#t: slow burn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tarjapearce · 7 months

Text

Chapter 2: So Not Ready For This World

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of abortion, emotional distress, unwanted pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, little character background, morally ambiguous characters, enemies to lovers, morally grey characters, slow burn, No proofread.

Summary: The devastating consequences knock on your door.

Previous Masterlist

Chapter's Song:

youtube

A/N: Ngl, proud of this one :'). Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨

Sleep was rather easy to escape your head as time went on. Guiltiness had made your eyes tired, dull and the eyebags a bit more prominent. It had earned you a little reprimand from your upper boss, a reminder that appearances were important and you were slacking.

But how could you focus on something so trivial and mundane when your mind was always gravitating towards Miguel and Dana? Ever since the biting truth unfolded before your eyes those days ago, your head was unable to unwrap around it.

Was this a barbed joke from the universe you weren't aware of?

A tired sigh escaped your lips, hands rubbing a bit too tightly on your enfeebled face. As if such thing would wash away the guilty and hounding thoughts for good.

Miguel O'Hara. He worked in the labs, another reason why you had never seen him before, lab people came out an hour earlier, but he either stayed behind or was too sneaky for you to actually get a glimpse of him.

But after the predicament, he had been leaving at five exactly, hand in hand with Dana, parading themselves before everyone. You specially. A daily caveat to keep you pretty mouth shut. He didn't approach you, no. But you felt watched, stalked with the eyes, a bit harassed even whenever the clock ticked 5 pm.

Dana worked in the new market agro department, she came out at five, and by the hour difference you assumed Miguel waited for her.

How cute.

Your lip twitched in a scowl. Anger rising like bile at the impotence and powerless feeling of doing nothing. Dana deserved the truth, even though you'd come out as the sacrificial lamb in the end. You might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but none deserved to be kept in the shadows like that.

You didn't know if they had troubles, but cheating was surely off the book for her or any normal person really. No engaged woman should go through that.

But those eyes. Sinister, warning, preying with an ominous promise in them prevented you from spilling the truth.

Miguel didn't have to approach you to make his point known and understood. But it left you with a myriad of emotions you were tired of feeling. From time to time you wished to be as cold and hollow-hearted as he was, so you could pretend that nothing had happened. Because for him it was exactly what had occurred. Nothing at all.

He was fine, Dana was fine and you-

Not fine at all but he didn't care. Why would he? Miguel took what he wanted from you, dragging you to this fucked up spiral of power dynamic where he had the upper hand and you could do nothing but fold and obey to a very clear yet silent order.

It wouldn't make the guilt and disgust go away, but you're certain that at how things are going for you, you'd get in trouble for slacking in cues that were required in your work contract.

Another guest approached. It was time to put the resolution to test.

The feeling of being stalked stopped after a couple of weeks, it didn't wane the guilt but you were learning how to live with it. A cruel joke you had no choice but swot on how to take it with a grain of salt to avoid fucking up ever again. One night stands were out of your list permanently.

In the few times you could catch him leaving the building he seemed at ease, sometimes he'd smile while looking at the wedding magazine Dana held in her dainty and manicured hands. She also appeared to be happy. Pretense maybe? You didn't know. For how long had they been together?

Long enough to get a ring on her finger, obviously.

With an exasperated groan you marched to your lunch break. The cafeteria's food seemed good and cheap enough to order the usual. Bit of mashed potatos, salad, and some other protein with either an iced tea or water, depending on your mood. You went for the tea.

A few bucks were used to eat, you sat in one of the available tables and ate. People in Alchemax were either too busy with themselves to actually care about the drama, or were exactly the opposite. Not that you blamed them. Science stuff surely provided them enough entertainment to go by, but you'd be tired too if your whole day revolved around numbers and hypothesis awaiting to be confirmed.

How did they do it was beyond your reasoning. Eyes scanned the area, the same group of men that approached you back at the party, passed over your seat without looking your way. As expected.

The fact that people had selective memory was something that filled your brain with wonder. Your musings however were interrupted by a gurgle in your stomach, appetite leaving you completely. Thankfully there wasn't much to be wasted. Had someone changed the ingredients? Not really.

Everything tasted like the usual. You downed the tea before disposing of the remains in a trash bin to then walk around the building, greeting some staff in the way. There wasn't many people you interacted with, perhaps your evening replacement. An intern called Anna and that still remained on debate cause of her constant mood swings towards you.

But within Alchemax in general, there was none really you wanted to engage with. Life happening too fast in their daily basis. Your thoughts were stopped in their racing tracks when you saw Miguel approaching. Two coffee papercups in his big hands.

Gulping, you didn't think twice in turning around where you had came from before he saw you, even if it meant to cross the whole building again to get to your work station.

Heartbeat raced miles per second, but you had avoided another unnecessary interaction with him. A relieved sigh escaped your lips once you were in your seat at the front desk. The day was nearly reaching it's end.

Something you now looked forward to. You'd be back holed up in your apartment, in the comfort of your privacy, away from worries. Watching either a movie or sleeping. Fatigue seemed a too heavy load to ignore, you blamed it to the stress and lack of sleep. A negative domino effect that had been unleashed thanks to a guy that didn't know how to keep it in his pants.

Your panties were slid down as you sat on the toilet, a frown on your face. Nothing but tiny spots of maroon. Your period was acting up again, but you couldn't really blame your body for slacking when the past month and a half had been awfully loaded with work.

New clients, a shit ton of appointments to schedule, reschedule and cancel; mail to organize, and food that you were sure it had given you a fair share of poison since you always seemed to be sick. And even though you had stopped consuming from the cafeteria, there was little changes.

The cherry on top was to get a memo after your manager had found you sleeping on the desk. Tiredness that day clung to you with such force you were amazed at your own capacity to make it through your eight hours. Only to crash on your bed once you were home.

But today, neither your mood, the universe, nor your body cooperated. You took a shower and put a little pad on your fresh set of panties. The diva cup would be unnecessary to wear since the discharge wasn't abundant, but packed a couple of tampons just in case. Expensive as they were, you couldn't go unprepared.

You changed, grabbed your things and went out the door, everything but ready to face the day that awaited you.

A wave of nausea hit you after you scarfed down a stuffed bagel on your way to work, you got there twenty minutes late due to your ride stuck in traffic, your car had been in repair for weeks now. Manager already awaiting with a sour face. Guests had lined up in the entrance, ready to express their contempt with you.

Fucking peachy.

Morning went in a haste, and you barely could catch a break, the need of peeing mixed with the thirst, and your boss reprimanding you didn't make it any better. Your body was juggling with so many things at once, that all you wanted to do was curl up in a bathroom stall and cry. It was overwhelming and you were sure the cortisol levels were shooting heavenwards.

Appetite came and go, and when your lunch break came you had settled for the idea of some soup, but the second you stepped a foot closer to the cafeteria, the many smells oppressed your senses, overriding your brain with so much information it had you folding and puking into the nearest trash bin.

Your skin turned sweaty, devoid of a healthy color for a moment, some other workers looked at you with a mild disgust on their faces, one woman offered you a napkin, a man suggested you to sit down while giving you a bit of water from a nearby oasis. Both from the research department.

"You got sick from the food too, huh?" You nodded while chugging down the little bottle's content.

"We're gathering some signatures to open an investigation. Would be like ten of us now that get food poisoning."

The woman chattered but her voice was distant, despite her being next to you. An acute whistle rang in your ears, unable to hear her as her voice kept fading until it was nothing but a muffled echo in an open space, your eyesight blurred to finally shut off.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

----

The dim lights of the room and the careful shuffling movements behind the dull, plastic gray curtain lulled you back to reality.

An icepack was put on your head, with a little groan and queasiness subsiding, you sat on the stretcher. Your movements alerted the doctor in turn.

"Welcome back. How you feel?"

A question laced with a little of concern in her gentle voice.

Your head rested on the wall for a second before panic rose again.

"Shit... I... I gotta go." Your eyes rubbed the drowsiness away in a haste as you spoke, trying to get off the bed.

"No, no. Don't worry, your manager is already aware of this. You're fine."

A nurse came in and took your vitals and other info like your blood pressure and weight. How come you had gained a couple of pounds when you had been in a constant food poisoning?

Ugh.

"Everything seems normal enough, have you been experiencing fevers? rashes or any other sort of discomfort?"

"None of that. Just puking and fatigue. A lot of it." The doctor nodded as the nurse prepared a kit for you, it alarmed you greatly she included a pregnancy test.

Horrified eyes immediately widened at the package.

"W-Why... Is there a pregnancy test?"

"We're discarding any other options. And in case it comes out positive, remember that maternity leave is one of your rights as a worker here in Alchemax."

She spoke so unbothered unaware of the unnerving thoughts that ran loose in your mind.

Maternity leave?

"Just talk to your manager to meet an arrangement."

You nodded stupidly. Too stunned to actually pry further. You were dispatched a few minutes later, instructions of going home loud and clear. Not a minute more was wasted before you packed up your things and went out the building almost running home.

It couldn't be. You couldn't be.

All those plaguing thoughts you had once held at bay, were making a triumphant and assailant comeback in your head. What if you were pregnant?

No. No. No.

Denial was one hell of a drug, and right now you were the worst junkie hooked on it, ready to lash out with teeth and claws to whoever bold enough to take it away. You saw Miguel putting a condom on. He didn't strike you as someone that would raw fuck strangers for shits and giggles. Much less get them pregnant.

I'm not pregnant.

It was repeated in your mind like a mantra in an infinite loop. You had stopped in a drugstore to get a pair of other pregnancy test brands, just in case the ongoing madness was just a big jumpscare, to teach you a lesson to keep the horniness with strangers at bay.

For once, traffic was lenient on you and you got your place within less than twenty minutes. Never in your life had you been more at ease to be home. A shaky breath flew between nervous pants.

You tossed the medical kit on the table, rummaging through the diverse array of pills and vitamins the nurse packed you in, to get towards your objective. The neatly purple packaged pregnancy test, along the other ones.

The lock in the bathroom was turned as you got in, shielding your possible biggest fuck up from prying eyes and silent judgement aimed your way. You prepared their tip and one by one were soaked and put over the sink as your hands were washed.

The most torturous and heinous task laid ahead. Waiting, something you clearly hadn't the patience for right now. Not when the nauseas had returned, not when everything around you seemed to be crumbling bit by bit, shaking your sanity foundations to their very core.

Motherhood wasn't in your short, mid or long term goals, it wasn't something you often thought about cause in truth, you were sure you'd never be a good mother. The lack of one and foster home surfing made sure to blur the concept too much to be recognizable anymore.

There were days where you barely could put up against yourself, and having a baby would not only be detrimental for your mental health, but it would ruin you financially. Unless you'd get a raise or a better job.

A baby would change for good years of devoted planning towards a better position in life, work included. You were to participate in the administration programs within Alchemax next month, to get out of the receptionist label, aiming for a more career oriented position.

And maybe just maybe, your college degree wouldn't be mere words backed up by a fancy carton, hung up in your living room's wall, but prove to be something useful for once.

You were set to make that neck deep debt worth it.

Head rested against the coolness of the crips white tiles, banging softly against the wall as if shaking the over thinking would make the worry dissipate. Lips dry and quivering pursed as your eyes bore into the plastic material that had ruined and rekindled several relationships a year.

And now that you had unknowingly taken a ticket of 'With what am I gonna ruin my life this time?' and your turn was on the hypothetical screen, shining with blinding colors, you had to draw out the dreading prize life was about to grant you.

You stood again and collected the tests after what it felt like forever. Sweat clung to you like a second skin, bile and sourness bloomed in your tongue after rising in the back of your throat. Shaky hands brought the little device to your focus, and for a second you forgot how to breath and think. Two parallel lines on each of them, glaring mockingly at you.

Positive

"No!" You moaned over and over while tears blurred your vision. Breath hitched only to be released in a heartbreaking and distressed wail as you threw the pregnancy test against the wall, holding yourself in a shaky and rickety embrace, trying with all your might to keep yourself together.

You were pregnant.

"Oh God, no" Your hands grope at your hair with strength. Riping it out would surely be less painful than trying to assimilate this new inflection point that just showed unannounced in your doorstep in the shape of a baby. You didn't want it.

You didn't want to be a mom. It wasn't your dream. You had prioritized so many things already to have a baby to tumble all what you had worked so far and hard, down and away from your hands. It wasn't fair.

Yet there you were, bawling and drowning in fear, curled and hunched in between the floor and the wall's tiles, hopes and dreams crushed in tiny shards impossible to glue back together right before your eyes. Just like your heart and brains, trying to not choke with your erratic cries and breathings.

You didn't want a child.

How could this have happened? You had seen Miguel roll the condom on. What if it was defective? Had it broke and you didn't notice? Was he even paying attention to it? Of course not. Neither of you were and now the consequences were here, undisputed and irrevocably present in the three positive pregnancy tests.

You didn't want a child and much less one conceived from such a gruesome lie.

Another doleful stab and a new wave of tears soaked your already drenched and flushed cheeks upon remembering Miguel.

He was engaged with a beautiful woman. A woman that was looking for wedding venues to fulfill her dream of getting married to the alleged love of her life.

How would she react if she knew her future husband had not only cheated on her, but also had gotten you knocked up? You didn't even want to think about it.

Because there was none else in the picture, not before or even after the one night stand. Miguel had been the only one you have had sex in a long time.

You didn't know what hurt and angered the most. Knowing you were pregnant, telling him even knowing the implications of such thing, or having to give up on your dreams before they even took off.

Your breath turned into panicky and antsy pants, body trembling and unable to get a grip on your faculties as angry and mourning tears rolled unceasingly.

All of them soul wrenching and ghastly options you weren't ready to make. Motherhood had been an alien concept for you, something you avoided, not out of fear, but out of the awareness of knowing what being a mother required.

You weren't ready to give up your independence yet or your lack of responsibility to none other but yourself. Much less face things alone beyond your knowledge.

Scorching tears mourned the lost future you were dotingly paving, now lost to the unwilling duty of motherhood. A duty that refused to be only yours. You needed two for a tango, and Miguel had to know.

He was as guilty as you were. You for ignoring the signals these past two months and he for knocking you up. It all made sense now, and for all you knew cafeteria's food was good. Pregnancy had been the culprit all along and not your stupid and hopeful reasoning of a food poisoning.

A cold and unforgiving chill ran down your spine upon the impromptu question that took life in your mind.

How far were you?

Another quivering sob echoed while your spine straightened properly against the wall, dread weighed your head down upon the sudden realization of the foreseeable expenses. Prenatal and neonatal doctors, pediatricians, clothes, baby formula, diapers, medicines, toiletries, vitamins for you and-

You retched in the bathroom once more. Nauseous tidal waves were set into making a misery party out of you. It took you a while to calm the fried nerves to wash your mouth and move from the bathroom to grovel back to your bed in between newfound whimpers.

You went under the sheets, hiding your fuck up from the ever judging world. Society was either too praising or too harsh with pregnant women, always contradicting itself. Single parents were the most stigmatized along affair babies, they weren't something you'd parade proudly. Not when the pay off of such twisted and heinous encounter was developing within your womb. Leeching from your life, yearns and dreams, like an innocent parasite.

The news had not only left you disturbed, but for once the only thing you were grateful for, was the heavy and smothering fatigue that put you to sleep almost right away.

You called in sick. Unable to face the world and it's surprises for you. Head heavy and full of pestering thoughts that made sure to remind your new reality in each passing second.

For how long would you be in bed? For how long were you planning to hide and pretend nothing had happened? What time was it? Once more, the nauseas forced you to rush to the bathroom and retch. You hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, but it was the littlest of things your mind worried about.

You just laid there, on the coldness of the floor, watching the secluded space shrink around your frame the more you stared at it. Clawing and biting at your conscience, suffocating your tranquility.

Your phone buzzed, and kept buzzing on your nightstand, completely ignored.

What am I gonna do now?

Was another new mantra that replayed nonstop. Something had to be done, and all you could think of was nothing, despite the obviousness of the situation.

The buzzing again brought your attention back to your room. Bed was so inviting and seducing, but you weren't sleepy. Too deep in pins and needles to articulate any rational thought. With a sigh, you stood and marched back, taking an angry hold of your phone.

Four missing calls from Luke's Garage, a couple of text from your manager asking if you were alright, some pop up messages and ads and one missed call from MJ.

MJ. Your unstable friend in terms of communication. Not that you blamed her, life behind scripts and lines was hard enough to add you as a another burden in her life, even if you had seen her months ago. You'd talk to her later.

Your mind gravitated towards Luke's, hoping they had good news from your car. A little grey Fiat 500.

Grounding yourself onto that, you took a shower and got ready to go after replying to your manager. As strict as she was, she cared in her own tyranic way.

You went for the garage.

After arriving to Luke's, and finally get a bit of good news in the admist of chaos, you got your car back. He hadn't had the time for fixing it, but now it was all yours again.

A little incident with you retching not once but twice upon smelling food, had his wife squealing in joy at the realization of your pregnancy.

Guess you can't hide it from the experienced ones, huh?.

But thanks to her, you were instructed in what to do almost right away. Folic acid was a must and so was a visit to the gynecologist. You'd be lucky if you could afford the vitamins after all the expenses you had through the month with the car rides and food.

Changes were already settling in your life and as much as you rejected them, they had pushed you away from the steering wheel and imposed a new pace you weren't used to outside work. Fast and cruel.

You had bounced through the city, looking for an available doctor. Life didn't stop because you suddenly found out you were pregnant, even though your mind remained rattled and unstable, there were things you still needed to do.

At least worrying about your car was no longer one of those concerns, you didn't have to pay for rides, a little control was returned to you. A reward for getting out of bed? perhaps.

The doctor you had found was in a relatively rundown district of Nueva York, but the urgency of your predicament didn't leave room for being picky. Despite the crummy overall looks from the street and neighborhood around, the small and discreet women's care center seemed decent and clean enough.

Surprise ran rampant at how the milieu looked from the inside, it was one of those places you thought you'd never visit, not had the plans to do so in your life. But here you were, awaiting your turn while chewing on the inside of your cheeks as one of your legs bounced in anxiousness.

The smell of alcohol and other chemicals mixed in the air, shooing away the external and unpleasant odors . Walls were dressed in a soft blue, like the chair rows extending left and right. The doors remained white, just like the floor tiles. Some were broken, but remained spotless. Tattered in some bits but clean and borderline welcoming.

The staff wore sympathetic smiles at every woman that came in. You weren't the exception.

Your name was called, finally, and you stood. Car keys tinkering as you walked in the office, your little purse resting on the flat of your thighs. With a deep breath and a gulp on a dry throat, the appointment started.

Nine weeks. That's how far you were according to the paper in your hands and the ultrasound pictures adhered in the next page.

Your heart still thrummed upon the sight of the little heart on the screen, beating powerfully, as if in every passing contraction of the organ the creature would be saying loud and clear:

I'm here. I'm alive. I'm part of you now.

No.

You didn't want it to be part of you. You refused. And now that you had received counseling after letting the cat out of the bag with a total stranger, the two options remained in your hands. The doctor didn't pressure you into making any further appointments if you went for the most logic and reasonable option. Abortion.

Rather gave you time to think and mull over your decision. It was entirely up to you.

But what if he actually wants a child?

You laughed in between shaky titters at your stupidity.

Maybe he did, but that didn't mean it was with you by all means. You barely knew him, and the little things he had shown you so far was all the unwanted and negative traits a man could have.

Liar, cheater, irresponsible, cold hearted, cunning, a cynic and someone that was too aware of their actions to go by as innocent. A manipulator at best.

It was rather scary and confusing for you how some men could pass as loving and devoted lovers in their home, when they were the complete opposite outside.

A perfectly reversed street angel, house devil situation.

Now that you had the tools and options there was something more that needed to be done.

Telling him.

Even though your choice was already taken, and the possible outcome would only reinforce it, he needed to know, as undesirable as meeting him again was. Maybe it was your time to give him back a bit of retaliation to his silent bully and threats. You needed an explanation and that was nonnegotiable.

Anger finally rose past the initial terror. And it hit like a tsunami. Cold, unforgiving and oh so destructing.

You searched his information through the company's data. His picture came into view with his full chart.

Miguel O'Hara. Second head of the Laboratory and Research department.

And a cheating pig.

Sighing, you discreetly copied his contact number on your phone. If you were to face him, it needed to be just the two of you. You'd talk to Dana later, even if that meant to be scorned and resented by her forever. Luckily she was on her day off, or so her schedule on the screen said.

The thought of Miguel only infuriated you further, since he was pushing you towards things no sane person should be doing. Stalking, covering a devastating truth from a beloved one. Getting you pregnant while at it.

Unintentional, perhaps, but still you needed an explanation. Your mind set in getting it cause in all the categorical truth, you were tired. You were fucking tired of being the only one putting up a fight against the aftermath of his doings while he lived a normal life, blissfully ignorant of the awaiting mess that had his name all over it.

You were allowed to leave an hour early. Obviously, you'd seize that chance to ambush him at his leaving hours to drop the bomb. It wasn't a hundred percent spite, but more like half of it while the other was making him face the consequences. He had cornered you enough to finally get some backlash.

With a deep breath, you opened a new chat log on his name.

Messages were deleted and rewritten with all the things you wanted to say, but again, words were words and you were sure that his dismissive nature wouldn't even take them in consideration. So spilling your heart out in them was useless, you'd do it personally despite being terrified of him. You settled for a simple yet pithy one.

—We need to talk. Meet me at the parking lot.

The game was on, and you were ready to fight against the final boss. Upon the four o'clock ticked, you packed up your things and went straight to your car, waiting for him to show up. Your phone had been quiet ever since you sent the text message. The seen confirmation was the only indicator you got of him being aware of something going on.

Minutes kept ticking, passing and there was no sight of him yet, until your heart leaped to your chest upon spotting him around the corner. Impossible to miss him by his sheer height, a sore thumb among the rest. Stupidly handsome and uncaring as he swaggered over his car, a black BMW x7.

Leather briefcase in one hand, and phone smooshed between his left cheek and shoulder blade. By his bored and annoyed expression it was either something business related or talking to someone undesirable.

Just as you were opening your passenger's door to call his name, he opened his and tossed in the briefcase to then hop in while still in the call, he fastened his seat belt. Not even a minute happened when he turned on the car and left.

What is he doing?!

Frowning at his direct dismissal, you checked the message log again, only to find his profile picture gone and some little yet infuriating message on the bottom.

This number is unavailable for chat.

"Bastard."

It was all you could muster before angry tears welled up in your eyes. But it had been enough. You went back to fuming and drove back home. Next week for sure you'd catch him.

You've had enough.

Taglist:

@huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @katitakenway @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiix @taeecups @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @damhanallagorm @aockskcw @lauraolar14 @

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @tayleighuh-deactivated20231030 @8xbygirl @artyanimi @ittybxttykxttytxtty @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #t writes✨#astv miguel #Of Flowers And Hummingbirds #slow burn #dana d'angelo #mj watson #Youtube

414 notes · View notes

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 months

Text

Shame on a plate

Happy St. Patrick's Day, slowpokes!

When -- several minutes after Stuck in a damn bed. , after Shane blew up, and you found out that not only Dale, but Maggie saw, too.

What -- Sophia's still missing, Daryl and Carl have one more day in the house on bed rest, and you're dealing with the aftermath of your big brother Shane's actions in the previous chapter and the fact that others saw. The biggest thing you feel is shame.

Relationships -- Found family you and the gang! Lol, always a slow burn Daryl x Reader, there's also some platonic Glenn, brotherly Rick, and Maggie gets protective her new friend (you), and Papa Dale is there

Perspective -- 2nd You, 3rd Daryl

Pronouns -- none

TWs -- other than the hideous screenshot above, there's some language and discussion of abusive patterns and behaviors

How long is it? -- around 4,000 words

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

In this chapter, Reader is struggling with shame, guilt and confusion over how Shane treated them at the end of the previous chapter.

Remember, being hurt by a loved one is not okay. If they are hurting you, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

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

“No, nothin’ like it before, ever.”

Her fingers tap tap tapped against the book in her hands. “I don’t like it. Daddy’s been uncomfortable around him, then I see this happen.”

You twisted your mouth. “It was an argument between siblings.”

“If it was an argument, then why didn’t I see you arguin’ back?”

Stupid, stupid idiot. It kept playing in your head, that refrain. It had a different spin than it did at first. See, at first, your brain repeated it because you’d given yourself fault for what happened, how Shane just…you don’t know what happened. But he behaved very badly.

But then, the refrain kept repeating over and over because you didn’t walk away or fight back when Shane started hurti acting like he did.

You did nothing.

It was the one thing you were not supposed to do. The thing Shane and your Mama always warned you never to do when things got scary. The thing Shane had literally just gotten done practicing with you so that you’d know even more than you already know about how and when to fight back.

All that effort and still, you froze.

Stupid, stupid idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

You had to clear your throat. “Beth didn’t see, too, right? Just you?” you hushed. The girl was already timid and uneasy about your group, If she saw what happened, it was the nail in the coffin if you couldn’t fix this.

“No, I was the only one by the window.”

“So he wasn’t too loud, then.” Which meant only Margaret and Dale knew. Your shoulders felt lighter.

“Y/N,” Maggie said to you. “You seem more concerned with others not seein’ what went on.”

“Well, yeah, I’m worried they’d overreact.”

She tilted her chin up and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, is that what I’m doing? Was my comin’ to check on you an overreaction?”

“No, no, not at all!” you quickly apologized. “Not at all! I’m, I’m happy you care enough.”

“You’re a good person and you’re my friend, which is why I don’t want to tiptoe around this. What your brother just did was bad. You know that was abusive, right?”

Maybe scoffing at her heartfelt, caring statement wasn’t your best idea, but 'abusive' was such a strong word…right? “He’s my brother, and it was a one-off, I done told you.”

“I’m not sure I believe it when you say that,” she next had the audacity to claim. “You haven’t even been makin’ eye contact with me.”

Oh, you want eye contact? I’ll give you eye contact, bitch.

Your inner tea kettle was shrieking to be taken off the burner, and you could not have cared less. “You callin’ me a liar? Calling my brother an abuser? Rich words from someone I’ve barely known two weeks!”

Before any more was said, Dale inserted himself into the conversation, the thing he said he wouldn’t do. “If you want to keep your conversation private, I suggest not raising your voices.”

Maggie’s arms were crossed. She stared hard at you, but spoke calmly. “Sometimes when things are unhealthy, those looking in from the outside can see it better. And I know what I saw.”

“A sibling fight,” you whispered as gently as you could, feeling so heated. “You, you, y-you saw a sibling fight, those can get nasty.” She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s not, she’s not.

“You know what? I don’t have time for your pushback if you don’t have time to consider what somebody who’s concerned about you says, Y/N.”

More shame was added to your plate.

Her leaving shouldn’t have felt so awful, but it did. You covered your eyes and exhaled, as if that would help get rid of the worst of it. You then told God how much you hated this, immediately followed by the opposite, as you cursed yourself a little more, why not? You stupid, stupid idiot.

Not only did you disappoint (and insult) your new friend, but you worried it was another strike against your group. Lori and Carl need this place, it’s safe, it’s good, it’s — you stupid, stupid idiot!

But just like that, Maggie then called your name again as Dale was stepping toward you. You turned to see her facing you once more, no longer walking away.

“If this was a dating situation, what would you think about how he behaved, what he did?” she challenged.

As unfair as you thought the comparison was, the answer hit you in the face. Pun not intended, shit, um… at any rate, having Dale close by helped to ease you into the checkmate that Margaret just finished you with.

You hated your answer.

Because if you saw Shane behaving toward a romantic partner the same way he just behaved with you, you know exactly what you’d think and how you’d react. It wouldn’t be a gray situation, it would be black and white.

More shame for the plate. More guilt. More unease, more dread.

Eyes to the grass, you swallowed your pride. “I’d see it the way you see it.”

Maggie shifted her weight from the right to left, then back again, uncertain. “Will you tell Rick?”

You hesitated, too. After all, you’re an adult. You could be married with children at your age, you couldn’t just—“Tattle that Shane…got huffy, lost his cool?”

“Don’t oversimplify, kiddo, you’re smarter than that,” Dale muttered. He and Shane don’t get on (zero idea why, since Dale and you get on so well!) so this is just more bad press against your brother and more shame for your plate.

“But it’s, it’s not that dramatic, none of this has to be dramatic,” you insisted.

Dale answered again. “Then talking to Rick about it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Rick’s family,” Maggie agreed. “So, he’s seems like the best person to help.”

A child in a grown-up’s body is what you felt like. Helpless, naïve, clueless. You stupid, stupid idiot.

They were right, though, Rick could fix this, he could talk to Shane, figure out what that was. And even better — agreeing with Maggie and Dale would get them off your back! For real, what were they doing, an intervention? Because Shaney poked you a little, gave you a little push?

The words felt sinful, but you said them anyway.“I-I’ll, um, I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to Rick.” And, of course, you were then obligated because you despise dishonesty.

Maggie nodded, then put her thumbs in her pockets. Dale nodded and looked at the two of you, then all around. It was very uncomfortable.

It would be nice if instead of real life, this was a TV show or book, you remember thinking. The audience isn’t usually shown the awkward parts in TV or books, would be a waste of time.

“Y/N,” Maggie spoke, breaking the silence. “We have a raspberry thicket by the south-facing property line.” She pointed in the direction. “Completely overgrown. I’m gonna go back in, finish what I was doin’, but let’s go pick some together later, okay? I’ll come find you in a little while?” She smiled hopefully at you, with some pity thrown in.

Returning the smile, you hoped it made you look put-together and self-aware and confident instead of the shameful, idiotic mess you felt like. “That sounds delicious.”

The moment ended, and she went back toward the house. You heard the door open and clack shut again. A desk onto which you could slam you head would be nice, you remembered thinking.

Instead of a desk, though, Dale put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

He sighed. “Alright, troublemaker. Walk with me? We don’t have to talk, let’s enjoy the sunset awhile.”

Not two steps later, and he apologized for his timing in using the nickname that one month ago he’d christened you with. “And Y/N? What Shane did isn’t your fault.”

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

Him

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

Today marks one week of being stuck in this bed. Day 7.

He’d failed, that’s it. A weak-ass pussy dipshit who’d failed, and was still stuck in a damned bed after a full week.

Tomorrow, Patricia said he’d be cleared to move out. Not that it mattered much, he still couldn’t do enough to be useful. Not that he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. He’d still be on bed rest.

But hey, at least he’d be able to walk to the woods to find a place to squat and shit by himself now, right? Not even too sarcastic, it would be a step up from feeling like a total invalid.

Carol and Lori were doing a special dinner and cleaning up for the family here to try and thank them for everything. Daryl would just…lay in his bed, he figured. Except, all three of those clucking hens that he wished would stop preening him, Patricia, Carol, and Y/N, kept offering to help him eat with everyone else like they was all some big, happy, family.

This time, it wasn’t that he couldn’t; he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to face them all, not yet, it was too much. He could only take a certain level of shame, and his plate was already full.

The saving grace this past week that stopped him from drowning in his shame was his not seeing the whole kit and kaboodle of them in one sitting. Rick had told him a little over a week ago how it was no problem if Daryl left. Just Daryl, he’s pretty sure nobody else got that little talk.

He’d chosen to stay because of Sophia and Y/N. Sophia needed finding. Still does.

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

You

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

Carl is the kind of kid who’s double-digits, yet understands when his mother needs her baby again. Lori had snuggled with him on the bed, and both were sound asleep. Not even you knocking on the door or the door being opened/shut woke them.

Which must be why last night, Rick took the opportunity to bring up what Shane did, right there in the room.

It was a blessing that you didn’t end up having to do the hardest part, bringing it up, you suppose. Shane himself had done it for you. All you had to do was fill in the blanks.

“Said he lost control, acted a certain way,” Rick murmured. “What’d that look like?”

You didn’t want to describe it, it’d sound bad… “Shane didn’t say?”

“I’m interested in what you say.”

“Ah, you want to maintain ‘eyewitness sequeskra — eesh, that’s hard to pronounce. Se-quest-ra-tion?”

Rick did that raised brow squint thing he makes when he’s teasing, as if maybe he was about to call you ‘weirdo.’ But then, his expression faded back to serious and he spoke your name. “We both know he hasn’t been himself. What did that look like today?”

Casually, you told him about the way Shane had gotten intimidating. “You know how he’d talk when he needed to do ‘bad cop,’ it was, it was kinda like that.”

“Anything physical?”

Casually, you mentioned the jabs. “He was pokin’, like, with his pointer finger — and he’s strong, so.”

“Right there?” Rick asked, pointing to his sternum in mimic of how you’d gestured.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a bruise?”

Your neck tightened.

Maggie had spotted it when you were berry picking. One had fallen down your shirt, so you’d pulled the fabric forward and down to retrieve it, and she (and you) saw the bruise forming. You stupid, stupid idiot.

It was fine, it wasn’t a big deal. Bruises happen.

Casually, you joked to Rick, “I get bruises from random shit all the time.”

He didn’t smile.

It actually lessened the shame, rather than adding more. You were grateful.

Continuing, he questioned, “He told me about that collarbone grab, and how he went like this?” And when he motioned with his hand, slowly pretending to clap it against the side of your head, you felt your cheeks heat.

“Once.” The insult he’d smacked you with at the same time hurt more, to be honest. Which…made it all click that what Shane did wasn’t as small a deal as you’d been thinking. Mouth shut, you licked your teeth and stared into space. “Did it to himself first, way more than once.”

Rick watched his wife and son sleeping on the bed and asked nothing more for a few minutes.

You picked at the string that stuck out of your arm wrap, feeling stupid, stupid, stupid, shameful, stupid. Per usual, then you missed your mom—and out of nowhere got swept by that flash flood of resentment toward Rick again.

Shane and you had left your mother alone to scope out the latest at the hospital, to figure out how to get Rick safely out without him decompensating. While you two were gone, what happened happened. Sometimes, you assign blame to Rick for it, as if comatose Rick was the reason your ma got killed. Sometimes, you assign her dying to Shane’s change in character, as if that made it better, gave it an excuse.

Grief gets sticky like that.

“Is that all, or is there any more?”

“He went like this,” you mumbled, and grabbed the neck of your shirt like Shane had. “That’s it, all the dirt. Happy?”

“Y/N.”

“…Sorry.”

“I know this wasn’t easy. Thank you,” he told you, putting his arm on your shoulder. You didn’t want it there, so you moved away. Rick was patient, not reacting a bit.

That was last night. This morning felt pretty normal when you woke up. Carol had shared your tent again. Shane was off in his, so you didn’t see him.

Coffee in hand, you were in in the middle of coaxing one of the pullets to waddle toward you by holding out dandelion leaves when Glenn came to see you. You’d figured he wanted to feed the baby chickens, too, or, even better, that there was good news about Maggie. (She likes him!, she told you herself the other day. She just isn’t telling, you know, Glenn himself just yet.)

“Y/N? How are you?”

“I’m warmed up good with my coffee, how about you? Sleep well?” You kept your smile in when you asked, “Talk to Maggie today?”

“Yeah, yeah, I slept fine, yeah, but, um—you’re like, okay, though?”

A flutter of dread. “Glenn, what’s up?”

“What did Shane do to you yesterday? I heard him—”

“—What did you hear, and from whom?” reverberated from the back of your throat as if it were a growl.

“Dude, chill. I’m trying to see if you’re okay.”

The way you tried to keep your voice calm ended up sounding snotty and insincere. Most likely because you were feeling very insincere. How many people saw or heard about what happened? Naked, you felt so naked and exposed! “Where. Did. You. Hear about it?”

“I heard your brother talking to Rick.”

The twist in your gut eased. “Okay, um, um — what did he, w-what, um, what did he, what did he say?” And how did you hear, do they know you heard?”

“I had the headphones in, but the battery died on your mp3 while I was going to the bathroom—”

“—Daryl has the mp3,” you thought aloud.

“He let T-Dog borrow it, who let me borrow it. I-I ate something that didn’t agree with me, so…”

Oh my ffing — “Did you sanitize it when you were done?”

“Dabbed it with hand sanitizer, yeah. Oh, also, Shane asked me to ask you if he could borrow it once it was charged again.” Glenn scratched his neck. “I told him it was on really low battery.”

You swallowed.“So he did see you?”

“He and Rick saw me with the earbuds on and I acted surprised to see them.Shane asked if he could borrow it, I told him it needed to be charged, um, hey, I can see it in your face that you’re worried, please don’t be! Shane believed me,” he assured you. “Trust me, he doesn’t know I heard him. I don’t lie, Y/N, you know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, nodding.

“Anyway, I was walking back from the woods and heard Shane and Rick talking. I figured it was about Sophia, but when I overheard something Shane said, I stopped and listened.” Glenn bent his head down and shuffled his feet. “He said that he messed up, like, snapped. Told Rick that he needed to talk to you and be on your side with whatever you told him. Y/N, he said that he,” your friend lowered to a whisper, “hurt you? Like literally ‘hurt’ you, like, did he hit you?”

You smiled to put him at ease, holding up your hands. “He poked me a little and clapped an ear, weren’t hardly no thing.” Y/N, you stupid, stupid, idiot.

It was probably good that he looked so disappointed and cautious, even if it didn’t feel good to see it in his eyes at the time. “Y/N, don’t…joke about this stuff,” he began. “Why would Shane would have gone to Rick in private if it wasn’t serious?”

“’Cause he’s a drama-king.” You made it sound almost like you were patronizing Glenn, the way you said it.

“No. No, this isn’t ‘no thing,’ you literally just confessed he did hit you — does Rick know about that, too? Shane mentioned something about a collarbone, grabbing your shirt, and shoving you, which is also not ‘no thing.’”

As he was speaking, you’d felt more and more defensive and naked and ashamed. You even had to beat down the urge you had to grab his shirt and shove him back, and prove it wasn’t a big deal!

Then, you considered how he’d take it. The look on his face, at a friend doing that to him. How you’d feel about yourself if you did that. How you’d feel if you saw somebody else do that to him or somebody else. A whole lot of rapid thoughts in the several moments where you figured out a way to respond.

The explanation you made was something you’d tried on everyone so far. “We’re siblings. Stuff like that is normal — did you never see your sisters go at it?”

“No, it’s not! And if it is, it shouldn’t be! Dude, if you saw me,” he countered, speaking louder than you’d heard him make since he cried that the bodies of those at the quarry camp weren’t going to be burned with the walkers. “Doing whatever Shane did with you to one of my younger sisters, what would you think of me? How would you react?”

Glenn’s strong emotional response wasn’t expected, so you stood there, dumb. And you knew exactly how you’d react if you saw him doing to his sisters what Shane did.

And yet, you’re still unsure if everyone else is overreacting because it sounded bad or because it actually was.

Either way, Glenn’s question raised your white flag for you. You surrendered, bowing you head in shame and covering your face with your free hand.

“Glenn, there are three other people who know. Four, if you count Shane.” With your injured arm still secured by the upper arm to your torso, you pointed at him. “Dale, Maggie, and Rick know. Which means already there are three others who know. Now, Glenn, don’t go spreadin’ this business any further, hear?”

You didn’t sound half as intimidating as the words may look, mostly you sounded defeated. Ashamed. “Talk to any one of them, talk to me, but do not breathe a word to, to anybody else or around anybody else.”

This is the part where you started to get a little weepy. “And Lori, she don’t need to know about this right now, she don’t need the stress, and not a word around my Carl, oh my gosh, not him.” This is the part where you got a little beg-gy. “Please. It, it ain’t a bad secret because those that need to know, know. Okay?”

The gavel was brought down when he said, “The way you’re scared of the others finding out makes it seem like a bad one.” He was right. Is right.

He then clasped his hands together. “Listen: I wasn’t about to tell anyone else, since Rick knows. Shane told him himself, dude, and I trust Rick. But, if it was a different case,” he went on, and shook his head as if he was telling you that all bets would be off. “Y/N, remember when Ed was around? How that felt? Dude, you literally threw yourself on him when you saw him hurt Carol.”

The comparison of your brother to Ed Peletier stung and wasn’t fair. And did Glenn forget what Shane did to Ed, to? “Glenn, that ain’t equivalent by any stretch.”

“Maybe not,” he accepted. “But just because it could be worse doesn’t make it not bad. Stuff like this starts small.”

“I know,” you whispered.

You raised the white flag higher, half with the plea that this would be over faster if you did. Lord above, you felt so small, stupid, and defenseless. “You’re right,” you ceded, your gaze reaching no higher than Glenn’s belly. “You’re right. And like you said, it’s, it’s b-bein’ handled, Rick’s got it.” Ugh, stress stutter. “And Shane did a much better job than me when he saw what Ed did, don’t leave out that part.”

“He did. That almost worries me more. Just — if anything like this happens again, or if it starts to feel the same, like — ” He raised his hands. “You’re my best friend. That means I’m on your team. Okay? Even if you end up hating me for it.” He then started to leave, give you some space. “We’re on the same search team today, too. Meet by the mailbox by 9:00, it’s in like 40 minutes.”

“Hey, wait,” you called, not wanting to look him in the eye yet but doing it anyway. And you forced the words out because they were true. “Th-thank you.”

He breathed out heavily and made an awkward (but real) smile.“I love you, dude.”

“I love you, too, man. You’re my best friend.”

The uncomfortable, clumsy encounter with Glenn left you feeling more ashamed than you already were. With Daryl, that day where you’d felt as if your very soul had been stripped bare, the vulnerability hadn’t felt shameful afterward. What you’d felt was so close, unbearably close, it was strange.

But yesterday evening and this morning, the vulnerability sucked, dude. And you’d been stuck in a cycle of shame, anger, and feeling stupid, but without those feelings going away once the truth let out.

The good thing was, the target of your anger began to change during the conversation with Glenn. You weren’t thinking stupid, stupid idiot about yourself anymore, no, it became directed at Shane. The one whose blowing up made this mess. Your view of the mess also became clearer. What happened wasn’t just one sibling bullying a little on the other and it getting out-of-hand it was…it wasn’t something to brush aside, you’ll say that. And you’re scared, you’ll say that, too.

But what you were supposed to do with all of it, that still wasn’t clear.

Still isn’t. Because sooner than later, Shane will know about the baby. Sooner rather than later, the situation with Sophia will end. Sooner rather than later, that little power struggle you’re seeing between him and Rick will come to a head.

Nope. You have no idea what to do and all you feel is shame about it.

Speaking of, Daryl’s been feeling ashamed, too, it’s kinda obvious when you look and talk to the guy. He thinks that because he’s bedbound, he’s useless. Might as well pop in before you go on the search this morning, you’ve got like 15 minutes until then.

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

Him

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

“Last day in this fine establishment, enjoy it while you can,” Y/N joked.

Yeah, so, he wasn’t in a joking mood and didn’t get why Y/N would be, either. An entire week in this ‘establishment’ was damned shameful. All because he stole (worse, Y/N had told him more than once not to do it) borrowed a horse that got spooked. A dumbass slip and fall. Twice.

If Sophia wasn’t found, it was on his hands.

“Did Carol convince you to come to dinner, yet? Or are you still feelin’ too poorly?”

“Just stop.” He wanted to be left alone, was that so fucking complicated?

And he wanted out of this fucking bed, out of this room, out of this house, off this shit farm, and away from this whole gaggle of dumb fucks.

He wanted Merle back. He wanted Uncle Jesse back.

…He just wanted Sophia back. He'd even prayed about it.

“Sorry, little man, not now. Yeah, nah, he needs some privacy and quiet,” Daryl then heard from out in the hallway.

The door was already closed. He didn’t even hear it shut.

“No, his head is still okay, Carl, his cognition is prolly better than the two of us put together. The man’s healin’ well, thanks be to God,” Y/N cheerfully chirped like a songbird. "Wanna visit the baby chicks again?"

More shame slithered on over, hissing at him for how he’d been a dick to Y/N, of all people.

Daryl tried to rub his chest to get rid of the tugging feeling in Y/N’s direction while trying to shut up the voice in his head that was screaming for a goddamn cigarette so he could smoke and dig the lit end into his skin.

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

You

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

So, that was a bust. Daryl kinda snapped at you. It sucked. Felt really awful, not gonna lie. First your brother, now the mangy hick.

Come to think of it, it's actually more on brand for Daryl to have done that, given you literally just referred to him as ‘mangy hick.’

Ugh, you wanna cry again. You wanna run back to Dale the way a little kid runs to their dad. Maybe this time you'd also run into a desk to slam your head against on the way?

Later would have to suffice for finding that desk, however, because now, there’s work to do.

“Aight, let’s roll. We’re headin’ south, looking around a small neighborhood. Tomorrow, Shane and Andrea will be hitting what we don’t cover,” T-Dog announces. “Ready to head out, y’all?”

“Head on back to your ma, okay?” you tell Carl, pecking a kiss on his head and patting your finger along the chick he's still carrying. Carl had walked you to the mailbox, it's his third and probably last ‘big trip’ of the day. He’s wearing Shane’s police baseball hat. “See you later, punk, I love you."

“Yeah, man, all set. Bye, Carl.” Glenn stands up from his crouched position by the mailbox where he was waiting.

You adjust the first aid kit in your backpack, then ease it on and snap the chest clip in place. “Ready, Teddy.”

T-Dog rubs his hands together. “Then let’s roll. See if we can’t bring Sophia back for this big dinner her mama’s got planned tonight.”

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 ; @its-freaking-bats ; @whistlesalot ; @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer ; @dreamingaboutthewonderland ; @kwazii-kat ; @darylsmavis ; @outlanderhornet22 ; @battinsonrobs ; @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable ; @writingmybeloved ; @boomergirl123 ; @iheartathena0 ; @moonliight-luv ; @suniloli ; @supernaturalgirl02 ; @cnake-garden ; @daryldixmedown ; @sophehe ; @crashlyrose ; @virgo-sunflower920 ; @jennythe ; @theficbaker ; @vampireautism ; @rosetta196 ; @wifeof-barnes

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox! We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)

53 notes · View notes

taikanyohou · 11 months

Photo

"Jun Sung, please go to the phone booth and express your feelings to someone that you like in 30 seconds." HIS MAN 2 (2023). Jun Sung + Sung Ho in Episode 3.

#his man 2 #asianlgbtqdramas #asiandramasource #asiandramanet #dailyasiandramas #kdramasource #kdramaedit #kdramadaily #*#faiza gifs #i don t even know how to tag this bfwhdibfih BUTTTTT NEVERTHELESS #LOOK AT THEM OH MY GOD!!!!!#i HATE giffing reality shows but u know what for them? I WILL IDGAF!#this is for the 5 junsung x sungho his man 2 stans on here YALL THE REAL ONES #GOD THEIR FACES! TELL ME WHEN HAS SUNGHO EVER REACTED LIKE THIS T ANYONE ELSE ON THIS SHOW OTHER THAN JUNSUNG HMMM? YALL CANT! BC HE HASNT!#man yall are MISSING out if yall arent watching this show HERE IS A QUEER ASIAN ROMANCE LITERALLY PLAYING OUT THAT HAS ALL THE TROPES!#slow burn roommates to lovers second lead guy different personalities but SO attracted to one another ITS ALL LITERALLY RIGHT HERE!#like its no surprise to met at all that everyone who has watched these 2 gets GIDDY and butterflies in ther stomach with them bc theyre just #!!!!!!!!! YEAH.

175 notes · View notes

byierficrecs · 9 months

Text

❝ the strawberries are dying ❞ author: @willelmikes

link: archiveofourown.org/works/46686322

personal blog || submit a story || support me on ko-fi 🍂

110 notes · View notes

miniscule-meow · 1 month

Text

Isabell and the Lads CH 2: The Healing Process (2.6)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~1.7k First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

---

A rhythmic tapping rouses her from her sleep.

Her eyes peel open to find a familiar darkness surrounding her. She could almost convince herself she is back home and that she isn’t living out her biggest nightmare. Almost.

“Isabell?” Zeke’s voice, though gentle, shatters the dream of her being back in the walls, where she belongs. “Are you up?”

“Yeah, I’m up,” she calls out groggily. She must have been in a pretty deep sleep if his footsteps didn’t wake her up before he got to her, she doesn't like the thought of a human being able to sneak up on her.

Isabell sighs, raising her arms in an attempt to stretch, and she’s met with aching ribs and sharply protesting limbs. So that’s how it’s gonna be. As gently as possible, she maneuvers herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She has to pause here, the pain in her body has officially caught up with her. She thought there was a chance she could sleep all of this off, but as it stands right now, everything just feels worse. She takes another breath, deep enough for her ribs to flare their complaints. She’s been awake for maybe thirty seconds and she already wants to cry.

Instead, she grits her teeth and stands out of the bed, testing her leg. She doesn’t need to put much weight on it to know that it is not happy. She’ll need to stay off of it as much as possible if she ever wants a chance to get out of here.

Her shelf is still nice and dim, with only a bit of light slipping in around the edges of the curtain. So, the main lights must be on out there. Turning her attention to the curtain wall, she can see Zeke’s monolithic shadow in front of her.

“I’m coming,” she says, hoping he’ll just wait for her. She doesn’t want to see his massive fingers pull back the barrier separating them.

She’s trying not to think about it, but all of this is truly only the illusion of safety. At any point the human could decide that he’s tired of waiting, that he’s tired of her. Every single moment she’s putting so much trust in him. Trust that he’ll be patient, trust that he’ll be kind, trust that he’ll be gentle. It’s trust that she simply does not have, but she has no choice.

She hobbles her way out to the open part of the shelf, clinging to the wall as much as possible in an attempt to avoid putting too much weight on her leg. She’s really going to have to do something about that.

She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the full light of the room. Her breathing catches, seeing Zeke’s massive form kneeling in front of her, his eyes trained on her. Even though she’s been interacting with these humans, seeing them, especially for the first time again, sparks an intrinsic fear inside of her.

Don’t get caught. You’ve already been caught. They can see you. Run. Hide. Escape.

She shoves the thoughts aside. This is her situation. She can’t fix it right now. The humans are helping her.

The rational thought quells her fear meager amounts at best.

“Good morning,” Zeke says, his eyes scanning over her. “How are you feeling today?”

“I’ve been better,” she says, leaning heavily against the wall. “Um, thank you, by the way. For… setting this up for me.” She gestures over to her ‘room’ behind the curtains.

“Of course. I’m glad we could find something that worked for you,” Zeke responds with a small smile gracing his features. “I was going to make some breakfast. Do you want to come out to the living room?”

Does she want to? Does she want to willingly put herself in the palm of his hand? No. Not really. Does she agree anyway, of course. That’s what the human wants, right? At this point, it’s more dangerous to disappoint him.

She nods numbly, and Zeke’s hand rests on the shelf in front of her. She feels as though she’s watching her own actions from behind her eyes, as if she were instead watching a screen. The only way her mind can rationalize a willing interaction with this human is to just disconnect herself completely.

Sure, the humans have been nice so far. But every single moment she spends with them she has to fight every one of her instincts. Her brain’s wiring just won’t stop telling her that she’s in extreme danger. Don’t get caught, don’t get caught don’t get- she’s already been caught. She needs to play by a different set of rules now. But it’s been a lifetime of fear, well deserved fear. One or two reasonable conversations with a human isn’t going to magically undo all of that.

She takes a hesitant step forward, still pushing against the wall of the shelf for support, when the hand in front of her shifts. You were taking to long. He’s run out of patience. She jolts, expecting the hand to lurch forward and snatch her up in an unforgiving fist. Instead, the massive fingers curl in on themselves, and the hand moves in the opposite direction. She looks up, finally connecting the hand to the human, and meeting Zeke’s gaze curiously.

“Sorry. I just- You know that you can say no to me, right?” His brow furrows, his green eyes taking her in. When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “I don’t want you to say yes just because you feel like you can’t say no. That isn’t… that’s not consent. I mean,” he looks away, searching elsewhere for the right words to say, “yeah, before neither of us had much of a choice about anything. It was an emergency situation, and I’m really sorry about all of that. But now you have your own space here and- I’m rambling,” he shakes his head, looking back to her, “I don’t want you to say yes to me just because that’s what you think I want. And I really don’t want you to say yes to me because you’re afraid to say no. That’s… that makes me,” he hesitates, “that makes me feel really gross,” he admits, shaking his head once more.

She hadn't considered his feelings in all of this.

Her being afraid of him makes him feel... gross? How is that even possible. She'd always been under the impression that humans relished in the fear they caused. It never occurred to her that he might be just as uncomfortable interacting with her as she is with him.

Is it possible that she's been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she's completely missed the nuance of emotions from this impossibly large being? It is just easier for her to write off everything from them as fearmongering and manipulation so she doesn't have to consider that they aren't really all that different after all?

But still, this fear that is so deeply interwoven into her being. She's had horrific run-ins with humans. She's seen their cruelty, the inflated ego of having something smaller than them that they can dominate. She's never seen a human like Zeke. Kneeling down on her level, going out of his way to help her feel comfortable, telling her how he feels? This doesn't fit in the box of humans are scary and irrational beings that she has sequestered in her mind. This simply makes no sense to her.

Even if, and it's a big if, she were to take this human at face value, and she were to let herself trust him, it's not like she can just turn her fear off with the flick of a switch. Maybe she doesn't want to be afraid anymore. But can she really turn her back on the one thing that has kept her alive all this time?

She stays hidden because she's afraid of getting caught.

She goes out borrowing because she's afraid of starving to death.

Everything she's needed to do in life, she's done because of fear. Every choice she's made has been based on what outcome she's more or less afraid of.

Now to just say, 'no, fear, I don't need you anymore.' It feels impossible.

She feels herself slipping into a circle of thought. Be afraid, but don't be afraid, but you should be afraid, but you shouldn't be afraid, but you've always been afraid, but you don't have to be afraid anymore.

She will have to try to unpack this later.

Zeke continues, “you can say no, you can obviously also say yes. It’s- I mean, that’s why I’m asking. I want to know what you want. Okay? Do you want to go out to the living room, or would you rather stay here. It’s up to you.”

She looks up at him cautiously. What does she want? She tries to do the mental gymnastics required to figure out what he wants her to want. This has to be some kind of trick, right? What does she want? A human shouldn’t be concerned about that. She fits in the palm of his hand, and he cares about what she wants? Here she is again, trying to fit Zeke into a box of what she understands humans to be, and failing miserably.

“Um, I want… um, N-no. No, I’d actually like to stay… here,” she feels as wound up as a spring, her shoulders tense rigidly. I just told a human no. She looks up at him wide-eyed, terrified she’s made the wrong choice.

Zeke just nods indifferently. It doesn’t seem like he’s upset or disappointed at all. If anything it looks like he relaxes a little bit. “Alright,” he says standing. “I’ll bring you some breakfast soon, okay?”

“Pancakes?” She asks, remembering the warm fluffy clouds he made for her yesterday.

“Yeah, I can make that happen,” he responds. She can’t see his face, but he sounds amused. He could even be smiling, a rarity from him.

With that, his footsteps retreat off into the main part of the apartment. She takes this time to drag herself back into her room. Zeke had been kind enough to put a little electric candle in the middle of the room for her. She flips the switch and the warm light flickers gently in the space. Off to the side, he had left her a bundle of craft supplies. By the time he comes back with pancakes for her, she’s crafted herself a crutch. So, even though she’s still hobbling around, she’s at least doing it with some proficiency now.

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t stories #my writing #isabell and the lads #i know yall probably want me to update literally any other story but this is where the ideas are right now #featured: zeke saying consent is key #and isabell fighting with her fears #hopefully the pay off for all this slow burn stuff will be worth it lmao

27 notes · View notes

cas-backwards-tie · 4 months

Text

Chapter Three: Reroute Necessary

COD Men x Reader

Trials & Triumphs | Previous Chapter

Summary: Upon your debrief and explanation to Laswell, a shift in strategy is needed. How your fellow comrades will take that news is unbeknownst to you. Luckily for Laswell, however... you may have an idea or two up your sleeve. Now, it all comes down to a vote.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Disappointment, Anger, Humiliation, Embarrassment, Resentment, Passive-Aggressiveness,

Mentions of: Injury, Death, War Crimes, Government, Politics,

A/N: As I continue to delve further into the fandom I've been getting into most recently Johnny, John, and ofc Vlad so now I'm so lost! Ah... oof. Trying not to switch my original idea or add too many things to this. Anyway, this def is not gonna be all actiony every chapter. It'll change route after this for sure! So stay tuned.

"Explain it. Again," Laswell commands. Attempting to withhold the anger in her blue eyes, her fingers grip the edge of her desk a little tighter as she leans over it.

Pursing your lips together, you take a deep inhale through your nose. It's embarrassing enough you'd had to do this once, now you're just being humiliated. Though you've done your best to ignore his presence, you sneak a glance at the man sitting in the chair on your left. While you might not know Captain John Price well, you can see the empathy in his eyes from the momentary eye contact the two of you shared. A sigh tumbles past your lips as you raise your head again, confronting your superior. Starting over, once again, from the top, you explain.

"To start, we set up things together, formulating a plan..."

Things went according to that plan for the most part. The Captain can't deny that. He listens as you explain to Kate for the second time what'd transpired the other night and how, exactly, you'd let Boris Wagner get away. In truth, it wasn't exactly you who'd let him get away. Yet, it also was... wasn't it? If he's being honest with himself, if you'd had a better handle on your team this wouldn't have happened. You would've cleared the building, secured the area, gathered your spread out team and reconvened with his, coming together to flank what was clearly a trap set up by Wagner. But you didn't. Even once you found out it was a trap, he'd heard that you let that Austrian--König, if he remembers correctly--run off on his own after the Tango and try to finish the mission alone. Sure, there's no man left behind. But if you'd followed after König and radioed someone to go back in after Keegan, both things could've transpired and the mission would've been successful. But you didn't. If he'd been in charge he doesn't think this meeting would be going on. Nevertheless, can't go back and change things, can you?

After Gaz had jumped onto the tank and taken out the Tango in the AFV, he'd been able to send the necessary reinforcements in König's aide, yet it was too late. Wagner got away, and the Austrian was injured. The mission failed, and more people were hurt than needed. Whether or not useful information's come of your leading is yet to be determined. Shifting in his seat, John wiggles his jaw a bit in an attempt to bide the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. He keeps having to remind himself how young you are. Why Kate picked you to lead the entire operation is beyond him. A team, sure, but the entire operation? She's kidding herself, right? They actually want the Party taken down. So does NATO and practically every other nation on the globe.

He'd already relayed his side. From the moment they'd dropped off, things were fine. Everything went according to plan. Once the enemy arrived, Wagner went inside, his team secured the perimeter, Ghost kept a lookout. Things were clear. It wasn't until they were bombarded by a hangar of soldiers that things went awry. Then to make matters worse, they find over a dozen hostages hidden in a compartment within the building. People were hurt, some people died, but most managed to get away unscathed. While they weren't prepared for a close up firefight, they managed to hold off until what he supposes was when your team got to the basement since things quieted down. Bravo team managed to escort the hostages away from the chaos and down toward the exfil location near where the deployment was, South side.

With Graves already there, it wasn't unreasonable that since he was free he could help out, Horangi still keeping watch. With things clear on both sides, it was only when Ghost notified them of the rogue soldier in the AFV that things began going south again. Another firefight started up. He was busy with Graves and Wilson on hostage duty while Soap, Gaz, and McKay went for the AFV and guards that'd come along with the fleeing Target. König emerged from nowhere, chasing down said Target, but it was only once Ghost informed him that he couldn't get a shot on said Target because the Austrian was too close that it was impossible to get a clear shot, that things were doomed. He should've known at that point to take over. You were nowhere to be seen or heard from and for all he knew you could've been dead.

It's not wise to go dark, and considering this was your first mission altogether as a squad it wasn't bright. Thinking back on it, John knows there are certain things he probably could've done to have adapted, recuperated, and saved the mission. He didn't. That's on him, that's his fault, and he hasn't forgiven himself for it, yet it doesn't change the fact that Laswell hasn't decided what's next.

"What do you think John?" Kate asks. Now upright, she crosses her arms over her chest as both women in the room turn to look at him with curious glances.

He hums in thought. "I... missed that. What was the question?" He speaks candidly.

"I said that 'I don't know', but what do you think about her little plan? it'd be a waiting game for sure. Might take months. You'd have to stake out the city, set up traps, lure them in, get to know these creeps, and might even have to participate in whatever they entail, but... if you think it'll work? Infiltrating the Party?" Laswell cocks a brow in his direction, curious for his thoughts and opinion on the matter.

Lips curling inward, he rubs them together in thought. That's not at all what he'd thought he'd missed! Mentally scolding himself for zoning out, as he's not the type, his gaze shifts between the two of you. He's taken too long to answer, now he looks suspicious. "I think the team needs to decide."

"Fine. We'll put it to a vote. Anonymously, of course."

____________

"We're at a crossroads, I'm afraid. So we've extended the option out to you all, putting the mission's stake up to a vote. You've all got pens and paper, and in a moment you'll either write down a 'yes' or a 'no', before I come around and you put it in the tin. Majority wins, though understandably considering circumstances if anyone insists on backing out, they'll be dismissed."

Her fingers absentmindedly tapping against the emptied cylindrical tin, Kate announces what's about to happen. Scanning around the room, you try not to read into everyone's fairly unsurprised expressions upon the news. Did they know this was coming? Did Price warn his team? Were they planning on backing out? Did... did you really fail that badly?

As questions begin to emerge and cloud your mind, you notice Kate about to step forward when a gruff voice captures everyone's attention, halting everyone's movement. "I thought NATO assigned us to this mission?" Ghost's question lingers in the air for a moment as you shift your gaze to the CIA's Liason, Laswell, in this instance. Arms crossed over your chest, you don't comment as your eyes slowly fall to the floor.

"Yes, though it's been brought to my attention that perhaps some people are more or less enthused to continue working on the mission with as it stands-" At this mention, people start looking around the room at one another. You'd overheard some whispers of people saying you'd messed up in leading the last mission, and while you don't necessarily disagree, you know you can't change what happened. Nevertheless, you're more than determined to not let them down again.

"-And, with the last mission having failed, time constraints are pushed even further, the possibility of being on deployment now extended, and the risks are only higher. While NATO is determined on getting the situation handled one way or another, the only question is whether it'll be the people in this room or not. And that brings us back to the vote."

"Can I say something first?" You ask as Kate takes a step forward, and whether she consciously or unconsciously knew it, she'd been signaling her readiness to start the vote, and you're not ready yet.

The woman glances around the room before seeming to have a brief silent conversation with Captain Price through their eyes. It's only a moment before she shrugs, offering you a casual. "I don't see why not?"

Hands coming up to run down the fronts of your thighs, you attempt to meet each of your soldier's eyes. Whatever impression they'd previously gotten from you, hopefully, it isn't permanently seared into their judgment. "First... and foremost, I think I owe you all an apology." As your eyes land on Keegan he immediately looks elsewhere, refusing to meet your gaze. Despite the sling on his shoulder over his hoodie, you know he's still holding resentment toward you. "I put the life of a teammate over the mission objective, and while I could've organized things better from the get-go, I recognize now how I let you all down." Eyes falling to the floor again, you can't help but kick the tip of your combat boots against the multicolored commercial worn-out carpeting of the debriefing room. "I realize I might not get a chance to lead you all again, but if I do... I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to not let you down again."

A deep breath replaces the sigh you let out as the next topic borders treacherous waters. "And I understand why some of you might want to back out now... but I do have to say that I can't. I won't. This is too important, not only to me, but to every single little kid outside these walls." Eyebrows furrowing, you can't help the way you begin to gesticulate with the rising emotions within. "I don't care how long it takes, but this is something that has to be dealt with, and that's why NATO hired us. They knew we could do it, and while you might not want to, and it might be the hardest thing you'll ever do... I'll be damned if I don't eradicate the Party."

Hands sliding themselves into your pockets, and with a purse of your lips, you turn your back on the team and offer Kate one last look before walking back toward the door you'd come in. Your face falls as you exit the room, unable to bear the agonizing wait that it'll take as the men deliberate not only their fate, but the fate of the team. One which you'd never even gotten around to naming.

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

You find out their decision and next steps around dinner time through email. An automatic fist pump follows as you knew your speech would manage to do some good. At least, you hope it did. Before you can really revel in the fact that your method of persuading Laswell to give you a second chance and changing approaches toward the Party, the gentle slam of a plastic tray on the metal table beside you garners your attention.

"Looks like someone finally caught up on their emails," Graves jokes, sending Olivia a playful glance as he oddly takes a seat to your left.

"Knew you wouldn't give up that easily," Olivia comments with a reassuring smile as she takes a seat across from him. "Though I do have to say I'm curious about how you're gonna pull off that plan of yours. How do you even have him as a contact for bloody hell's sake?" Her posh accent never fails to elicit a smile from you. With a shake of your head, you shrug, eyes following the movement toward the end of the table. McKay slides her tray down toward your group as she approaches.

"Surprised you're not liftin' at this time o' night," Graves comments in her direction, eyeing the muscular woman as she slings a leg over the bench and slides into her seat beside Olivia, forcing the blonde to scoot over across from you, shifting the lovers to sit diagonally from each other.

Amala only responds with a hum of acknowledgment, her eyes unamused as they set upon you. "You're not serious about this, right? Like you're actually joking. You really think Laswell, not to mention, Price is gonna go through with this?" The brunette asks, all seriousness as she leans against the table, her upper half toppled over it as she attempts to close the space between the four of you. Almost as if what you're discussing is a secret. "You think you're just gonna get information from Makarov without a hitch and that's that? We all go free?"

"I guess we'll see," you retort with a shrug. Considering today's events, you're not really in the mood for arguing, and while the proposed plan isn't exactly foolproof, it still provides a better pay off and a more timely solution than what Laswell had originally offered. "It's already scheduled, so... for now all we can do is what they're asking us to do and then we'll see when we get there. Regardless, we're changing tactics. We're shifting gears."

A huff of exasperation leaves the woman as she sits back and crosses her arms over her chest. The slight shake of her head is only amplified by the motion of the dark curls surrounding her head. "I've gotta say, I'm not lookin' forward to training with those miserable tea-drinkin' grumps over there," Graves states. A tilt of his head indicates who he's talking about, and you can't help but instinctively look.

Oh God, how you wish you hadn't. As soon as you look, you can see that Ghost staring at you, though he's sitting at the end of the table facing you, so that's excusable at least. It's not just him, though, but the addition of Gaz. The brown-eyed man had been talking to Soap who leans his upper-half on the table, his arm bent, head held up against his fist, back facing you. Gaz notices your gaze, and the sour look on his face doesn't disappear, but instead is met with a roll of his eyes before he turns his gaze toward the Captain who sits across him. From where you sit across the room it's impossible to hear what they're talking about, and while you could try and read their lips if you really wanted, you don't have the mental energy to do so. Before you turn back, Soap rotates his head and meets your eyes from where he's propped his head up; immediately turning around, you're sure Gaz had mentioned your attention. Price is surely ignoring you, then, you assume.

"I'm not always a grump!" Olivia argues, a pout on her lips as she teases Graves.

"But you love yer tea," he teases back. Apparently, you'd missed some of their conversation, but you could care less considering the nasty looks your joint TaskForce has been giving you.

"They're really mad... aren't they?" You ask, interrupting whatever stupid lovey-dovey shit your friend and her... acquaintance have going on. Silence envelopes your group for a moment, and Amala doesn't bother to meet your eye as she'd begun eating her food when the topic changed.

"Mm... yeah... I think so," Olivia finally responds, a gentle yet solemn tone to her voice as she attempts to carefully broach the subject. "That doesn't mean you can't win them back though? I think showing them what you're capable of is more than enough. Once they see what you can do, you're set. I know it," she adds on. Extending a hand across the table, the blonde places it atop yours before offering a gentle squeeze. With that, the conversation ends, the lovers going back to whatever meaningless bickering they'd been consumed with before. Meanwhile, you're still ruminating on what the forthcoming weeks will entail.

~~~~~~~~~~

acronyms:

exfil: where you're extracted, picked up in the field

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

t&t taglist: @cosychick , @konigsqueen , @cutegor3 ,

27 notes · View notes

ahopelessromantika · 6 months

Text

"It's beautiful," she comments.

He groans, hiding his face in his hands.

"It's not," he grumbles. "The left eye is too big, the nose is out of proportion, and the colors are all wrong."

She traces the bold lines delicately. "This is the first time someone's painted me."

"Liar."

"I'm not!" she laughs. "I've always been the artist, never the muse!"

She beams at him in delight.

"Thank you. It means a lot."

-by ahopelessromantika-

#writing community #fiction #writeblr #writing #writing ideas #writing prompts #romance #writing prompt #slow burn #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #writing inspo #writing on tumblr #dialogue prompt #character dialogue #dialouge prompts #how i wish to experience this T^T

39 notes · View notes

imvenusasaboy · 13 days

Text

PUPARIA

Chapter 15 - Simulation Swarm

prev - chapter 1

The detective wasn't the first Hosah Levi, and he definitely wouldn't be the last. The original, the blueprint, everything the shifter was supposed to be, that was his uncle.

Hosah's dad was heartbroken when he lost his twin brother. That was the Hosah Levi. There wasn't much to explain his disappearance. No body, no camera footage. Just gone without a trace. Safe to say, it was a closed casket funeral.

A sad, but common occurrence for shifters. You shrink in the wrong place at the wrong time, you're gonna end up trampled on, kidnapped, washed away by the rain, or all of the above all at the same time. That was why Hosah's dad was so hesitant to let him take the job offer in New York. It was silly. His son was a grown man, he had his own place in Colorado with a steady job and a couple classes to go to in his off time, so why should he have to worry about being allowed to take opportunities?

The truth was, his father had always thought of him as incapable. Not in an insulting way, but in an infantilising, coddling way, which was arguably far worse.

Whenever they spoke on the phone, their conversations always ended sour with an argument, about how Hosah should quit and come home, about how he should call more because every day that passes by without absolute confirmation of his safety causes immense stress to his entire family, or just about anything they can think of on that particular day.

Today however, the argument was about coming home, as it usually was.

"It's just not safe out there. You know how long it's been since you last called? Three days. Hosah, you understand how worried I get, don't you? You know how much can happen in three days. It'd be so much easier for you to just come back to Colorado. Your room is the same as how you left it. Please." His father pleaded down the phone.

It was always the same two or three points with him. You're not like everyone else, you're a vulnerable person, you can't get around your own apartment on your own so how are you supposed to navigate the city, I'm scared for you, blah, blah, blah. Quite frankly, Hosah was bored of it. He'd admitted to himself that he wasn't going to be able to hack complete independence for much longer, but he'd never, ever, admit that fact to his dad.

With his phone balancing between the side of his head and his shoulder, the shifter tried his best to stay on the call as he painted away in the short time that Teddy would be out for,

"No- no I know there are risks," Hosah repeated words he'd said a thousand times before, "That's why I'm not.. living alone anymore."

He still hadn't told his dad about Teddy. In fact, he hadn't told his dad about anything that had been happening lately. He rarely did, actually, Joel Levi didn't need the added stress.

"You have a girlfriend?" That was another thing Hosah hadn't told his dad about. Or really, hadn't told anyone about. Asides from Jules, as she knew everything.

He debated his relationship status with Teddy before responding, "No, but I have a roommate. New co-worker. He's nice. I like him."

"A co-worker is who killed your uncle, you know." Father dearest reminded him. It was never actually proven whose blood the small red stain on the office floor belonged to, but Joel had his theories.

It was best to not bring up the uncertainty of the true events of his Uncle's death around his father. After all, they were twins. Connected at the soul, or something like that.

"Right," Hosah mumbled instead of arguing, a route he rarely went down now that he thought about it.

The other end of the line crackled before the voice was picked back up again, "-this guy that you've moved in with?"

The shifter could only assume the first word in that sentence was supposed to be 'who'. Putting Teddy into words was a difficult task, at least, if he didn't want to end up gushing like a school girl when talking about her latest hallway crush, that is.

"His name's Edward. Super tall, like, the top of his head brushes against door frames kind of tall. Italian. Red hair, met him like a month and a half ago." Hosah described, his lips instinctively curling into an embarrassingly wide smile as he spoke.

"And this guy," Joel began, static and all, "He's good? He helps you? He's nice, gentle, sweet, caring, all that?"

The shifters face flushed a slight red as his father listed off all of Teddy's best qualities, "Yeah, yeah of course." He clarified.

"I could probably do a better job." His father scoffed as he usually did. Nothing was ever good enough, whether it was washing the dishes or taking care of his son, he might as well just be doing it the whole time all by himself because nobody else could do it as good as him.

"Yeah," Almost on queue, the sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door cut Hosah and his father's conversation short, " I have to go, 'kay? Got stuff to do. Call me some time tomorrow or whenever you can and I'll pick up. Okay, loveyoubye"

The shifter rushed to end the phone call so he could firstly, cover up Teddy's birthday gift, and also greet him as he came through the door.

"Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Teddy asked from across the room, standing in the open door. Yeah. His head just about would've brush against the wooden framing.

How someone could look so effortlessly picturesque, Hosah would never know. The shifter stared for a moment, completely lost for words, just taking in the rather mundane sight in front of him. Teddy's pale face had been nipped by the cold breeze, it seemed, as his cheeks and nose were reddened, although a more pink colour than his scruffy, brownish red hair that had clearly been rattled by the same wind. He looked a little disheveled with his scarf lazily wrapped loosely around his neck and his coat missing a few buttons from being completely fastened. Still, even in clothes he'd thrown on in about half a minute, Teddy looked perfect.

Hosah had almost forgotten what his roommate had even said in the first place as he opened his mouth to respond, "Uh, no, no, I was just on the phone to my dad, actually."

"Cool." Teddy had gotten into the habit of stealing the shifter's favourite words and phrases, "Have you told him yet?"

Right. It was probably best to keep his family in the dark about his current situation, he didn't want to worry them, or, god forbid, endanger them.

"Wellll..." Hosah wasn't really sure how to word it in a way that his roommate would understand.

"I mean, you don't have to." The sudden shift in views left the shifter without knowing what to say, half expecting an argument to come out of the conversation. Teddy continued, "It's your business, and if you don't want to, or you're not ready, or.. Whatever reasons you have, you're not obligated to say anything."

"You're right." Hosah nodded.

"As per usual," The taller of the two muttered under his breath as he strolled up to his roommate, giving his blond hair a ruffle before pulling the head into his shoulder, or, more like his chest given their height difference.

It was the little and casual pieces of affection like this that drove Hosah crazy. He felt like a rabid dog with how desperate he'd become to experience the brief touches over and over again.

"Did he say anything?" Teddy asked, hand still cradling the shifter's head, their legs intertwining as they stood at an, in any other case, uncomfortably short distance from each other.

Although, since it was Hosah and Teddy, this kind of close proximity was just right.

Hosah thought for a minute, focused on fidgeting with the loose threads that hung out of his roommates thick, bobbly knitted sweater, "Mmm," He hummed, "Just the usual, come home, it's dangerous out there, you need someone to take care of you,"

"God," Teddy laughed, "If there's one person that doesn't need taking care of in this world, it's you."

Hosah looked up, the overhead light reflecting in the big black holes he had for eyes, "You think?" He asked, chin resting on the taller of the two's chest, as he couldn't quite reach his shoulder as his hips leant against Teddy's.

"Cmon. First time you were.. I don't know, shifted I guess, you made me a cup of coffee. I mean, I know I wouldn't even be able to make it from room to room if I were like that." Teddy hesitated as he got to certain parts of his sentence.

Hosah had never really known how to take compliments.

"Whatever," He scoffed, regrettably worming his way out of Teddy's cradle, turning his back to him as he tried to forget the much needed words of affirmation.

He was right, Hosah wasn't completely incapable, but that's not what he'd been told his entire life, that's not what he truly believed. All Hosah really thought he wanted was to find someone who would take care of him like the helpless creature he was, but even he knew that wasn't completely the true to his deeper feelings. His own heart and mind were things even he would never be able to fully understand. That was Hosah's problem. He'd spent weeks, months, years stuck on a goal, and as soon as he'd meet it, he'd realise he actually wanted the opposite all along. Despite how much it hurt to admit, his stalker was spot on. Hot and cold. If anyone ever saw Hosah sticking to his word without any contradictions, that was not him, and they were to eradicate this imposter as soon as possible.

"You know it's true," Teddy teased, following behind the shifter as he rushed into their now shared bedroom to find a shirt to put on.

A defensive snap he hadn't felt the urge to indulge in came rushing out of his mouth, "Then why do you.. I don't know. If I'm so capable, why do you insist on doing everything for me. You're not my crutch. Clearly I don't need my hand being held."

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but the deep rooted anger and sadness Hosah held toward this topic got the best of him.

Teddy stood in an astonished silence as he leant in the door frame.

"Because I want to." The tall figure blocking out the hallway's light laughed slightly as he spoke, a laugh that said, 'Isn't it obvious?'.

"I want to take care of you. I want to make things easier if I can. Yeah, you're capable, but that doesn't mean it's not still nice for someone to go out of their way to help you. If I asked you to get me something from the fridge, you'd do it, right? You just... need to let me help you. I won't if you don't want me to, but you need to decide that for yourself." Teddy continued.

Right now, all Hosah wanted to do was to shrink down and sit in the giants hands. 'Yes, of course you can take care of me, you can clip my wings and tell me what to do, and I'd do it without question.' , he thought.

Hosah turned to face the towering figure, "I just.. I don't want you to see me differently, From now, to when I'm small." He explained, his voice much quieter, as if he had something in his throat as he spoke.

"I don't think of you differently." Teddy put it bluntly.

"That's easier said than done." The shifter shrugged as his eyes moved down to the floor as they usually did when he got apprehensive over something.

"Hosah." His tone had shifted, now much more stern, but not necessarily angry, "You're probably the one person in the world I have the most respect and admiration for. I'd be an idiot to think of you any less than I would.. I don't know, some highly intelligent Nobel prize winning scholar dude, doesn't matter if you're five foot or three inches."

"I'm five seven." Hosah corrected, stood with his arms folded and his head hanging low, clearly not having much to substance to carry his arguments anymore. That was the problem with logical people, they solved all your issues far too fast, not giving you the time of day to just be angry about it before finding a solution.

"Five seven, then. Like I said, doesn't matter. I.." Teddy lost his words, he sounded tired, maybe sad, enough to make the shifter feel guilty for the entire discussion.

"I love you, Hosah." Finally, after maybe three long seconds, Teddy spoke again.

What? Seriously? Hosah's brain moved at a hundred miles an hour, surely he couldn't have heard right, there was no way in the world. He tried to say something, but instead, all that came out were stuttering gasps. He could feel his face becoming hotter by the second as his eyes stayed locked onto the carpeted floor, unable to even consider lifting them to look at Teddy's, probably smug, face.

As expected, the figure by the door laughed at Hosah's pathetic attempt at responding,

"What, do your friends not tell you they love you usually?" Teddy smiled, moving in closer towards the shifter, placing a hand about the size of Hosah's entire head on his shoulder.

Of course, how could he be so stupid.

"No, it's just, I thought you meant it differently for a second. Ha-ha." The shifter tried his best to keep his cool, but his furrowed eyebrows and blushing cheeks gave him away.

The pale hand traced up Hosah's neck until it found its way to his face, cupping the burning cheek in its palm, the thumb caressing the smooth, tanned surface, which didn't fail to make it a much deeper red colour. The shifter stood silently, his mouth slightly agape, although still holding his breath with a sharp inhale of surprise at the touch.

"Well," Teddy spoke softly, smiling just enough for his crooked tooth to stick out from his top lip, "Maybe I do, in a way."

That was all he wanted to hear. The words Hosah had prayed would come out of his mouth from the moment he opened it. It all came together, after weeks of debating whether he even had a chance or not, he could finally answer all his questions. But, as a million cases in his head came to a close, around the same amount were opened right back up again, this time with more dead ends and false leads, leaving them to go cold with the lack of any kind of explanation.

"Don't mess with me like that." Hosah's head hung down, his hand barely able to wrap around the wrist of the man cupping his cheek.

Despite how hard his chest beat and how the butterflies fluttered in his stomach, he couldn't help but blink the tears out of his eyes as he feared it was all a big joke. An elaborate plan to make a fool out of himself, living the rest of his time with Teddy in utter shame and embarrassment as the awkwardness of their unreciprocated feelings hung heavily in the air, polluting the apartment until they'd both suffocate in the unresolved, unspoken and unmentioned tension.

"I'm not messing with you. I'm serious." And he really did sound serious.

There was no way, though. No way that someone like Teddy, someone so sweet and so gorgeous, could ever be attracted to Hosah. He wouldn't believe it no matter how many times he heard it. The shifter couldn't help but scoff, his grip tightening around the wrist.

"Hosah," Teddy's other hand grabbed hold of the other side of Hosah's face, lifting his chin with both of his thumbs until the brown eyes met his own, "It's true. Of course it's true. I thought I was being obvious with all the touchiness." He was laughing, but the shifter was still too discombobulated to see the humour in any of it.

"You're so confusing, I don't know what you think." Hosah gave his roommate a playful jab in the stomach, unable to say anything else about the news he'd just been told.

The feeling could only be described at euphoric. The shifter had felt like a monstrous pervert with what he'd been thinking of Teddy. His brain would start to sizzle and fry just at the thought of a time where his forearms were visible as he loomed over the shifter's shrunken form; to Teddy, it was probably nothing, but to him, it was absolutely everything and more. It was always these tiny details that had him the most worked up. Hosah didn't really care about if they were jacked or if they were insanely beautiful, although those were definitely bonuses, but he cared about nice hands, good, thick calves, broad shoulders, all the things that would come in handy.

"You don't get to talk about confusing, you've been giving me mixed signals since day one." Teddy pressed his forehead against the shifter's, the tips of their noses touching as they did, well, however long ago it was. The days had been blurring together lately.

It took much more energy than usual to stay regular sized. "That's just the way I am, I guess," Hosah smiled despite the rush of conflicting thoughts and feelings, as he grappled against his own body to keep the few inches he felt slowly draining from his body.

"You don't have to hold back, it's okay." It was getting quite obvious that the shifter was now standing on the tips of his toes, and Teddy always picked up on everything, even things Hosah would try his best to hide.

And in the blink of an eye, Hosah was back to his usual self. Although it wasn't exactly entirely normalised, the shifter felt the most comfortable when he was about this height. Three inches tall, a slight bit bigger than Teddy's thumb. It was perfect, he could slip and slink under the radar without anyone realising he was even there in the first place. Hosah had become used to being a shadow in the city, everyone is here because they dream big, being exceptional in your home town out in butt-fuck nowhere just didn't cut it here, and the shifter had come to accept that. He accepted it the moment he had to quit baseball because he just couldn't be a regular height for long enough, he accepted it when he'd finish a painting and still feel like he could do so much more, and most importantly, he'd accepted it when it had been told straight to his face.

There was no chance of him being a big shot out here, which is why it scared him so deeply when someone like Teddy saw him as he was, something special. Not just another face in the crowd, but an individual with good qualities and flaws, scars and all, he saw the shifter as someone worthy enough to fall in love with.

He didn't get it. Who was he in comparison to the giant that sat on his hands and knees over him. He was nothing, a weed growing from the cracks in the sidewalk, an inconvenient breeze that ruffled the hair of the passers by, truly forgettable and insignificant when compared to the likes of Teddy. It made sense why the police didn't bother with the almost a hundred letters, and why they didn't bother looking into his uncle's sudden dropping off of the face of the earth. People like him didn't even take up space in this world, making them all the more worthless. He needed to take a break from work, stop analysing every word his stalker wrote to him, as it seemed to really be getting to his head and psyche.

"I.. I don't know what to do now." Hosah admitted, finally looking up to see the giant face above him. This is what he wanted, but now that he had it, what else was there to look forward to?

"I mean.. We don't have to necessarily do anything." Teddy's voice was much more hushed, something he'd taken into account ever since hurting the shifter's much smaller ears.

Hosah didn't say anything, he didn't have the mental energy to think of anything useful to add. The pale hand which dwarfed him in comparison inched closer to the shifter's shrunken form. They were good hands. Almost paper white, although his knuckles and fingertips were still red from being out in the cold. Nice, large, gentle hands. It was all Hosah could really ask for. Teddy's fingers weren't like his own, they were straight, and cut off almost like perfect rectangles at the end, although they were anything but sharp and rough. His recollection of the digits seemed to be correct, as a bent finger brushed the same cheek the same hand once held in its palm. This was nice. No confrontation of their feelings, just silent touch.

"I didn't expect it to be like this." The shifter finally commented, leaning into the touch like it was the last time he'd ever receive it.

Although he wasn't looking at his face, he could tell Teddy had that stupid, goofy smile on his face that he always wore whenever he had a one-up on Hosah.

"What do you mean?" Teddy said in a quietened laugh. The shifter wondered what the pair looked like from a different angle, and how ridiculous the giant would be from a birds-eye sort of view, as he sat on all fours with his back bent almost inhumanly in order to get closer to Hosah in his new form.

"In the movies they.. I don't know, they confess their love and they kiss passionately and suddenly they've got it all figured out and it's smooth sailing from there. But I still have no idea. It's all the same, except, I guess some things have been... cleared up." The shifter rambled on with no control over what specifically he said, not that this was a problem when in Teddy's company.

"Maybe it's the kissing passionately part we're missing. That's the key," The giant joked, but with how he looked towering above the shifter, his hair cascaded forward, the overhead lamp looking almost like a halo from this angle, honestly made Hosah want to try it out.

The shifter gave a sigh of amusement, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

"Right," Teddy inhaled sharply, second guessing himself before continuing, "If you want to go.. Really super slow, we should do that. I don't want to bring all of this onto you when there's a lot going on. I don't know. It feels kind of sudden, I just.. Said it, I couldn't really hold it in for much longer."

"It's okay. I don't think I would've really lasted either. Things don't have to change, we don't really act like just friends anyway." Reminiscing on the month, or, however long it'd been as it felt like years, that they'd known each other, Hosah realised just how couple-y they'd acted all along. He didn't know any just friends that held hands on the street or that held each other in the night.

"Maybe not," Teddy sighed, his smile softy spread across his perfect pink cheeks, a satisfied and content expression that told Hosah all would be okay.

And for a moment, it really did feel like everything would be okay. There was no stalker in the window, there was no sudden phone call of a case reopening, there was nothing, in fact. The city was unusually quiet, as if everyone and everything had stopped in place just for the two of them to have this moment.

The giant really was beautiful, Hosah thought to himself as he sat, leant back with his neck craned up to face the figure that towered over his shrunken body. A kind of once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable type of beauty that one would dream about for years after seeing a glimpse of out of the corner of their eye, or in the reflection of a window, or when the train passes through a crowded station. The sort of face that would make you do a double take in the street, which people most certainly did.

It was all his little features that stuck out the most, especially at such an angle. His hair curled at the ends, clearly wanting to go into coils but either it wasn't long enough or it wasn't being taken care of properly to be able to do so. His cheeks were covered in small, dark freckles, as were his arms and his legs, and even his hands and fingers. Even Teddy's nose was perfectly sculpted, completely straight and symmetrical, unlike his thick, bushy eyebrows that Hosah itched to pluck at and clean up as he obsessively did his own. He wondered how far his freckles went down, if the giant had one on his stomach and chest like his own abnormally large and almost quite garish mole on his abdomen which completely dwarfed his belly button.

"You look deep in thought." Teddy commented, shifting from his knees to laying on his stomach on the carpeted floor. They could've just moved to the bed, as the sun had already long set; the creepy cat clock that hung menacingly on the crowded wall was just about to strike eleven.

The shifter stood to his full, minimal height, the hand making him look as small as ever in comparison. Each crevice of the palm fit perfectly into his own, as if they were two pieces of a much bigger jigsaw puzzle that needed to be put together to reveal the full picture. Hosah wasn't really one to believe in fate or a magical red string, but as his fragile body went limp against the flesh wall, each groove of his back being effortlessly supported by the- slightly calloused but still, blissfully soft palm, he thought for a brief second that this was just right. He didn't need the cabin by the lake, or his job at the detectives agency, he didn't even need anyone else in the world to keep him company, just Teddy and this moment would be enough for him.

Hosah thought about what the doctor had told him the previous day; a concept called the butterfly effect, that one seemingly small and insignificant choice or event can cause a long trail of consequences, completely altering the course of someone’s life forever. That theory seemed to check out, as from the clouded window, he could see the stars shone bright through the light polluted city sky for the first time in years.

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t ocs #gianttiny #giant/tiny #oc hosah #oc teddy #Puparia_tag #You may think Ok end of slow burn but You’re wrong #Just because they’re on the same page doesn’t mean NOTHING!#Ahhh the fear of commitment is a beautiful thang

9 notes · View notes

guardian-angle22 · 1 year

Photo

Paul Strickland in 911 Lone Star -> 2.11 Slow Burn

#911 lone star #paul strickland #I need more Paul in my life and so does everyone else #i could also have titled this as 'appreciation post for the hard work this black t-shirt is putting in'#orrr if we're going with the underrated theme: 'underrated paul strickland look'#cant wait until he's back on my screen #my gifs #episode: s02e11 slow burn

94 notes · View notes

kaesficrecarchive · 6 months

Text

[minho x jisung]

the hazy days by skzinger (18/18 | 133,455 | E)

Jisung's got the mother of all crushes on Chan, the hot third year who helps out with his composition class. Chan's weird (hot) dancer friend complicates things.

(author)

#minsung #minsung fic rec #minho x jisung #skz #multi chap #completed #t: summer break #t: strangers to friends to lovers #t: slow burn #wc: 100k-200k #c: kpop #rpf #rating: e #to read

12 notes · View notes

alihightowers · 9 months

Text

the true otp of hotd:

#the slowest of all slow burns #it could maybe even count as enemies to lovers #vizzy t was playing hard to get fr like damn #the stranger out here working overtime trying to take this man on an eternal date LOL #viserys i targaryen #anti viserys i targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon

23 notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 5 months

Note

Feel free to ignore this but I was hoping you could help me find a Miguel fic that I have lost!! (I have scrolling for like 15 minutes trying to find it)

I don’t really remember the name but it might Missing Pieces? Or that’s just a different fic name

I remember that the plot was that the reader is pregnant and Miguel is their neighbor. It’s slow burn and Miguel start to open a bit because he sees them at their job a few times and walks them home. Reader also starts to get close with Spider-Man, has no clue it’s their neighbor, and he offers them a job at the society.

I would really appreciate your help but if not I understand!!

I love all your fics and think you’re amazing!!

If you guys know about this fic, please drop the link! ❤️

Cause I wanna read too, 👀

#talking with t✨#fic rec #Finding Fics #Specially the slow burn #AAYY #miguel o'hara

22 notes · View notes

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 4 months

Text

Stuck in a damn bed.

What -- Daryl's bedbound and stuck that way recovering for longer than he wants. He's not a fan.

When -- after supper following the chapter That's it. In the show, it is in season 2 following the events of Chupacabra. Note that the Slowpoke Series is canon-compliant, but you'll notice a more realistic recovery time has been portrayed than was able to be shown the TV series.

Relationships -- slow burning Reader x Daryl, but Carol's season 2 crush is coming out.

TWs -- some language and unexpected familial abuse

Pronouns -- she/her

How long is it? -- there hasn't been a new chapter in over a month, y'all...

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

There's a part in the story with abuse by a family member (domestic violence). It's not reader being beaten in the way one might imagine abuse, but it's still abuse.

If you're being hurt by a loved one irl, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

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

Day 1 of being stuck in a damn bed

later

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

Carol brought him supper. Eggs and field greens with crackers and beans. She’d brought breakfast and lunch to him, too. Stayed this time, though.

She ate mostly in silence with him but told him about the day. When she was done eating, she went back to mending a torn shirt she’d brought with.

Sophia wasn’t brought back today.

The whole truckload of these asshats that he’s been sticking with for way too long and for who-knows-why — couldn’t find that woman’s little girl after an entire day of searching the grid he slashed in half? Goddamned bullshit.

Yet, when two of those 'asshats,' Y/N and Patricia, came in to bring him a nighttime dose of painkillers and do another exam, he couldn’t find the words to ask Y/N anything about it. He didn’t feel all pissed and upset anymore, either.

Couldn’t make eye contact much with her just yet, granted. Still felt all stupid nervous.

Ain’t nothing he could do about it for now, his soul got stripped bare with Y/N’s yesterday. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t think of Y/N as stupid. Or Carol, that lady wasn’t stupid.

Hell, maybe no one in his group was, maybe it was just that he was heartbroke about that poor lost girl and in way too much pain.

Y/N was honest and spoke plainly about the situation, which was a welcome relief from how others were getting closed-lipped about it. “Today was so damned disappointing,” she muttered. “Twelve of us took turns goin’ out in teams, man, scoured the grid you narrowed down. Then we went beyond it when we still didn’t find…” After a few moments, she sat up straighter, adjusting the sling on her injured side. “Tomorrow’s the day, then.”

Well, since they’re changing up the search area tomorrow, maybe it’s true. And, maybe Daryl will stop complaining about others and will stop being a pussy and be able to actually get up and walk tomorrow, help out by his damned self and bring back their the girl.

Except that when he implied as much, Patricia shot it down. “We can’t force you, but—”

“Sure as shit can’t,” he yipped back.

At hearing Y/N’s huff, he turned just in time to catch her licking her teeth in annoyance. Her eyebrows were raised and her stare was enough to make his heart pound, loudly.

“You won’t make it far without needin’ to be helped back, if you can get up and walk around normally in the first place,” Patricia cautioned. “Give yourself a few days.”

Yeah, so, Sophia didn’t have a few days. “I’m fine.”

“We just want you to heal,” Carol quietly spoke.

Before he could finish yipping another comeback, Patricia sighed, then surprised him by saying, “Alright. We’ll leave the room so you can get dressed. Clothes are over there.”

Y/N frowned. “Ma’am?”

The lady gently held up a hand in response.

It was a test, plain as day. Which is why before them three had even left the room, Daryl had grit his teeth and held the bedsheets across his shoulder to keep himself covered as he pushed through the pain in order to sit upright all the way.

Courtesy of Y/N, his button-down shirt was tossed to him before she scooted out of the room, and Daryl was wincing and biting back groans as he worked it on for at least three minutes. He thanked his lucky stars it was a button-down and not a t-shirt, or he wouldn’t have been able to put it on.

He should’ve just thrown in the towel right then and accepted defeat, but he had too much to prove.

And when if he admitted it was too much for him…even if he didn't look like a Q-tip, wearing a damn pair of pants while it happened was the bare minimum that could make it bearable.

But he really should’ve thrown that towel in. It took accidentally hissing out a cuss when he tried to be tough as he swung his leg off the bed for him to start thinking he was being a jackass. It took him swallowing a whimper, chewing on his lip all the while, when he stood and had to untangle the bedsheets from his foot for him to doubt he could even get the pants on.

But being stubborn as a jackass had its perks: he gripped the bed frame to help him walk and got to his clothes without knocking anything over. He also worked out that sitting to put the pants on was better because he had to bend less if he was seated.

By the time he’d gotten them plus his socks and shoes on, he was sweaty and had the shakes, he’d also needed to sit awhile before he got the balls to stand up again and hobble his way to the door.

But he made it. Choking down his pride and his groans of discomfort, he made it to the door and pulled it open.

Patricia was waiting on the chair around the corner in the living room, quietly talking with Y/N while pointing at something in a giant, red book.

“Maybe I do need that few days,” he surrendered. Didn’t come out as tough as he’d intended.

Tell you what, though, that twangy blonde woman was one heck of a lady. “Let’s get you some fresh air while you’re up, does that sound good?” she offered. “The porch is only a few steps away.”

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

You

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

“Oh, Glenn.” You flop against the RV’s table and end up staring at the ding in the cabinet opposite you. You just left the front porch after Patricia helped Daryl walk there to get a breather, only to find out not 30 seconds after entering the RV that Glenn spilled the news about Lori to Dale.

Instead of Glenn, Dale responds, “Kiddo, my lips are sealed,” but you’re busy trying to sort out how to keep Shane from finding out for a little while longer if already the news is getting out, and not from Lori or you.

You love Glenn to death, but oh my gosh, he is not good at secrets. You didn’t even know he’d known, you only just now drew the conclusion when you made the connection; that that was the thing on Lori’s drugstore list that Glenn was being all secretive about, the pregnancy test.

Right now, you need to stomp down the fears leaping around your dumb little brain because you cannot make this seem dramatic, or it will point to there being a problem with Lori being pregnant — which there isn’t, a new baby is such happy news you could scream, it’s just that there’s the possibility of — with your brother and — ugh, you need to go on a walk or kick something! And Dale and Glenn won’t/can’t know why you’re so upset or it will be even worse.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew, or I would’ve talked about it with you instead of Dale so I wouldn’t explode! Secrets aren’t cool, dude.”

“Seein' as you didn't mention the pregnancy tests, I'd say secrets have their place,” you test.

“Not really. They make things complicated and people get hurt.”

You sneer while letting out a huff, and Dale puts his two cents in.

“I’m inclined to agree with Glenn here.” He’s apologetic when he calmly next points out, “Secrets are an omission of the truth.”

Here you are, gleefully sitting on the secret that Maggie admitted to you that she really likes Glenn. Not-so-gleefully sitting on the secret that the baby may biologically be your brother's, too. Ain't like you're about to spill or you'll burst.

In your mind, you take the simmering tea kettle off the burner so it won’t start to sing. “There are good secrets and bad secrets. And most people wait a few to tell others about pregnancies, y’all,” you state, and then make an executive decision to share something truthful that’s maybe not your place to do so, but you need to save face for Lori’s sake, now. “Lori’s had a few losses, it’s not wrong to imagine the new one might won’t make it long.”

Dale and Glenn both react similarly: they open their mouth and raise their heads slightly, then bow them. Good.

Scratching his neck, Glenn apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“If she loses this one, too, those who know will grieve with her, then, simple as.” You’re satisfied and confident that you’ve saved face for Lori and your brother and Rick.

Except for how Dale peers at you. It reminds you of the gentle way one might look at a preschooler who is nervously trying to cover up the fact that they peed their pants.

One hand on your shoulder, he stops peering all knowingly and strokes his beard. “Irma miscarried, too. Our only one, none came after that,” he shares. Slowly, he sits at the spot by the RV’s right window. “We usually told people we stopped trying, which isn’t not the truth, I suppose. She and I simply stopped being, uh, ‘intentional’ about trying to conceive,” he explains.

“I’m sorry they died,” you tell Dale quietly. “Did you give ’em a name? My Ma lost one after Shane, she named them.”

“Believe it or not,” he says, hesitating before breaking into a smile and chuckling. “We were thinking about ‘Glenn’ for both a boy and girl name.”

Glenn’s cheeks turn purply-red like a beet. “Wait, seriously?”

Dale shrugs and nods.

“Y/N, no wonder I’m his favorite!”

After you play-pout, you notice, “Hold up: ‘Glenn’ and ‘Dale.’ Both are—”

“— Yes,” Dale finishes, turning pink while he laughs to himself and rubs his fingers over his wedding band. “The word ‘dale’ is from the Old English for ‘valley.’ And ‘glen’ is from the, ah, Scottish, the Scots Gaelic for ‘a valley formed by a river.’ My Irma liked the wordplay.”

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

Day 2 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

“You must be bored as hell in here, man. Concussion protocol stinks.”

T-Dog had just knocked and brought in the boombox that had been used a few times back at the quarry camp. He’d placed it next to Daryl on the bed, said he was here to help, then told him, “You saved my life with those meds, Daryl. And Carl’s.”

Daryl laid there like an awkward slug, he still felt off. Patricia was right, he really did get a good whack to the head. And...whole body.

He also didn’t expect a declaration like that. Not that it was a bad thing. He’d grown to have a lot of respect for T-Dog. Real decent guy. Maybe they were friends, too? He hoped so, he wanted that. And Daryl understood that him and his brother had been…he knew they was wrong, about how they’d been to T-Dog.

“No TV allowed.” T-Dog started to go on, narrating to himself, “Ain’t like that’s a problem right now. But also no reading, no busywork,” he said louder, “no getting up and moving much for the first couple days — I don’t envy you, brother. But listening to music, that they usually let you do so long as it’s quiet. You know what’s funny, though? There’s a separate, what do you call it, uh— ‘school of thought’ out there that says concussed people should be getting theyselves back to normal right from the get-go.”

The front door to the house opened again. Instead of footsteps going down the hall, there was another knock at Daryl’s door.

Before Y/N could finish her long-ass knocking pattern, Daryl called, “Just open it, s’fine.”

The knob turned and there she was, holding out a cassette tape with a plug hanging off it. “Found it. I’d forgot we’d moved it from Carol’s car. Jimmy borrowed it on the way to gun practice yesterday, left it in his dad’s truck.”

“You went without it all last night? I would’ve borrowed it, Y/N,” T-Dog razzed, “It’s been near a week since I listened to music, gonna turn into a Puritan at this rate.”

She giggled. “I fell asleep around 7:30 yesterday, man, I was out.”

“Yeah, Dale was worried that your brother pushed you too hard at that little fighting lesson y’all did.”

Making a little huh?, she pressed her lips together in what looked like a confused pout. “He was going easy. Oh — if he sounded like an asshole, that’s his way. Usually when you gotta defend yourself, there’s chaos and a lot of, um, of emotion. So, he riles you up, keeps pushin’ your buttons, so that you’ll learn to separate from the emotion and focus. Specifically, he’s tryin’ to help me not react,” she slumped as she said, “angrily. Anger makes you stupid.”

“Whatever you say, little sister. Just don’t go overdoin’ it, hear? You tend to overdo.”

With a teeny huff, she twisted her mouth and nodded.

“Speaking of, how long will you need to have your upper arm tied to your torso there?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “A few more days.”

“Alright, I’ll stop naggin’ you. How about: can I please get dibs on the mp3 the first night this guy can get out of bed? Pretty please?”

Mouth still twisted, it turned into a lopsided grin. “Deal.”

“Thank you much. Now,” he rubbed his hands together. “I do gotta ask, what music did the farm boy leave it on?”

“Hmm…” Y/N pressed the button on the side of the little music player to turn it on. Click, click, click. “Ah, Mumford & Sons. Do you know them? They’re that new band who makes bouncy banjo songs, got the raspy-voiced singer?”

“‘Bouncy banjo songs with a raspy-voiced singer,’” T-Dog chuckled. “I know them. Alright, man,” he said, turning to Daryl. “The batteries in the boombox should have plenty of juice left. You got the mp3 player to hook up to it, just use the tape deck converter. There’s a handful of CDs, too, and some cassettes.” He then made a little ha, and said, “Look like one of these is a book on tape that Dale got from the library. Shit, this was due like a month before the outbreaks, look at the date on here!”

“That’s a lotta late fees.”

“Let’s hope they waive ’em.”

This back and forth between the two of them was serving as Daryl’s minor entertainment for the afternoon. What serves as entertainment when you're stuck in a damn bed...

“D’you wonder if it’s as bad as The Case of the Missing Man?” Y/N droned.

“Oh, did you finish it, Y/N?”

“No. I tried two nights ago when I camped out in here. Couldn’t get passed chapter 4.”

“Surprised you ain’t reading it to this guy,” he told her. “Seein’ as you’re spending all that time in here, anyway.”

This was when Daryl got annoyed and uncomfortable again, there was something about the way T-Dog said it.

He didn’t think he felt (therefore looked) all nervous around Y/N anymore, that was all done, just a one-off. So why did it sound like T-Dog was teasing?

“Daryl’s suffered enough,” Y/N answered, and Daryl didn’t have time to catch her expression before she continued, “Miss Patricia’s certain he’s got a broken rib and maybe clavicle. So there’s the concussion, the ripped side by his rib, the collarbone, the stiff neck, then all the bruises, the abrasions, and that bullet graze — oh, sh — I just broke HIPAA!” she blurted out. “Ain’t never done that before, just blabbed about—that’s so—oh my g—th-that’s—Daryl, I’m so sorry!”

All Daryl could do was snort and ignore the sudden tug in the middle of his chest toward her direction. “Gonna sue your ass,” he deadpanned. Such a square.

“For real, though,” T-Dog spoke. “I still can’t believe you made your way back alive after all you went through, man. Yesterday, I joined Rick, we went to where you fell — Daryl, you should be dead. The way I see it, God’s got plans for you, brother. Just let Him do His thing.”

Awkward about what to say or how to react, Daryl responded with what was on his mind for most of the day. “Any signs out there today?”

Neither of them answered at first, meaning they didn’t find shit.

“I thought Rick talked to you already,” Y/N mumbled.

T-Dog answered better. “We’re searching a new area tomorrow, branching out.”

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

later

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

Having music was saving him from going completely nuts. The little music player thing seemed to have something for just about everybody on it, and the CDs were fine, too. He even popped in the book on tape.

Sent him right to sleep.

Dale and Carol came visiting with supper. Carol had eaten every meal with him for the past two days. It made him a little nervous, to be plain. The way she paid attention seemed less like pity or friendship and more like something more, which he didn’t want and didn’t have to offer.

But he liked how Carol was quiet and gentle, thoughtful, and had a dry sense of humor every so often (when she let it out around him, that is).

The grub was eggs and field greens again, but this time there was also rice. Granted, no meat again, but someone must have found onion grass, because it smelled real tasty. If he cared, he would’ve considered to maybe not wolf it down as fast as he did, given that Carol and Dale were in there.

Then came his friend’s signature knocking again.

He was relieved to have felt nothing at Y/N's arrival; no nervousness, no warm cheeks. Everything was back to normal.

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

Day 3 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

“After Andy told her there was still a chance, she stopped her and said she didn’t really need to hear it anymore,” Y/N told him quietly. Arms crossed and hood up, she was resting back on the chair in the corner of the room, legs propped against the end of the bed. “I wanted you to hear it from me so if Carol said anything, it wouldn’t be knockin’ you out of left field.”

Y/N’d gone with her brother, Andrea, and Carol to check the spot on the highway where they’d set up a mini shelter for Sophia however many days ago all that shit went down. A few of the group had gone back every day, twice a day.

And now Carol was losing hope or just plain lost it.

For real, how was it that her kid was still goddamned missing?

He and Y/N found a sign at that house, then another at the other house, then he’d found her doll—how far would Sophia have fucking gone?

Her body ain’t been found yet, neither, which meant she had to be out there somewhere.

“Even Shane tried to be optimistic for her. After hearin’ her say to Andrea how she didn’t want to hear it no more, he tried to insist Sophia might could be fine, but she held out her hand so he’d stop.”

“Shane? Really?”

Shane wrote that little girl off as a goner, last Daryl knew. What changed?

Y/N gave a small, tired, very forced smile. “We had a good talk a few days ago. He knows he hasn’t been himself and he wants to do better.”

That’s good. The way her brother’s been acting has been driving screws through her, he knew that much.

“Still, your nine days to Sophia’s…” she trailed off, and when she did, he saw it in her face. Heard it in her voice when she finished her thought. “This is either her day 7 or 8 out there, I-I can’t think right now.”

Yup. She was also losing hope or plain lost it.

The feeling of helplessness jumpstarted and rammed him in the belly.

He swore. “C’mon, Y/N. You, too?”

“Dude,” she hesitated, “understanding the possibility she’s dead ain’t wrong.”

Shut up.

“It’s, it’s a high statistical likelihood,” was her next bullshit excuse. “From day one it’s been on the tabl—”

“—No wonder she ain’t been found yet,” he snarled, interrupting her. “None of y’all shitheads actually think that little girl’s out there!”

The pain from his broken rib seared like a hot poker when he raised his voice, but as he said it, he believed every word of it and liked how it struck home.

But only as he said it.

Because one look in his friend’s eyes afterward, wet and turning red, and he felt the invisible knee to the nards and stomach and knew he’d just been a massive asshole.

Y/N giving him the middle finger was what Patricia saw after she’d knocked on the door and come in.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asked the pair of them.

Y/N wiped an eye and told her honestly, “An argument about Sophia,” before laying this out to Daryl: “Not one of us doubts she’s out there.”

Regretful as he was for being an asshole, he still pushed back, “Yeah, all y’all just think she’s dead anyway, so why bother.”

“You mangy h—” she swallowed. Licked her teeth. “Stayin’ hopeful is one thing,” she started, pointing her finger at him while clear-as-day working to not raise her voice. “But can you honestly say to us that you wasn’t also prepared to find our girl dead every time you was out there?”

Patricia held up a hand and cleared her throat. “I’m here to check your bandages, Daryl. Y/N.”

Y/N apologized to Patricia and exited the room quietly.

Patricia did her thing.

And Daryl, stuck in a damn bed, same as he’d been for three days now, lay there feeling helpless, worthless, unwanted, and now like a massive asshole, and he was goddamned angry about it.

He really wanted to kick something, chug a beer, or cry. And have a smoke. Carol’d brought him his pack, he’d managed to get a good one in through the open window earlier.

“These should be able to come off in a few days,” Patricia murmured, re-wrapping his head. “And the graze is healing nicely. We still need to be cautious about your concussion and that side-wound of yours, hence you bein’ stuck in here for awhile yet.” The lady shifted her weight to her other leg and set her hand on her side. “How do the collarbone and ribs feel?”

“Fine.”

Arching one eyebrow at him, she took one arm and did some gentle movements, then the same with the other arm.

“Those areas are already better than they were the first day, so there’s something. And the rib fracture, unless it’s just a real nasty bruise, is likely hairline, which is light years better than the alternative. Remember to breathe deep through your belly to get full breaths in, don’t expand your lungs wide, do it through your belly. And keep up the good work avoidin’ laying on your left side like you have been. Once you’re up and out, you’ll have to keep things slow so they’ll heal good.”

“How slow?”

She exhaled through her nose and spoke his name. “I need to tell you, it’s by the skin of my teeth that I’ve been convincing Hersh that you and the little boy still need carin’ for. Please work with me on this. Agree to take it slow.”

Nope. He couldn’t just do nothing, Sophia was missing! Why did everybody keep forgetting that part? “He can kick me out all he wants, I don’t give a shit — that little girl ain’t gonna get found in one piece if I keep things slow.”

“There are 9 or 10 people searching for her on the regular, Daryl. You’re gonna heal badly, permanently, if you don’t go slow,” she warned. “You and your friend both need to learn to do what your bodies need.” She paused. Smirked for half a second before tucking it away. “That came out wrong. What I meant is that y’all need rest, and not aggravate what’s gone wrong and make it worse.”

Before leaving the room, she turned back toward him. “It’s that Hershel still wants y’all not just out, off his land. Clean off.” She held up a hand as if she didn’t know what to do next. “I don’t think that’s right, and I don’t want it. And I can see how many of your group want to stay, are helpin’ out. Y’all are good people. So please, mind your manners and that mouth around Hershel, Daryl. It’s you and Y/N’s brother that are causin’ him the most concern, and ultimately, it’s gonna be Hershel’s decision.”

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

later

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

Carol brought him supper, again. The meal was quiet, until small footsteps and a knock along with “Mr. Dixon?” sounded outside the door.

It was Carl, asking if he could eat dinner with him. “And I brought you one of my comic books. I figured I could show you the pictures and read to you the words. They’re saying you can’t read right now. That stinks. I get to read and walk around a little, at least, I just can’t move a lot.”

Daryl waved him and his folks in, felt a brief moment of pride that the antibiotics he’d supplied had saved the kid’s and T-Dog’s life, then he asked Carl when he’d be able to run around.

“Mr. Greene is hoping I can do stuff like normal soon. I still get really tired when I move. But I wanna be strong if Sophia needs me, so I’m doing what he says is best.”

Did Y/N or Patricia put him up to this?

“Do you still think she could be okay? I know that a lot of our people are losing hope, but I still think she could be okay. Dad does, too, and Mom, and Y/N.”

Daryl thought to himself how he’d go through everything he had gone through for Sophia again for that kid, gladly. “‘Course I think she’s okay. Prolly sleeping in a queen-sized bed wherever she’s stayin’.

Rick chatted to him in between bites of scrambled egg. “Based on how the search goes tomorrow, we’ll be altering the grid again.” He asked Daryl his opinion on where would be smartest to focus the search efforts in the new area. (It was upstream, obviously. And Daryl wasn’t used to his ideas being taken seriously, it was a nice change.)

He kept glancing at Carol as the conversation went on. She’d gotten all wet-eyed when Carl first spoke up about wanting to be strong for Sophia. Stayed quiet when Rick talked.

But by the end, she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

He watched from the side as she thumbed her cross necklace, kissed it—then caught him watching and gave him a tiny smile.

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

later

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

He’d hobbled to the window to have another smoke. Getting in and out of bed still hurt, ain’t that bull?

It was just about dark, there was only a blurry strip of orange left at the very bottom of the horizon.

Daryl looked out at the land. Saw the campfire, saw Andrea on top of the RV.

T-Dog noticed him from his spot by a cluster of trees where he was having a smoke, too, and he waved once to Daryl before turning around to resume his own cigarette break in privacy.

Midway through a particularly deep drag (a tricky thing to do when inhaling deeply hurts because you got a cracked rib), there was some giggling outside his door in the hall to the front.

The dread that he was gonna get caught and kicked out for smoking sent a jolt into his veins. Not sure why he cared so much all the sudden.

He’d already put out his cigarette against the outside of the windowsill when the familiar sound of her laughter registered in his ears, so his muscles stopped feeling so tense.

Leaning on the sill, he then watched her and Glenn just about torpedo down the porch stairs and toward a field as if they were rac—no, wait, they actually were racing. He definitely didn’t snort to himself about it then wince because snorting hurt. The short-haired chick, Baby Spice, and the farm boy spilled onto the porch to watch—nope, scratch that, they were joining in.

Where were they even g…okay, to some old tree stump.

Y/N’d mentioned how Daryl was only 6 or 7 years older than them, but sometimes it felt like a hell of a lot more. Her and Glenn together, especially, together they acted like they was 12-year-olds.

After Daryl saw what was maybe a tie take place, he felt creepy just, ahem, staring at them from the window. So, he shut the screen back down and gimped his sore-ass self to the bed again.

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

Day 4 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

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

“Lore? How about you sit a minute?” She looks like she’s either going to pass our or throw up, so you don’t know whether to guide her to a seat or hold her hair back.

“It’s the, um—” she grabs a lock of her hair and folds it over her nose, breathing in slowly while walking in the opposite direction of the campfire. “What is that meat?”

“Rabbit.”

Through her nausea, she’s still encouraging enough to offer a genuine “Well done!” even as she tries to tamp down her gag reflex.

Yeah, Shane and you set up snares yesterday, and today one worked.

You point to the pine grove. “I finally set up my hammock over there. Let’s — it’s just, you look like you need to lay down.”

“I will, I just have to talk to Daryl first, he’s been, um—” she pauses again to exhale slowly. Her color is nonexistent right now. “He’s been smoking outside his window, and, and I’m worried that if Hershel sees—” She suddenly bursts into tears, and that makes her gag more.

The biggest problem right now is that Mr. Greene still wants your group off his land once Carl and Daryl aren’t bedbound.

That Daryl went through his awful accident is a blessing in disguise; it’s buying you all time.

Maggie is openly upset with her dad about it. Miss Patricia and her boy don’t agree, either.

You’re mad at the man, too, like — you get that your group is threatening simply by the fact that there are more of you and you’re armed — but what about your conduct here has been threatening? Minus the mishap with Andrea almost killing Daryl and how Shane has been a little dominant, you’re all helping out, keeping the campsite clean, staying quiet, respecting the property.

Like, yes, y’all killed a walker that had sprouted legit gills because he it was trapped in one of their wells, but the guy was dead. Quite literally a corpse, not even a "he" anymore; it, the corpse, was usurped by a virus. His soul had moved on.

Mr. Greene is a faithful dude, he’s supposed to be a man of God, so why would he kick…never mind, he’s scared for his family, you get it, you get it.

People have done atrocious things to each other since it all went down, no one can deny that.

Well, there’s still hope. He can and will change his mind. Carl, Lori, and new baby need a safe place.

Happily, the awkwardness of trying to sit side-by-side in the hammock makes both you and Lori crack up. You stop awfulizing in your head, and she seems calmer, too.

“What was it you were going to talk to Daryl about again?” you ask.

“He’s been smoking out of his window. I picked up the butts when I saw them. We can’t give Hershel any more reasons to not want us here. He’ll see it as disrespecting his home, his land…” Her voice goes up, and she’s back to crying. So far, you and Glenn (and Dale, just don’t tell Lori that Glenn told him!) are the only ones who know about the new one she’s got in there.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this — I can’t, I can’t…”

“You already are, mama,” you whisper softly. “Lore, I’ll do whatever it is you and baby need, Ricky will, too. Come hell or high water, Lori, we will do what it takes.”

“If it even lasts that long.” She wipes her eyes and turns her head away “How long will it last, you think? Truly? And if I don’t lose this one, too, how long until one of those things catches them, rips them apart?”

“You can’t think that way.”

“We have to think that way! My son was shot, he nearly died and he, he, he can’t even walk around for more than 10 minutes without getting exhausted. And Sophia?”

You close your eyes. You know; Carol’s been sharing your tent.

“—What are the chances Sophia is alive? Truly?” she challenges. You stay quiet.

Sophia is, most likely, not alive anymore. You’ll search until she’s found for as long as it takes, but it will likely be her body that is found.

“Carol understands it, too, honey, she told me yesterday, said it again today, and I cannot imagine she hasn’t told you, too, as she cries herself to sleep. And, and even if that sweet, innocent girl is still alive, what are the chances she wasn’t kidnapped and God knows what else?"

She's out of breath. "Our families, friends — they died or were killed, and are now dead. Almost everyone we knew, Y/N. So how can you honestly tell me she,” and Lori points to her stomach, “will have a happy life? That my baby will have any semblance of a normal, safe life! Or that, that, that she’ll even survive long enough to make it out of diapers when the only way she will be able to tell someone that something is wrong is by crying, and putting herself and everyone else at risk!”

When she finally stops, she lowers her head to her knees and pulls at her hair, sobbing.

There are ideas and viewpoints floating around your head as something to respond with or comfort with, but nothing is coming together enough yet. Having been raised with fosters, you know without doubt life is never predictable and safe, even with the best-laid plans. Most importantly, you learned that no one’s life, absolutely no one’s life, is ever worthless or meaningless.

But the major thing that keeps repeating in your head is how Lori very clearly just called the new one “she.”

Before you can put that to words, Lori stumbles out of the hammock, stumbles and few yards forward, kneels, and gets sick.

Wiping your own tears, you kneel beside her, hold her hair back, and lightly massage her neck.

She first apologizes, then quickly spirals into putting herself down and panicking about how-awful-she-is-but-she-can’t-but-she-can’t, so you figure it’s a good time to interrupt.

“So. You thinkin’ you’ve got a girl in there?”

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

Him

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

“Did he read you the one where Science Dog becomes real?”

Because Carl did happen to read him that comic book, Daryl knew what that sentence meant. “Yeah.”

“That’s a fun episode! Oh, um, ‘issue,’ whatever the word is,” Y/N self-corrected. “Ain’t it just so— ‘miracle’ barely describes how well Carl is doin’.” She shifted in her spot and used her good arm to massage her bad side. “Hey, did Ricky mentioned how Carol was today?”

He shook his head. Y/N grinned.

“She was out first thing, came back last. She was vocal, outspoken about the search and where to go. Probably why she was about to fall out when she got back.” A nod. “It was really good, she didn’t seem so broken today.”

Daryl grunted. “Good. Should be.” He shifted on the mattress and tried to get comfortable again. Ouch.

“Hey, was you—um, were you��smokin’ out your window last night?” She asked the second part under her breath as if it were a big secret.

“Maybe.” Is my square gonna preach about smoking?

She nodded slowly and went to take another bite of food, but paused and lowered her fork. “Lori asked me to ask you. She, um, would’ve come herself, but she’s a mite sick. When you have a smoke, please tuck the butt in a tissue? Lori cleaned ’em up earlier when she saw them outside your window.”

“Why? Is Hershel one of them super-Baptists?”

“Daryl,” she murmured. “Please. We all gotta be on our best behavior so we don’t get kicked out as soon as you and Carl are better. He already wants us gone, you two being injured has been our savin’ grace. If, if Mr. Greene’s sees smoke butts, it might will be seen as another strike. Even as someone who smokes, do you like seein’ butts on the ground?”

He chewed. Swallowed. Grunted, “I’ll put ’em in a tissue.” After piling in another forkful, he hummed in appreciation and asked, “Who bagged the rabbit?” Been about a week since any meat.

“A snare got one. We cracked open one of them Foxfire books and set some up.” Y/N was sad about the rabbit, Daryl could tell. “Shane remembered most of the steps from Boy Scouts,” she detailed.

“He clean it, too?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t cook tonight, too, did he?”

Carol usually made meals, but she’d hit the sack early. He’d last seen her at lunchtime (and Carol probably would have known how to cook rabbit meat a little better)

Y/N answered him with her mouth full. “He actually did, Shane and me.”

“No wonder it’s nasty.”

She made a psht in response, and then right as Daryl was taking a particularly big bite, chirped, “Then starve.”

He snarfed.

It hurt, but he hadn’t burst into a laugh like that in a while.

And in truth, he was really enjoying the food.

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

later

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

Another dream that he didn’t want hit him from out of nowhere, the same way Andrea’s bullet had.

Except, he didn’t feel disappointed when he woke up, he felt freaked out.

In the dream this time, Carol was kneeling on his bed, crying and reading the comic book. He didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t move. Then Carol kissed his cheek and asked him “Is this the one where Sophia becomes real again?”

When he woke up, he clawed his way to the window to have another smoke.

It took a lot in him to not holler out with a loud-ass cuss when he stubbed his toes on the dresser. It accidentally hurt his broken ribs and collarbone while trying to not fall over as a result. Lots of hushed cusses.

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

Day...um…shit, right: Day 5 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

Day 5 for him. Meaning it was either day 9 or 10 for Sophia.

Day 9 was the day he’d been hoping to not get to. And if it was actually day 10 for her…

It didn't matter the date, what he’d said about Sophia was still true. She was a smart kid, there are just a hell of a lot of hiding places where she could be holed up in. Farmhouses with open doors or windows, barns, empty businesses and buildings, even cars. As for food and water, wasn’t like there weren’t a creek, orchards and overrun gardens for miles around.

Here he was, still stuck in a damned bed while the twangy blonde lady waved that stupid, skinny flashlight in his eyes for the twentieth damned time!

Patricia clicked her tongue. “I get that cabin fever can make anybody get short, but irritability is one of them things that can pop up or get worse after a concussion, Daryl, so I ain’t too sure whether or not this is a change for you.”

I’d be fine if Sophia was back! Everything would be, bitch! “I’d be better if I wasn’t stuck in here.”

She took a moment. “Let’s check your balance again, then.”

He exhaled through his teeth and was enraged to find himself suddenly about to cry.

“If you can walk without tilting, we’ll both know you’re good to go,” the lady continued. “My friend, I ain’t trying to humble you, I want to see if you’ve improved enough.”

So, Daryl held the blanket over himself as he got himself out of bed and slowly stepped down the hallway. He tried to walk normal, got a little dizzy doing it. Not too much, but…

He didn’t quite hold back the tears of frustration.

Patricia must’ve felt sorry for him again, because she walked him back to the room, had him put on long pants and a shirt, then escorted him out to the porch barefoot.

“We should ought’ve brought you out here more regularly these past few days. Fresh air and sunlight can do wonders. Sit here awhile, then we’ll try a around the house.”

Her using a ‘should ought’ve’ made him think of Y/N.

Within a minute, Dale in his little On Golden Pond fisherman hat and T-Dog with a towel over his forehead saw him from their perch on top of the RV, and raised hands to wave at Daryl.

From the far left, he heard Y/N’s laughter along with Glenn’s and what was probably Baby Spice and the short-haired chick Maggie and the farm boy Jimmy’s. He stood up and — damn it, still wobbly and sore — made his way to the side of the porch to see what they were doing.

They were kicking a ball around, squealing like schoolkids.

Carl was sitting on the same tree stump that the gaggle of them had raced to last night, cheering and razzing off and on.

Seeing just, like…innocent shit like this was nice.

But, standing up made Daryl tired, and he (again) felt creepy watching them, so he shuffled back to the little bench right as Patricia was coming back outside carrying two glasses of sweet tea.

“Your two friends and Maggie got back from their search, sad as you can get. Jimmy and Beth did their own check around the pastures and the perimeter again, too. Have every day since you took those falls.” She took a sip of her drink. “Seems this kickball or soccer match, whatever they’re doing, this was their way of cheerin’ themselves up. Looks like it’s working. So long as none of y’all get hurt again, I’m happy.”

When Patricia eventually suggested it was time to try a walk around the house, Daryl did his best.

His best was shit, he was still unstable on his feet and couldn't use his arms much or breathe too deeply without it smarting.

Patricia was upbeat about it. “You have maybe a day or two left with your bandages, anyhow, Daryl. Let’s get you back to a chair, you look like you’re fixing to topple over.”

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

later

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

A loud knock and a face he hadn’t seen since the first day he was laid out in there woke him from yet another nap. So many naps! He kept needing more sleep.

“Heard you was still in the hole another day or two. Figured you could use more music to keep you from goin’ too stir crazy.” Shane handed him a cassette with a homemade label.

“This one’s from back in the day when we needed to make our own tapes so we could listen to the good stuff. I know my sister’s mp3 got a ton on it, but this one’s special. No need to skip around or charge it or plug nothin’ in.” Shane offered a flick of his hand in goodbye. “Alright, man, take it easy. Rest up.”

“Wait, how was Carol today?” Daryl called to him before he left the room.

Shane turned. He still had a slight limp from when he hurt his ankle. “Hangin’ in there. Went a little hard today and yesterday, but she seems to be in a real good place, believe it or not. Ain’t lost all hope, but she’s accepting what happened, if you get me.”

Daryl was pretty sure he got him. “Accepting her kid is gone?”

Shane’s stare was hard and felt to Daryl like a challenge. “Yeah, man, accepting that her kid is gone. We’re still goin’ out every day in the hopes we’re wrong, don’t misjudge me. And I want to be wrong, Daryl, I really do.” He licked his teeth and brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “It ain’t rocket science. That little girl is, in all likelihood, dead. Has been for days, you get that, right?”

Daryl was good at glaring contests. “I get it.”

“Look. I’m not out to be the asshole. I just don’t want none of us gettin’ ourselves killed over this. You and my sister could’ve got bit doin’ what you did at that house one week back, and in the process, she ripped her side back open and injured her shoulder worse than it ever was. And you?” He shook his head. “You almost died, Daryl.”

“It was worth it, jackass,” is not what Daryl intended to say, but that’s what he said. Daryl wasn’t planning on saying anything, in fact, because he knew he’d likely blow his cool and risk Dr. Farmer hearing it, and apparently the old guy was ready to chuck them off his land ASAP.

Y/N’s brother bowed his head and rubbed his neck. Didn’t say nothing for a solid…he didn’t know, minute, maybe? Felt awkward as hell, tell you what.

“Listen, dude, I know we ain’t buddies and all that,” Shane told him. “To be real, I didn’t trust you at all, especially when Y/N started going off and learnin’ to hunt with you. I thought you were some white trash tweaker who’d try to feel her up or worse, so I tailed y’all, spied on y’all the first three times you took her out, ready with my shotgun.”

…What the hell was this?

“But I’ve grown to respect you, and what you just said right there told me all I need to know. You’re a decent guy, Daryl.” Another rub of his newly buzzed hair. “Tell you what, I’ll come by tomorrow after the search, tell you what we find and where we looked.”

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

Day 6 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

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

“Dude, you told him how you spied on us?”

“I was moved, Y/N, you should be proud of me,” Shane drawled, winking. “Said I’d tell him about the daily searches, so, today I did. Hey, and his balance was better today, might should be good to go the day after tomorrow. Oh,” he adds. “I lent him my mix tape as a peace offering, too.”

“Aw, romantic.”

He groans, and you twist a corner of your mouth in a tiny grin. “I’m just shocked he didn’t grunt back to you all intimidating with somethin’ like ‘I knew you was there, you was louder than a’…eh, I got nothing.”

Shane keeps the bit going, and does it pretty good, if you say so yourself! “‘Yeah, I knew you was there. Couldna been more damn obvious.’”

His copying of Daryl’s voice and mannerisms is so spot on that you crack up and clap your hands in delight.

Shane looks pleased. “That was a pretty good impression, just then, wasn’t it?”

“Alls you needed was to make it a ’lil more throaty, like a, like a, a grumpy tomcat,” you laugh.

He smiles, opening his mouth to make a funny comeback, then laughing instead. “I’ll have to practice.”

“Speakin’ of practice, can we call it?”

“Yeah, we can call it. Good work.”

Coo, practice is over. You’ve been having self-defense lessons every day the past few days, sometimes twice. Shane’s been wanted to restart teaching you ever since the incident with Ed Peletier seven-ish weeks ago. You could’ve called the sessions quits whenever, obviously, but it feels more satisfying when one’s instructor is satisfied and ends the lesson, right?

Also, Shane kinda needs that control over something — which sounds iffy, you know, you know.

But he’s been so much more like himself since the lessons started! And him instructing you in fighting is doing him good not only because it’s stroking his ego a little and shutting him up about his terrible Fort Benning idea. The lessons are helping offer him a sense of control and assuredness that he’s keeping his sister safe by helping her defend herself. That’s always been a thing for him. Call it a side-effect of having a beater in the house for the first several years of his life, maybe.

It’s a very fruitful side-effect, all things considered — today, stitches and achy shoulder combined, you bested him!

The only catch is that it…kinda involved his balls.

You still feel bad about it. It wasn’t you using practice-strength to simply get the upper hand and then stop, like practice is supposed to be. It was adrenaline/angry-at-and-his-egging-you-on strength. You fought dirty.

“Sorry again about whackin’ you below-the-belt.”

“No way, Y/N, don’t be,” he brushes off. “Don’t feel bad for doin’ what you’re supposed to do. Especially if it’s a man you need to fight off, which is why we’re doing this — you need to fight dirty. So,” he clears his throat, “if you can go for the giblets, go for ’em.” (Grandma Jean referred to genitals as ‘giblets.’) “That’s how you got the drop on me — and that’s what I wanted! You did good, got that?”

“Just — check tomorrow and, and the day after in case you got bruised testes, okay?”

“Don’t call them ‘testes’… weirdo…” he trails off and makes a face. Then, he stands and helps you up. “My boys are fine, I’m sure. Ankle’s hanging in there, too. How are you holdin’ up? Didn’t overdo it, right?”

“Nope, I feel good! And I’m so happy about tomorrow.”

His smile is polite, but not quite reaching his eyes. “Ready to attend Sunday dinner in the house tomorrow night?”

You press your hands together and make a little skip as you walk. “Do you think it means Mr. Greene’s comin’ around, too?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Wet blanket, much? “Grumpy we didn’t risk our necks to visit the jarheads at Fort Benning?”

“Y/N.”

“That was mean, sorry.” Your choice of phrasing was rude, that is, not the sentiment. Shane hadn’t mentioned the military base in a few days, so you’d hoped he’d dropped it. Places with the military, feds, even FEMA, those places had turned out badly, especially if you were a civilian. And you along with your Mama were wary of places like even before what happened to Atlanta.

Miles and miles away from the city as you were when it happened had given you a front-row seat to when it happened, when it got firebombed. It was like watching the Twin Towers collapse over again, expect this time it wasn’t on a TV screen, and the sounds of it happening in real time had been loud enough to reach you. The pops, the rumbling. Then there’s the memory of Carl’s face when he saw it all clear as day before you finally reacted, covered his ears and blocked his view.

This place, this farm, this is the safest place right now. It has good people, shelter, protection, space, food. Probably would be the safest place around for a long time if your brother group didn’t mess things up. Carl needs it, Lori and the new baby need this place.

And with the fact that your brother had been planning to leave the group, you’re worried sick that he’ll change his mind, split and leave you behind, or worse, get you all thrown off the land. If Shane didn’t take the property by force OH my gosh, why the fuck did you just think that, bitch? How could you think that about him? Stupid, stupid idiot girl!

Looking at your brother, you see him staring across the lawn to where Otis’ memorial lays. His thousand-yard stare is back. Poor Shaney. You look away so as to not be, you know, staring at him, but when he breathes out heavily after a few long moments, you turn to look.

His nose twitches before he blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little, rubs his buzz cut, and puts his hands on his belt.

“I know you don’t like the idea, but Fort Benning the smart decision,” your brother declares, doing that thing where he looks in too many directions. “The military is equipped, at least, and they’re trained how to handle things. It’s smart to seek that out.”

Whether it’s because you’re amped after being victorious at practice or because you’re freaked out after thinking something so cruel about your own brother (that he’d take over this place by force??), as you make your statement in response, you imagine it as you pulling the pin from a grenade and chucking it.

“Is that why the powers at be did what they did to Atlanta? Because they were so trained?” The pause you make, as you watch the words connect in Shane’s mind, is the time delay before the grenade’s fuse ignites and explodes. “Or maybe killing civilians or even their own was always a possibility in their eyes. The ends, of course, justifyin’ the means.”

He licks his teeth before running a hand over his mouth. “You’re really goin’ there, Y/N? Do not go there.”

But this has been festering too long. He needs to hear it and understand it. You love him. And he’s gonna have a whole lot else to deal with once Lori’s news gets out — it’s going to be messy. So this Fort Benning stuff has to go.

“But Shane, that would’ve been us with not just Mama, but Carl, Lori, and maybe even a comatose Rick if, if what happened—” your voice rises at the memory. “If what w-went on hadn’t happened, made us wait.”

If your mother hadn’t been killed, you two wouldn’t have found her dead and walking, which had revealed that she must have caught the illness before she died. And if you two didn’t find her dead and walking, you and Shane wouldn’t have quarantined, instead would’ve gotten Rick out of the hospital a day earlier and gone together with your mother and the Grimes to the city. Which means that she would’ve started showing symptoms on the road, and that the rest of you would’ve not only possibly caught it but would have possibly spread it.

Shane knows all of this, he knows it, which is why you only voiced a small part of it.

But instead of Shane standing before you with his hands on his hips…you begin to see the man you don’t recognize again. The one that’s been showing up more and more, the one that’s scary and coldly pragmatic. The one that seems like he’s about to lose control, he’s back. He’s standing where your brother was, and he’s very, very angry.

“Y/N, now, you listen good.” The man’s finger points straight at you and he gets too close to your face. When you step backward, he’s right on you. “We would’ve still been stuck outside the city limits, the wait to get in was over a day long.” With his finger, he jabs at your sternum, hard, and does it again with every hissed question.

“You remember that part?” — “The reason we were stuck in that line of cars that went on for miles?” — “Remember that?” —

You can’t think. You can’t move. The best you can manage is a stuttered “Sh-Shane—” because inside your head is nothing but white noise.

A strong, rough, sustained pinch on your collarbone and his yell of “—I asked: do you understand?” is the only reason you remember to nod as you stare at the ground and steady yourself from tripping backward.

“What happened in Atlanta was a shit show, an absolute shit show and what happened there was a disgrace, hard stop.” He spits, “but you know what? It don’t mean it was like that everywhere else—is that fair for me to reckon, uppity bitch?”

The insult doesn’t have time to sink in because he starts gesturing at his head, then yours, then his again, banging his hand against his head, then clapping his hand against your temple, hard, and now you can' think, he's too close, he’s too close, why is he so close, why does he keep hurting m— “Does that make sense, Y/N? Does that make sense to you?”

It’s not until he tugs you by your shirt and slowly shouts in your ear, “Y/N, I asked you a question: Does that make sense?” that you remember to nod again.

Your throat seizes up, so you swallow and hold your breath.

“Don’t bring up what happened with our mother again,” he orders, letting you go with a slight shove. “She was sick, we didn’t catch it, and we’d have been stuck outside that city either way.”

The man then leaves. You just stand there.

There’s no feeling of relief that he’s left you alone. Your hands are tingly, but you’re otherwise uncertain how you feel other than stupid and sick to your stomach. No, really, you might lose your supper.

You begin to walk in whatever direction, step by step, wiping the tears as they fall and trying to ignore the loud refrain in your head of stupid, stupid girl that interplays with all the noise of what did you do and why didn’t you and why did he and why would he and how could he as well a louder WHO WAS THAT?

Because it sure as hell wasn’t Shane. It can’t have been Shane, Shane’s not that.

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

Him

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

The short-haired chick came into his room looking all rattled and asking if Y/N was in there. Woke him up from a nap (so many damn naps), too, what the hell?

He quietly croaked back,“Does it look like she’s in here?” and closed his eyes to try and get back to sleeping.

“I figured she…”

Whatever it was Maggie figured, she didn’t say nothing more, she mumbled “sorry,” and closed the door again.

Was…was everything okay?

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

You

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

Footsteps and light panting sound behind you, bringing you back down to earth.

Before dread can kick in at full blast, you recognize who’s behind you even before you hear his voice calling your name, and it is a relief to know he’s there. He’ll know how to fix this. He’ll know what to do.

But what if he saw? What if he’s not the only one?

A water cooler of shame gets dumped over your head like you’ve just failed big at something. Your throat tightens again.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl.

Not turning your head much because your eyes are probably red, you at least control the shake in your voice. “H-Hi, Mr. Horvath, what’s up?”

“Kiddo. What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Might as well stall when you don’t know how to say it. Maybe Dale only saw Shane looking huffy, maybe he didn’t see or hear any of what just happened and maybe, just maybe, you’re being overly dramatic about what happened. He's your brother, siblings sometimes smack each other around a little, it's not like he punched you. See, that would've been bad...

And it’s just as well you don’t know what to say back, because after hearing a door clack open then shut, you peek to see not only Dale standing before you, but Margaret, jogging from the back of the house in your direction?

She calls your name — and is holding the book you’d lent to Jimmy! Thank God, honest fodder to stall from answering Dale.

“Did Jimmy finish it?” you ask lightly.

But Maggie looks unsettled. “I grabbed this on my way downstairs as an excuse when I saw what was happenin’.”

Oh, no. Y/N, you stupid, stupid girl.

“What did I just see your brother doing?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

39 notes · View notes