier life, for all their sakes. Leave it to a woman to beat around the bush...

Eventual Spike x Faye. Plot-driven.

ONE - Hangovers, Milkshakes, etc.

The majority of the household wasn't too thrilled with his decision-making skills of late.

Spike's wobbly hiccuping, coming in too late and hastily leaving too early was all beginning to cause for concern; the hole-in-the-wall pub inhabitants were ready to create for him a permanent place barside, a stock brand with his name on it if they didn't soon do something about his drinking.

Jet claimed that was just how he functioned and to let him be, the old "he'll fix himself, he always does" routine. Faye had always blatantly called him emotionally constipated, for lack of better terms, but even from her opinionated viewpoint, it wasn't that simple this time around.

It wasn't that Spike couldn't let himself feel emotions.

He felt them too much, too strongly.

It had been two weeks since Julia left. No heads up and no word since. No one understood what she had been thinking or why in the least she had not decided to tell anyone her plans. The blond bombshell just up and disappeared.

And left Spike a goddamned messed, barely able to pick up the pieces in her wake.

"What a bitch," Faye spat. She stared at the lifeless form lying on the couch and crossed her arms over her voluptuous breasts.

In front of their computer searching for the next easy, potential payload, Jet hummed, his fingers stroking his beard in thought. One of his eyebrows rose as he glanced up to her. "Way to kick a man while he's down," he monotoned.

Faye turned towards him. "No, not Spike, that damn bimbo he was head over heels for."

"Yea, well, it happens."

She snorted. "Which one, falling in love with a trash can or having it dump you?"

Jet acted as if he wasn't paying attention, but his mouth twitched up in a small smirk. "Like I said."

"I guess…" Her voice trailed off.

Her gaze returned to the dingy couch with the broken man sprawled across it. It softened as she took in his expressionless, slumbering face. "It must really suck."

"Mhm." His eyes darted back and forth on the screen as he read a profile from the bounty office site.

Faye sympathized with the man. Seeing him asleep, finally buried under consciousness after hours of fighting with himself made her glad she had never fallen in love. Of course, there was the like button, the pesky infatuation that came and went as quickly as the vast amounts of alcohol Spike had no doubt thrown back, and that was only a surface level sentiment.

What Spike tried to let go of was deeper. Scarring.

His sleeping form seemed peaceful, though she supposed it would turn one-eighty once he awoke. He had stumbled in around four-thirty that morning, sloshed beyond all hope, incoherently blabbering on. It was a wonder he had made it back to the house in one piece. Spike had easily passed out with his boots still on his feet.

She stepped to the couch and pulled the folded blanket from the recliner to spread over him. He reeked of hard booze.

"What are we gonna do with you?" She murmured to herself, giving her head a shake.

"Mm… er, do what now?"

Spike's eyes were still closed as he stirred and tried to lift his head and speak. The low, cigarette and whiskey-burned groan that escaped between his dehydrated lips sounded painful.

"You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt.

What resembled a short-lived laugh tumbled out from him, ending in a cough. He winced. "You should feel it," he mumbled.

Faye rolled her eyes and left to fetch him a bottle of water.

His liver and kidneys would be working overtime for a while until his situation leveled out, those brave, little soldiers. These days she felt more like the caretaker of a twenty-seven-year-old baby than a hard-earning, semi-successful bounty hunter.

"I think I'd rather feel the emotional ass-whooping than your kind of hangovers. It'd pass faster," she replied loudly, handing him the bottle with an added sarcastic, "Your drink, sir."

Spike winced hard as he sat up. "Not so loud, fuck…" he croaked. "Trying to kill me."

One hand took the water, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his eyes rocked his balance and sensitivity. A queasiness hit his stomach before he brought the drink to his mouth.

He heaved into the previously placed bucket below him.

"Serves you right," Faye muttered. She walked away before she heard anything else that would haunt her later.

She had never been fond of Julia. From the moment that woman stepped foot inside their abode she could tell they were in for some bad news. Spike was only now unwinding himself from around her slender fingers.

However, Faye was fond of Spike and hoped he would learn from this rather unfortunate event and the things that spurred it. She just didn't approve of his methods. It wasn't fun to tease him when he was hurting himself. If he would let her help.

"Just give it a few more hours. His wallowing's almost over," Jet announced. He stood up from the desk and stretched, his thick arms reached above his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he tossed Faye a pack of smokes as she strolled by. "Give one to pathetic over there and then suit up. We've got a job."

"Uhh, okay, but isn't he a little useless right now?"

From the couch beside her, Spike gave a rough groan and then snarled, "Cowboy up or sit in the fuckin' truck."

Jet only smiled.

"You can't possibly know how this feels," Spike monotoned, briefly closing his eyes. He plodded after the others down the sidewalk towards the pub, which happened to be the location of their next hit.

It was a first. Strolling that day into the same bar he'd gotten plastered in the night before, still hungover as hell. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in their shade of bluish-purple on the way over.

"Psht, yea, you're right, I can't. 'Cause I'm not a drunk loser," Faye replied in kind. She threw a glance his way.

"You're both getting on my nerves. Focus," Jet grumbled under his breath. "Faye, you walk in first. Spike and I will be in after you've had a look around."

They gave it a good thirty seconds.

Nausea hit Spike as soon as he smelled the alcohol.

The drink hall harbored few patrons in the early evening. It would later fill up to near capacity as the hours wore on. Smoke and other various and unique scents floated through the stale air. The place could have used a strong breeze.

As if not affiliated with the other two, Spike beelined it for the bartop and sank onto one of the many stools. His head hit the cool, shellacked wooden surface and he went limp. All but useless.

Mentally patting herself and feeling the weight of gunmetal beneath the ridiculous outfit, Faye easily slipped into a facade. The perfect trap laid before a hungry smuggler.

Remember he'll be armed, Jet's voice said to her through the earpiece connecting the three bounty hunters. Name's Merle. His crew smuggles drugs and other goods into the country through the underground. Not unlike them to enjoy the spoils.

He adjusted his sunglasses to sit further up on his nose and peered at their target as he sat down two stools from Spike's seemingly knocked out form. He raised his hand at the only bartender, who stood directly in front of him, looking oddly at him as he wiped down the bartop.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, sir?"

Jet nodded. "Iced tea, please."

"Is that all?"

Spike let loose a series of quiet snores. A drop of drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

"And a protein shake. If you've got them," Jet said.

The bartender shook his head. He dropped the wet rag into a sani-bucket. "Don't got those. But there's ingredients for a milkshake?"

Jet glanced at Spike, then nodded to the employee.

Faye said nothing as she roamed about the great hall, her gaze hitting everything that could be used as a weapon if the need arose, all of the exits should they have underestimated their target.

If Merle was easy to catch, he would already be in police custody. The profile stated he'd been on the run for four years, successfully evading cuffs and a comfy cell. Within that time, due to the extremely toxic purity of the illegal synthetic drugs he often smuggled and sold, many innocent lives were needlessly lost. The bounty on his head paid a hefty price, dead or alive.

But preferably alive to watch his freedom turn to cash.

Large, green eyes gave a sultry flash at the giant of a man sitting in the corner intent on the brown bottle in between his fingers.

His expression never faltered. His grip on the bottle loosened a bit when Faye swayed near and laid a hand on the only other chair present at his table. She made a point to throw her shoulders back and jut out her ample breasts barely covered in the low cut of her dress.

"May I join you?" She purred.

He stared at her. First at the twin fun sacks staring back at eye level, then up at her expectant, smiling expression. "I'm meeting someone," he simply stated, his voice gruff.

She gently pressed. "I could be that someone… if you have time," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a satin sheet.

"Time for you to fuck off," he said, shifting in the chair.

Faye grinned.

He played hard.

She opened her mouth to respond in the same smartass, sarcastic tone when the establishment's glass door swung open once again. Her eyes darted to it.

In strode three buff, ruffian-looking men, one right after the other. The didn't try to hide their full sidearm holsters conspicuously hanging from their clothing or the fact they all knew the dark man in the back. They sneered when they saw Faye.

"Looks like Boss has a customer, heheh," one of them chuckled. With one arm in a fluid motion, he snagged a chair from another nearby table and unceremoniously sank onto it.

The second did the same, but with the chair Faye had her hand on. "A lady friend," he commented.

The remaining man still standing peered closely at her, leaning down so he could breathe on her cheek as he inspected her.

Straightening her back, Faye loosened the hold she subconsciously had on her features. She tried not to tense. She had to act like a whore, not be one. All she had to focus on was getting them happy and cooperative, Jet -and hopefully Spike- would do the rest, with her lending a helping hand should the need arise. The moment they caught wind of her unwillingness to indulge in their scumbag needs and desires, she would be outed as a cop or worse -what she really was- and the bounty-op would be eighty-sixed.

Jet's voice was low and steady in the earpiece. "Hm. This might've turned into a four man warrant..."

The man with his face next to hers smelled like tobacco and grease. A throaty hum of approval thrummed in his chest. He turned to the man who had first occupied the table. "This yours?"

Merle took a swig of his drink. He said nothing, only his dark eyes moved to inspect Faye once again, sizing her up, himself unsure of the answer.

She shifted her weight, making sure her breasts jiggled a bit to keep their attention. Her fingers pushed some of her violet hair behind her ears, her gaze quickly shifting from all four with a mysterious grin sliding up on her red lips. "Well. How about I buy rounds for you. And you can buy for me… and then we see where we stand?"

The three disgusting bastards were instantly hooked, line and all, at her innuendo. They automatically turned to each other and then to Merle, who had yet to give the okay for the extra person to accompany them for the evening.

Jet kept his head down, seemingly staring at the bartop under the dark of his glasses and intently listened in on her conversation. He breathed from his seat in surprise at Faye's words. "Geezus, you don't have to go all out," he said quietly.

At the same moment, the bartender gave him a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised as he set the glass full of iced tea down in front of him. "Um. Uh, w-would you also like ah, a lemon wedge? Or two?" He stuttered in his confusion.

A choked sound akin to holding back a burst of laughter came from Spike. He wheezed, his lips turning up at the corners before going back to his expressionless, slumber-like state.

The bartender reappeared with a handful of lemon slices and a milkshake in the tallest glass he could find. He set the tiny fruit bowl and the shake next to Jet.

Jet slid the drink to Spike.

"Finally…" Spike uttered. He unfurled his limbs from his lap and inched the straw to his mouth and sucked down a large mouthful. He frowned. "Hmm, it's missing something… what's it missing?"

"Sour wedge?" Jet sarcastically offered. He dropped a small piece of lemon into his tea without looking at him.

Merle straightened his back at Faye's suggestion.

"You're pretty. Too pretty for a dump like this shithole," the bossman grunted. His eyes bore a hole through her dark red dress. He spat, "How do I know you're not a cop?"

Faye blinked. "I'm not," she replied as a confused question.

She didn't look like one, that was for sure. But they couldn't be too careful these days. Highly sought after criminals could not let their guards down, especially around a woman, no matter how pretty. They were sly. They were just as capable of manipulation as men.

Merle snapped his fingers and pointed. "Vic. Search her."

"Heh. With pleasure."

Faye swallowed.

Through the earpiece, Jet heard the demand. She had a Glock and a pair of cuffs strapped to the inside of her leg. If they found those, she was as good as dead where she stood.

"Ahh. I see." Spike hailed the bartender. With a raspy voice and a fake smile, he asked, "Do you have any eggs?"

"Eggs?"

"Yea. Eggs. You know. Chickens shit them out. Can I have one?"

The perpetually perplexed employee headed for the back with his strange request, oblivious to the growing tension in the place.

"What are you doing, Faye needs us. Now," Jet said. He was already turning in the stool to free the handgun at his side.

"Relax. Everything's fine." The hungover bounty hunter lazily sipped at the whipped cream on top of the milkshake, seemingly uninterested in the fate of his female friend. Or any of their fates, for that matter.

The employee came back and handed him a white egg.

Jet slid from his stool and took a long step in the smugglers' direction, in his hand a grey and silver Walther P99.

Faye backed away from the table as two of them approached her. A quick glance to the bar area at Jet and she reached down under the hem of the dress. One hand made a fist, the other gripped the black, fully loaded Glock.

She landed a swift uppercut into the soft underside of the ruffian's jaw and pistol-whipped the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He landed on the ground a shove. She shook her hand in the air and cringed.

Jet fired the Walther at the other man standing between Faye and the table, the explosion of contained gunpowder slicing through the previous quiet. As soon as the man fell to the floor with a shout, he shifted his aim toward the two still seated.

Distance offense strategy was now useless; Merle and his thug friend were already up and closing the space that separated them.

Merle rushed Jet. He knocked into him before he could bring his pistol around to aim. The Walther flew from his hand and a fist connected into the side of his face.

Throwing a glance towards Jet, Faye knew she wasn't equipped to fight like him or Spike. She wasn't trained in hand to hand, but in the close quarters of the small pub, the Glock was still her only defense. She didn't want to flat out kill them, they wouldn't get their money if the smugglers were dead.

"Spike! You idiot!" She called in frustration.

Hunched over his drink, Spike concentrated on cracking the missing ingredient into his shake. He was terrible at cooking anything, having relied heavily on Jet for sustenance for most of his adult life. He winced from the gunshot, which only added to the ache behind his tired eyes. Behind him, all hell broke loose, the sounds of struggles and gunfire ringing in the stale air.

Jet blocked another fist aimed for his gut and connected his own to Merle's temple in return. The smuggler stumbled backward. Jet shoved him hard in the chest and the muscled man toppled over the table and his unfinished beer.

"Faye!" Jet shouted in warning.

The woman turned at his voice, seeing one of the thugs ball his fist and advance to pummel her. She ducked and threw her shoulder into his gut, using the Glock's barrel to assist her in tagging him in the process.

He was out of the fight, down for the count, dry heaving with his hands on his junk.

The man she had earlier pistol-whipped rose and ran at her, the bloodlust apparent in his angry eyes. She promptly ducked again and stuck out her leg, which he ran right into. He was sent stumbling into the bar and smacked right into Spike.

The still unbroken egg slipped out of his hand to bust on the floor.

"The fuck," Spike barked. Anger boiled inside his chest.

The pub's door flung open and four more similarly dressed men ran in, all familiar with Merle and the two men sprawled on the floor. They looked around at the fray, briefly orienting themselves with the situation. It took only seconds, but Jet and Faye knew they couldn't hold off the newcomers.

"My egg! I needed that," Spike seethed. "Everything's so not fine!"

He jumped and shoved the stool away from the counter, standing up and tugging out his Jericho 941 from its holster. He snarled, racking the pistol and without aiming, started firing off round after round directly at the smugglers who had just entered the building.

They scattered to hide behind anything they could find, knocking tables on their sides to use as makeshift shields as he channeled his frustrations into the gunmetal.

Spike turned to the downed man who had run into him. He smashed the man's bloody face into the egg mess with his boot. "That's for ruining my milkshake," he hissed.

Behind him, Jet's left fist smacked into Merle's jaw, his torso bending in half at the waist with the momentous effort. He breathed out, struggling to catch his breath with the strain.

The drug smuggler bounded into the back wall. His head shot side to side, looking for a way out while Jet was preoccupied with the small group of his followers that had come in to join them.

When his attention returned to their main target, Merle was nowhere to be seen. Their intended target escaped.

Faye dove for Jet's discarded pistol as the newcomers began to retaliate. She threw herself back on the floor. With her own gun, she covered them with gunfire until she could return Jet's firearm to him. Her dress hitched up her legs, the thigh holsters now in full view. Vibrant green panties peeked out from the inside at the apex of her legs.

Spike barreled out of the way of blazing bullets zooming past. "Shit!"

Lying on the ground next to Faye, he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one into his black pistol. From his position, he spied the material. "Really. Lime green, huh," he stated casually. A smirk showed up on his mouth.

Faye pursed her lips and cow kicked him in the chest. "Stop looking, pervert."

"We gotta get, fast," Jet grunted. He caught the pistol Faye tossed up to him.

"What about the bounty-" Faye started, the surprise coating her voice.

The big man shook his head. "It's no good. Let's go before we're shot all to hell!"

With Jet laying down cover fire, Spike hauled Faye to her feet, then angled his body to pop off a few rounds at their opposition. He snatched up the milkshake on his way and followed the other two out the back exit and into the alley.

Outside next to the dumpsters, Faye watched for any signs of their fleeing quarry while Jet fetched the car parked on the other side of the alley. She turned at the door opening, relaxing when she saw Spike. He made a face as he sucked up the shake.

"You went back for that?"

He swallowed. "It's not as good without some egg in it. No tip for him."

Faye tried to hide the smile he unknowingly put on her face. Though the man liked to mess around, making light of certain situations, never mind how dire they may be, he made her heart a little lighter. Every day. His presence settled her. His lack of emotional awareness, however, would get him into serious trouble someday.

Jet drove the car up to them, skidding to a halt.

Pulling at Spike's shirt, Faye dragged him to the car, pushing him through the now open door. She shoved him further to climb in herself.

The junk car didn't look like much, though it got them from point A to B with no hesitation. The engine's rumble turned into a roar as Jet sped away. "Watch for that slimebag," Jet said.

They entered the main, busy streets, blending in with the locals. People walked along from one area to another. Other vehicles on the streets passed by in a rush. There were so many, Faye couldn't distinguish after a certain distance. "I don't know, Jet. I don't see him. Sorry."

"Hmm. Well. This blows. Not what I expected." Jet made a sound with his mouth and flicked the air freshener hanging under the rectangle mirror.

Faye nodded. "We'll try again. Another day, sometime."

"Sometime," Jet repeated. He looked at her in the mirror. "You mean another year. That guy's evaded the cops and bounty hunters alike for half a decade. He's not stupid."

There was an empty, sipping sound.

They both turned to Spike, who had finished his mediocre milkshake. He seemed to be doing a little better than earlier in the day. His eyes were a little brighter, almost back to normal.

From the other side of the backseat, Spike peered at Faye from his position, his head resting on the armrest. He took in her ragged appearance after their small bar fight.

Bounty work did a number on her.

He licked the whipped cream off the straw and said, "Yea. Next time it'll be a thousand times harder 'cause he knows who we are."

#cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop fic #spike spiegel #spike x faye #AU #bounty hunters #ff.net #ao3 #CapAleran2 #andyswrite #im terrible at tagging things

[internutter]

Baby!Angus’s first Candlenights? Either present opening, Candlenights dinner, or watching Taako stress over Candlenights dinner

“Any particular reason why your spawn is in a highchair, babe?”

“Several,” said Apa, who was doing several things at once only moreso,  with extra anxiety on the side. Angus could tell. Apa always whisked or mixed faster when he was stressed about something. “One, he likes to be tall. Two, poor baby’s got a little of the separation anxiety and he’s happier when he can see what Apa’s doing. Three, we’re learning some words.”

“Any interesting ones?” teased Aunty Lup.

“Chop,” said Angus, who thought it was interesting to watch the knives turn things into chunks. “Chop, chop, chop... ‘lice! Chop, ‘lice, dice.”

“Aaaw, that’s too adorable. You’re sure I can’t steal him?”

“Go fuck’n make your own.”

“Duckie,” echoed Angus.

“Almost, sweetling. We got us a goose. Gooooose...” Which was a big pink blob somewhere beyond Angus’ range of focus. “Which counts as a dire duck, I think...”

“Only on that one world with the mega-versions of everything. Can Aunty Lulu help Ango make Maple Thumbprint Cookies?”

Angus jiggled in his chair and giggled in excitement. Cooking with Aunty Lup was the best! He got to be all kinds of messy and could play with the dough and it was always super tasty afterwards. “Map’l Lulu!”

“I think that’s a ‘yes’.”

“You’re still not stealin’ my baby, sis.”

“Oh, just make the stuffing, we’ll be making a mess. Won’t we, Ango?” Aunty Lup picked him up out of the high chair and gave him a cuddle as they danced around and she sang. “It’s a mes-sy bab-y Can-dle-nights, that’s how you know it’s fuuunnnnn... If the baby’s mess’d from top to toe, then the fun has just be-guuunnnn...”

Angus wriggled in her arms and laughed and said, “Map’l, map’l, map’l!”

Angus got to add ingredients to the bowl, and turn the handle of the sifter, and help Aunty Lup stir everything together. He got to squish the dough and leave handprints in it. He had to sit and watch as Aunty Lup added special sweet jelly to the handprints, and was yawning in his seat when they went into the oven.

“Aaawww... someone’s ready for Santa’s visit...”

“Merle better not give him a godsdamned potplant. Augh! My seasoning!”

“I’ve got ‘im, Dove. You worry about the food.” Papa had Angus in his arms and there was bath time and PJ’s and tucking in to his cradle cote with the most patient of the cats as a teddy bear.

There were delicious smells when he woke, and the cat who was with him oozed out into the bigger, greater expanse of the house tree. Angus crawled out to the opening of the larger cote to see a whole lot more grownups than usual. He could spot Apa and Aunty Lup in the kitchen, and the big shape with the blue legs had to be Uncle Barry.

“Heeeyyy, it’s the pipsqueak.” The big fuzzy shape resolved itself into Uncle Magnus. “Hello, Master Angus. Shall I be your transportation, this morning?”

“Up! Up!”

Uncle Magnus had a lot of Up to spare. Angus laughed to be yeeted briefly above everyone else’s heads.

“Oi! Careful with him...” said Papa.

“I’m careful, chill out.”

There were colourful things under the mountainous Candlenights tree. Angus could only see blobs, but they sure got his attention. They twinkled along with the fairy lights and had NOT been there the night before. One of the cats emerged from the depths over them, stretching as it went.

“Aaaah!” Angus pointed. “Colours!”

“Lots of colourful presents, yeah,” cooed Uncle Magnus. “The star of the show’s noticed the presents, and good old Santa has been here.”

“You guys owe me a new lumbar support,” grumbled Grampa Merle from under a host of cats. He was stationary, squishy, and warm. Three things the cats adored. There may or may not have been a bonus fourth with the things that were always in his beard. Angus couldn’t tell from this far away.

Apa dusted himself off. “Okay, the goose is getting cooked, we can hand out presents, now.”

“Pwesents,” echoed Angus.

“That’s the Candlenights spirit,” cooed Aunty Lup. “Gimmie love, gimmie lots, gimmie Candlenights trove.”

“That hardly rhymes, Lulu.”

“Grinch!”

Uncle Magnus put Angus down near Papa, who had distribution duty. “Oh, this one says it’s for a special little boy.”

“Must mean me,” joked Grampa Davenport.

“It’s from Santa,” rumbled Apa. “That means it’s for the baby.”

The present fit neatly into Angus’ lap, and the colourful paper was fun to play with. So much fun that he almost didn’t notice when some of it tore.

“Well, the wrapping paper’s a hit...”

“He’s not quite a year old, Luce. Let him discover.”

Oh! There were things inside the bright colourful outsides! This one was a bouncy ball! Angus tossed it up and watched it swirl with colours and sparkles as it bounced to a stop and, of course, got attacked by a couple of cats. He crawled after it, laughing. Trailing ribbons and paper that the cats pounced upon, much to the hilarity of all.

Hours passed by like that, with ripping paper and ribbons and so many fun things and cats pouncing and laughter and... and then, there was the feast. An entire table full to the brim with delicious food and a golden-brown roast goose and thumbprint cookies and things wrapped in other things and so much colourful stuff. Angus wanted to try it all.

He said, “YAH!” to everything, even the dreaded vegetables, because Apa and Aunty Lup made it all look and smell so attractive.

This just had to be the best day in the whole world!

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 2]

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]

#reader request #taz #taz: balance #baby angus adventures #candlenights #loyalshipper

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature - Language, Violence, Mentions of Child Abuse

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: The Water of Kinship

As Merle opened his mouth to yell out “three”, a quick series of cracks echoed through the air around us. Gunfire blasted through the shattered windows of the rundown warehouse, causing the crowd to scatter in panic.

Quickly, while the other two were somewhat stunned, I unhooked my chain from around Daryl’s throat and grabbed his arm. I could see the bright light flashing along to the sound of gunfire to our left and began to drag the man towards it. Merle, thankfully, snapped out of his shock quick enough to follow.

Martinez spotted us. Our gazes met for a fraction of a second before he stepped to the side, pretending to take cover from the bullets ricocheting off the metal support beams, allowing us to pass. The three of us made it out through the large entryway, where a group of people I didn’t recognise were waiting, partially hidden behind the scattered rubbish left out in the open area outside the warehouse.

“Daryl,” the closest one called. It was a man wearing a dirty flannel shirt and loose jeans, a light beard brushed across his sharp jawline. “Let’s go.”

We began to follow him when he turned and thrust an accusatory finger in Merle’s face. “You’re not going anywhere with us.”

“You really want to do this now? Come on, man.” Merle whined, gesturing for him to get a move on.

Neither man moved for a few moments before Daryl interjected. “Rick, come on.”

“We’ve got to go,” Merle insisted, glancing over his shoulder at the chaos inside the warehouse. We both knew it wouldn’t last much longer.

“Then go,” Rick growled.

Merle looked to his brother. “A little help would be nice.”

“We ain’t got time for this,” Daryl grumbled.

I spotted Maggie, coming out from behind the edge of the building with a rifle. She began to lead us toward the eastern wall, where I’d told her the easiest escape route was earlier that night.

Merle and I followed behind his brother, ignoring the scathing look from the one named “Rick” as we went.

We managed to escape rather easily, only having to clear a few biters that must have managed to slide in through the loose panel from our path. In the rush, I didn’t even think to close the panel behind us. If I paused for too long, it wasn’t as if these people would wait for me. I had to keep up of my own volition or risk leaving Merle along with them. And, honestly, I didn’t even know who would get the worst end of that situation. Them or Merle himself.

Once we were home free, the five of us made our way through the dense trees until the cool light of dawn broke over the forest. I spotted the silver car in the distance a few moments before Rick called out, “Glenn!”

“Rick?” a familiar voice responded. Glenn stepped out from behind the vehicle, parked along the side of the road. “Thank God.”

Another figure appeared beside him. It was Michonne. The two of them began to jog through the thin collection of trees towards us.

Rick lifted his hands and suddenly increased his speed, trying to reach the two of them before they spotted us. “Now, we got a problem here. I need you to back up.”

He spoke in that calming yet equally condescending voice most police officers had down to an artform and gestured for Glenn and Michonne to return to their place behind the car. It was an attempt made in vein. The moment Glenn’s blackened eye slid across to where Merle and I were approaching, his face contorted into pure rage. Beside him, Michonne took a confident step forward and lifted her sword.  

“What the hell is he doing here?” Glenn demanded; eyes locked on the man by my side. Maggie ran to him, turning to face us as she lifted her own gun at Merle just as Rick lifted his gun to point it at Michonne.

Daryl stepped in front of Merle and I, lifting a hand in defence.

“Hey, hey! Put it down!” Rick ordered Michonne, just as Merle and I lifted our hands in surrender.

“He tried to kill me!” Michonne yelled in response.

“If it wasn’t for him –“ Glenn began, but Daryl cut him off.

“He helped us get out of there,” he tried to argue. “They both did.”

“Yeah, right after they beat the shit out of you,” Rick snapped from beside him.

“Hey, we all took our licks, man,” Merle argued, gesturing between Daryl and I.

I just stayed silent, my chained hands lifted as I looked between everybody with raised brows. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the middle of this absolute clusterfuck of pointed weaponry.

“Jackass,” Daryl hissed toward his brother.

Merle began to move forward. “Hey, shut your mouth!”

Rick turned toward him just as Michonne began to step past him, her sword raised higher. He quickly turned back, gun pointed at her head as he demanded authoritatively, “Put that down now!”

Glenn still had his gun raised, pointed toward Merle until Daryl whirled around and stood clearer between them.

“Get that damn thing outta my face,” the younger Dixon yelled.

That made Merle chuckle. “Damn. You gone all native, brother.”

Daryl turned on him, gripping the strap of his crossbow in one hand and gesturing back towards the way we’d come with the other. “No more than you hangin’ out with that psycho back there.”

“Oh, yeah, man,” Merle deadpanned. “He’s a real charmer, I gotta tell you that. Hey, Jacques?”

I looked at him with wide eyes, my hands still raised. “Oh, I am not even remotely getting involved in this.”

Merle scoffed before turning and catching Michonne’s gaze. “Been putting the wood to your girlfriend, Andrea,” the old man sneered as he began approaching her. “Big time, baby.”

I grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him backwards before either Rick or Michonne could shove their respective weapons into his eye socket.

“Andrea’s in Woodbury?” Glenn asked, glancing between everyone, finally having lowered his gun.

“Right next to the Governor,” Daryl answered, sounding none too pleased about it.

Michonne took a step toward the younger Dixon, gradually lifting her blade in defence of her friend, when Rick whirled on her.

“I told you to drop that,” he snapped.

She took a step back.

“You know Andrea?” Rick asked her, taking a step towards her. She glanced between Merle and I, clenching her teeth as the man before her continued to press. “Hey, do you know Andrea?”

Merle interrupted before she could even make an attempt to answer. “Yep, she does,” he said, turning to me and giving me a light jab with his elbow. “Don’t she?”

“Stop bringing me into this,” I answered with a slight shake of my head.

“Seriously?” Merle grunted in exasperation before turning back to face Rick and throwing his hand in the general direction of Michonne. “Her and blondie were cuddled up all winter out in the forest. Mmm-mmm.” He gave her a sickening grin.

I rolled my eyes for good measure.

“My Nubian queen here had two pet biters,” Merle continued. “No arms, cut off the jaws. Kept ‘em in chains.” He let out a curt chuckle and glanced at me. “Kind of ironic now that I think about it, isn’t it?”

I just shook my head at him with a pointed look. Stop bringing attention to me, jackass.

“Shut up, bro,” Daryl growled, spinning to face us.

“Hey man. Jacques here snagged ‘em out of the woods,” Merle remarked, turning to look at Rick whilst throwing this good hand in my direction.

I swear to God, Merle.

“Spotted ‘em spying with those keen eyes of hers. Got you both before you even knew she was there, didn’t she?” he asked, directing that one at Michonne, who looked across to me with a neutral expression.

She, thankfully, didn’t answer. At least someone understood why I might not want that kind of attention.

“Lucky for them, too,” Merle continued. “Andrea was close to dying.”

“Is that why she’s with him?” Maggie asked, looking at Michonne.

Merle nodded, again interjecting before anyone else could answer. “Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Snug as two little bugs.”

The group shared a few looks before Merle stepped up to Rick, sneering that infuriating sneer of his.

“So, what you gonna do now, Sheriff? Huh? Surrounded by a bunch of liars, thugs, and cowards.”

“Shut up!” Rick snapped, barely even glancing at him. His focus was too heavily on Michonne.

“Oh, man. Look at this.” Merle shook his head as he looked this Rick guy up and down. “Pathetic. All these guns and no bullets in ‘em.”

“Merle, shut up,” both Daryl and I yelled at the same time.

Merle whirled on me. “Shut up yourself! So much for stayin’ out of it!”

He began to wave that stupid metal appendage in my face, and I reached up to grab it with both my chained hands, ducking beneath it and stepping around him to pull it taut behind his back. A hoarse yell of pain escaped him as he fell to his knees and I bent down slightly to speak directly into his ear.

“You need to stop talking, you fucking moron,” I growled.

He tried to turn back to face me, but my grip on his arm made him hiss out a curse, forcing him to remain with his back to me. Still, that didn’t seem to stop him from continuing his idiotic rant. “You callin’ me a damn moron? What about them, huh? Bunch of fuckin’ pussies don’t know jack shit about –“

I pulled his arm tighter. “Shut. Up.”

Merle stuttered to a stop, partially from the pain and partially because I’d used my Don’t-Fucking-Push-It voice.

With a sigh, I turned to look up at Rick. Some kind of animal instinct inside me was telling me he was the alpha of this group, that he’d be the one to plead sense to. The man was looking down at me with a mixture of agitated suspicion and curiosity.

“Look, I’ll keep him here and I’ll keep him quiet. Why don’t you guys sort this out amongst yourselves?” I suggested, jerking my head towards the car parked by the road a few metres away. “Us standing here, putting in our two cents every second word is just going to make it harder for everyone to discuss it calmly.”

Merle’s body jerked slightly, as if he were about to open his mouth to argue. Again, I pulled his arm. Besides the torrent of curses and insults growled at my expense, he kept his opinion on my suggestion to himself.

Rick watched me closely for a moment. His expression was hard, gaze searching, as if he were trying to understand the angle I was playing at. I met his eyes evenly, keeping my own expression neutral, waiting for him to finish surveying me.

It took a tense moment, but he finally let out a huff and nodded, turning and gesturing for everyone to make their way over to the car.

Daryl waited an extra moment; his gaze going from his brother’s pained face and back up to mine. It seemed to take him twice as long to make up his mind about whether or not he trusted me enough to keep his brother on a leash.

“Trust me,” I said. “I’ve got him.”

Merle hissed out another curse.

Daryl muttered a soft, “Asshole,” toward his brother before giving me an appreciative nod and trailing off after Rick.

Once they were far enough away, I let Merle’s arm go and he rose to his feet, whirling on me with a feral scowl.

“The hell was that for?” he hissed.

I glared up at him. “You were acting like a fucking dick. You know that, right?”

He opened his mouth to snap what was likely some long-winded insult, but I lifted my hand to cut him off. The group were back at the car now, far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. A regular human wouldn’t be able to make out the sounds of their voices from where Merle and I stood. But I wasn’t human – not even a little – and I could hear every word.

“They’re talking,” I whispered to Merle, bidding him to keep his mouth closed.

His eyes grew wide for a second before the realisation dawned on him. “You listenin’ with them big ole ears o’ yours?”

I gave him a side-eye and lifted one hand to protectively touch the tip of my pointed ear. “Leave my ears alone, asshole. And shut up. If you want to know what they’re saying, I need quiet.”

Merle let out a huffing breath through his nose before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a nearby tree.

“The Governor’s probably on the way to the prison right now,” I heard Daryl say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Merle and the girl, they know how he thinks. She was the guy’s damn right-hand. Besides. We could use the muscle.”

“I’m not having him at the prison,” Rick hissed in response. “Do you really want him sleeping in the same cellblock as Carol or Beth?”

“He ain’t a rapist,” Daryl snapped.

“Well, his buddy is,” interjected another voice. Glenn.

I cringed at the memory, feeling my skin begin to crawl.

“If it weren’t for that girl,” Glenn continued, voice low, “I don’t want to think about what would have happened.”

Maggie’s voice was soft as she spoke. “She stopped him.”

Rick went silent for a moment. “So you want them to stay?”

“We owe her,” Glenn responded evenly. “Not him.”

“We can’t take one and not the other,” Rick answered. “Not when they were both buddy-ing up with the Governor.”

“They ain’t buddies no more,” Daryl put in. “Not after what happened last night.”

“There is no way Merle’s gonna live at the prison without putting everyone at each other’s throats,” Rick cautiously explained. I could tell he was trying to deescalate Daryl’s rising temper. “And I don’t know anything about that girl except that she’s close with your brother, which doesn’t exactly make her look good.”

“Ouch,” I whispered to myself.

Merle’s attention peaked. “What? What they sayin’?”

“Shut up. Let me listen.”

He huffed once again, though thankfully remained silent as I closed my eyes to focus.

“So, what? You’re gonna cut Merle and the girl loose but bring the Last Samurai home with us?” Daryl let out a curt, humourless laugh.

“She’s not coming back.” Rick’s voice was clear and concise. He’d made up his mind about that long ago and it showed in his stern tone.

“She’s not in a state to be on her own,” Glenn said softly.

“She did bring you guys to us,” Maggie tried to argue.

“And then ditched us,” Daryl snapped.

“At least let my dad stich her up,” she simply added, pleading but not too desperate.

“She’s too unpredictable,” Rick answered.

“That’s right,” Daryl huffed. “We don’t know who she is, but Merle? Merle’s blood.”

“No,” Rick sighed. “Merle’s your blood. My blood, my family, is standing right here and waiting for us back at the prison. And you’re part of that family.”

“But he’s not,” Daryl guessed. His voice sounded close to breaking, as if he were growing desperate to make them understand.

“He’s not.”

There was a stretch of silence before I heard the sounds of boots upon the asphalt and Daryl’s gruff voice. “Man, ya’ll don’t know. Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves.”

The sound of a car trunk opening made me open my eyes and I looked up the slight hill, up to where they were still gathered on the road. Merle did the same.

“The hell’s –“

“Shut up,” I hissed for the third goddamn time, watching and listening as Daryl pulled a backpack from the trunk of the silver car.

Oh, no. Don’t do it.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Rick tried to explain, but Daryl cut him off, slinging the backpack over his shoulder.

“No him, no me.”

“Daryl,” Rick sighed. “You don’t have to do that.”

No, he didn’t. And he shouldn’t. I’d barely known these people for more than a handful of hours, but I could tell they cared about that man more than he’d likely been cared for ever before. It wasn’t right, pulling him away from them like this. I wanted to yell at Merle to say something, to tell his brother to stay behind, though I knew that would have been pointless. Merle did what best suited Merle and no amount of scathing glares or threats of violence would ever change that.

“It was always me and Merle before this,” Daryl stated simply.

A simple, desperate, “Don’t,” escaped Rick in a harsh breath.

I frowned as Merle pushed himself off the tree and stood by my side, watching the unfolding situation with barely restrained glee.

“What’re they sayin’?”

“Daryl’s leaving,” I answered, making sure my tone suggested my disagreement with the idea.

Merle glanced down at me with a grin. “For real?”

“That isn’t a good thing.”

“The hell it ain’t! That’s my baby bro!”

I turned and smacked him hard on the shoulder, forgetting for a moment that my hands were bound together. My opposite hand almost smacked me in the face as it was pulled along, which made Merle bark out a laugh and effectively ruined my violent attempt to get him to see sense.

“Come on, bro!” Merle called out to Daryl just as Rick called out his name.

Daryl ignored the sheriff, stepping off the edge of the asphalt and into the forest. He kept walking, shoulders hunched as the others called out to him, all but begging him not to go. I bit my lower lip, watching Rick staring at Daryl’s back as he got walked further and further into the trees. As soon as he was in reach, Merle clapped an arm around his shoulder and barked out a triumphant laugh.

“That’s my boy,” he cheered.

Daryl kept his head down for a few more steps before looking up, his gaze catching mine for a fraction of a second. That was all the time I needed to see the damage his decision had caused within him. It had almost killed him to tear himself away from Rick and the others, I could see it.

He looked away before I could give him a reassuring, somewhat sad smile, and allowed himself to be led away by Merle.

“Comin’, sweetheart?” the older Dixon called over his shoulder as they began to make their way deeper into the forest.

I spared one glance up towards Rick and the others, who were still standing by the edge of the asphalt, watching Daryl disappearing into the trees. Rick’s eyes met mine, crystalline blue and rimmed in red. I gave him an apologetic smile before turning to follow Merle into the forest.

####

“There ain’t nothing out here but mosquitos and ants.”

Daryl adjusted his hold on the crossbow as he twisted partially around to look at Merle. I trailed behind, trying to keep the jangling chains clasped in my palms in order to avoid the deafening sound. It wasn’t exactly working.

“Patience, little brother,” Merle mused. “Sooner or later, a squirrel is bound to scurry across your path.”

“Never seen a squirrel in person,” I remarked without thinking.

Both Merle and Daryl stopped and turned to look at me.

I brought myself to a halt and returned their shocked gazes with a cocked brow. “What?”

“How long you lived here?” Merle asked.

“Couple of years,” I answered.

“And you ain’t never –“

“Not once,” I interrupted. “Seen a possum. Seen a raccoon. Never seen a squirrel.”

“Well, fuck me sideways and call me Eileen.” Merle laughed. “We gon’ find ourselves a furry little friend for ya.”

I snorted with a shake of my head before lifting my bound hands up to eye level. “You really think one’s gonna come anywhere near this racket?” I asked, shaking the chains for emphasis. I was just glad I’d worn my leather jacket that night, which had so far served as a barrier between my skin and the metal.

Daryl cringed at the sound.

“Fair point,” Merle agreed.

A slow grin began to form on my face. “You know… If you were any kind of gentleman, Merle, my dear…” I had to bite back a laugh as I looked him square in the eye and said, “You’d give me a hand getting these off.”

It took a second before the joke actually registered, but I could tell the moment it did. His slightly confused expression suddenly smoothed out into pure unamusement whilst my resolve to hold back the laugher bubbling in the base of my throat began to crack.

When my gaze slid across to Daryl, at the slightest of twitches pulling at the corner of his mouth, I lost it.

Merle grumbled out a, “I hate you,” before turning heel and continuing through the forest.

“Ah,” I breathed, sobering slowly. “Never gets old.”

After flashing Daryl a wide grin from which he quickly averted his gaze, I began to trudge after Merle, holding my chained hands to my chest as I walked in order to avoid the incessant jingling.

Daryl followed behind, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder. “We’d have better luck going through one of them houses we passed on the turnoff?” he yelled over me to his brother.

Merle glanced over his shoulder at him with a hoarse laugh. “Is that what your new friends taught you? Hmm? How to loot for booty?”

“We’ve been at it for hours,” Daryl argued. “Why don’t we find a stream, look for some fish?”

Merle snorted. “I think you’re just tryin’ to get lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison.”

The distant, tell-tale sound of nearby biters began to filter through the air, drifting from somewhere to our north-east. I said nothing, as neither man had noticed the sound as of yet, and it was far enough away not to be of much concern.

“They got shelter,” Daryl pointed out, using a nearby tree trunk to support himself as he climbed over a fallen branch. “Food. A pot to piss in.”

“I’d be inclined to agree with you,” I put in, turning partially to face him. “If it weren’t for the fact your sheriff friend would just as soon shoot your brother in the face than shake his hand.”

“I heard that!” Merle growled from a few feet in front of us.

I lifted my hands, biting back a grin. “That one was unintentional, I swear.”

He just scoffed something that sounded a lot like the word “bitch” before continuing on.

Daryl moved past me, stepping through the dense forest floor without barely stepping on a crunching leaf let alone a stray stick. His footfalls were almost naturally silent, something which I found myself admiring. I knew he and Merle had learnt to hunt at a young age, but even Merle made a misstep more often than not. Daryl moved almost flawlessly through the woods. He could have been one of my kind, it seemed to come so easily for him.

“Look, it might not be that bad an idea!” he called to his brother.

“For you, maybe,” Merle responded. “But Jacques is right. Ain’t gonna be no damn party for me.”

“Everyone will get used to each other.”

I could tell Daryl was growing almost desperate. He had almost instantly regretted his decision to join his brother, moved more by the idea of family than the reality of what he had already had. My heart bled for the guy.

The sound of those biters was growing louder yet remained far enough that neither Dixon brother could hear them over the sounds of their own voices.

“They’re all dead,” Merle remarked, barely a shred of remorse in his voice.

“Merle,” I hissed. “You don’t know that.”

“You and I both know the Governor’s probably hosting a housewarming party where he’s gonna bury what’s left of Officer Friendly and the rest of ‘em,” Merle responded.

I didn’t know that. What I did know was that the Governor wouldn’t let what they had done just slide by. He’d retaliate. The only problem with that was now he no longer had me or Merle. We had always been an integral part of his planning and execution, but now? Half out of his mind, ruled by vengeance and ego? Even I didn’t know what he was capable of anymore.

Daryl, having decided he was done with this conversation, continued past where Merle had come to a stop, barely giving us a passing glance over his shoulder as he called out, “Let’s hook some damn fish.”

#####

“Smells to me like Sawhatchee Creek.”

“We didn’t go far enough west. There’s a river down there. Gotta be the Yellow Jacket.”

“You have a stroke, boy?” Merle coughed a laugh. “We ain’t never even come close to Yellow Jacket.”

My God. Did they ever stop bickering?

Daryl pulled the strap of his crossbow tight across his broad chest as he looked down the slight hill at his brother. “We didn’t go west.”

He was right about that. The non-stop gurgling moans coming from the biters in the distance had remained at a somewhat constant volume, drifting further from the east now than it had been from the north. We’d remained on a near straight line since we’d committed to the plan of catching some fish. A plan I desperately wished would hurry up and come to fruition. I was growing irritable with hunger at this point.

“Just a little bit south,” Daryl continued, waving a hand to the east. “That’s what I think.”

“You know what I think?” Merle asked, lifting up his metallic arm. “I may have lost a hand, but you lost your sense of direction.”

“And maybe you’ve both lost the one brain cell you shared between you,” I added in with a grin.

They both looked at me with almost matching blank expressions.

“Yeah,” Daryl murmured. “We’ll see.” And with that, he turned back toward the direction he’d been heading. Towards the sound of biters in the distance.

I begrudgingly began to follow with Merle close on my heals.

“You want a bet, little brother?”

I opened my mouth to put in my own bet, siding with Daryl as I could already hear the sounds of rushing water nearby, but the younger Dixon brother beat me to it.

“I don’t wanna bet nothin’,” Daryl responded. He had begun marching faster, his footfalls no longer falling silently through the underbrush. “It’s just a body of water. Why’s everything gotta be a damn competition with you?”

I sensed the drop seconds before Daryl’s foot went over the edge. As fast as I could move, I leapt across the empty space between us and latched onto his upper arm with both hands. Anchored by my grip, he managed to regain his footing, balancing at the edge of a sharp drop off. The rapid water of the river below struck the sharp rocks at the edge of the bank with enough force that I felt a droplet hit the exposed skin of my cheek.

Daryl’s gaze fixed upon those rocks for a moment as he let out a shaky breath before turning to look at me. The moment he realised how close we stood, he swallowed and cleared his throat, muttering a “thank you” before stepping away.

Merle let out a whistle. “Nice catch, darlin’.”

I gave him a side-long look, cocking a brow and opening my mouth to make what would have been a rather unfriendly comment when a new sound suddenly filtered through the biter’s moans. My head jerked to the side, to the east and I strained my ears, trying to discern the reality of what I had originally thought the sound had been.

Merle knew the look, knew what it meant when I went suddenly still and silent. He, for the first time in hours, finally kept his mouth shut.

There it was again. The sound. Piercing through the air, cutting through me like a knife.

“Do you hear that?” I asked, despite knowing full well they likely did not. It was almost as if the shock of hearing such a sound in the middle of nowhere had rendered me moronic.

Merle snorted. “You know we don’t. What is it?”

I let out a long breath before turning partially to look at him, my brows furrowed in a deep frown. “It’s a baby.”

“What?” Daryl asked. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

I didn’t answer. My feet began moving before I could stop them, pulling me toward the sound of cries, through the forest. Merle spat out a curse before following, grabbing his brother and dragging him along. Before long, we’d followed the riverbank far enough that the bridge had come into view.

Merle called out for me to stop. “What the hell you doin’, Jacques?”

I slowed to a halt and turned to him, gesturing towards the bridge. “Baby.”

“Oh, come on,” he coughed. “Why don’t you piss in my ear and tell me it’s raining, too?”

“Listen, you prick,” I snapped. The sound was loud enough now that their ears should be able to pick it up.

Merle just stared at me and shook his head. “That there? That’s the sound of a couple of coons making love, sweet love.”

I looked him dead in the eye as I said, “One of these days I might just take off that other hand to gag you with it.”

“I hear it,” Daryl breathed suddenly, taking a step forwards and away from his menace of a brother. “It’s a damn baby.”

The poor guy sounded almost as confused as he was shocked, his bright, narrow eyes falling to me with what I could only assume was suspicion. Like I’d somehow planted the baby or knew it would be there.

His brother had reacted much the same way when I’d first let on that my ears were much sharper than the average human. At one point, I remember him actually calling me a witch. A fucking witch.

Southerners.

I didn’t wait for the flow of questions, nor did I just stand there beneath his suspicious glare. Without another moment of pause, I took off towards the nearby road. Daryl followed behind me with little hesitation. Neither of us waited for Merle.

We arrived at the edge of the forest where the trees gave way to road and burst out into the open. To our right, the asphalt gave way to the cracked concrete foundation of the bridge, upon which sat a red car, surrounded by biters. There was a man standing atop the roof, swinging a rusted machete in a fevered rhythm, trying to clear the surrounding area of biters.

I could hear the baby crying from inside the car, now met with the sounds of a woman’s frightened sobs.

Both Daryl and I looked at one another, no doubt thinking the same thing. We began to run towards the car just as Merle broke through the tree line behind us with an irritated gruff.

“Oh, come on!”  

We ignored him.

The man atop the car spotted us coming as Daryl pulled his crossbow from his shoulder and took a shot at the biter closest to the man’s overhanging boot. It dropped instantly, the arrow piercing through its skull as easy as a knife through butter.

It didn’t occur to me until I was close enough to reach the biters that I did not in fact have a weapon. I was going to have to go all old school on this one.

Daryl began reloading his crossbow, pausing mid-approach and enabling me to overtake him. Without slowing, I charged forwards and leapt, planting a solid fly-kick into the closest biter’s ugly, rotting face. It careened backwards, knocking two of its pals down as it toppled. I slammed my booted foot down on its face, crushing its weakened skull beneath my sole. Another biter dropped beside me, curtesy of Daryl’s arrow.

The man above us was calling for help in both Spanish and English.

As I slammed my foot down on one of the other fallen biters, I felt Merle blow past me. He marched through the biters, thrusting the pointed end of his haphazardly designed metal hand through two of their heads before leaning down to inspect the inside of the car.

A biter behind me was getting uncomfortably close, forcing me to take my eye off Merle for a fraction of a second to dodge the rotting, outstretched hands. I stepped behind the undead creature and threw my hands over its head, catching its throat with the chain. Pulling the biter back, I waited until I felt the pressure of cold concrete on my back before turning. I yanked my chain to the side and watched as the biter tumbled over the crumbling railing of the bridge and into the rapid waters below.

At this point, I could hear a commotion much different than that of an ordinary biter attack and turned back to see Merle making a nuisance of himself by the driver’s side door. The woman inside was screaming for him to get out, as was the man, who had now leapt down onto the concrete foundation of the bridge. He didn’t seem to feel confident enough to make a move on Merle, not with Daryl standing so close, a freshly notched arrow resting atop his crossbow, but he was yelling in both Spanish and English that he would kill him if he touched his wife.

Merle chuckled as he began rifling through their possessions. “That ain’t no way to say thank you,” he remarked.

The baby was absolutely screaming at this point. My heart tightened in my chest.

“Get away from my car!” the man yelled, the grip on his bloodied machete growing so tight his knuckles were turning white. “We don’t have anything!”

Again, Merle ignored the man. “Least you could do was give us an enchilada or something, huh? Easy does it, señorita. Everything’s gonna be fine.”  

I took a step forwards, intent on stopping him, though I needn’t have bothered.

Moments before I could grab Merle by the strap of his dirty wifebeater, his brother turned his crossbow and pointed it at his exposed back.

“Get out of the car,” he growled.

Merle went still, turning his head slightly to the side. “I know you ain’t talking to me, brother.”

Daryl turned his gaze to the man standing by the car’s bonnet and jerked his head toward the driver’s side door. “Get in your car and get the hell out of here.”

Merle still hadn’t moved. I stepped forward and followed through on my plan to grab the moron by the strap of his shirt, yanking him backwards and away from the open door.

He yelled out a curse, swinging his arm to free himself from my grip. “The hell, woman?”

Daryl kept the crossbow pointed at his brother, though his gaze remained on the Hispanic man behind him. “Get in the car! Go, go! Move it!”

The man did as he was instructed, giving Merle a mighty fierce glare as he walked past him, climbing into the open driver’s side door and slamming it closed.

Neither of us spoke until the car had taken off down the road, after which Merle turned the full force of his anger onto his brother. “The shit you doing, pointing that thing at me?” he snapped, stepping forward and swatting the crossbow.

Daryl let it fall to his side. “They were scared, man.”

Merle snorted. “Rude it what they were. They owed us a token of gratitude.”

“They didn’t owe us shit, jackass,” I hissed, the same time Daryl remarked, “They didn’t owe us anything.”

Merle looked between us with wide, disbelieving eyes, gesturing at us with his good hand in frustration. “The hell is this, huh? You two helpin’ people out of the goodness of your hearts, now?” His bright gaze landed on me. “You? Little Miss McMurder, helping out the good people of Georgia?” An incredulous snort escaped him before he turned his attention back to his brother. “And you? Helpin’ people even though you might die? That something your pal Sheriff Rick teach you?”

“There was a baby!” Daryl yelled, throwing up his empty hand in exasperation.

“Oh, otherwise you would’a left ‘em to the biters, then?” Merle asked sarcastically, shaking his head before he pushed between us and began making his way back towards the line of trees.

Daryl didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on his brother’s retreating form. “I went back for you, man.”

I turned and looked at him, brows raised. Merle had told me all about his last group, at least as much as he’d cared to, including how they had handcuffed him to a roof in the middle of downtown Atlanta with no key and a horde of biters in the stairwell. I’d been appalled when I’d first heard the story, though the longer I’d spent standing next to the man, the more I’d come to respect his previous group’s decision to leave him for dead. A little extreme, perhaps, but I certainly understood the temptation.

Merle stopped mid-step and turned to face us, his face contorted into a scowl.

“You weren’t there,” Daryl continued. “And I didn’t cut off you hand, neither. You did that, way before they locked you up on that roof.”

I glanced back over to Merle, watching his upper lip beginning to twitch in anger as he listened to his brother.

“You asked for it,” Daryl snapped, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

“You know what’s funny to me?” Merle asked, pursing his lips in that indignant way of his. “You and Sheriff Rick are like this now.” He held up his hand with his fore and middle finger twisted around one another. “Right?”

Daryl didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Merle’s gaze turned to me. “Hey, you up for a bet, sweetheart?”

I cocked a brow, remaining silent. This was a brother-to-brother fight and I didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

“Psh. ‘Course you do. You always do.” Merle looked back to Daryl with a grin. “I bet you a pretty penny my little bro here never told Officer Friendly that we was plannin’ to rob that camp blind. Did you?”

Daryl’s gaze dropped to his feet and I got the distinct feeling he had never, not even back then, been entirely okay with their original plan. “It didn’t happen,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Merle scoffed. “It didn’t ‘cause I wasn’t there to help you.”

With that, he turned and walked back into the forest.

I looked towards Daryl, waiting a few moments after he’d begun to follow his brother before I trailed behind. It was to give them the illusion of privacy and they both probably knew it, but it my slight distance seemed to help enough that Daryl didn’t think twice about yelling out his next accusation.

“Like when we were kids, huh?” he called, marching through the underbrush after his brother, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder.  “Who left who then?”

Merle spun on the spot with fire in his eyes. “What? Huh? That why I lost my hand?”

Daryl stepped further forward, right into Merle’s face as he pointed at his brother and snarled, “You lost your hand ‘cause you’re a simpleminded piece of shit!”

“Yeah?” Merle asked before grabbing onto Daryl’s shirt.

The younger brother tried to pull away, but his foot slid down the slight incline, pulling him off balance. He slid down to his knees as Merle’s grip on his shirt caused a violet rip in the fabric to open up, exposing Daryl’s bare back.

The two men kind of froze in place. I felt my own feet come to a complete stop as I stared at the red scars that criss-crossed over his skin. My mouth parted slightly in shock before I gathered my sense enough to turn away, averting my gaze. I had known, at least in theory, that Merle’s father hadn’t exactly been a kind man. It took one to know one, I guess, but it hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that he and Daryl had shared the same upbringing. The same abuse.

“I – I, uh…” Merle began, letting go of Daryl’s shirt and taking a step back. “I didn’t know he was –“

“Yeah,” Daryl snapped, trying to readjust his backpack and crossbow to cover the exposed skin of his back. “He did. He did the same to you. It’s why you left first.”

Slowly, the younger Dixon got to his feet, his eyes glancing over to me as if he were embarrassed I’d seen him in such a state. I met his gaze evenly for a brief second, making sure to keep my expression neutral. The last thing he needed was to think I felt sorry for him. I didn’t, not really. It was more a feeling of understanding, of a deeply seeded sense of anger that originated from my own dark memories. He looked away quickly.

“I had too, man,” Merle tried to explain, his miserable expression almost pleading. “I would’a killed him otherwise.”

I tensed a little, feeling a slight sting from his words. He left his baby brother alone with a man who beat on him just so he wouldn’t end up doing what I had.

Daryl adjusted the strap of his backpack and, without turning around to look at his brother, began walking.

Merle remained standing, watching his brother for a moment before yelling, “Where you goin’?”

“Back where I belong,” Daryl called over his shoulder.

Merle looked to me, confused as to what to do next. I merely shrugged and started following behind his younger brother.

“I can’t go with you,” he yelled in a hoarse voice. “I tried to kill the black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid.”

Daryl didn’t look back. “He’s Korean.”

“Whatever!” Merle began to stumble along behind us, reaching out to steady himself on a nearby low-hanging branch. “Doesn’t matter, man. I can’t go with you, which means you can’t either, Jacques.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Says who?”

He opened his mouth to argue but just ended up screaming gibberish in frustration, looking to the sky and throwing up his hands in defeat.

Daryl continued walking. “You know,” he said over his shoulder. “I might be the one walking away, but you’re the one that’s leaving. Again.”

Damn. I didn’t look back to see how the older Dixon had reacted to that. I didn’t need to. The sound of his dragging footsteps trailing along behind us was answer enough.

#the walking dead #the monsters among us #twd #twd fic #twd fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #daryl dixon #merle dixon #michonne #rick grimes #synnove le jacques #caeser martinez #glenn rhee #maggie greene #maggie rhee #tw: child abuse #mau

[thievinghippo]

Fic Update: The Longest Distance (86/100)

Fandom: The Adventure Zone

Pairing: Barry Bluejeans/Lup Taaco

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Time is the longest distance between two places.” - Tennessee Williams. 100 cycles. 100 moments. How Barry and Lup’s relationship evolves over 100 years.

Chapter Summary:  Magnus wants to run away. Lup wants what she’s owed. Barry’s willing to do whatever it takes to help. 

(Read on Ao3!)

#

Cycle Eighty-Six

“Hey Barry?”

Barry tries to hold back a grin. That’s Lup’s ‘I’m incredibly satisfied with myself and I want everyone to know it,’ voice. But considering he’s pretty sure what she’s about to say, it works. “Yeah, Lup?”

“Do you remember a certain wager I made with Mister Burnside last cycle?” Lup says.

“Oh no, Lup,” Magnus says, getting out of his chair in ops. “That was a joke. That was just a joke. We didn’t shake on it-”

“Yeah, you did,” Merle says from his station, sounding bored. “We were all there.”

“Shut up, Merle, no one asked you,” Magnus hissed. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Start of a cycle and all. I better go outside and make sure there’s nothing out there trying to kill us. See you all later.”

He takes a couple of steps to the door when Lup says, “Babe, if you wouldn’t mind?” Barry knows exactly what she wants and reaches out with his hand, casting freeze on Magnus, who stops mid-step. “Stop fighting this, Magnus. One way or another, this is happening.”

Barry can see the exertion on Magnus’ face as he tries to overcome the spell. Magnus might be able to; Barry didn’t bother casting at a high level. So he just sits back and watches the show.

“Magnus,” Lup says, crossing her arms over her chest. “We had a bet.”

“That I should have easily won,” Magnus says, his face practically red from trying to break the spell. “You must have cheated.”

Barry doesn’t know the particulars, but he also knows his girlfriend - yep, still a thrill to say that after forty years - isn’t above making things work out in her favor. “Lup?” he asks.

“Totally did not cheat,” Lup says earnestly. Barry knows her voice well enough to know she’s actually telling the truth. Because she’s also not above telling the occasional little white lie to make things work out in her favor. “Honest.”

Davenport walks in from the bow of the ship. He glances around the room, a puzzled look on his face. “Usually you all go right into action when a new cycle starts,” he says, his hands behind his back.

“Magnus and Lup are fighting,” Taako says as he crosses his legs at the knees and rests his chin on his hand. “I don’t know if I care enough to figure out who’s winning.”

“I am,” Lup and Magnus say at the same time.

“Lup’s definitely winning,” Barry says. He’s not really sure if that’s true, but he’s got to support his girlfriend, right?

“Thanks, babe,” Lup says, not taking her eyes off of Magnus. “I totes am.”

Davenport rubs his temple and Barry’s just got to wonder how many times he’s done that over the course of the last eighty-six years. Probably a lot. “Do I need to intervene?” he asks, sounding tired just of the thought.

“Nah,” Lup and Magnus say together.

“We’ve got this, Cap’n Port,” Magnus says.

Davenport nods and looks around the ops center, where the entire crew is milling around. “Please feel free to do your actual jobs at any time.”

“Thanks, Cap’n Port,” Lup says with a smile. “Just as soon as we sort this out.”

“You cheated,” Magnus says.

Lup puts her hands over her heart. “Do you have any idea just how hurtful that is?” she says, sounding pretty wounded. Barry’s impressed. She’s not usually able to pull wounded off. “Name one time I cheated at anything.”

The rest of the crew starts listing off incidents, like a cards or races, over the last eighty-six years and Barry can’t help but chuckle. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but Lup catches his eye and grins at him, so he’s not gonna be in too much trouble.

“You do have a competitive streak, Lup,” Lucretia says once people were done making lists.

“I didn’t cheat this time. I won that beat fair and square and now it’s time for Magnus to pay the consequences,��� Lup says.

Barry sees a gleam in Magnus’ eye, one that generally means trouble. “Tell you what, I’ll do it if the rest of the crew does it, too.”

“Deal,” Lup says. She turns to the rest of the group. “You’re all cool with this, right?”

“Including you,” Magnus says.

“What? No. Absolutely not. That defeats the point of the bet,” Lup says.

“Take it or leave it,” Magnus says.

Lucretia clears her throat. “What exactly was this bet again? I don’t have it written down anywhere.”

“Winner’s got to shave their head,” Lup says. “And I won, which means Magnus needs to shave his head, sideburns and all.”

“And you want the rest of us to do it, too?” Merle asks, sounding outraged. “Do you know how long it took to grow out these luxurious locks?”

“They’ll be back next cycle,” Lup snaps. Barry holds back a laugh. She must really want to see what Magnus looks like without his sideburns. “Come on, everyone. It’ll be fun. Team building exercise.”

A silence settles over the room while everyone seems to look at everyone else. Finally Barry shrugs and says, “It’s just hair. I’m in.”

Lup points at him and claps. “And that’s why I love you.”

“Gnome hair grows rather quickly,” Davenport says. “This won’t inconvenience me at all.”

Lucretia agrees next. Followed by Taako after a long stare down by Lup.

“I’m not shaving the beard,” Merle says. “The hair can go, but the beard stays.”

“Wait a second, if Merle can keep his beard, I can keep my sideburns,” Magnus says.

“That wasn’t the bet,” Lup says, sounding far happier than she did five minutes ago. “Sideburns come off, too.”

Magnus breathes angrily through his nose. “Fine. But only because everyone else agreed to do this, too.”

“Score!” Lup starts to run out of ops. “Barold, I’m grabbing your razors and shaving shit,” she calls out over her shoulder.

A half an hour later, the entire crew of the Starblaster has a shaved head. Except for Magnus, and Lup’s shaving his head now.

“Alright, the head’s done,” Lup says, practically sounding giddy. This is like a life-long dream for her. Barry’s heard her wonder what Magnus looks like without sideburns more than once. “Now it’s time for the burns. And of any of you wondering, I absolutely pronounced that with a z at the end.”

As Lup mixes the shaving cream a bit more, Barry runs his hand over his head. He can’t even remember the last time he had no hair. Maybe summers when he was a kid? Whenever it was, he doesn’t think he likes it. Lup looks good, though. But Lup always looks good.

“The fuck?”

Barry looks over at Lup, who’s trying to put shaving cream on Magnus’ sideburns. And Magnus is just sitting there, looking as smug as smug can be. “Having trouble?” Magnus asks.

“Why is the shaving cream disappearing?” Lup asks, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, that?” Magnus says, standing up. “That would because I had them charmed on back before I met any of you. Nothing is going to take these babies off my face.” He lowers his chin, looking almost menacing. “Nothing.”

That’s when there’s a knock on the door of the Starblaster.

“This isn’t over, Burnside,” Lup hisses out of the corner of her mouth.

Davenport opens the door while the rest of them get into defensive positions. They have absolutely no idea what’s on the other side and better safe than sorry. 

A group of Halfings are there, holding baskets. “Welcome! We’re always happy to have visitors,” says the leader.

Davenport welcomes them in and all of the Halfings keep looking at their heads. Barry hopes it’s not a cultural thing, cause all of the Halfings have long, curly hair. He’ll have to do some research. The groups make introductions with promise of trade later on.

Later that day, Barry and Lup walk into town and every single person they meet has a shaved head. Even the ones they met earlier in the day.

And that’s how Lup started a planet-wide fashion trend.

#the adventure zone #the adventure zone: balance #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #blupjeans #hippo writes fanfiction #the longest distance

[detectiveangusmcdonald]

The Despair Zone| Chapter 1: Welcome to the Academy

First Previous Next

Summary: Sixteen high school students find themselves trapped in a high school by someone forcing them to play a killing game.

Word Count: 1359

Warnings: None

Notes: The chapter in which everyone is introduced. My beta said it was fine, so I hope he’s right.

Read on AO3

Magnus woke up with a jolt. He wasn’t dreaming, yet all of a sudden he felt like he was falling. He groaned and sat up straight. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he took in his surroundings.

He was in a classroom, sitting in one of the desks. They were arranged in a nearly perfect square. There were sixteen seats in total. The chalkboard was empty, but not spotless. Did Magnus fall asleep in class again? He tried to look out the window, only to find that it was covered.

Magnus got up to try and take the cover off of the window. He pulled; it didn’t come off. He tried again, still nothing. Third time's the charm, he thought before failing again. The bolts were holding pretty tightly.

He looked around the room again, now noticing a folded piece of paper on one to the desks. He opened it.

Opening ceremony begins at 9:00 in the gymnasium.

Magnus searches around the room for a clock. The one above the door read 8:30. He had time, so he went to find other people.

The hallways were empty, so he picked a direction and stuck with it. He read the signs on the doors but didn’t look in. He figured there would be time to explore later.

He passed by the door to the entrance hall when he heard voices. He pushed open the door.

There was a large group of people standing in front of a huge industrial lock. A handful of them turned around when he walked in. One waved. “There’s another!” Someone else called out.

“I think that’s everyone.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I found the class roster, and it has sixteen names on it.”

“Why don’t you’d role call then?”

“Alright.” The voice cleared their throat. “Ren Bir, Ultimate Mixologist.”

“Here!” A dark elf girl standing next to Magnus called out. Her skin was dark gray, and her hair was white. She was wearing an old-timey, white, high collar dress with a brown vest buttoned in the front on top. Her boots were black and had a small heel.

“Barry Bluejeans, Ultimate Engineer.”

“I’m here!” A human guy across the room yelled. He had brown hair and blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. His hair looked like a mullet in the front, but thankfully it wasn’t long in the back. He was average height and a bit overweight. He was wearing a red jacket over a plain white t-shirt. True to his last name, his jeans were a bright blue.

“Magnus Burnsides, Ultimate Protector. “

“Here!” Magnus saw many different expressions and body language. Some people were tense, probably because of his height and build. Others relaxed a bit after hearing his title, but most were confused. He could hear murmurs of “What does the Ultimate Protector do?”

“Drew Davenport, Ultimate Pilot.”

“Present and ready for duty!” Magnus couldn’t find out who it was coming from at first. When he looked down, he realized why. Davenport was a gnome with fiery red hair and pretty impressive facial hair. Magnus was a little jealous. He was wearing a tuxedo and a blue bow tie. Honestly, he looked more like a butler than a pilot.

“Carey Fangbattle, Ultimate Thief.”

“Here!” A small, blue dragonborn, more like a lizardborn, calle dour. She was wearing typical rogue attire with a yellow bandana tied around her neck.

“Kravitz Heriotza, Ultimate Hitman.” The mood of the room suddenly went uneasy.

“Uh, here,” A strikingly handsome man said. He had dark skin and dark hair done in dreadlocks. He was also wearing a tuxedo and a sweeping black robe. He looked like the Grim Reaper himself.

“Alright, um, Merle Highchurch, Ultimate Botanist.”

No one said anything. Everyone was looking around the room for Merle, before the person calling role said, “Oh wait shit, that’s me.” There were some laughs and various groans throughout the crowd.

Merle was a beach dwarf with white hair and a long beard. His eyes were a beautiful hazel color. His attired was, well, one of a typical dad’s.

“John Hunger, Ultimate uhhh…” Merle pulled the paper closer to his face. “It doesn’t say what your talent is, buddy.”

“That’s an issue, since I don’t remember my talent either,” A slim man with salt and pepper hair said. He was wearing a sharp gray suit, a narrow black tie, and some very nice shoes.

“Okay, uh, Lucretia Marasini, Ultimate Biographer.”

“I’m here.” A mousy voice called out. She was a human girl with short, white hair and dark skin. She was wearing a light blue dress with a white cape and looked like she was trying to make herself smaller.

“Angus McDonald, Ultimate Detective.”

“Here, sir!” A small boy said. He had olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes behind very big glasses. His attire could only be described as “fancy boi.” Magnus felt the overwhelming urge to ruffle this kid’s hair.

“Lucas Miller, Ultimate Planeologist.”

“I’m here.” Everything about this voice screamed “nerd.” His skin was tannish, but it didn’t look like it was from the sun. He wore a lab coat and nerd glasses.

“Johan Pellegrino, Ultimate Violinist.”

“Uh, here.” This guy’s voice was droopy and sad. He was the spitting image of a bard. A violin was strapped to his back.

“Killian Shimojo, Ultimate Archer.”

“Here!” An orc woman called out. She had green skin and black hair. She was pretty buff and could probably give Magnus a run for his money. She was wearing a white tank top and brown pants.

“Lup Tacco, Ultimate Pyrotechnic.”

“Here, darling!” A green-skinned elf yelled. She had very short hair in a punk-style haircut. She was wearing a yellow crop top, navy blue pants, and knee-high boots. She was carrying a red umbrella for some reason.

“Taako Tacco, Ultimate Chef.”

“Live and in person, baby!” Another elf that looked almost exactly like Lup said. The only difference was his blond hair was long and braided. He was wearing a giant purple wizard’s hat. His tunic was white, and his leggings were navy. He was wearing knee-high black boots and a purple wizard’s robe.

“And finally, Julia Waxmen, Ultimate Woodworker.”

“Here!” Magnus’s head rushed when he heard her voice. He had gone to middle school with Julia and developed a major crush on her. His friends didn’t see it, but she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“Alright, that’s everyone,” Merle said, putting the clipboard down on a nearby table.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say this. What the fuck is going on?” Taako gestured around the room when he spoke.

“That will probably be answered in due time, but how do we open the door?” Ren asked.

“Can we brute force it?” Magnus suggested. Some of the stronger people nodded in agreement.

Angus walked up to the door and studied it for a minute. “Nope, too sturdy. Not even a tornado could rip it out.”

“Can I try to pick the lock?” Carey stepped up to the door.

“Maybe it’s a combination or coded lock,” Lucas said.

Angus looked some more. “I can’t find a keyhole or a number pad.”

“Magic?” Killian suggested.

“There’s something weird in the air.” Taako turned to Lup. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yeah, for some reason, I feel drained.”

“Then how do we get out of here?” John asked.

The room erupted into voices. Everyone was trying to voice their opinion, but it was too loud. It only quieted down when the sound of a school bell was heard and a monitor Magnus had not yet seen flickered to life.

‘Hello, is this thing on?” A cartoonish voice came to life. “Opening ceremony begins in 5 minutes in the gymnasium.” The screen turned off.

“Should we go?” Barry asked.

“Do we have a choice?” Davenport retaliated, leading a majority of the group out. All who remained were Magnus, Kravitz, Lucretia, and Angus.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Kravitz said, rubbing his arms a bit.

“There’s no point in waiting. Besides,” Angus turned around and smiled, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

#fanfic #the adventure zone #magnus burnsides #taako tacco #taz taako #taako the wizard #merle highchurch #lup tacco #taz lup #barry bluejeans #taz davenport #taz lucretia #carey fangbattle #taz killian #angus mcdonald #lucas miller #taz ren #taz kravitz #taz john #taz johan #julia burnsides #crossover fic #taz #taz fanfic #taz fanficton #the adventure zone fanfic #the adventure zone fanfiction

[mugsywrites]

Homesteading AU that will never be Chapter 2

This is chapter 2, with Merle. Warning for Merle’s thoughts, his head is an ugly place to be. Racism, homophobia, abusive thoughts, etc.

Chapter 2: Merle

Three days later the busy truck stop has been deserted. There are a few trucks scattered by the side of the road.

[STUFF]

This stillness is shattered by the roar of an engine getting louder and louder as a XXford pickup truck peels off the exit, pulling into the truck stop. A man gets out of the truck with a rifle slung over one shoulder, on edge.

[STUFF]

Merle Dixon has no psychic twinge or premonition that three nights ago his brother dragged his boyfriend into the shadows for a kiss not far from the spot where he’s pissing. If he did would have moved over to the side to be sure and water that little patch of grass. Since he doesn’t he finishes, gives the old joystick a shake, and zips up.

[STUFF, Merle Arrives at the Desus House]

After Merle makes sure that Daryl is definitely gone he goes through the house room by room looking for clues on where to search for his sweet baby brother and his sweet baby brother’s pretty boy roommate. He doesn’t dwell on the fact he would have done this even if there was a map on the wall with Daryl’s exact location circled in red ink. Doesn’t on the fact he’s just plain curious; he hasn’t seen or spoken to his brother in almost three years, something he still has trouble believing. All on account of Daryl’s prissy little roommate. The faggy little roommate who had gotten ahold of Daryl’s brain via his dick. The mouthy little roommate who made Daryl buy this house in this shithole town full of bleeding hearts, jigs, and democrats instead of splitting the insurance money with Merle. Aside from the paltry amount Daryl put aside for “when he got out”. The pussy little roommate who kept Daryl’s balls in a sack ‘round his neck for all Merle knew.

Pansy Palace is only big and fancy if he compares it to Daddy’s place up in Sedalia. If he’s being objective then it’s a modest two story colonial-style house that is good sized for a couple with some space left over if said couple were planning on adding some brats. Not that Darlina and his ladyboy roommate need to worry about that. The staircase to the second floor is just opposite the front door. To the left of the staircase is a small kitchen, to the right is living room that opens into a dining area towards the back of the house. There’s a half bath and an office and sliding glass doors that lead out to a patio.

Merle scans each room, cataloging everything in detail. Aside from the kitchen—with cupboards open and in disarray—the rooms look well-lived in but tidy. Merle thinks of Daddy’s place again, where he has not set foot since he was thrown in the clink over five years ago. He and Daryl lived there ever since Will Dixon, their shitheel old man, had a heart attack while watching Wheel of Fortune over twenty years ago. Casa Fagola, home of Darlina and his roommate, looks to be just about as old but in far better shape than Will’s place with its fraying carpets, peeling paint, and leaky roof. The furniture in Fudge-packer Manor matches, something Merle finds irrationally annoying. It looks newish and store-bought, not snatched from a rummage sale or flea market.

New house wasn’t good enough, he needed new furniture too, Merle thinks to himself, his mouth twisting in an ugly line. He thinks back to this spring, a few weeks before his parole hearing that was a waste of everyone’s fucking time. Merle had been edgy during that time, he knew goddamned well he wouldn’t be paroled. Too many black marks on his record after five years in the pokey. Fights, possession of contraband, destruction of other inmates’ property, mouthing off to the guards. He knew he wouldn’t be paroled, but this small sliver of him kept thinking what if. That was the thing, you could tell yourself all the livelong day that you knew you wasn’t getting out, but there was that little voice. What if. Same cocksucking voice he heard when he bought a scratch off ticket, peeling off slivers of latex while what if what if what if jabbered away in his head. That sliver of possibility was crueler than an extra five years on his sentence. Kept imagining what he’d do on his first night out of this place. Pussy being the number one item on that list, a steak at Texas Roadhouse right behind, and finally some crystal. Once he’d satisfied those appetites in that exact order he would track down his dumbass baby brother and help him find his nut sack again. It was with those thoughts swirling in his head that Merle was told he had a request for a visitor, a Mr. Paul J. Rovia. Merle was about to say he had no idea who Paul J. Rovia was when it clicked.

My friend Paul, the one I told you about. He’s moving in with me.

That last conversation he’d had with Daryl, when his sweet baby brother told him that instead of investing his little windfall with Merle’s help he was going to buy Fag Manor here in libtard central. Daryl had gotten up and left when Merle had made it clear what the consequences would be. After everything Merle had done for him Daryl had chosen some namby pamby little queer. He kept waiting for Daryl to come crawling back begging for forgiveness when the roommate fucked off somewhere after bleeding Daryl dry. But year after year passed with not so much as a letter. There were times he almost broke down and called Boyd down in Sedalia to ask if he’d do a favor for his pal Merle. A little one at that, especially since Merle would’ve gotten less time if he’d snitched on the rest of the gang. Just find out where his sweet baby brother was hanging his hat these days, find out who if anyone he was still living with. Simple. Merle never did go that far, in the back of his mind he knew Daryl would spot Boyd and would figure out instantly who’d sent him and why. There was always the chance that even though Daryl had embraced full time faggotry there was enough Dixon in him to start some shit. Shit that would end badly for everyone involved.

But now here Mr. Paul J. Rovia wanted to come for a visit, wanted to look Merle in the eye and talk to him. Merle didn’t even consider turning the request down, he wanted to look Paulyanna in the eye and talk to him as well. He told himself that it was just so he could tell the roommate to go fuck himself once and for all, and that was part of it, but it wasn’t the main reason.

The main reason was that he hadn’t seen his brother in almost three years, had no idea what he was doing, no idea if he missed Merle or thought of him at all.

[STUFF]

[STUFF]

Mr. Paul J. Rovia was already sitting at the little booth when Merle was escorted in. He didn’t stand,  looked up and met Merle’s eyes with a bland expression that did not match his chilly blue eyes. He was handsome, with bluish-green eyes, high cheekbones over a neat beard, and glossy hair that tumbled down to his shoulders. Merle’s first thought was that the guy looked like paintings of Jesus in his grandma’s sitting room growing up. His second thought was that he hadn’t expected the roommate to be this good-looking. His shirt was fitted tight enough for Merle to see he had the lithe, compact little body of a gymnast with surprisingly well-muscled arms and shoulders. Despite that, without a beard he would have looked like a girl with that glossy hair and a wide mouth framed by full red lips that looked like they’d been designed to suck cock.

Merle’s third thought was to wonder— not for the first time— if Daryl had lied to him about how much money was in his insurance settlement, or how much the lawyers would take, or a combination of the two. No way little Mr. Hot Piece would look twice at a bit of redneck trash with the last name of Dixon unless he had good incentive. So. Money, and lots of it. His sweet little Darlina had told Merle that he got a lawyer via his good friend Paul, the very same guy who swooped in like a vulture when he saw a dying Daryl beside the road. Probably called the lawyer before 911.

They studied each other for a few minutes, Mr. Paul “Jesus” Rovia and his pretty dick-sucking lips and bland expression. Pretty good poker face, but it didn’t take Merle long to guess that he was pissed. When Merle realized that he gave him a lazy grin, and that poker face slipped for just a minute before Jesus grabbed the phone on his side of the glass. Merle’s grin widened as he picked up his own phone, “Who the fuck are you, then?”

Jesus rolled his eyes, “You know who the fuck I am. Paul Rovia, you signed off on my visitor’s request. I thought we should chat.”

Merle sucked his lip against his teeth, “You got me. I know who you are— my sweet little Darylina’s best lady friend,” he was surprised to find himself reluctantly respecting the fact that guy got straight to the point like that. Little fucker. “You’re purtier than I thought you’d be. Still roommates?”

Merle’s reluctant respect shattered when Jesus replied in a bored voice, “Yeah. Plus we’re still regularly sodomizing each other, which is a bonus.”

White hot rage descended on Merle then. “Boy, you don’t know how lucky you are this glass is between us. You should march out of here before I decide to try and break it.”

[stuff, convo is identical to the one they had in Ripples, but with Merle’s reactions.]

“Heard you’re up for parole, that is if you didn’t fuck it up. How’s that going?”

“Why you askin’? Gonna invite me over for Sunday morning shopping trips for panty hose?”

“I’m honestly curious about something, Merle. Do you legit think comparing me to a woman is going to piss me off? Or implying that I’m less of a man or whatever because I like dick? Besides, it’s not like you have room to talk, what with you in here getting dicked down on the regular. Guessing you’re the most popular guy on your cell block.”

“I don’t need to know about your jerk off fantasies, you fucking fudge packer, or the disgusting shit you done to my brother,” Merle snarled.

“Oh Merle, your secret is safe with me. I spent a lot of time in juvie, I know guys like you. Loudest homophobes are the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.”

“Ooh creampuff, do you want to wrassle with me?” Merle hissed, “You want an ass beating to get your rocks off you don’t need to go through all this, just say the word.”

“Daryl may be scared of you, I’m not,”

“You lying little cocksucker. I dunno what kinda shit you put in his head, make him run off—“

“Holy shit, do you not know?Thought you’d be pleased, I think he’s more scared of you than he ever was of your Daddy. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree there in your case.”

“I ain’t nothing like our daddy, you candy ass little scrotum. Daryl ain’t scared of me.”

“He is terrified of you; he’s had me spend the past three years learning how to shoot a gun and looking over his shoulder because he’s worried you’ll have your inbred white supremacist buddies come beat him or kill him. He’s been a basket case since he realized you could be getting out soon to beat him or kill him personally.”

“Look at you sittin’ there in your fancy clothes with your yankee accent acting like I’m some kinda monster, to hurt my own kin, my blood. You see a guy like me and see nothin’, see a guy who won’t listen to your bullshit—”

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Jesus interrupted, “Trash. Straight up fucking garbage. And it’s really important that you realize I don’t see that because you’re poor, or from Buttfuck, Georgia, or are into redneck shit like hunting and fucking your cousins. Except for that last one I could be describing Daryl and I think he’s pretty great. No, you’re garbage because of the shit you choose to do. To him especially.”

“So why are you here then, if I’m the bogeyman?”

“I’m here because—even though you’re trash and don’t deserve him—Daryl for some reason still loves you. Which makes you also my fucking cross to bear. In my ideal world you’d fuck off somewhere and never come back, but I think he misses you. If you could choose to stop being a dick for thirty minutes then he wouldn’t mind hearing from you, so feel free to give him a call and let him know you’re not going to kick his ass. But if you show up and hurt him in any way or try dragging him down to your level I’m going to kill you.”

Merle stared at him in disbelief before he chuckled, “Oh sweetheart, I would love to see you try.”

“Please, a child could get rid of your dumb ass. Cut the brake line on your bike. Or set the shack you live in on fire one night when you’re all pilled up. Or just walk in blow your head off instead, cops would find you and think one of your tweaker besties went nuts. Nothing of value would be lost and no one would miss you except for Daryl. He’s used to that by now.”

Merle laughed again: “Oh honey bunch, you are feisty. Hissin’ and spittin’ just like a kitten. You know what I think? Think you the one that’s afraid. Daryl knows I’d never hurt him, I think you’re afraid once I get out he’ll find his balls again and quit buyin’ you houses and whatever else you got him doing.”

“Whatever helps you live with yourself. Saddest thing about you isn’t that you’re trash, it’s that you don’t have to be. You could just, y’know, stop. Like I said, he still loves you for some fucking reason and would be happy to see you if you could act like a human being. But guys like you never do. Goodbye, it wasn’t nice meeting you.”

[STUFF]

That night Merle found Fabrizio in the showers and gave him the nod. Later when the little Guinea fuck had his mouth around Merle’s cock he heard ol’ Jesus mocking words, bet you’re the most popular guy on your cellblock, playing on a loop in his head. When closed his eyes instead of imagining past conquests like Ruby Sawyer or that sexy bitch XXXX, it was Jesus. Imagined how those full lips would look swollen and bruised and red after, and as he did he arced his hips forward and came with the force of a gunshot.

That night he laid awake in his bunk while Ellis Crowder snored and farted in the bed above him, restless and angry, still hearing Jesus’s mocking voice.

What with you in here getting dicked down on the regular.

Fucking fudge-packer and his fucking disgusting fantasies. Fucking Daryl and his tender little heart. Merle should have sat down with Daryl back when he was still young and impressionable and explained a few things to him. Like how getting your dick sucked when you were behind bars-be it juvie or prison—was one thing. Hell, some guys were better at it than women, could make it feel fucking amazing. So Merle understood that part of it, how a guy could give you a blowjob so good you saw stars. How you could maybe get addicted to it, start thinking that thing was ok full time. Easier and more convenient than going after a woman. Especially sweet young ladies like his precious little Darlina. Too late now.

Loudest homophobes were the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.

Merle felt a spike of rage, remembering the little queer claiming he sodomized Daryl, and his hands twitched involuntarily as he imagined wrapping them around Jesus’ neck and squeezing. Never, Merle thought, Daryl’d never! His brother might be tender-hearted and sweet but Merle’s time making him into a man couldn’t have been completely wasted. The kid was tough, and the thought that he’d let Mr. Pretty Boy Jesus do that to him was absurd. Getting your dick sucked was one thing, fucking a guy was one thing—after all, a mouth was a mouth and an asshole was an asshole whether they were attached to a man or a woman. A man needed something beside his hand for five years. But by the same token a dick was a dick, and only fags liked those in their mouths or up their asses. Fags got off on doing that kind of shit. Take Fabrizio, Merle hardly ever beat him off afterward as a thank you for services rendered but the guy still came running with his mouth agape when Merle or any other guy with more muscle than fat gave the nod. Fuck, when Merle was back in juvie and didn’t know any better he’d given his fair share of head in exchange for some of his own, but he hadn’t enjoyed it. Some tit for tat, quid pro quo, I scratch your back you scratch mine. That was before Merle realized some guys would…how did Jesus put it? Lay back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick. That’d never been Merle, little queer was probably just projecting; he’d probably be the one in juvie to do all that. If ol’ Jesus was in prison now he’d be the most popular guy not just on the cell block but the entire dang prison. Guys’d be lined up by the dozens to run a train on him and he’d love every second. He’d be good at it too, Merle knew that for a fact, had to be good to get Daryl so whipped he was buying houses and refusing to see his brother who was rotting away in jail.

[STUFF, he’s back in the Desus house looking at their shit]

The walls are covered in collages of photographs of various sizes. Many of them are black and white so at first Merle dismisses them as some arty farty shit they’d gotten at a tourist shop. But then out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of something familiar and takes a closer look. It’s a shot of a rocking chair in the middle of a field, taken at around sunset. Its only when you look at the figure seated in the chair that you realize how big the thing is, fifteen feet high at least. The man in the chair has his arms stretched out like Jesus on the cross and can just barely touch the chair’s armrest and his feet don’t touch the edge. In the light of the shot his features are indistinct and shadowy but the silhouette is enough for Merle to recognize his brother.

[He has a flashback to when Daryl was a little boy, around five or so. Sitting in his rocking chair with a stuffed Kermit the Frog, and Merle telling him that only fags had stuffed animals. ]

On one wall there’s a framed menu of a place called the Sweet Shack Barbecue. It’s designed to look a little like an old-timey newspaper, with inked etchings of smiling pigs dressed in top hats and tuxedos. One drawing has a group of pigs with wide smiles sat down at a dinner table. On the table is another pig, only this one is on a plate with an apple in its mouth and little x’s in place of eyes.

He finds Daryl in another photo. This one is a closeup of a regal moth cupped delicately in the palm of a man’s hand, and Merle can just see the corner of the little blue star Daryl has tattooed on his wrist.

[STUFF]

A pit bull with its mouth open in a wide, doggie grin leaning out of a motorcycle sidecar. Its wearing a red bandana with the University of Georgia logo and matching red goggles. Merle thinks of the “Warning: Pit Bull” sign on the side gate and guesses this is Darlina’s pet dog. They always had a mutt or two around since they was kids, and his sweet baby brother adored them.  Merle felt his fingers close into his fist at the overt faggotry of it, dressing your dog up.

[STUFF, IN THE KITCHEN]

The fridge is covered in kitschy souvenir magnets—St. Petersburg, Tarpon Springs, Cumberland Island, St. Augustine, Savannah, Gatlinburg, Asheville, Helen. There’s also a black magnet with “GO DAWGS!” in bright red, and another one with Uga, the white bulldog that’s the Georgia mascot. On the side of the fridge is a whiteboard with a blue marker on a string. He recognizes Daryl’s chicken scratches that make up the written to-do list.

1)Lou’s rabies shot 2)replace brake lights on Paul’s bike 3)Mow lawn 4)shoot douchebags on Oakhurst St

Underneath the last item is a note written in neat block letters: babe don’t shoot neighbors until I’m back & can bail you out.

[Merle goes through the house some more]

Merle isn’t a man who’s ever understood himself well, so he doesn’t bother to analyze the way looking at Daryl’s house makes him feel. Pissed off, jealous, afraid, guilty. The house isn’t what he expected at all. Not the frayed mess of Daddy’s place, but neat and homey. It's like finding out he never knew Daryl at all. He isn’t sure what he expected to find—he had a vague idea of some faggy shit like rainbows all over everything, nude portraits on the wall, a fucking gimp costume hanging from the hook on the door or a collection of dildos on the shelf. He doesn’t find anything like that, not in the living area or in the master bedroom.

He does find a box of condoms that looked old as fuck and a mostly empty bottle of Astroglide that doesn’t.

[hermanwatts]

Conan the Barbarian 2011

I wrote this review of Conan the Barbarian (2011) on September 3, 2011 immediately after seeing the movie. I put it up at the old Conan forum which is now gone. I have been meaning to run this for some time and thought why not now? So, let us travel back to 2011:

I caught Conan the Barbarian today. I am on vacation and had planned on seeing it. I was thinking of blowing it off, but it got to 91 degrees today with a dew point of 72 degrees. That converts to it being steam and I wasn’t going to do an eight-mile bike ride the way I planned.

Take home impression: This is a SyFy Channel movie with a big budget. Very influenced by the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

What I didn’t like:

The Lord of the Rings pastiche opening was truly amateur looking with the paper mache stars

Ron “the Jewish barbarian” Perlman’s disguised as a Wookie. Made me think of the Wookie defense on South Park. Maybe the film makers wanted some sort of connection to Thundarr the Barbarian’s sidekick Ookla the Mok.

The Cimmerians were barbarians, not cavemen. Some wool tartans and Celtic mustaches would have gone a long way.

These supposedly bad ass barbarians live in a village that can be attacked easily. Where are the guards? A Celtic hill fort again would have been more appropriate.

The shaky camera used in the young Conan vs. Pict sequence.

I didn’t like Leo Howard as young Conan. He is too too swarthy. He looked he came from off the streets of Palermo or Naples.

We finally get to see the Nemedian Navy. The ship pulled by slaves? WTF!

It got to be a game for me to see what scene was swiped from what movie. The Raiders of the Lost Ark wagon chase, the double sword from Sword and the Sorcerer, the jump from the cliff from Swashbuckler, the attack on a monastery from any number of Kung Fu movies, the sand man attack from The Mummy, holding the baby up taken from Roots, the Freddy Kruger finger blades etc.

The editing was often horrible. Conan has his sword out on horseback, a couple of seconds later he is pulling his sword out.

The thief sidekick who stole Benny’s moves from The Mummy.

The constant shoving of swords into the ground. I cut a lot of wood with a chainsaw. If those steel blades hit dirt, you have to take off the chain and sharpen it. I seriously doubt anyone from a sword wielding age would do such a thing.

The swordplay with the father with swords hitting against each other would notch up the blades to point of being useless.

Some of the dialogue was cringe worthy. “You cut my nose!” Or Khalar Zym saying “Come on.”

I had this problem with Pathfinder. You don’t walk around half naked in the snow. I live in a cold place that has 4-5 months of deep snow on the ground. I have hunted deer in the snow. You don’t go out like those Picts with only pants on.

I didn’t realize wood exploded so well.

Those papier mache boulders rolled down on the slaver compound were pretty cheesy looking.

Blood doesn’t spurt out by the gallon with a back cut. I cut on people for a living and it doesn’t explode out unless you cut an artery.

Rachel Nichol’s character, Tamara, is supposed to be an Hyrkanian. Robert E. Howard describes the Hyrkanians as being tall and dark. They are Hyborian Age analogs to the Ottoman Turks. Rachel Nichols features are very Celtic with the very white skin and blue eyes. Not at all eastern looking at all.

What is the deal with the ersatz Shaolin monastery? Is this some half-assed attempt to segue into a Kung Fu movie?

Momo the Samoan

Jason Momoa had the character down better than Arnold “Chip Rommel” Schwarzenegger. I still think Christian Bale would have been my choice. He even could have spoken in his native Welsh accent.

Things I did like:

Hooter- some people complain about the gratuitous female nudity. I celebrate female anatomy!

Rose McGowan in my mind stole the scenes she was in.

Stephen Lang would have made a decent Xaltotun (with beard).

The Bulgarian countryside is obviously a great place to film a sword and sorcery movie.

The citadel in the last 20 minutes looked good.

I thought the last 20 minutes of the movie seemed to flow better than the earlier ¾ of the movie.

Rachel Nichols was good eye candy. She isn’t a great actress, but you don’t need Merle Streep for the Hyborian slave bimbo of the story.

I went in expecting worse. I caught the early bird 1:10 P.M. showing and saw it in 2D instead of 3D. Paid $5.00 which is an acceptable loss. I can’t say that I can recommend anyone spending $8.25 and will tell someone just to wait and catch it on Starz, Encore, or even SyFy Channel in a couple years.

The shame is plot items including Acheron and resurrecting a sorcerer (or in this case, a witch) has been used. Millenium Films/Avi Lerner, Donnelly & Oppenheimer, and director Marcus Nispel have peed in the proverbial swimming pool preventing a version of HOUR OF THE DRAGON.

I have the impression that this movie was made as a snatch & grab with no intent on making a sequel or future installments. This strikes me as a roll of the dice of take the money and run.

So, there you go. My thoughts from nine years ago. I have caught a few brief snatches of the movie on T.V. here and there but not sure if I could bring myself to sit for close to 2 hours to watch it again.

Conan the Barbarian 2011 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/